But would she ever forgive him for abandoning her?
'I have never loved anyone the way I love you,' he said truthfully.
'I know that,' she replied, squeezing his hand and releasing it. Now go, she silently pleaded. Before she lost her nerve.
He got to his feet, and she followed suit. They held each other tightly, shared a long and tender kiss.
'The next time we meet, make sure you've shaved,' she chided.
'I will.' He picked up the bag and hesitated as he realised it also contained her stuff.
'Take it,' she said. 'You'll need the papers. I've got all I need in Berlin.' He kissed her again, turned, and automatically wove his way through the tables, only remembering to age his stride when he was halfway across the concourse. There was still no one at the tunnel entrance, but there were checkers at the bottom of the stairs leading to his platform - one bored-looking Gestapo officer in a leather coat and a younger assistant in uniform. Russell moved slowly towards them, trying to 'walk old' in the way she had taught him.
The leather coat barely glanced at him, and let his subordinate check the papers. The young man took one look at the picture, one at his face, and handed them back.
He reached the top of the steps as the train was pulling in. It was long and crowded, but many of the passengers would be Stettin-bound. He waited patiently as they streamed off, and finally climbed aboard. There were vacant seats in the several compartments, but he knew better than to trust himself in company. Placing his bag on an empty rack, he moved back into the corridor and stood staring out at the empty platforms, a sense of utter desolation coalescing in his soul.
Separate hells
The day's last train to Berlin was scheduled to depart in just over an hour. Fearful of being recognised, Effi left it until the last few minutes to purchase her ticket, but no one on the concourse or in the queue came rushing up to demand another autograph, and the man behind the booking office window didn't even raise his eyes to look at her.
Perhaps the woman in the mirror had only recognised her because at that particular moment her face had been so unguarded.
Had she over-reacted? No, she decided. Not that it mattered any more.
The Berlin train was full but not overcrowded. She walked the length of it, and found the badly-lit compartment she was looking for. There was only one seat left, but that was in a corner, and would allow her to turn her face from her fellow passengers. A soldier's pack sat on the seat opposite her, and its owner was still leaning out of the corridor window, gazing into his sweetheart's eyes. When the young man finally took his seat, his eyes still seemed far away.
She knew how he felt. Would she ever see John again? And if so, in how many years' time?
She closed her eyes, and realised she had a fight on her hands to hold back the tears. An actress who could cry to order should be able to manage the opposite, she told herself. She could do it. She had to do it.
The need slowly receded and as the train rattled across the Pomeranian countryside she feigned sleep and told herself to concentrate on the next few minutes and hours. She left her ticket on her lap, and silently thanked the soldier for urging the inspector not to wake her. It seemed more than possible that she was going to reach Berlin.
But what then? The most important thing was not to get caught until John was safely out of the country. But how long would that take? A week? Ten days? If she was caught before then and forced to talk, she would say he had taken the train to Danzig, in the hope of finding a ship there. She would never mention Riga.
The train pulled into Stettin Station a few minutes after midnight. There were no leather coats waiting at the end of the platform, or at the entrance to the U-Bahn. The underground train was full of home-going Friday night revellers, all beer breath and sweat, and she relished the rush of clear cold air that hit her as she emerged onto Mullerstrasse. After walking briskly through the blacked-out streets to Prinz-Eugen-Strasse, she opened the doors to the darkened building and flat with the keys they'd almost left behind.
After checking that the blackout curtains were still in place, she turned on a single light and stood there for a moment, gazing at the once-abandoned apartment. It had been less than a week.
She walked into the other room, lay down on the cold bed, and wept.
On the Danzig train, the first inspection of papers and tickets took place at one of the old Polish border crossings. It was past midnight, and most of Russell's fellow passengers were asleep. Being woken made many of them irritable, which made the inspectors even more officious. Russell anxiously waited his turn, heart beating at faster than the usual rate, hands distinctly clammy. He explored the false moustache with his fingers, but couldn't really tell if it was still on straight.
The gun, he suddenly realised, was still in his bag. It was no good to him now - the reverse, in fact, if the men in uniforms started searching luggage. But there was no time to get rid of it.
They arrived at his compartment, two bleary-eyed men in old border police uniforms. One man looked at Russell's papers, then briefly at him, before handing the papers back and passing on to his neighbour. He closed his eyes in gratitude, and only opened them again when both inspectors had moved on.
As the sense of relief faded, the feeling of emptiness returned. He kept reminding himself that it was all for the best, that now Effi had a chance of escaping complicity in his crimes - but it didn't help. He knew he had to make his peace with their separation, had to keep himself focused on what he had to do. There was nothing he could do for her, except get himself out of Germany.
He eventually fell asleep, only to wake up terrified that he had smudged his facial make-up on the upholstery. But none of his fellow passengers were giving him strange looks, and a glance in the toilet mirror was enough to show him that Effi's artistry remained intact. It would soon have to come off, though. Look on the bright side, he told himself - after the last few days he was probably no longer in need of artificial ageing.
It was light outside, and they were running close to the Baltic coast, the wide grey sea sliding almost seamlessly into a wide grey sky. Russell recognised the station at Zoppot as they rattled through, and twenty minutes later the train was pulling to a final halt in re-Germanised Danzig. He hurried off the train, but needn't have bothered - the connecting service for Dirschau and points further east was not leaving for another six hours. Unwilling to risk that amount of time in the station, he crossed the street to the Reichshof Hotel, where he had stayed on his last visit. He was almost at the desk when he realised how stupid he was being, but the receptionist proved unfamiliar. He asked to be woken at twelve-thirty, and walked up to his second-floor room.
Feeling safer with the door locked behind him, he lay down on the bed and tried to take stock of his situation. It stank, was as far as he got.
He was exhausted, but still found it hard to sleep. He felt as if his eyes had just closed when a hand rapped on the door and a child's voice told him it was time to get up. He had a thorough wash for the first time in days, paid for the room, and walked back to the station in search of food. He hadn't felt hungry for a long time, and still didn't, but the weakness in his legs could no longer be ignored.
The train was delayed for another hour, and he had plenty of time to eat what proved a dreadful meal. The station buffet was crowded, with many uniforms visible, but there was no police presence, and no sign of leather coats. Danzig might now be a part of the German Reich, but it seemed a long way from Berlin.
After washing his meal down with a better-than-expected bottle of beer, he stopped at the kiosk for a newspaper. Handing over the pfennigs, he noticed a month-old film magazine which Effi had brought home several weeks before, and which he knew contained a wonderful picture of her. He bought it, walked out onto the platform, and found the relevant page. 'Effi Koenen, star of
He gazed at her for several moments before turning to the newspaper. The German front line in the East was in the process of being 'rationalised', and the Army had a new commander-in-chief. Hitler had sacked Field-Marshal Brauchitsch and taken the job for himself. But, according to the official communique, nothing had really changed: since all the successes of the last few years had 'originated entirely from the spiritual initiative and the genius-like strategy of the Fuhrer himself,' he had, 'in practice, always been leading the German Army.'
In the apartment on Prinz-Eugen-Strasse, she woke with a start, wondering for a moment where she was. Then memory kicked in, and she lay there in the darkness for a while, before angrily forcing herself up and into the bathroom. A slight tug of the blackout curtain revealed another grey day.
