What Tomorrow Brings Page 8

  ‘Why Berlin?’ Charlie repeated my question. ‘Because it’s the most important place in Europe, at the moment.’

  ‘Surely not more than Spain?’

  ‘Spain is horrible. Bloody and evil. But Germany is about to blow up. Hitler is taking the country into hell and he’ll take the rest of us with it.’

  His words were bleak and terrible and I sat back and stared at him. I’d followed the news, of course. I knew about the rise of the National Socialist Party, the Nazis, and had heard vaguely about the suppression of dissenters, particularly of the Jews. I thought about Jacob telling me that he was no longer welcome in his own country. Poor Jacob, I thought, and felt afraid for Sarah and Kitty. ‘My neighbour,’ I said slowly, ‘says that there is an insanity sweeping the country.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Good words, and I might well steal them.’ He pencilled them quickly into his notebook. ‘We shall see when we get there. I have some contacts in Berlin who will tell me more, but you keep your ears and eyes open, Blake. Honest reporting is what’s needed.’

  ‘I don’t speak much German,’ I admitted, feeling stupid. ‘Practically nothing.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I have some, and anyway the atmosphere about the place is what’s important. That will reinforce any true information we can gather. Our esteemed government imagines that they can sit on their hands and do nothing and, somehow, everything will come out all right. They are so terrified of recreating what happened in the trenches that they’ve blinded themselves to the danger creeping up on us. In my opinion, they’re wrong. But we shall see.’

  I was quiet then, hating myself for being so ignorant. I thought of Amyas and knew that if he’d been asked he would have had all the facts at his fingertips. Why had I let so much about international affairs pass me by?

  ‘I’ve been asking around about Amyas Troy,’ said Charlie.

  I gasped. How did he know I’d been thinking about him? Did it show on my face? I took a deep breath. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Of what possible interest could he be to you?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s because he’s important to you, and you are now part of my team. From what I gather, he let you down.’

  ‘He may have.’ I wasn’t prepared to criticise Amyas. Simply mentioning his name made my insides collapse.

  ‘He is known. One or two people I’ve spoken to have met him and met his friend. What did you call her? Oh yes, Mrs Cartwright. She’s well fixed, I believe, got a house in Cambridge and a flat in London. All left to her by her late husband. She was on the stage, but not an actress. Vaudeville, whatever that implies.’ He laughed. ‘Probably a stripper. Anyway, she keeps your friend, Amyas, in some style.’

  I looked out of the window at the flat countryside rushing by and remembered that day when Amyas had walked out of the sea. If I closed my eyes I could be back there, allowing that magical feeling to wash over me again. Sometimes, I felt as though I’d taken a drug which would leave me addicted to Amyas for ever.

  ‘Of course’ – Charlie was still talking – ‘that’s what I know about him at present. Who he is and where he came from are a mystery.’

  I dragged my eyes away from the window and looked at him. He had taken off his glasses and was polishing them with the corner of his paisley tie. ‘Leave it, Charlie,’ I said. ‘Just leave it.’

  ‘All right.’ He replaced his glasses and picked up his notebook and pencil. ‘I’ll tell you one last thing, though. Amyas Troy is not his real name. It couldn’t be. It’s too . . . too romantic. He has chosen it, deliberately.’

  Amyas was not mentioned again for the remainder of the journey and I was able to calm down and take in the sights that flashed by the window.

  We crossed Holland, a flat peaceful land where canals ran alongside the railway lines and people on bicycles, waiting patiently at level crossings, waved to the train as it sped by. I wondered what they thought of their aggressive neighbour. Were they as alarmed as Charlie patently was, or did they accept that Germany had merely reinvented itself and it was nothing to do with them?

  We were stopped at the border for about half an hour, when the green-uniformed German guards came on the train to examine our passports. They were not unpleasant, but not particularly friendly either.

  ‘You are a tourist?’ asked one of them, holding our passports in one hand and examining the names and photographs.

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie immediately. Why didn’t he say that we were journalists?

  ‘And you, Fräulein. A tourist also?’ The guard was frowning, and I don’t think he believed Charlie. I decided to be brave.

  ‘Yes, partially,’ I said. ‘I work for a travel company and I’m here looking for holiday destinations. I believe some of your countryside is very beautiful and, after the publicity of the Olympic Games last year, many people in England are interested in visiting Germany.’

