Chapter 6
The lunchtime news that Britain had declared war on Germany didn’t fill Clara with shock, it had been expected but she felt heartbroken as she listened to the official announcement.
The two countries she held dear to her heart were at war.
Her and Friedrich declared enemies through their nationality could not be further from the truth.
Clara rested her head against the window of their apartment, her hands clutched together at her chest. It was a physical pain. Even though they’d both known it was only time before war was declared, the actual reality of it was far more painful than she had imagined.
Friedrich came to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She reached her hand up to cover his. ‘I never imagined it would hurt so much,’ she said, trying to understand her own feelings as much as explain them to her husband. ‘I feel like I’m grieving.’
‘I wish I could take away your pain,’ said Friedrich.
‘Don’t you feel it too?’
‘Yes. I do.’ They stood there for a minute of two, silently observing the road below them. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ said Friedrich.
‘A walk?’ Clara turned to look at her husband.
He nodded. ‘Yes. Before I have to go into work this afternoon. We need some fresh air. It is better than sitting indoors. We can go to the Café Lindenhof and have coffee.’
Clara wasn’t really in the mood for a walk, but she agreed all the same.
Maybe for a few hours they could pretend it was a normal Sunday where they could enjoy the simple things in life like they often did.
The walk to the café was a pleasant thirty-minute stroll through some of Berlin’s more upscale neighbourhoods, passing elegant buildings and shops.
Perhaps for just a couple of hours they could suspend reality.
They walked in a comfortable silence along the banks of the river, Clara’s hand tucked into the crook of Friedrich’s arm.
They passed several other couples and families who must have had the same idea.
Clara wondered if they too were as heartbroken about the prospect of war as she was or were they proud and enthusiastic that their country was defending itself?
Did they all believe the propaganda that was being peddled?
A military patrol marched towards them, their boots clicking in unison against the cobblestones.
Friedrich’s arm tensed beneath her fingers and his free hand came to cover hers in a gesture of protection.
Clara looked down, not wanting to make eye contact with the soldiers.
The patrol didn’t falter and carried on past them.
‘I suppose we’re going to see more and more patrols like that,’ she said.
‘Everything is going to be tighter now,’ said Friedrich. ‘Moving around the city won’t get any easier.’
Clara knew he was warning her to be careful without actually expressing his fears out loud. She leaned her head towards his shoulder. ‘Trust me,’ she said softly.
He squeezed her hand but didn’t say anything again until they were at the café.
It was a large café situated on the corner, and Clara always thought it was very elegant with the small marble-topped tables and bentwood chairs arranged precisely on polished wooden floors.
Large windows from its dual aspect let in natural light, while ornate brass light fixtures with frosted glass shades illuminated the space in the evening.
They found a table near the back of the café and Friedrich ordered their drinks – a black coffee for him and a milky coffee for Clara.
‘Ah, real coffee,’ said Clara as she sipped her drink. She had long since given up drinking tea in Berlin, it just wasn’t the same as in England.
‘Yes. Not sure for how much longer,’ said Friedrich. ‘It came at a price, but worth it today.’
‘This all feels so surreal,’ said Clara, looking around at the busy café. ‘I’m not sure what I expected but certainly not discussing the cost of coffee.’
‘We don’t know what the future holds,’ said Friedrich. ‘We have to make the most of the time we have together.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She reached across the table and held his hand.
‘Not today, anyway.’ She couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from Friedrich, but it was a real possibility.
They hadn’t spoken about it properly, it wasn’t necessary.
They didn’t need to inflict such thoughts on themselves unless it was actually happening.
Friedrich could be posted away from Berlin and Clara, well, she could be whisked away at a moment’s notice.
Friedrich squeezed her hand in return.
As they sat there listening to the conversations around them, Clara became aware that everyone was talking about Great Britain declaring war on Germany.
It was hardly surprising that it was the main topic of conversation.
She suspected her parents and sisters were doing much the same, except they would probably be in the sitting room with a pot of tea.
The couple on the table next to her and Friedrich had recently been joined by another man and woman and their discussion was becoming quite animated.
‘The British think they can tell us what to do again,’ one of the men was saying. ‘Ever since Versailles, they’ve been trying to bankrupt us.’
‘They’ve crippled the economy,’ agreed the other man.
‘Well, they have sorely underestimated us. The Führer won’t let it happen.’
‘He gave them a chance for peace,’ said the first man. ‘Churchill should have taken it, but he’s a warmonger and can’t stand to see Germany strong again.’
