CHARLIE AND I walked along the pedestrianised centre of Unter den Linden, looking at the swastikas that flew everywhere. Not just on flagpoles and the tops of buildings; huge banners depicting the symbol soared fifty feet above the road. It was an announcement to the world that this was, indeed, a Nazi state.
Behind us was the Brandenburg Gate, which, with its giant statues, seemed to embody the confidence and power of the government. Ahead, Unter den Linden was a wonderful thoroughfare, where shops, restaurants and cafés jostled for business. To the right and left of us cars and buses passed by and people walked purposefully on the broad pavements. Berlin was a city on the move, and I couldn’t tell then that this colourful, vibrant atmosphere masked a brutal, vicious hatred for all things outside its perfect Aryan world.
We passed a cinema showing posters for Mutiny on the Bounty with Clark Gable and Charles Laughton, which I’d seen in London the year before. I laughed. ‘I thought the state wouldn’t approve of mutiny.’
‘No,’ Charlie grinned. ‘But I suppose they allow it because it’s historical and anyway, that’s what the Nazi party did a few years ago to the previous government. Turfed them out.’
‘I suppose so,’ I agreed, looking back at the poster.
‘Let’s go and get a coffee,’ Charlie suggested, and we crossed the road.
‘It’s too cold to sit outside,’ I said and he nodded and led me into the crowded, dark wood interior, where small tables dotted the room and waiters with white shirts and long black aprons expertly carried loaded silver trays in one hand.
‘Instead of coffee,’ Charlie said, ignoring the menu, ‘try the hot chocolate.’ It came in a tall glass with a metal holder and had a dollop of cream on top with a cinnamon stick poking out. I loved it, and every day for the following week I came to this café and ordered one. I learned the right words and the charming waiters always welcomed me warmly.
So too did the woman in the small boutique where I bought a petrol-blue wool crêpe evening dress. She spoke some English, so we could chat a little and she persuaded me to buy black high-heeled shoes and a metal necklace with a Greek key pattern worked into it. As I left the boutique, I felt almost happy for the first time since Amyas had left. Berlin was a wonderful city, I decided. Charlie was wrong about Germany.
That evening we went to the Borchardt restaurant, in the city centre. I was glad I’d bought the dress, because although it wasn’t as formal as the dining room at the Adlon, it was smart. Wealthy-looking diners sat at the tables, talking loudly and waving to their friends; it was plainly a place where the elite of the city went to dine. We were shown to a table beside one of the great marble pillars which dominated the room and were joined by Dieter and Rachel, a couple in their forties who spoke excellent English.
‘What do you think of our city?’ Dieter asked me while we were eating. He was a reporter on one of the national newspapers and someone that Charlie had known for several years.
‘It’s magnificent,’ I answered. ‘I love the grand buildings and the broad pavements. There is an awful lot to see and everyone I’ve spoken to has been very pleasant.’
‘They would be. To you,’ Rachel said, not looking up from her plate. Her dark hair covered her face and I couldn’t see her expression. I glanced quickly at Charlie and then back to Rachel.
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why wouldn’t they be nice to you?’
‘Many reasons.’ She shrugged, and I watched as Dieter put his hand over hers. I’d made a mistake, I knew, and looked to Charlie for help. He changed the subject.
‘What’s the plan?’ he asked, turning to Dieter. ‘Are you getting out?’
‘Yes,’ Dieter nodded. ‘We’ve got visas. We’ll go to France first and then England if we can get on the quota.’ He heaved a sigh and glanced, sympathetically, at his wife. ‘It’s just that Rachel’s parents haven’t got their visas and she’s reluctant to go without them.’
I must have looked confused because Rachel gave me a sad, little smile. ‘I’m a Jew, Seffy, and my poor husband, who is not, has had his life and work made so difficult because of it. I know that we have to leave but I can’t bear to leave Mamma and Papa behind.’
