Black Roses (22 page)

The previous night she had told Rupert Allingham she was coming to visit the labour camp and he had laughed.

‘Baldur von Schirach told me all about those camps for Hitler maidens. From what I’ve heard, most of them aren’t maidens by the time they return.’

The pass-the-parcel continued around the circle of girls until the baby came to a stop next to Mary, where it was seized by a tough-looking girl with a peasant’s face and muscles like tennis balls on her upper arms.

Mary recalled what she’d read. “A minimum of intellect and a maximum of physical aptitude are required to make woman what she is intended to be: the womb of the Third Reich.”

‘Your turn.’ The peasant girl passed the kicking infant to Mary.

‘I think I’ll pass.’

Gretl came up beside her and took the baby, gently placing it in Mary’s arms. By now the infant had exhausted itself. It stopped resisting and stared up passively, its little face wet with tears, exuding a mingled smell of urine and soap. A tiny belch of milk leaked out of the side of its mouth. As she looked into its navy gaze and felt the damp weight of it, nudging and stretching in her arms, Mary had the most unexpected feeling. A deep, almost physical tug somewhere inside her, a hot, protective urge, which was different from anything she had felt for the legion of dogs and horses she had owned throughout her life. She had loved all her animals fiercely, especially her dog Walt, and her favourite horse, a gorgeous Appalachian called Dora, who jumped like a dream. But this was different. This was visceral and frightening.

She guessed that must be how it felt to want children. Luckily, almost as soon as the feeling had come, it passed.

‘Don’t you adore babies?’ asked Gretl.

‘I think they’re an acquired taste,’ Mary said, passing it on.

‘But surely you want to be married yourself, Fräulein?’

‘I’m not sure I do.’

‘I suppose you would have to give up your job then,’ said Gretl, thoughtfully.

Mary declined the invitation to stay for an evening of folk singing. She had another date that night with Rupert. No doubt it would involve visiting his favourite bar, drinking too much and talking about the way things were going. But at least a girl didn’t need a certificate for that.

If you wanted to find the busiest place in Berlin, you would probably choose Potsdamer Platz. With its five-way streetlight and spaghetti of tram lines, the intersection was a torrent of cars and people. Leo was weaving, quite fast, through the crowds past the Josty Café and along the western side. Clara was trying to keep up with him without obvious exertion but with his long stride he far outpaced her, forcing her to patter inelegantly at his side as she ducked through the shoppers, and making her very slightly breathless.

He kept up a rapid, clipped commentary as he walked.

‘First thing is, you will need to know if you’re being watched.’

‘I thought I was being asked to watch them.’

She dodged as they crossed the road and a number 15 tram seemed certain to run them down.

‘Befriend them, is your task. That’s all.’

‘Surely they wouldn’t watch me.’

‘They have no particular reason to suspect anything about you, but even so, the Gestapo will be wary of an unknown British female. They will be curious about you. But they won’t necessarily be heavy-handed. Bear in mind that anyone who is following you will look unremarkable, absolutely mundane. The type of chap or girl you wouldn’t give a second glance. Anyone who sticks out, who does anything unusual, is absolutely bound to be innocent. If you notice a chap hanging round a shop, looking in the windows, coming back time and again to look in the windows, he’s not following you, he’s wondering if he should buy that suit. Don’t spend your time looking over your shoulder because he’s as likely to be ahead of you than behind you. He might be the other side of the street. He or she might change their appearance to suit, they might sport a very bright jacket, or scarf, which they can easily remove. Look at the shoes. They’re the giveaway. It’s very hard to change shoes in a hurry.’

Whatever else she thought Clara was certain she would never be able to tell anything from looking at people’s shoes.

‘So what do I do if I am followed?’

‘If you think you are being followed, it helps to engage someone in conversation. That way, they will have to follow the person you spoke to as well, which reduces their effectiveness. And if they’re still following you, lead them a dance. Give them some exercise. And meanwhile work out how you can lose them. It might be more than one, of course.’

‘But wouldn’t that make them more noticeable?’

