Chapter 7 #2
‘There’s only so much we can do at home,’ said Clara. Surely the hospital wouldn’t turn away a sick baby.
‘Maybe you could come again,’ said Frau Blumenthal.
‘If he gets worse,’ said Clara, knowing full well she wouldn’t refuse a request even if she tried to fool herself otherwise.
‘Your oil,’ said Frau Blumenthal, holding out the eucalyptus bottle to her.
‘You keep it,’ said Clara, fastening her bag.
‘But we cannot pay you,’ protested Rachel.
‘I don’t want paying,’ said Clara without hesitation. ‘I would rather you kept it. I can get some more.’ There was a chemist near to her apartment and she’d buy another bottle on her way home to replenish her supplies.
‘That is very kind of you,’ said Rachel. ‘Thank you.’
Frau Blumenthal kissed Clara’s hand, muttering something Clara couldn’t quite understand but it was obviously a compliment of some sort.
After leaving the apartment, Richard walked Clara to the end of the road where he needed to go a different way. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Please be careful returning home.’
‘I’m glad I could help,’ said Clara sincerely. ‘Take care.’
She turned and headed off towards the tram. It was much later in the day than she had planned but if she was lucky, she’d be home within the next thirty minutes or so and just in time to catch the chemist located on her street before it closed.
It took a little longer due to delays with the tram, but forty minutes later, Clara hurried through the door of the local chemist, Lowen-Apotheke, two minutes before closing time.
The Lowen-Apotheke interior was all gleaming glass and dark mahogany. A single hanging light cast a warm glow over the narrow shop. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, camphor and something vaguely medicinal.
‘Guten Tag, Herr Keller,’ said Clara as she approached the counter where Herr Keller was restocking the shelves of the floor-to-ceiling cabinet displaying dozens of amber bottles of tinctures and colourful medicinal syrups.
The pharmacist turned and politely responded. ‘Guten Tag, Frau Bergmann. How can I help you?’
‘A bottle of eucalyptus oil, please?’
‘Eucalyptus oil?’ Herr Keller asked as he turned and reached for a bottle from the shelf behind him.
‘Yes, please.’
He placed it on the counter. ‘Anything else? Are you not feeling well?’
‘Erm, no. It’s for my husband,’ said Clara thinking on the spot. ‘He has a cold. Congestion.’ She quickly rummaged in her purse for the correct coins, before popping the brown paper bag containing the oil into her bag. ‘Danke.’
‘I hope your husband feels better soon,’ said Herr Keller. He gave a small smile towards Clara.
Clara hesitated. She felt disproportionately grateful for his small gesture of kindness. She returned the smile. ‘Danke,’ she said, thanking him again before bidding him goodnight.
She stepped out from the chemist shop, pausing on the pavement as a military truck rumbled past, its canvas sides bulging with equipment.
Her eyes followed it briefly before lifting to her apartment window – dark, thank goodness.
Friedrich wasn’t home yet. Perhaps she’d have time to prepare dinner without questions.
She wouldn’t be able to bring herself to lie to him, and telling him the truth would upset him.
She was about to cross the road when an inexplicable chill crept up her spine – the kind that came not from the weather but from being watched. Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder.
A man perhaps twenty metres behind quickly turned his attention to the bakery window. The shop was clearly closed, its gingham curtains drawn, shelves empty. Yet he studied the darkened glass with exaggerated interest, his hat pulled low.
The man shifted his weight, still pretending to window-shop.
Clara’s fingers tightened on her medical bag.
She thought of Richard’s earlier warning about being careful.
Every instinct told her to run. Instead, she forced herself to look away, to breathe normally, and walk in a composed manner across the street.
Once on the other side, she fought the urge to look again but at a steady pace, walked to the door of the apartment building and entered.
Once in the safety of her apartment, Clara let out a long breath of relief. She hurried over to the window and cautiously peeked out onto the street from behind the curtain. There was no sign of the man she’d just seen. Maybe she was being paranoid, but Richard’s warning wouldn’t go away.
She quickly washed her hands and then set about preparing the evening meal. She wasn’t sure what time Friedrich would be home, so she was pleased when he walked in some thirty minutes later.
‘How was your day?’ he asked, kissing her cheek and then hugging her.
She loved being in his arms, it felt so comforting and secure. ‘It was a good day,’ she replied, turning her attention back to the pot on the stove. ‘Dinner won’t be long.’
Friedrich walked through into the sitting room.
Clara followed him through, expecting to see him switching on the radio and pouring himself a drink.
He was doing neither. He was at the bookcase, returning her midwifery book to its place on the shelf.
‘You left this out,’ he said, before turning to face her. ‘I thought you had put it away.’
‘I . . . I did,’ said Clara. ‘I needed to take it out again, but I forgot to put it back.’
The unspoken words were louder than those verbalised. He held her gaze for a moment before giving a small nod. ‘Shall we eat?’
Clara was relieved the conversation wasn’t going to be pursued. What could they say that they hadn’t already?
She served their meal, and they sat down at the kitchen table. ‘You look tired,’ said Clara, noting the drawn look on her husband’s face.
‘It’s been a particularly busy day,’ he replied.
‘So many transport requisitions to deal with. It seems like half of Berlin want to be somewhere else. And then there was a mix-up with medical supplies being in the wrong place. A shipment for Munich ended up in Warsaw. With that comes a lot of paperwork to sort out.’
‘Always the paperwork,’ sighed Clara.
‘It’s chaotic out there today,’ said Friedrich. Another sigh. ‘But this is not for us to worry about this evening. Among all that I have some good news for you.’
His expression lifted as he spoke. ‘Good news for me?’
‘There is a position for a midwife at the Wilmersdorf Geburtsklinik,’ he reached out and placed his hand over hers. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of speaking to the doctor there, and he is very keen to talk with you.’
‘He is!?’ Clara couldn’t help grinning at her husband but then her smile dropped. ‘I didn’t think, I mean, he does know I’m British, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, he does. I made that perfectly clear. You don’t need to worry. He spoke to the matron at the Charité, and she had only good things to say about you.’
Clara’s emotions were shifting so fast she could barely keep up. ‘She did?’ That was a surprise.
‘She did. You were very well thought of at the hospital,’ said Friedrich. He smiled with pride. ‘So, Wednesday, you need to call at the clinic at ten o’clock and ask for Doktor Weber.’
As Friedrich stood to clear the plates, an unsettling memory from earlier crept back – that prickling sensation between her shoulder blades when she had left the chemist.
‘Are you not pleased?’ Friedrich asked, carrying the dishes to the kitchen.
‘Yes, of course. Just surprised.’ She wandered over to the window and scanned the pavement below, telling herself she was being foolish.
Then she saw it, or rather, him. A figure. The same one as before perhaps. He was standing across the street, his face obscured by shadow. But she could feel his eyes on her, steady and unblinking.
Clara’s hand gripped the edge of the curtain.
‘Clara?’ Friedrich called from the kitchen. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ she managed, her voice steadier than her hands. In one swift motion, she pulled the curtains closed, plunging the apartment into sudden privacy. But the image of that watcher remained burned in her mind