All My Sins Remembered (56 page)

She listened to Rafael talking to Grace. She wanted to turn her head to look at him, but she did not. She looked at Grete instead, and at Julius lounging over another cup of Josef’s coffee.

Grace did look as well as listen. She had put her gold lighter away, and her hands were clasped on the table in front of her. She had seen Rafael Wolf glance at the rings she wore, and then the corners of his mouth had tucked in. There was a judgemental quality about him that she did not like very much.

Heinrich’s story had shocked her. She had no doubt that the substance of it was true, and everything else she had heard probably also had at least a basis of truth in it. The brutality disgusted her, even if it was exaggerated in the telling. But as she had rationalized to Julius, was it not also true that small pockets of shameful behaviour at the end of the chain of command were an inevitable part of otherwise admirable movements?

Grace knew well enough that even in London there was viciousness between her friend Tom Mosley’s Blackshirts and the young Bolshevik boys who followed the tail of the marches, and between the hecklers at his meetings and his official marshals. When strong opinions and strong emotions were unleashed it was not always easy to control the people; Tom had told her that much, with deep concern. It must be the same here in Berlin; that much she could establish for herself by watching and listening.

In her heart, for all her provocative defence of them, Grace was neither in favour of nor opposed to the Nazis. She was intrigued by what was happening in Berlin, and all the rest of Germany, and she was impressed by the power that Hitler had accumulated. The Café Josef, and Julius’s friends and their testimonies, would be weighed against the rest of her observations in good time.

‘Is this only happening to the Jews and political dissidents here in Berlin?’ Grace asked Rafael.

‘Not just here, no. In Munich, under the eyes of the Führer, and everywhere else too. Jewish families are emigrating from all over Germany, especially from the Rhineland and Saxony. Some of them have come to Berlin because they believe that they are safer and less conspicuous as strangers in a big city than in the villages where they have lived all their lives.’

‘They have that option, then,’ Grace said quietly.

Rafael was calm, seemingly imperturbable. ‘Yes, no one has yet tried to deny them the right to leave. But they are also Germans, you see. They consider themselves to be Germans of the Jewish faith. Why should they leave their homes and their livelihoods for Hitler and his bully-boys like Streicher?’

Grace did not try to frame the answer that came immediately to her, Because Hitler is creating a new Germany, for the German people, and there is no room in it for profiteering, for capitalist corruption, for the perversion of the national resources by a small minority.

The small minority of bad Jews, of course. She made the old distinction still.

With Rafael Wolf’s eyes resting meditatively on her she only said, ‘I don’t know why.’

‘Perhaps you will have found out some more before you go back to London and the House of Commons?’

Julius came to her defence. ‘Rafael? Grace has only been in Berlin for a few hours. She has made the effort to come here, at least, instead of giving vent to ignorant and noisy speeches to the House like a dozen other MPs.’

Rafael’s expression changed at once. ‘Yes, of course. Forgive me, Grace. These are not comfortable times for any of us, but there is no excuse for bad manners.’

‘I forgive you,’ Grace suddenly smiled back at him. It seemed to Clio that Rafael Wolf’s charm worked instantly on Grace to make her as coquettish as a débutante in a ballroom. She kept her own eyes turned downwards, but still she saw his long hands and wrists protruding from the shaggy cuffs of his farmer’s coat.

The conspirators’ group around the table was breaking up. Heinrich nodded abruptly to Clio and Grace and went back to his own table. Grete took her woollen mittens from her pocket and thrust her hands into them.

‘I must go and search for a Jewish laundry.’

She was smiling, as if at some outlandish joke. Rafael stood up to accompany her. He said goodbye gravely to Julius and the two women.

‘I’m sure we shall meet again,’ he bowed. Clio watched the two of them until the door closed behind them with a mournful
ting
of the bell.

‘Back to the Adlon,’ Grace announced. ‘I feel that Herr Wolf has given me a responsibility to discharge.’

‘I’ll walk with you,’ Julius said.

Josef came out from behind his bar to say goodbye. ‘We are all friends, here,’ he reminded them. ‘And I have no need of any more customers. Please don’t trouble to recommend me to anyone, will you?’

It was an assurance of hospitality and a warning together. The contradiction seemed to be the very essence of Berlin.