I didn’t know what to say. I thought of Jacob and the mission he had given me and began to feel more nervous about it. ‘I have a friend,’ I began, ‘who wants me to take a letter to his sister. They’re Jewish. She lives on a street called . . .’ I fished the piece of paper from my bag, ‘Auguststrasse.’ I looked up. ‘Do you know it?’
‘Of course,’ Rachel said. I was about to ask her if she would accompany me there but Charlie butted in.
‘What on earth do you think you’re up to, Blake?’ He snatched the piece of paper from my hand and glared at it. ‘You didn’t tell me about a letter.’
‘It was none of your business,’ I replied, snatching the address back. I was cross and embarrassed that he should shout at me in front of his friends. ‘I was doing a small favour, that’s all.’
‘Which might turn out to be not so small.’ He was in a temper.
‘Hey, Charlie.’ Dieter grinned. ‘Calm down, old friend. Seffy will be all right going to Auguststrasse. She can be a tourist who has lost her way, if questioned. But I don’t think she will be. And it might be useful for her to look around that area to gather information for your article.’
I scowled at Charlie. ‘There, see?’ I was furious with him and looked around the busy restaurant to see if anyone had noticed our raised voices, but the other diners were more concerned with their food and friends and not looking at us.
‘I suppose so.’ Charlie refused to look at me and swigged his wine. Now I was even more determined to take the letter to Sarah and Kitty.
When we were eating dessert, Rachel turned to her husband and said something in German and he laughed. ‘Rachel doesn’t want to embarrass you, Seffy, but she says you remind her of the actress Katharine Hepburn. Both in looks and . . .’ he frowned. ‘I do not know the word in English . . . in German it is resolut.’
Charlie leant forward. ‘What she means, Seffy, is “feisty”.’ He sighed. ‘It’s probably the best way to describe you.’
There was still a frosty atmosphere between us as we walked back to the Adlon. ‘In future, Blake,’ he said, when we entered the grand foyer, where the extravagant elephant fountain splashed water into an exquisitely ornate basin, ‘you mustn’t keep anything back from me. It could be dangerous.’
‘Then,’ I said, ‘you must damn well do the same.’ I stopped and turned to face him. ‘I need to know where you are and who you’re meeting. I’m not saying that I should come with you, although I’d like to, but you’ve got to tell me.’
He was thoughtful for a moment and then said, ‘All right. So, tomorrow I’m going with Dieter on a little trip out of the city. We’re going to Brandenburg where there is a mental hospital. Dieter says there have been rumours that the government is planning something there. I don’t know what, exactly, and neither does he, but we have permission to visit. The authorities are keen to show it as an example of their excellent care. But we’ve only got two passes, so I can’t take you with me. Sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, as we headed for the lift. ‘As long as I know. While you’re away I’ll try to absorb some more of life in Berlin and then I’ll type it up.’
‘Good girl, Blake.’ He left me at my door. ‘Be careful, though. These wide, well-lit streets and polite Berliners are only half the story.’
That night, in my comfortable bed, I considered all that had happened during the day. My thoughts were confused. I hadn’t liked what I’d seen on the station with the guards, but they had been all right with me, and I’d found the same with the people I’d encountered in the city. Dieter and Rachel had made me think again, particularly Rachel. She had looked so sad when she was talking about leaving her parents. Could things be as bad as she said? I decided there and then that I would go looking for Sarah and Kitty tomorrow while Charlie was away.
As I was dressing the next morning I realised that I hadn’t thought of Amyas for hours. Why did that feel as though I was abandoning him? Were all those torrid emotions empty illusions to be chased away by a change of scene and a few bright banners?
Dieter arrived in his Mercedes roadster to pick up Charlie at half past nine and after I waved them goodbye I hoisted my bag on my shoulder and set out for Auguststrasse. It was another sunny day and the wind was lighter. I had a map and the Leica camera I’d bought in the four days that Charlie had given me before we left.
Berlin was as bustling and beautiful as I’d expected, even when I walked across the bridge into the Mitte district. But after a few more blocks the streets became quieter, shops were boarded up and defaced with horrible graffiti. Juden was the most frequent word I saw. I knew what it meant and even if I had been in doubt, Star of David symbols were scrawled alongside the word and I could suddenly see why Jacob, and now Rachel, was so afraid.