  The guard translated my words into German for his companion, who, to my relief, gave a big grin. He spoke rapidly to me and I waited for the explanation. ‘My friend, Fräulein, says that you must visit the Harz mountains. They are magnificent.’

  ‘I’ll make a note of that,’ I smiled and, satisfied, the two guards left.

  ‘Well done,’ said Charlie, looking rather surprised.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell them we were journalists?’ I was watching the platform out of my window and saw two men being bundled off the train. I supposed they hadn’t got passports. A guard with a dog approached them, the dog lurching forward on his lead and barking horribly. The train started moving, so I didn’t see what happened but it left me with a cold feeling.

  ‘Because they would have passed my name on to the SD, the secret police, that is, and we’d have been followed before we’d even got to the hotel, let alone had a chance to meet any of my contacts. They wouldn’t speak to me if they knew I had the SD on my heels. Get it into your head, Blake. This is a police state.’

  ‘Those are the Harz mountains,’ said Charlie after an hour, pointing to the wavering outline. ‘From what I’ve been told, there is a lot of industry building up in the area. I’m betting the factories there are part of Hitler’s rearmament programme.’ He sat back and gazed at the wooden ceiling of our compartment. ‘D’you know, I seem to remember that there are legends and fairy tales about those mountains. I think Goethe wrote about the place.’

  I had to bow to his superior knowledge and promised myself once again that I would read more, about everything, and make myself better informed. Later, as the afternoon wore on and the sun became a red ball in the autumn sky, we drew into Magdeburg station. There were soldiers and armed police on the platform and I wondered if some disturbance had happened, but it was the same at every major station we went through.

  ‘Germany has become entirely militarised,’ Charlie said, staring out of the window. Red and black flags and banners were everywhere, most of them emblazoned with the swastika, but the people on the platforms didn’t seem to resent the attentions of the police. They hurried on and off the trains, walking purposefully and lining up to have their papers checked as though it was the most natural thing in the world. I found it chilling and some of my excitement started to drain away. I wondered if it would be the same in Berlin.

  We went straight to the hotel when we arrived that evening, and later ate dinner at the very glamorous restaurant at the Adlon. Looking round I noted the elegance of the diners, and wished I’d brought smarter clothes; perhaps I’d have the opportunity to buy a dress while I was there.

  ‘Tomorrow, after breakfast,’ Charlie said while we ate, ‘I’ll take you for a bit of a walk, a sort of orientation exercise. In the afternoon I’ve got a meeting with a contact. I’d better go on my own to that one, so you can wander about or have a look at the shops. Get an idea of the place, the price of things and what’s available. It’ll all be good background stuff.’

  I nodded. I was looking forward to becoming a real reporter in a foreign country. This was what I had longed
to do. Excitedly I started to tell him which shops I thought I should go into and whether I should take a stab at the theatres and cinemas, but he cut across me.

  ‘Your sister,’ he said, ‘she’s mixing with a funny crowd.’

  ‘In what way funny?’ I asked. ‘They’re not my type, certainly. Idiots most of them. And her particular chum, Clive Powell, is a bad lot.’

  ‘I believe she’s been invited to parties at the German Embassy.’

  My mouth must have dropped open. ‘How did you know that?’ I asked.

  Charlie grinned and tapped his nose. ‘Ear to the ground, Blake. You’ve got to be aware of everything, it’s the only way.’

  ‘Well,’ I was determined not to be outdone in the information exchange, ‘did you know that she’s been in Germany recently? She told me that she’d been invited to visit some count or other. I didn’t catch his name.’

  ‘She’s still here, actually,’ Charlie said, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. ‘The count is Wolf von Klausen, and he is a very important man.’

  I frowned. Charlie must have known that she was here before he invited me to join him on this assignment. ‘You knew,’ I said angrily. ‘You knew she was here. That’s why you asked me to come. You’ve used me.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Blake. Calm down. I didn’t know, not until a couple of days ago. Your friend told me.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘Monica Cathcart. She’s a hanger-on in that group and was at the party where Xanthe met von Klausen. She told me on Wednesday when I was in the office getting my final briefing. Somebody she knew had just come back from Berlin and said that Xanthe was doing the rounds of all the better soirées. I thought you knew.’

  I shook my head. ‘We’re not a close family, these days.’ I left it at that, still not sure that I was being given the entire truth.

  Chapter Seven

  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 probabl
y 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.