‘Neither do I,’ Effi agreed. ‘But the condemnation would feel more just if it seemed less partial.’
‘I wouldn’t argue with that.’
‘You know, it seems so strange. Yesterday, today, seeing foreign soldiers in control all over Berlin. They should be, of course they should, but it does feel strange. Imagine how you would feel if Germans were riding up and down Regent Street in their jeeps.’
‘With Italian generals running London’s opera. Yes, I know what you mean.’
She raised herself on an elbow to look him in the face. ‘This is the end of Germany, isn’t it?’
He was surprised. ‘Depends what you mean by Germany. The people won’t disappear. Or the towns or the farms. But the state will probably be divided.’
‘Divided!?’ She didn’t know why, but the thought had never occurred to her. Shrunken, yes, even broken into the old small pieces, but divided?
‘It’ll have to be. There’s no halfway house between free enterprise and the Soviet system — a society has to be one or the other. And since I can’t see either Washington or Moscow conceding the whole country to the other, there’ll have to be partition.’
‘And Berlin?’
‘That’s where it gets interesting. The Soviets will try and force the others out — the city is in the middle of their zone — and who knows how determined the Western allies will prove when the crunch comes.’
‘But they all seemed so chummy at Potsdam.’
‘If they really were, it won’t last.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Not the best place to raise a family, eh?’
She smiled back. ‘Oh I don’t know. It won’t be dull.’
Russell laughed. ‘It’s never dull where you are.’
‘What a nice thing to say. These last few months I’ve been afraid you were getting bored with me.’
‘Never.’
‘Well, that’s good. It has been twelve years, you know.’
‘We missed out on three of them, and this is the first time we’ve been alone in a proper bedroom for months.’
‘True.’ Snuggling closer, she felt his response. ‘We’ll have to be quiet,’ she murmured. ‘We wouldn’t want to wake Frau Niebel.’
David Downing
Lehrter Station
A world without cats or birds
R ussell was awake early, and took the opportunity to visit the Press Camp on Argentinischeallee. After picking up his new credentials and ration card, he registered his address and talked to the few journalists who had so far put in an appearance. All were very young, but most seemed to recognise his name, albeit with expressions which ranged from the awestruck to the downright suspicious. Reading between the lines, he gathered that his work was appreciated, but that his murky personal history — his tangled relationships with the Nazis and Soviets in particular — told against him.
Would American Intelligence try to re-burnish his reputation now that he was working for them? He would ask Dallin when he saw him.
Back at their room in Thomas’ house, he found Effi looking every inch the film actress. The dress she’d brought from England had been ironed, and she was wearing heels for the first time in months.
‘You look gorgeous,’ Russell told her. And she did. When they’d met again in April, she’d been so much thinner and paler than he remembered, but several months of British rations had restored her normal weight and colour. She’d let her hair grow past her shoulders again, but refused to disguise the streaks of grey. Now the sparkle was back in the dark brown eyes, the smile as dazzling as ever.
‘I don’t suppose they’ve sent a limousine for me?’ she asked.
‘Surprisingly not.’
‘Well, at least I’ve got you to carry my bag as far as the Ku’damm.’
‘Yes, ma’am. May I ask what’s in it?’
‘A change of clothes. I don’t think I should turn up at the Jewish Hospital in this outfit. Oh, and I met Esther Rosenfeld…’
‘Is she here?’
‘She’s gone already. But she’s hoping to see you this evening.’
‘Good.’
Effi took one last look in the mirror. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘And where will we meet? I know it sounds silly, but I’d rather not arrive at the Jewish Hospital on my own.’
‘It doesn’t sound silly at all,’ Russell said. In the spring she and Rosa had spent almost a week there under threat of summary execution. ‘I’m going out to Moabit — there’s a DP camp there on Thomas’ list. So let’s meet back at Zoo Station. In the buffet if it’s still there, outside if it isn’t. You choose the time.’
‘Two o’clock?’
‘Okay. But I’m coming with you as far as the Ku’damm. Maybe we can grab a quick coffee.’
‘Just like old times,’ Effi said, echoing Thomas from the previous day.
The roads between Dahlem and the West End were clear, but no trams seemed to be running. Another would-be passenger explained that several stretches of track had been torn up and taken by the Russians in June, and that buses were the only option until the Americans got around to re-laying them. One crowded double-decker eventually arrived, and thirty-five uncomfortable minutes later they found themselves in their old stamping ground at the eastern end of the Ku’damm. Several cafes were open for business, their clientele sitting in coats and mufflers at the outside tables, watching the steam from their coffees coalesce with their own exhalations. It was indeed like old times, but for the facing view, of ruins seen through ruins.
A succession of British jeeps raced by, tiny Union Jacks flapping on their bonnets, soldiers with cigarettes dangling carelessly from their lips at the wheel. When one cast a butt out onto the asphalt, half a dozen children miraculously emerged to contest its possession.
The two of them sipped at the dreadful coffee and ran through Thomas’ list of places to check. It seemed lengthy, but Effi thought a couple of weeks should suffice if they all took a hand. ‘And we might get lucky long before that,’ she added hopefully.
‘We might,’ Russell agreed. ‘Whatever lucky might be. I’m still not sure about this. Do we want to find Rosa’s father?’
Effi looked at him. ‘Yes and no,’ she admitted, ‘but we have to try. You could say that the news will be bad either way — if he’s dead then Rosa’s an orphan, and if he isn’t then we’ll probably lose her. But I’ve decided to look on the bright side — if he’s dead, we get to keep her, and if he isn’t, then she won’t be an orphan.’
Russell smiled. It didn’t seem worth pointing out the flaw in her logic — Rosa might win either way, but only one outcome would give Effi what she wanted. And there was always the chance of worse — if it turned out that Otto had deserted his family to save his own skin, they would still have to give the bastard his daughter back. Sometimes, Russell thought, it paid to leave stones unturned.
Not that he or Effi had ever knowingly done such a thing.
Effi walked the short distance to 45 Schluterstrasse. It was not her first visit — in pre-war days, when the elegant six-storey building had hosted Goebbels’ Reichskulturkammer, she had attended several publicity parties there. The little runt had drooled all over her on one occasion, and one of his lackeys had telephoned her several times a day for almost a week. The calls had only stopped when Russell answered one, and had them both in stitches with his outraged father act.
Better not to mention such things, she thought, as she pushed her way in through the heavy double doors. In the space where the reception desk had been, an old man in a porter’s uniform was sitting on a upright chair.
‘Certification?’ he suggested, as he got to his feet. ‘You’ll…’
‘I’ve come to see Lothar Kuhnert,’ she interrupted him. ‘If he’s here today. He’s expecting me at some point, but if…’
‘He’s here. Third floor, room 17.’ He led her to the apparently functional lift, and pulled back the gate.
The lift lurched into motion, but only rose to the first floor, where a young man with floppy blond hair and round-rimmed glasses joined her. She noticed the jolt of recognition in his eyes, and the barely-veiled hostility which