‘One behind and one in front. Then they swap positions. It’s called a box. It could be a man and a woman. Expect the unexpected. It could be a woman with a pram. If you find there’s someone on your tail, you’ll need to find a way of disguising yourself. That’s what this game is about. Concealment.’

‘I don’t know if I’m really suited to this game, as you call it.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you are. Concealment comes easily to the English upper classes. I bet you were taught never to speak in front of servants.’

‘Well, yes, but . . .’

‘Besides, you’re an actress. It’s what you do.’

‘But . . .’ How could she explain that this wasn’t anything like the acting she knew, where you were on a stage, and repeating lines in front of a delighted audience, who would clap at the end and, if you were lucky, write a complimentary review of your performance in a newspaper.

‘It’s not just about acting,’ Leo continued, slowing a little, ‘it’s about observation too. You can tell an awful lot about people from the slightest glance. For example, that woman over there.’ He pointed to a woman of about thirty, in a headscarf, walking calmly along the pavement. ‘You can tell she’s not a mother.’

‘How can you tell that?’

‘Because when that little boy fell over, just beside her, she didn’t stop. She didn’t even turn to look.’

‘He has his nurse with him.’

‘That’s not the point. A mother would stop. Mothers always think they know best.’

Clara was beginning to suspect that Leo Quinn, too, always thought he knew best.

‘You seem to know a lot about mothers,’ she said testily. ‘All mothers aren’t the same.’

He shot a look at her. ‘The main thing, Clara, is that if you want to help us, you’ll need to be on your guard. Observe everything. Get into the habit of noting everything around you, even if it seems inconsequential. And sounds, too. They can be important. You need to look in a new way. To notice the kind of details that would pass everyone else by.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Absorb everything about a person. Be acquainted with their actions and their habits, and think what they say about them. Haven’t you ever done that?’

Clara couldn’t help thinking of her childhood game for long train journeys: observing her fellow passengers unawares and making up stories for them.

‘I suppose I have.’

‘Good. Follow me.’

A tram had drawn to a halt beside them and Leo jumped into the rear carriage as if on a last-minute impulse, so swiftly that she had to scramble to follow suit. The tram was packed and she guessed, from the way he stood hanging onto the rail and gazing into the distance, that he didn’t want to continue their conversation just there. It was fascinating, she thought, watching him in the window’s reflection, swaying with the tram’s motion, how easily he managed to fold in on himself, to appear practically anonymous, despite his height. He might have been just another clock-watching commuter in a mackintosh dreaming of five o’clock after another dreary day in the office.

When the road passed under an elevation where a train thundered above them, making the metal pillars shake, he gave an almost imperceptible nod, which she took as a signal to dismount. They had arrived at the Zoologischer Garten.

The zoo was thronged with people enjoying the sunshine. A blanket of begonias bloomed tidily in rectangular beds. A couple of fat old men, with no sense of absurdity, were pulled along by minuscule dachshunds in tartan coats. Leo and Clara walked along the winding paths between the animal enclosures, beneath palm trees and over a little wrought-iron bridge. Leo bought a zoo guide in Italian, which he consulted gravely as if he was really trying to choose between the tigers and the reptiles.

They passed the Ostrich House, done out in ancient Egyptian style, complete with pillars, and an Antelope House with stone centaurs standing guard, along a quiet path that led to the great cats. In one cage a panther padded restlessly, the muscles rippling beneath its sleek pelt, an agonised intelligence in the depths of its liquid black eyes. It paced and paced, measuring out its confinement the way a blind man gets to know the precise dimensions of his home without touching them.

‘Rilke wrote a poem about a panther, didn’t he?’ said Clara. ‘Do you know it?’

Leo leant on the rail beside her.

Perhaps, he thought, there was some strange satisfaction to be derived from confining savage animals here, given that the savagery outside this place was the kind that couldn’t be confined. He turned his back on the panther and said, ‘Tell me about Magda.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘What would you tell a friend?’

‘A girlfriend?’

‘Sure.’

‘Well, I suppose a girlfriend would want to know what she thinks about Hitler. I’d say she’s very devoted to him.’

‘In a romantic way? Or like a mother.’

‘Both.’

‘How does she show it?’