They left the cinnamon-scented steamy warmth of the café and began the walk back to Pariser Platz. Brown rain had started to fall in dismal spurts. The wind drove icy darts of it into their faces. Grace walked quickly, looking straight ahead of her, with her hands folded into the sleeves of her fur. Clio matched her steps to Julius’s.

‘Are they good friends of yours, Rafael and Grete?’

‘Yes, I think they are.’

‘What do they do in Berlin?’

‘Grete gives music lessons. Piano. I met her because we teach the children of the same family, sons of an industrialist who live in a hideous house out at Grünewald. Rafael is, or was, a lawyer rather like Herr Keller.’

Clio could suddenly hear her own footsteps clipping on the cobbles. The note of fear seemed as aloud and clear within her. It was strange to feel such terror for the safety of someone she had only just met.

‘I think he is also involved in some political propaganda work. We don’t ask each other questions of that sort.’

She said quickly, for the sake of saying something, ‘I didn’t know you gave lessons?’

‘We do what we have to, nowadays. I don’t mind it. Some pupils are interesting, and talented. They are not all like the Bayer boys out at Grünewald.’ Julius laughed. He seemed happy in this cold, monumental, dislocated city. Clio wondered if it was because Grace was here at last.

‘They make a wonderfully striking couple,’ Clio said in a low voice, as if it was a valediction.

Julius stopped walking, turned to stare at her and then took her arm. He swung it with his and began to laugh again, tipping his head back with pure pleasure. The sound of it made Clio think that Nathaniel was here with them.

Grace glanced back with a touch of irritation, then resumed her brisk march.

‘Oh, Clio, my Clio. I never believed in love at first sight until this morning.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Clio said stiffly.

‘Yes, you do. Take off that stricken face. Rafael and Grete aren’t a couple, you idiot, any more than you and I are.’

Even in the hopeful confusion that began to hammer inside her she made the silent response,
Any more than you and Grace are
.

‘They are brother and sister, children of a farm-machinery dealer in Thuringia. So be happy, darling. I saw you look at Rafael and I saw him look at you. If
that
wasn’t love at first sight I can’t whistle “The Blue Danube”.’

He was still swinging her arm and now he skipped and began to run, pulling her with him, so that they galloped after Grace.

‘Wait,’ Clio gasped.

‘What for? Berlin isn’t all Nazis and violence and falling in behind the Führer, you know. There’s another side to it. I’ll show you, we’ll see it together.’

They came up behind Grace, panting a little, and now they were in Unter den Linden and the arches of the great gate loomed ahead of them, with the Adlon Hotel to one side.

‘Come out with me this evening,’ Julius ordered both of them. ‘Surprise party. I’ll come for you at eight.’

‘Won’t you let me stand you dinner here first?’ Grace asked, pointing to the canopy and the flunkeys.

‘Not a chance.’ Julius grinned at them both. He looked like a boy planning a birthday surprise. ‘Just be ready, that’s all.’

He left them at the margin of the canopy, turned back once to wave, and disappeared back the way they had come.

There were two messages waiting at the desk for Grace. She opened the first envelope and Clio glimpsed the paper headed with an ornate eagle crest. She also saw that even Grace could flush with surprised pleasure. The letter was quickly folded again.

‘A welcome to Berlin from the Führer’s own office in the Chancellory,’ she said, with an attempt at offhandedness. ‘Isn’t that rather marvellous, just to a humble English MP when there must be so many millions of other things to think of? Unfortunately Hitler himself is in Munich now, but I am going to meet Herr Goebbels and some of his staff.’

‘I
say
.’ But Clio’s irony went unregarded. ‘And the other?’

‘Oh, an invitation for us both. Just to drinks at our Embassy.’

‘Just? These are elevated circles for me, remember.’

Grace was not listening. ‘Darling, I’ve got to go out now. I’ll see you later, shall I?’

There was no more talk of Clio acting as her interpreter. Bright-eyed with anticipation, Grace whirled away to do her own business.