The few people I saw stared at me, making me feel uncomfortable, an interloper. I looked at the graffiti and wondered how I would describe it, then I reached into my bag for my camera. Before I got it out, however, a black car drew up beside me.
‘Fräulein?’ A man in a green uniform got out of the car and approached me. I began to feel quite frightened.
‘Yes?’
He spoke in German and I shrugged. ‘English,’ I said, my stomach churning. ‘Tourist.’
His compatriot got out of the driving seat. They were both young. ‘You are lost?’ he asked, and remembering Dieter’s advice from yesterday evening, I nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You are in bad area,’ the man, who I assumed was a policeman, said. ‘You go back.’ He nodded at the graffiti. ‘This district for Juden. Not a good place.’ He paused and looked at my bag. ‘You have papers?’
They watched as I reached into my bag and produced my passport and then passed it between them. I was scared that they might ask to search my bag. If they did they would find the letter and the address to which I had to deliver it. I hoped my smile would convince them that I was indeed just a lost tourist, as they examined the document and then compared my photograph to my face. The first policeman laughed and muttered something in German. From the expression on their faces what he’d said was unpleasant. Eventually the driver pointed down the road which led back towards the bridge. ‘You go that way.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, with a dry mouth, trying to sound grateful, then turned around and started walking. I walked until they had got back into their car and crawled past me. I could see them laughing, and knew that they’d enjoyed frightening me, so when they were out of sight I thought, to hell with them, and turning, darted into an alleyway. I waited, trembling a little, for the sound of the returning car, but hearing only distant traffic I walked on towards Auguststrasse. My heart was beating fast and I felt a little sick. Nothing had happened really, but I knew I wouldn’t get away with the lost tourist excuse if the same car came back.
At the corner of the block I looked around to see if there was anyone who resembled an official, but the street was quiet, so I got out my camera and took photographs of the graffiti. A photograph would be far more dramatic than anything I could write.
Following the map I turned on to Auguststrasse and paused. It had been quite a long walk and I was thirsty and hoped to find a café. A woman accompanied by two teenage girls stopped beside me She spoke first in German and then when I shook my head and said ‘English’ she smiled and spoke hesitantly, ‘Can I help you, Fräulein? You are lost, yes?’
I shook my head. ‘Not lost, really. I’m looking for this address.’ I showed her the piece of paper.
‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘Frau Goldstein. You are a friend?’
‘No. Her brother, in London, is a friend. He asked me to visit her.’
She smiled again. ‘I remember Jacob and dear Leah, who I believe has passed away.’
I nodded. ‘He’s on his own now.’
‘So,’ said the woman. ‘Sarah lives in that building –’ she pointed across the road to a large stone apartment block. Next to it I could see another building, which seemed newer than the rest of the street. It was brick rather than stone and in a rather stark, modernist style. The woman nodded at it. ‘That’s the girls’ school, where my daughters and I are going. Sarah is a teacher there and she’ll be in the school now. Will you walk with me?’
She introduced herself as Miriam and her two girls as Elisabeth and Lotte. The girls curtsied to me and then ran on towards the school entrance.
‘I’m Persephone,’ I said. ‘From London. Jacob lives in the same building as me.’
My new friend held the door open for me and as we walked up the stairs she told me that she had been taking her daughters to the doctor for a medical certificate. ‘We have permission to leave and visas for Canada. My husband is a doctor but they have told him he can no longer work at the hospital. It is sad but exciting to think of a new life.’
‘Can’t he get work elsewhere?’ I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Miriam gave me a pitying stare. ‘Do you not understand, Persephone? We are Jews. We are not allowed to offer medical help to Christians or teach them in the schools or act as lawyers for them. Our businesses are being closed down and people feel free to spit at us in the street. Why would we want to stay here?’