‘She cooks him special meals, or has her cook do it, and she sends them over to the Kaiserhof in travel Thermoses.’

‘What sort of food?’

‘Sweetcorn, he loves, and some kind of caramel pudding. And baked potatoes with curd cheese and unrefined linseed oil. He’s a vegetarian. Though I can’t see how this is any use to you. Unless you’re planning to poison him.’

‘Details. What does Goebbels think of the Fashion Bureau?’

‘He’s not too keen on it, apparently. Though he does think Hollywood vamps with all their glamorous clothes are having a bad effect on German women.’

‘That’s rich, coming from him. Given that he’s all too well known for his love of film stars.’

‘And considering how fashion-conscious he is himself. Would you believe he has more than a hundred suits?’

Leo gave a silent whistle.

‘All the wives are terrifically well dressed too. Frau von Ribbentrop has gloves sent over from Italy, and Magda has her shoes handmade in Florence.’

‘Do the wives like each other?’

‘Not a bit. Magda told me in the car yesterday that Joseph hates her having anything to do with Emmy Sonneman. He considers her a silly woman and disapproves of her affair with Goering.’

‘There’s no love lost there. Goering dislikes Goebbels. He thinks he’s of a lower rank, not really aristocratic enough to associate with. Whereas Goebbels feels superior because he’s a Prussian, from the north, and a purer kind of German than the Bavarians. How about Frau von Ribbentrop?’

‘She’s rather forbidding. Magda says she’s the power behind the throne. Her family, the Henkells, are hugely rich. Magda says von Ribbentrop bought his name and married his money. But the Henkells are quite liberal too, and she likes to shock them apparently.’

‘So flirting with National Socialism is the best way she can think of.’

‘It is pretty shocking, isn’t it?’

They came to the children’s corner. Piglets, llamas, goats and even a bear cub were frolicking around, being grappled by tiny children.

‘What is it about these women, Leo? What do they see in Hitler?’

Leo shrugged. ‘You see it everywhere. Women hurl themselves at him when his motorcade passes. The SA has banned them from throwing flowers because he was getting hit too often by flying roses. It would be funny, if it wasn’t true. He has an uncanny knack of making women cry in his presence.’ He paused. ‘I dare say he’s made a lot of women cry
out
of his presence too.’

‘I suppose it’s because he’s powerful.’

‘It was like that before he came to power. Back in the twenties there was a Bavarian newspaper, the
Munich Post
, which ran a piece about various women who were infatuated with Hitler and pawned their jewellery to help his cause. They did everything – sent in their pearls and their diamond rings and their watches. And Hitler took the money, of course, for the Party. But he had the newspaper’s editorial offices demolished.’

‘When I saw him he seemed much smaller than I had expected. His face was kind of pouchy and boneless. Almost inconsequential.’

‘That’s what everyone says. Until they realize how consequential he is.’

They had come to the Aquarium. Inside, the echoey damp of the floors and the eerie blue light lent it a feeling of hushed privacy. Standing side by side and watching the fish drift in their secret oblivion, both of them relaxed a little. There was a tank of deep-sea creatures, pale and hideous, with eyes that seemed strangely misplaced and wide gasping mouths. According to the information label, they needed a specially pressurised tank because they could only live at high pressure. Watching the faces loom up and veer away into the murky depths, Clara was transfixed by their languid slithering. To think that such perversions and ugliness should be produced simply by the pressure bearing down on them.

She turned away, feeling a little sick.

‘The thing is, Leo, I keep worrying why they should trust me.’

‘Because they trust your father, of course. Also, Goebbels is reckless when it comes to women. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was behind your recruitment.’

Startled by the accuracy of his assessment, she said nothing.

Then, more gently he said, ‘Tell me about your acting. When did you first want to act?’

She hadn’t been expecting such a personal question. But even as he asked her, she remembered something else. That childhood day when the German man had come to visit the house. She had told him she wanted to be an actress, and everyone had laughed, and then the whole party turned and went back to the house, where a loaded tea tray was being brought onto the terrace. There was the distant clink of cups as Mrs McKee divided the Victoria sponge and handed round isosceles triangles of cucumber sandwiches.