God’s green earth is a hepcat?’
‘Shall I tell you over dinner?’
‘Oh,’ she said, smiling at the ground. ‘All right. But tonight’s my shout. You got my hamburger. My frankfurter.’
Outside in the forecourt, a large crowd, many of them young boys with autograph books, had gathered around the mobile radio car of the Deutscher Rundfunk, which was broadcasting live radio coverage of the Games.
‘Jesse must be in there now,’ said Eleanor. ‘The press boys told me that all gold medallists are interviewed on live radio after their competition. Imagine that. A black man’s voice is speaking to Germany right now. They wouldn’t put him on the radio back home unless he was singing “Dixie.”’
Chapter Fifteen
Eleanor was late meeting him at the restaurant, which was in a tree-lined street off Golzstrasse, not far from Nollendorfplatz. Denham was reading a newspaper at a corner table and rose, smiling, as she entered.
That shyness as he met her eye. ‘No gown this evening?’
She was wearing a blue angora sweater, a red chequered skirt that came only to her knees, and short white socks.
‘Ever seen a girl dance swing in a gown?’ She pulled off her beret, so that her unwaved hair fell around her neck, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I hate those downtown swells who go slumming in Harlem dressed for the Ritz.’ She sat down and looked around at the wood-panelled walls, the low lighting, and the couples murmuring over chilled bottles.
‘A favourite place of yours?’
‘Yes… it’s hard to find, and the food’s good. I hope you like French cuisine. To be honest I eat what the Germans eat only when I’m broke. I took the liberty of ordering this bottle.’
‘And what gave you a taste for French cooking?’ she said as he poured her a glass. He seemed younger in candlelight. The bruise on his cheek was healing darkly, giving an intensity to his face.
‘The war,’ he said.
For a moment the light focused in the stem of his glass reflected in his eyes.
‘I ended the war as a first lieutenant. For a few weeks after the armistice we were quartered in a chateau in Picardy. The villagers were kind to us. They taught me a little about food and wine.’
‘You had survived,’ she said without thinking.
‘After a fashion.’
Denham raised his glass in a silent toast, and she did the same, took a sip, and savoured the subtle vintage. ‘A 1913 Petit Verdot,’ he said. ‘A relic from a less troubled world.’
‘The year I was born.’
They were silent for a while, and then he said, carefully, ‘Must have been hard for you, what happened at the end of the voyage over. Your friend Martha told me.’
‘Sure, it hurt like hell. After four years of work it was a mighty blow to my pride. But it’s really not the end of the world. I’ve won a gold medal before…’ She smiled faintly and sighed. ‘The truth is, my behaviour was pretty awful.’
‘Sounds like you had quite a time on that ship. “Let’s Misbehave” is my favourite Cole Porter.’
Eleanor put her glass down. ‘Loyalty and discretion are the qualities I admire most in Martha.’
Denham’s laugh dispelled any tension. ‘So,’ he said, breaking off some bread. ‘I want to hear all about the Herb Emerson Orchestra.’
They drank more of the wine and ordered dinner: he a rainbow trout in a champagne sauce, she a simple ratatouille. For dessert they shared a tarte tatin with cream.
They continued talking long after the wine was finished and the waiter had brought them coffee and Armagnac. Eleanor relished the exquisite burn of the spirit on her tongue, took Denham’s cigarette to light her own, and leaned back in her chair.
She said, ‘Now, are you going to tell me what a hepcat is?’
‘A kid who dances to swing,’ said Denham. ‘Usually a well-off kid who can afford the imported records and the English fashions. They’ve been a big worry to the authorities since jazz music, or rather the wilder “hot jazz,” was banned from the radio last year. A stupid move if you ask me. Teenagers of every generation will rebel.’
‘Ban jazz?’ Eleanor’s face slumped into her palms. She was feeling nicely inebriated. ‘But why? That’s as insane as banning booze. It just makes you want to drink. We should know. We had a failed thirteen-year experiment.’
‘The Nazis are terrified of what wild jungle rhythms will provoke in the nation’s youth…’ He leaned towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Which of course means only one thing…’
‘And what is that?’
‘… reckless, indiscriminate sex.’
The wine made Eleanor laugh freely, and she accidentally dropped her cigarette. He allowed her to light another one, for him this time.
They left the restaurant arm in arm into the humid night, and she remembered that she hadn’t even mentioned the revelation in the rose garden, or asked him about Liebermann.
‘Friedl’s party is a few blocks away,’ he said.
The sky was a deep cyan, flecked by the gold of the moths around the streetlamps. On the corner of the block a dozen or so people were gathered on the pavement, looking into the window of a cafe. Inside it was almost dark; there were no cafe tables but rows of seats packed with people watching a fuzzy square of light emitting from a large wooden box. Together they peered in at it. It wasn’t cinema but a small, ghostly picture showing Carl ‘Luz’ Long running into his jump, followed by a cut to the Fuhrer rocking back and forth in his seat and slapping his knee. Every few seconds a man in a white coat adjusted a dial to focus the picture. Eleanor was as mesmerised as everyone else. Neither she nor Denham had seen a television before.
They turned onto Motzstrasse, and Eleanor was about to mention the rose garden, when Denham pulled her roughly into a darkened garage entrance.
‘Hey,’ she said, more surprised than anything. ‘There’s a time and a place…’
‘We’re being followed.’ He put his finger on her lips. ‘Someone was waiting outside the restaurant as we left. He’s been keeping pace behind us.’
Slowly, they craned their heads a fraction beyond the edge of the corner and saw, about twenty yards up the street, a man standing beneath a streetlamp, looking left and right. The moths cast tiny, fast-moving shadows across his dark coat and the trilby that obscured his face. Denham put his hands around Eleanor’s shoulders and gently pulled her back.
He checked again and waited, holding her close, with her back towards him and his arm around her waist. She felt his heartbeat through his wrist. Suddenly they heard the man approaching, the beat of his footsteps loud and clear on the warm air.
‘Run,’ Denham said.
He caught her hand, and together they sprinted down the sidewalk.
The man shouted in German, and ran after them.
They rounded a corner onto a street of stores shuttered for the night and almost collided with a man walking a dog. Ahead, a yellow light spilt onto the pavement from an open doorway. They ran towards it. Smells of roast pork and cabbage came from inside, and the sound of accordion music and laughter.
Denham led her into the crowded Kneipe.
It was noisy and hot. They tried to walk at a normal pace, dodging an aproned waitress carrying a tray of foaming beers and another with platters of chops and mash. Eleanor looked over her shoulder, saw the dark trilby entering after them, and glimpsed the man’s face. Her skin froze. Something horrific…
‘Go,’ she yelled at Denham.
They ran along a gangway between dining booths, weaving sharply around another waitress with a tray,
