Chapter 16 #3
Ursula raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m intrigued. Tell me more.’
Clara suddenly wished she hadn’t alluded to the Thursday morning visits to the police station. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Formalities. Bureaucracy.’
‘Now I really am intrigued.’ Ursula leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
Clara realised Ursula was not going to let her off the hook. She gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘I have to attend the police station every week.’
‘The police station? Why on earth do you have to go there?’
‘I have to report to present my papers for them to check and stamp. You know, being a foreigner in Germany, especially from an enemy of the state.’
‘Oh, yes. I remember hearing about that. It can’t be very nice to have to do that every week.’
‘Not especially but it’s the law now.’
‘Does it make you feel differently about being in Germany?’
‘To be honest, most days I scarcely know how I feel,’ confessed Clara, looking down at her hands.
She had never voiced these thoughts before, she’d barely even dared to think them until recently.
‘Some days I still think in English, other days in German. And whichever language comes first, I despise myself a little for it.’
‘You should be proud to be able to stand between the two countries,’ said Ursula gently.
‘I was, once,’ Clara replied. ‘Now I feel I belong nowhere. Too English for people to trust me. Too German ever to be welcomed back in England.’ Clara blinked back the tears. She hadn’t meant to reveal so much.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ursula.
‘Whatever for?’ Clara asked, looking away out of the window.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been made to feel that way,’ Ursula said softly. ‘And on a practical level, that you have to report to the police station every week. It’s an insult, especially when you’re here to care for German mothers and babies.’
‘I wish everyone felt like you.’
Ursula reached over and placed her hand on Clara’s. ‘You do know that you can talk to me if you’re worried about anything. I know you have your husband but sometimes you know what men are like, sometimes it’s preferable to speak to another woman.’
Clara felt genuine gratitude towards Ursula. ‘Thank you, I do appreciate that.’
Ursula insisted on another drink each. ‘We can’t leave on such a sombre tone,’ she said. ‘Now, tell me about England. I’ve always wanted to travel but that’s not an option now. I remember reading about London and thinking what an exciting place it would be to visit.’
Clara actually enjoyed talking about England, it made a change to be able to speak freely about it. Once upon a time, everyone had been intrigued to know about her homeland. She didn’t dare to think about the future though and what that might look like.
They sat a little longer, the conversation moving on after a while as they talked of unimportant things like the weather, a neighbour’s dog, the absurdity of ration coupons, until Ursula glanced at the clock on the wall.
‘I should go,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Before Hans beats me home and realises I’ve been out.’
Clara rose with her. ‘Come on then. I’ll walk you back.’
Outside, it was cool and damp, with the threat of rain in the air. They walked in an easy silence until they reached Ursula’s building.
‘Thank you, Clara,’ Ursula said, her voice warm. ‘It’s been so nice. Like being a person again, instead of a patient.’
When Clara turned for home, she found herself smiling. It had been nice, unexpectedly so.
Berlin’s air carried the metallic scent of rain and coal dust. Headlights swept briefly across the street, then vanished. Clara turned up her collar and quickened her pace.
She’d almost reached the corner when she felt it – that feeling of being watched. And then soft footsteps sounded behind her, and she felt the presence of someone at her shoulder.
‘Just keep walking.’
She gave a small gasp before recognition settled in. It was Max.
She looked out the corner of her eye. His hat was pulled down low over his face and his collar turned up. He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. ‘Time for a prayer?’
He didn’t wait for an answer but guided them across the road and down a side road. A church loomed at the end of the street, its dark stone and spire cutting through the sky against the rain clouds. They reached the church and Max pushed open the heavy doors.
Inside, the air was cold and smelled of wax and damp wood. A single candle flickered near the altar.
‘In here,’ said Max, ushering her into a pew on the left. ‘We can talk here.’
‘You weren’t on the tram last night.’ asked Clara in a whisper. The vastness of the space felt both protective and exposed. ‘What happened?’
‘I was followed. At least I think I was, and I wasn’t about to take any chances.’ He took his hat off. ‘Although you don’t seem very concerned. Having coffee with your patient, I see.’
Clara rolled her eyes. ‘She asked me to accompany her. I couldn’t refuse.’
Max nodded. ‘Just keep your wits about you.’
‘Are you sure you weren’t followed tonight?’ She couldn’t help the little dig at him.
Max raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you have the list?’
‘Of course.’ The leather of her bag creaked as she withdrew the folded piece of paper and passed it to him.
‘Good.’ He quickly unfolded it and glanced at the names, before putting it into the lining of his hat.
‘Should I use the tram to drop the next list?’ she asked.
‘No. That route is burned. Someone is talking or listening. Either way it’s not an option now.’
‘What then?’
‘Here,’ said Max. ‘Here is the new drop.’ He gestured towards the row of pews they were sitting in, before reaching under his seat and pulling out a blue prayer book, the spine worn from use.
‘Next week, you’ll leave the list inside, page thirty-five.
Close it and put it back under the pew. This pew here.
There’s a special shelf, hidden underneath. ’
‘But what if they search the church?’
‘They won’t. Some places are still sacred. For now, anyway.’ Max went to rise, but Clara caught his arm.
‘What if I need to contact you?’
‘Why would you need to do that?’
‘I don’t know. In an emergency. I might need to contact you quickly.’
Max appeared to consider this for a moment. ‘Come here. Light a candle in the Lady Chapel. With the burned end of the match, leave one single strike on the wall behind the stand. It will be noted and someone will contact me.’
‘Who? The priest?’
‘That you don’t need to worry about. Just meet me here,’ said Max. He touched the brim of his hat. ‘Go home now.’ Then he was up and shuffling out of the pew, vanishing into a side aisle, before quietly disappearing.
Clara sat for a moment longer, before rising and leaving via the main entrance.
What a strange evening. One of friendship and laughter, followed by whispers and shadows. Two lives that didn’t seem to belong to the same person.