The knowledge that Berlin was a divided city was being reinforced with every person I spoke to and I resolved there and then to stop being so wilfully ignorant. It would have been easy to simply enjoy the grandness of the hotel and the ability to wander around the beautiful shops and cafés and, in truth, I hated being here, in this distressed part of the town. But if I was to be a reporter and find out the reality of life here or anywhere else I went, I would have to work at it and go to places that others refused to acknowledge.
‘If you wait here,’ said Miriam, showing me to a chair in a corridor, ‘I’ll see if I can find Mrs Goldstein.’
I sat on the hard chair and sniffed the familiar scent of floor polish and listened to the faint buzz of voices coming from behind the closed doors which lined the corridor. It took me back to my own time at school, in London, which I’d loved. I’d been a good pupil, eager to learn and to go on to university, although I was only one of two girls in my year who had done so; it had seemed a natural progression. It was only after university that I began to have doubts. Mother and Xanthe made fun of me constantly for wanting to pursue first academic study and then a job. ‘There’s absolutely no need, darling,’ Mother had said. ‘Go out and enjoy yourself now, while you can, before you get married and bogged down in domestic concerns.’ This last had seemed heartfelt and I’d given her a quick glance. What kind of life had she been missing? I wondered.
Then I thought about Amyas and those nights in my bed at the house by the sea. I could feel his hands on me, his mouth on mine, and my breath caught in my chest. Oh God, did that really happen? That week was beginning to take on a unreal quality and I could easily have believed that it was a dream, if it hadn’t been for what had happened after. Without my bidding, my eyes began to fill with tears and I reached into my bag for a handkerchief.
‘Fräulein!’ I was startled by the near-silent approach of an older woman.
‘Yes.’ I scrambled to my feet and in my rush dropped my bag. The contents spewed out on to the polished wooden floor. ‘Sorry,’ I said and crouching began to gather up my hankies, the new notepad, my wallet, my camera and the host of other junk that I usually carried around. Most importantly, the envelope that Jacob had given me.
‘You wished to see me?’ the woman continued.
I straightened up and looked down at her. Sarah Goldstein was younger than her brother, quite a lot, I thought, but she had the same round face and kind, brown eyes as he did and she was now giving me a rather sweet smile.
‘I surprised you, yes? You were having a . . .’ She thought for a little and then said triumphantly, ‘A daydream. Yes?’
I smiled. ‘Something like that. Mrs Goldstein, your brother Jacob asked me to visit you and to bring you this.’ I handed her the envelope, then watched as she turned it over in her hands and when she looked back at me her smile was gone.
‘Do you know what this envelope contains?’ she asked quietly.
‘I do.’ I lowered my voice. ‘Mrs Goldstein, your brother Jacob is very anxious that you and your daughter come to London to live with him. He is worried about the situation here and knows that you will be safer there.’ I looked around. The corridor was empty. ‘He has sent you money,’ I said.
She was quiet for a moment and then asked, ‘How is it that you know Jacob? You are not of our faith, I think.’
‘We live in the same building,’ I answered. ‘My flat is opposite his. And no, we are not of the same faith, but as I was coming to Berlin, I agreed to bring you this envelope and his message. He is a friend.’
The envelope seemed to be almost red-hot, the way she was turning it over and over in her hands and for a moment I thought she was going to hand it back to me, but suddenly she said, ‘You will come to my home, now, yes? I will give you coffee and you shall meet Kitty. She is not too well today so has not been at school. I don’t have a class until after lunch so we can go now.’
Sarah’s flat was full of old, dark wooden furniture. The round table in the middle of the main room was covered in a red cloth with a pretty porcelain vase, empty of flowers, in the centre. Bookcases lined the walls and an old-fashioned gramophone stood in the corner. I liked the pictures hanging on the one wall without a bookcase. They were more modern than I would have expected. One in particular caught my eye. Sarah followed my gaze.
