Chapter 22
The December wind bit into Clara’s face as she left the clinic for her regular afternoon home visits.
As she made her way through the streets, she couldn’t help noticing how different everything seemed this year.
There was no scent of Lebkuchen, the spiced cakes and biscuits, from the bakery she passed, no children’s voices singing carols.
Even the Christmas markets seemed subdued.
It was as if the city itself was holding its breath.
She finally arrived at Ursula’s an hour later than intended.
‘So sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been back and forth across the city countless times this afternoon.’
‘It’s just nice to see you,’ said Ursula and then in a low voice. ‘Hans is home early today.’ She pulled a worried sort of expression.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Clara.
Ursula nodded, although her frown deepened. She beckoned Clara through to the living room, closing the door behind them. ‘He was up early this morning. There was some sort of big relocation organised, but it didn’t really go to plan.’
Clara remembered Friedrich’s regular warnings about not coming across as too interested. ‘Oh dear, that’s a shame. Everyone is under a lot of pressure right now.’
‘Exactly that,’ said Ursula. ‘He’s got to write a report about what went wrong.’
‘Try not to let it worry you, though,’ said Clara.
‘I don’t want your blood pressure rising.
You’re doing so well.’ She unpacked her equipment from her bag, silently thanking the network.
The list she had copied from Hans Müller’s briefcase the week before was longer than usual and she suspected the authorities were increasing their efforts in relocating pregnant women and babies.
She’d found supporting documentation among the file with a map showing where exactly they were going to begin a sweep of neighbourhoods.
After leaving it for Max she had no idea if they would have time to intervene but from what Ursula had just said, it seemed they had – thank goodness
‘Clara? Is everything all right?’
She looked up realising Ursula was talking to her. ‘What? Yes. Sorry. I couldn’t find my stethoscope. Here it is.’ She pulled it out of the bag like a magician producing a rabbit. ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’
Ursula laughed. ‘I was just saying the baby has been wriggling around a lot today. The head feels as if it’s really pushing down.’
‘That’s a good sign,’ said Clara. ‘Your baby is getting into position.’
Clara carried out her examination of Ursula and spent some time chatting with her, before making some supper for the Müllers.
She had to keep everything as she usually would.
Hans appeared from his study at six o’clock to take Kaiser for his walk.
He looked tired and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.
He said good evening to Clara and enquired how her day had been, but other than that he didn’t speak.
‘He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders,’ said Ursula. ‘All to do with last night.’
‘Hopefully whatever happened was a one-off,’ said Clara, slipping on her coat and avoiding Ursula’s gaze.
‘Hope so. It is strange though.’
‘What is?’ Clara’s fingers stilled on her coat buttons.
‘How it went wrong. Several of the families that were being relocated had already left their homes.’ Ursula made slow circles with her finger on the arm of the sofa, her voice thoughtful. ‘Hans said they’ve just vanished into thin air. No one knows where they are.’
‘Perhaps they went to relatives?’ suggested Clara, choosing her words like stepping stones across dangerous water. She hoped her voice conveyed the right amount of disinterest.
‘Imagine that, though,’ continued Ursula, her voice dropping slightly. ‘Not being allowed to live where you want. Being forcibly moved elsewhere.’
‘I wouldn’t like it, I must admit,’ replied Clara. She reached for her bag, eager to escape the conversation. ‘I should go now.’
‘You know, I don’t blame them for going into hiding, if that’s what they’ve done.’ Ursula’s voice carried a pointed edge as she held Clara’s gaze. ‘In fact, between you and me, I say good for them.’
Clara’s hand tightened on her bag handle. Was this some kind of test? She felt trapped between agreement and suspicion. ‘I suppose anyone would want to protect their family,’ she said carefully.
‘Yes. You’re right.’ Ursula smoothed her hand over her pregnant stomach. ‘I’ve not even met this little person yet and I know I would do whatever it took to keep him or her safe.’
‘It’s a mother’s instinct,’ said Clara. She watched Ursula’s protective gesture and felt that occasional, but familiar, ache settle in her chest – the one that caught her unawares at moments like this.
Clara had made peace with her childless state long ago, found purpose and joy in bringing other women’s babies safely into the world.
But sometimes, witnessing the fierce love already blooming in an expectant mother’s eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have her own child and to know that particular brand of protective devotion.
As Clara reached for the door handle to leave, Ursula called softly, ‘Clara, this conversation, we should keep it to ourselves. We shouldn’t speak about things like this openly.
Hans says there are informants everywhere these days.
People reporting each other. Neighbours turning on neighbours. Even friends.’
Clara held Ursula’s gaze. ‘True friends wouldn’t.’
Clara was folding laundry in the bedroom when she heard Friedrich’s key in the lock, followed by the distinctive sound of his briefcase being set down with unusual care. She found him in his study, removing a manila envelope from beneath a stack of Wehrmacht reports, a frown creasing his forehead.
