A shadow passed over the other woman's face. 'A corpse marriage,' she said. 'I shouldn't call it that – I hate it when other people use that phrase. But it's more than three years ago. Maybe you'd disappeared by then, but there was a Fuhrer decree allowing women who'd just lost their fiancees to marry them post-mortem. There was a pension included, and that's why I went for it, but I did love Gerd, and I'm sure he'd have seen the funny side of it – marrying me when he was already dead.' She smiled to herself. 'After the war I'll find a real husband. Or try to. I suppose there'll be a shortage of men, and I'm not exactly young any more. What about you? What happened to John?'
'Who's John?' Rosa asked.
'He was my boyfriend. He went away to Sweden, and I hope he'll be back when all this is over.'
'Why shouldn't he be?' Annaliese asked.
'Three and a half years is a long time.'
Annaliese made a face. 'He was crazy about you. I only met him once, but that much was obvious.'
'He was then. But if you're not young any more, what does that make me?' Effi lowered a voice to a whisper. 'Do you know you're the first person who's recognised me in three years?'
'You look different, but your eyes are the same. And you don't look old. I think we'll both look pretty good once we've had some decent food and slept through the night a few times. How about your career? Are you going back to it?'
Effi shrugged. 'Who knows? There aren't many parts for women in their forties.'
Rosa had been paying attention. 'Were you an actress?' she asked in a whisper.
'I was,' Effi admitted. 'Quite a good one.'
After his trip out to Wedding, Russell had felt physically and emotionally exhausted. Lying down for a few hours had given his body some rest, but his brain was too busy contemplating Effi's possible fate for sleep to take over. He had to do something, had to keep on the move. He decided he would go back to Schmargendorf and confront Jens. That evening, after dark.
Once the last hint of light had disappeared from the cracks in the booking hall ceiling, he made his way down to the tunnel. A different comrade was on guard, and saw no problem in Russell seeing his boss. He found Leissner in his office, head bent over a ledger. When the men from Moscow arrived they would all be up-to- date.
The Reichsbahn man greeted Russell with a glimmer of a smile, and raised no objections to another foray. He had realised – or been told – that Varennikov was the one who mattered. Or – perish the thought – Moscow had let it slip that Russell himself was far from indispensable.
Maybe he was being paranoid. Leissner was friendly enough, and seemed more than happy to give him a run-down of the current military situation. The Red Army had breached the Teltowkanal defence line in the south-western suburbs that morning, and were expected in Zehlendorf and Dahlem sometime tomorrow. Schmargendorf should still be safe, but only for forty-eight hours.
The U-Bahn, Leissner added, was no longer working – the tunnels were being booby-trapped to prevent the Soviets from using them. And the SS had spent the afternoon setting up lots of checkpoints, particularly in the western half of the city. Russell was unlikely to face summary execution in his Reichsbahn uniform, but now that the trains had stopped running he might be pressed into military service. It would, Leissner suggested, be advisable not to argue.
Russell thanked him, and made his way up and over the elevated tracks to the goods yard entrance. Night had now fallen, and Berlin was bathed in the grim orange glow of cloud-reflected fires. It felt like rain, which might at least put some of them out.
He walked west, keeping clear of the main thoroughfares and inching his head around corners to check what lay ahead. Twice he avoided checkpoints in this manner, carefully working his way around them. And on three other occasions he came upon those who'd not been so careful, who were now swinging from makeshift gibbets with the signatures of psychopaths pinned to their chests.
Incoming shells exploded at irregular intervals as the evening wore on, some as close as a neighbouring street, but there was no point in worrying about them. If staying alive was his goal he should have stayed in London.
By the time he reached the Biesinger house in Schmargendorf it was gone ten, and he felt like falling over. It occurred to him that he'd hardly eaten all day, which hadn't been very sensible. If he ever did find Effi, she'd be looking after him.
There were no lights visible through the uncurtained windows, but Jens had his own basement shelter, as befitted a high-ranking Party official. If he was home, he'd be ensconced down there, probably drowning the Reich's many sorrows. Russell hoped he'd be conscious enough to hear the door-knock.
He gave it a mighty series of bangs, which the Russians probably heard in Teltow, and was about to repeat the effort when he heard footsteps. As the door began to open he pushed his way through, forcing a gasp from the person inside. A woman's gasp. It was Zarah.
'What do you… who…'
'It's John,' he told her, shutting the door behind him.
'John?' she exclaimed in astonishment. What are you…'
'It's a long story.'
'I can't believe it. Come downstairs, where we can see each other.'
He followed her down to the cellar. There were camp beds against three of the walls, tables, chairs and armchairs crammed into the centre of the room.
She turned to look at him, and saw the uniform. 'What…?'
'Don't ask. I take it Jens isn't here?'
It wasn't really a question, but she answered with an almost defiant 'no'. She looked different, much thinner than the last time he'd seen her, and her copper hair was cut much shorter. She should have looked less attractive, but there was something in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
'Will he be back tonight?'
'I don't think so. What are you doing here?'
'Looking for Effi. I…'
'I don't know where she is,' Zarah said despairingly, as if she should know.
'You've seen her,' Russell said, hope rising inside him.
'Not for almost a month.'
'But you've seen her. She's alive.' He felt joy sweep through his head and heart.
'I hope so. She must have been arrested.'
That was an eventuality that Russell hadn't even considered. 'What for?' he asked stupidly.
Zarah smiled ruefully. 'I don't know that either. She has never told me anything about the life she's been living. I know she must be involved in some sort of resistance movement. With the communists, perhaps. I really don't know.'
'But what makes you think she's been arrested?'
'She didn't turn up at our usual time. And she hasn't been in contact since.'
'Yes, but what makes you think she's been arrested?' Russell repeated. 'She might have been hurt in an air raid. Or even killed,' he added, almost against his own will.
'No, I would know,' Zarah insisted. 'John, I know you always thought we were like chalk and cheese – and we are – but there's a bond… I can't explain it, but it's there. Sometimes I've wished it wasn't, and I know Effi has too, but it is. I would know if she'd been killed.'
Russell believed her, or wanted to. 'Okay. So you met regularly. Since when?'
'It was the end of April, I think. In 1943. She waylaid me in the cinema, sat down beside me at a matinee on Hardenberg Strasse. I nearly had a heart attack. She sounded just the same, but when the lights came on I found that I'd been talking to an old woman. I don't think I would recognised her if we'd met in the street. Anyway, we went for a walk in the Tiergarten, and she told me everything that had happened, and that you had escaped to Sweden.'
'How did she find that out?'
'I don't know, but she did. She asked me to pass it on to your exwife, so that she could tell your son. Which