‘I can’t stand the British,’ said one of the women. ‘They’ve always looked down their noses at us. They deserve everything that is coming to them.’
‘And if any of them are stupid enough to still be in this country, they should be rounded up and locked up,’ proclaimed the other woman.
Never before had Clara felt as unwelcome as she did in that moment. She sank back in her chair. Her coffee suddenly tasted bitter in her mouth and her hand trembled as she returned the cup to the saucer.
‘Clara?’
She realised Friedrich had asked her a question, but she had no idea what. She went to apologise, to ask him what he’d said but stopped. She didn’t want to speak out loud. She might be fluent in German, but she was well aware she’d never mastered the accent fully.
‘Clara?’ said Friedrich again. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
She shook her head. All she wanted to do was to get out of the café and go home to the safety of their apartment. Friedrich studied her, concern in his eyes. Then he was getting to his feet and pulling the chair back for her as she too rose. ‘We shall go home straightaway,’ he said.
Clara gripped Friedrich’s arm tightly as they made their way back to their apartment. She kept her head down, not wanting to look at anyone or anything.
Half an hour later they were inside the apartment. Clara still hadn’t spoken.
Friedrich took her coat from her and hung it up, then followed her into the kitchen where she was filling the kettle in sharp, jerky movements.
Though aware of his presence, she kept her back to him.
She began rummaging through the cupboard, pulling out packets of food with increasing desperation, items clattering against each other as her search grew more frantic.
There it was.
She stretched on tiptoes to reach the tea caddy tucked at the back. Not truly British tea, but black tea was as close as she could get now. Next she strode into the dining room, Friedrich stepping out of her way, saying nothing, just observing.
From the cabinet, she withdrew the Royal Doulton art deco teapot – a wedding gift from her grandmother – and two matching cups and saucers.
The delicate gold pattern around the rim of the cups catching the light as she marched back into the kitchen.
The kettle began to whistle. The teacups rattled against the saucers as she set them down on the table rather too forcefully, followed by the milk jug.
She ignored the splash of milk pooling on the worktop.
‘Tea?’ she asked, finally meeting Friedrich’s gaze, her voice brittle. ‘It’s fine, it’s not British tea. It’s good old German tea.’
She knew she was being irrational, but this small act of rebellion was the only control she had.
Clara’s hands trembled as she poured the tea, her vision blurring slightly with unshed angry tears. She felt Friedrich’s warm hands suddenly cover hers, steadying them before the hot liquid could spill. The gentle pressure of his touch momentarily cut through her fury.
‘Liebling,’ he said softly, and something in her chest tightened at his term of endearment. He guided her to the chair and pulled the other seat beside her, turning her chair so they were facing one another.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said. His voice was steady, familiar.
Clara stared at the teacups on the table, struggling to find words that wouldn’t sound hysterical or childish.
‘In the café,’ she began. ‘They were all talking about the British and saying how much they hated us . . . them . . . by default that means me.’ She looked down at her hands.
‘I could feel the hatred brewing, it was like they were shrouded in this poisonous aura.’ A tear dripped from her eye, splashing onto her hand.
‘I felt intimidated, scared. I was too frightened to speak.’ Her voice cracked on the last word.
She was almost too scared to look at her own husband for fear of seeing that same denouncement. And when she did, she hated herself for even having such a thought. His face, the one she’d woken up to for the past seven years, showed no judgement, only concern.
He took her hand in his. ‘Whatever they say outside these walls, whatever they say about the British, they do not know you.’ His thumb stroked across her knuckles. ‘I am sorry I did not hear what they were saying. I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been and then I would have defended you.’
‘No,’ said Clara quickly, her anger subsiding as concern for Friedrich took over. ‘I don’t want you to do that. It will only cause trouble for you. They will think you are a spy.’
‘But you are my wife.’
‘It doesn’t matter. They won’t see it like that.’
She watched as Friedrich took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. ‘You know I do not agree with this aggression, with the invasion of Poland, with the way the Führer is behaving.’
‘I know but you cannot say that to anyone,’ said Clara, her anger subsiding a little more. ‘You shouldn’t even say it out loud to me.’
‘Those things you heard today, were just words. Ignorant. Bigoted. Brainwashed words.’ He paused. ‘I have sworn oaths to my country, yes, but my deepest and most important promise has always been to you. We will find a way through this. Together. I don’t know how, but we will.’
Clara’s heart expanded. She loved this man so very much. For the first time that day, she felt she could breathe again.