‘Do you like that?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Very much.’ It was a painting of a woman sitting on a narrow bed, looking as though she was waiting for someone. The background was the most compelling blue and the bedcover red. It wasn’t the type of art my parents collected, pictures that could have been photographs, so accurate and defined. No, this picture gave an impression of what the woman was feeling, thinking. Her loneliness, perhaps.
‘It’s a Charlotte Salomon.’ Sarah smiled. ‘She is a friend. Now, sit down. I will make coffee.’
I longed to take out my notebook and record all that I saw. This charming apartment could be the background to an interview, but, at the same time, I knew I could never name Sarah. It would be too risky.
‘Hello.’ A pretty dark-haired girl came into the room. She was about thirteen, taller than her mother and with her hair cut in a fashionable bob.
‘Hello,’ I said, standing up. ‘I’m Persephone Blake and you, I think, are Kitty. I’m very pleased to meet you.’ We shook hands very formally, but the girl grinned at me.
‘I like your name,’ she said. ‘It is not usual.’
‘My friends call me Seffy,’ I said. ‘And that’s what you must call me.’
‘I have a long name too,’ she said, with a little giggle. ‘I am Katharina but, always, Kitty.’
We sat around the table, drinking coffee and eating delicious apple and cinnamon cake. The envelope, unopened, lay on the cloth in front of Sarah but she didn’t look at it. Instead she asked about my trip and what I was doing in Berlin. When I told her she nodded her head slowly.
‘You do a good thing,’ she said. ‘The world must know what happens here.’
‘The world does know,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think they quite believe it. My boss, Charlie, who’s here with me is a real reporter, he’ll make sure they believe. He’s brave and very honest and has reported on wars and crimes all over the world.’
‘Open the letter, Mamma,’ said Kitty, reaching over and pushing it towards her mother. ‘Please.’
Reluctantly, Sarah tore open the bulky envelope and gasped as a handful of notes fell out. They were hundreds of pounds. I thought I must have been carrying close to a thousand. A letter was enclosed and Sarah read it quickly. ‘Jacob says that we must go to him in England. Leave our home and all our dear things and live with him. He is most insistent.’
‘He is right,’ I said.
‘How can I?’ she said angrily. ‘I have my teaching, my girls. They need me.’ She looked around the room. ‘And I have this lovely home with its memories of my dear Felix. No, it is impossible.’
‘I would like to see England,’ said Kitty tentatively. ‘I would like to travel.’
‘All children want to travel and you will one day,’ Sarah sighed. ‘You will want to leave me. It is natural.’ She stared at the pile of money, and then gathering it up shoved it back into the envelope. ‘Here,’ she said, pushing it towards me. ‘Take it back to Jacob. Tell him, thank you. But we will be all right. Things will change. They always do.’
I was shocked. ‘I can’t take it back,’ I said. ‘Poor Jacob would be so upset. He’s very lonely, you know. It’s just him and Willi in the apartment.’
‘Willi?’ said Sarah with a frown. ‘Who’s Willi?’
‘It’s his little dog. He dotes on him.’
Sarah tutted. ‘The old fool,’ she whispered, but her angry expression softened.
‘Look,’ I said, getting up, ‘I have to go now, but I’m staying at the Hotel Adlon. If you change your mind, or want me to take a message to Jacob, you can get hold of me there.’ I had a sudden thought. ‘May I take a photograph of you both? Jacob will be so pleased to see it.’ They posed, smiling, by the window and I snapped their picture.
Then I shook hands with both of them and as she showed me downstairs into the lobby, Kitty said, ‘Thank you for coming, Seffy. I know you are right about us leaving. My friends Elisabeth and Lotte are going but Mamma is stubborn. She feels that she is needed at the school. I will talk to her.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘I hope she will be persuaded.’ And waving to her, I walked away, past the graffiti-scrawled buildings and the closed businesses, until I crossed the river and was back in the vibrant part of the city. I had so much to think about and after a quick lunch in what had become my favourite café, I went to my room at the Adlon and typed up my impressions of Auguststrasse and of the people I’d met. It took me time to get my thoughts in order, because even then I wasn’t entirely sure of what I’d seen and heard, and when Charlie knocked on my door at about four o’clock I was still sitting at my typewriter, going over what I’d written.
