She abandoned herself to the music: the irresistible sexual drumbeat, the suggestively crooned lyrics, the exhilarating trumpet solos, the joyous flight of the clarinet. She whirled and kicked, let her skirt flare outrageously high, fell into the arms of her partner and sprang out again.
When they had danced for an hour or so Werner put on a slow tune. Frieda and Heinrich began dancing cheek to cheek. There was no one available whom Carla liked enough for slow dancing, so she left the room and went to get a Coke. Germany was not at war with America so Coca-Cola syrup was imported and bottled in Germany.
To her surprise, Werner followed her out, leaving someone else to put on records for a while. She was flattered that the most attractive man in the room wanted to talk to her.
She told him about Kurt being moved to Akelberg, and Werner said the same thing had happened to his brother, Axel, who was fifteen. Axel had been born with spina bifida. ‘Could the same treatment work for both of them?’ he said with a frown.
‘I doubt it, but I don’t really know,’ Carla said.
‘Why is it that medical men never explain what they’re doing?’ Werner said irritably.
She laughed humourlessly. ‘They think that if ordinary people understand medicine they won’t hero-worship doctors any longer.’
‘Same principle as a conjurer: it’s more impressive if you don’t know how it’s done,’ said Werner. ‘Doctors are as egocentric as anyone else.’
‘More so,’ said Carla. ‘As a nurse, I know.’
She told him about the leaflet she had read on the train. Werner said: ‘How did you feel about it?’
Carla hesitated. It was dangerous to speak honestly about such things. But she had known Werner all her life, he had always been left-wing, and he was a Swing Kid. She could trust him. She said: ‘I’m pleased someone is opposing the Nazis. It shows that not all Germans are paralysed by fear.’
‘There are lots of things you can do against the Nazis,’ he said quietly. ‘Not just wearing lipstick.’
She assumed he meant she could distribute such leaflets. Could he be involved in such activity? No, he was too much of a playboy. Heinrich might be different: he was very intense.
‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m too scared.’
They finished their Cokes and returned to the storeroom. It was packed, now, with hardly room enough to dance.
To Carla’s surprise, Werner asked her for the last dance. He put on Bing Crosby singing ‘Only Forever’. Carla was thrilled. He held her close and they swayed, rather than danced, to the slow ballad.
At the end, by tradition, someone turned off the light for a minute, so that couples could kiss. Carla was embarrassed: she had known Werner since they were children. But she had always been attracted to him, and now she turned her face up eagerly. As she had expected, he kissed her expertly, and she returned the kiss with enthusiasm. To her delight she felt his hand gently grasp her breast. She encouraged him by opening her mouth. Then the light came on and it was all over.
‘Well,’ she said breathlessly, ‘that was a surprise.’
He gave his most charming smile. ‘Perhaps I can surprise you again some time.’
Carla was passing through the hall, on her way to the kitchen for breakfast, when the phone rang. She picked up the handset. ‘Carla von Ulrich.’
She heard Frieda’s voice. ‘Oh, Carla, my little brother’s dead!’
‘What?’ Carla could hardly believe it. ‘Frieda, I’m so sorry! Where did it happen?’
‘In that hospital.’ Frieda was sobbing.
Carla recalled Werner telling her that Axel had been sent to the same Akelberg hospital as Kurt. ‘How did he die?’
‘Appendicitis.’
‘That’s terrible.’ Carla was sad for her friend, but also suspicious. She had had a bad feeling when Professor Willrich spoke to them a month ago about the new treatment for Kurt. Had it been more experimental than he had let on? Could it have actually been dangerous? ‘Do you know any more?’
‘We just got a short letter. My father is enraged. He phoned the hospital but he wasn’t able to speak to the senior people.’
‘I’ll come round to your house. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
‘Thanks.’
Carla hung up and went into the kitchen. ‘Axel Franck has died at that hospital in Akelberg,’ she said.
Her father, Walter, was looking at the morning post. ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Poor Monika.’ Carla recalled that Axel’s mother, Monika Franck, had once been in love with Walter, according to family legend. The look of concern on Walter’s face was so pained that Carla wondered if he had had a slight tendresse for Monika, despite being in love with Maud. How complicated love was.
Carla’s mother, who was now Monika’s best friend, said: ‘She must be devastated.’
Walter looked down at the post again and said in a tone of surprise: ‘Here’s a letter for Ada.’