Clio ate lunch alone at a table in the corner of the hotel dining room, and watched the flood tide of Berlin’s
haut monde
swirling past her. There were women in the latest Paris fashions, powerful-looking men in business clothes, high-ranking
Wehrmacht
officers, a prosperous-looking and cosmopolitan parade. The faces here were different from those of the street people. They were rosy with optimism. It was less than a month since Hitler had seized power, but there was solid satisfaction in the air. Clio had the impression that she could almost taste it, and it gave an unwelcome flavour to her dish of calves’ liver in the Berlin style.

In the afternoon, she walked under the bare trees in the Tiergarten.

The rain had stopped and the sky had cleared. It was colder still, and silent filaments of frost crept over the dead ground.

She tried not to think back to London and the dismantling of her life there, and an odd, superstitious streak in her made her reluctant to think of the coming evening. She had no idea what Julius was planning, but she felt that she was on the edge of some new territory where the ground might be steep or icy, or might vanish altogether from beneath her feet.

She held herself carefully, not wanting to slip, but not wanting either to damage the fragile eggshell of hope that Julius had given her. Her thoughts skidded away from Rafael Wolf himself. To consider him directly would be to put too much weight on the first steps of this adventure into Berlin.

‘Surprise!’ a voice called behind them.

Julius and Clio and Grace were sitting at a restaurant table protected from the door and part of the room by a thick curtain of worn crimson plush. They could see the band on a small platform opposite, and some of the other tables that were already crowded with drinkers and diners. A new kind of Berliner seemed to have emerged with the fall of darkness. These people were determined to enjoy this evening to the full, whatever might happen tomorrow.

‘Surprise!’

There was a second, louder shout as the three of them looked round.

Pilgrim and Isolde were fighting their way across the floor towards the table.

Grace’s mouth set in a thin, angry red line. She looked furious. Her head twisted towards Julius, but it was clear from his expression that he had not been expecting this apparition either.

‘Don’t look
too
thrilled, dear ones, will you?’ Pilgrim demanded. ‘After we have come all the way through this vile night to welcome you?’

Clio had already drunk two glasses of wine. She discovered that she was delighted to see familiar faces in this place. She stood up and flung her arms around Pilgrim.

‘I am glad. I’m just so amazed. Why are you here?’

Pilgrim was wearing a long black cloak that might well have been the same one he had always worn. Isolde was thinner in the face, her eyes were ringed with black paint and the roots of her silvery hair were dark, but she was no less beautiful. Clio had been aware that the two of them were perhaps here, or somewhere not far away, but she had had no idea that they would show up so soon.

Pilgrim twirled a chair out for himself, leaving Isolde to squeeze past him and settle herself next to Grace.

‘Why am I here? Because I telephoned Julius’s landlady, of course. Frau Buss? Bat? Bum?’

‘Baum,’ Julius said with dry resignation.

‘Exactly. And she told me where to find you.
Voilà
. Darling Grace. So chic you look. What are we drinking?
Sekt?
Waiter, more
Sekt
. We have some celebrating to do.’

Evidently Pilgrim had had a small celebration already. Grace unbent just enough to let him kiss her cheek. She found herself unwillingly smiling. There was a force in Pilgrim that was not quite resistible. And there was no real threat in him.

No threat, now that Anthony was gone. Cressida was in London, a long way away.

A shadow fell across Grace like a bird swooping across the sun, but she was used to the shadows and a second later it was gone.

‘If you say so, Pilgrim,’ she murmured. ‘Hello, Isolde. You are looking very artistic.’

‘Bugger art, and all the rest of that shit as well,’ Isolde shouted, altogether missing the delicacy of Grace’s snub. ‘I’m bored to death with it. Give me a huge drink and a plateful of dinner instead and I’ll be as happy as a nigger with a saxophone.’

Pilgrim raised his eyebrows. ‘Isn’t she a peach? You don’t mind us gatecrashing your party, Julius? Couldn’t resist, you know, once I’d chatted to Frau Bum. Lovely Janus, tell me all the hottest gossip from London.’

Clio put her glass firmly down on the table. ‘I left Miles, you know. Does that count as gossip?’

‘Did you? Can’t see how you put up with him so long, myself. What else?’

That was all. Clio could have hugged him again.

The talk began to drift around the table. It was lazy at first and then it gathered momentum. They were happy to see each other, after all. The restaurant grew noisier and more crowded, and the sweating waiters ran to and fro with plates heaped with food. The musicians sawed at their instruments and people began to jump up to dance.