‘Come in,’ I said. He looked excited and was obviously bursting to tell me something, but at first he kept it to himself.
‘How was your day?’ he asked. ‘Had a wander around the sights and the shops?’
‘Er . . . not exactly. I went to Auguststrasse to meet my contact.’ I loved saying that. I loved showing Charlie that he wasn’t the only one who had contacts.
He frowned. ‘Didn’t I say not to do anything dangerous?’ he grumbled.
‘I didn’t. It wasn’t nice, the buildings are defaced with graffiti, but I found Mrs Goldstein and handed over the letter. I talked to her and to another woman and, Charlie, things are bad for the Jews in Berlin.’
‘Well, we knew that already. But . . . did you get more stuff, more information?’
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I certainly got what would be a human interest story. And photographs.’
‘Great! I knew you would be useful. I’ll look at your material tomorrow.’
‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘What about the mental hospital?’
He lifted his shoulders in a rather disappointed shrug. ‘It seemed all right. The wards were clean and there were lots of staff on duty.’ He sighed. ‘But it was all a bit too efficient. I know there’s something wrong there.’ He shook his head and then, looking up and grinning, said, ‘You know that when we discussed this visit to Berlin, you were very sarcastic and told me that you wouldn’t be bringing your ball gown.’
‘Yes,’ I said cautiously.
‘Well, you’ll need one. Tonight.’
‘What?’ I almost shouted out. ‘Why?’
‘We’ve been invited to a do at the Kaiserhof hotel. Dinner and dance, and most of the guests will be members of the SS. Time to see how the ruling class lives. So, Blake, can you dolly yourself up for this evening?’
This was no time to ask questions. ‘Watch me,’ I said and, grabbing my bag, made for the door. ‘What time will you pick me up?’
‘Eight thirty, in the lobby?’
‘Fine.’ I went to the lift, then through the lobby and out on to Unter den Linden and soon I was back at the boutique where I’d bought my dinner dress.
‘Fräulein?’ said the same shop assistant. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I need a dress, suitable for a dinner and dance at the Kaiserhof hotel.’
‘Oh!’ She sounded almost faint. ‘How wonderful. All the best people will be there.’ She ushered me into the salon. ‘I know I can find you something special. You have a wonderfully slim figure.’
Blushing, I waited while she brought dresses into the changing room and pulled them on and off me, until I knew that I had found the one. ‘Oh, Fräulein, you look lovely,’ she breathed. ‘It is absolutely the correct colour for you.’
And when I stepped out of the lift at half past eight to meet Charlie in the lobby, I was conscious of a few heads turning.
‘Wow!’ said Charlie. ‘You look stunning.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled and took his arm as we went out to the cab. I knew I looked good. The long sea-green silk sheath dress fitted perfectly and the colour brought out the chestnut highlights in my hair. My shop assistant had found a paste diamond slide to hold back my wild curls and sold me a tiny black jewel-studded bag to match.
‘Are you cold?’ asked Charlie.
‘No,’ I lied. I was, but I would never have admitted it. Just wearing that fabulous dress was enough heat for me and I smiled with pleasure on the short journey to the Kaiserhof.
We walked through the hotel lobby and into the crowded ballroom. Tables had been set in a horseshoe arrangement around a circular dance floor with a bar at the far end. The band was playing Cole Porter’s ‘Night and Day’ and I excitedly hummed along to it, looking at the people on the floor and comparing my dress to those of the other women. I thought mine looked as good as any of them. ‘Who’s giving this dance?’ I asked.
‘Not sure,’ said Charlie. ‘But I’m told that the senior officers of the SS will be here.’ He adjusted his bow tie and smoothed down the lapel of his hired dinner jacket. ‘Should be useful for background information and we can try and muscle in on some conversations because, sadly, we won’t know anyone.’
But that wasn’t entirely true. For there, in the centre of the room, surrounded by black-uniformed officers, was Xanthe.