He looked up at her and his expression lifted. ‘Liebling.’ He kissed her as she reached the desk before turning his attention back to the manila envelope.
Clara watched as he removed the contents and spread them out over his desk. There were several official documents, each bearing Wehrmacht stamps and signatures. Clara recognised the quality paper, the precise typography of military forms.
‘Emergency medical authorisation,’ Friedrich explained, holding up the first document. ‘This gives you authority to respond to urgent medical situations anywhere in Berlin, day or night. It’s signed by Oberarzt Voigt at Wehrmacht Medical Command. A real signature I acquired.’
Clara studied the document, noting her name typed in the appropriate field. ‘How did you . . . ?’
‘The less you know about how, the better but I’ve been worrying about you.’
‘When don’t you?’ said Clara with a smile.
‘More so lately. Patrols and checkpoints are becoming more vigilant. I’ve organised some up to date passes for you, just to be on the safe side.
’ Friedrich set aside the document and picked up a second paper.
‘This is a standing medical supply requisition. It authorises you to transport medical equipment and supplies for emergency obstetric care. If anyone questions what’s in your bag, you’re delivering sterile instruments.
I expect you already have one from the clinic, but this one gives you more scope outside your working hours. ’
Clara picked up a leather wallet from the desk.
She opened it to find a medical identification card, exactly like the one she held with the clinic, except this new one had been updated to include Wehrmacht contractor status.
On the reverse was her photograph mounted beside official stamps and authorisation codes.
‘Friedrich, if they discover these are forged.’
‘They’re not forged.’ His voice was firm.
‘I wouldn’t put you in that kind of danger.
’ He turned her to face him. ‘Every stamp is real, every signature is authentic, every authorisation code is correct. Everything can be officially confirmed. What makes them irregular is they haven’t been issued through normal channels. ’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I have access to the forms, the stamps, the codes. I simply expedited your paperwork through unofficial means.’ There was a small quirk at the corner of his mouth.
‘If anyone investigates thoroughly, it might throw up some questions about the speed it was all issued, but essentially everything is correct and in order.’
‘You’re amazing,’ said Clara.
‘I don’t work miracles though,’ said Friedrich.
‘These cover your travel around the city, but if you’re caught in the act of helping a Jewish woman .
. .’ He didn’t or couldn’t finish his sentence.
He blew out a long breath and crossed the room to the window, checking the courtyard below.
‘I can only protect you so far. What happens once you arrive is still dangerous.’
Clara crossed the room, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his broad back. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I promise I’ll be careful.’
A knock at the door made them both jump. Immediately, Friedrich began gathering up the documents. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’ he asked as he scooped them into his briefcase, throwing some files over the top, before snapping the lid shut and sliding the briefcase under his desk.
‘No one.’
‘Go through to the kitchen,’ instructed Friedrich, shepherding her out of the study and closing the door behind him.
Clara scurried off to the kitchen, glancing back down the hallway as Friedrich strode towards the door, where he paused for a moment to regain his composure. He looked back at Clara and motioned with his hand for her to do as he’d said.
There was a further knock. Clara filled the kettle as she heard Friedrich open the door. There was a heavy silence, some sort of hesitation. She couldn’t see what was happening, but she could feel the tension sweep through the apartment.
‘Can I help you?’ came Friedrich’s voice with the controlled bearing of an officer.
‘I am here to conduct a routine check on the foreign national residing at this address,’ came a man’s voice full of authority.
Clara stiffened. She recognised that voice. Friedrich didn’t answer straightaway, and Clara could imagine his hostile expression. She could picture the way his blue eyes would have turned cold when faced with a threat. ‘And you are?’
‘Wachtmeister Fuchs. Local precinct.’
‘Fuchs?’ repeated Friedrich his tone ice cold.
‘Yes, Herr Hauptmann.’
‘It’s Captain,’ Friedrich corrected sharply. ‘Captain Friedrich Bergmann, Wehrmacht Logistics Division, stationed at Bendlerblock. Tell me again, why you are here.’
‘The English-woman.’ Fuchs’s voice faltered slightly. ‘I wasn’t expecting, that is, I understood the residence would be . . .’
‘You understood incorrectly.’ Friedrich’s words cut through the air like a blade. ‘This is my home and the English-woman you are referring to is my wife.’
‘Apologies, Herr Captain. It’s just foreign nationals require regular monitoring.’
‘My wife reports to your station every Thursday morning, as mandated. Her documentation is current and properly stamped.’ If it was possible, Friedrich’s voice grew even colder. ‘Are you suggesting there’s been some irregularity in your department’s record-keeping?’
‘No, sir, but—’
‘Then perhaps you could explain why you feel it necessary to conduct additional surveillance on the wife of a German officer?’ The menace in Friedrich’s voice was unmistakable now. ‘Surveillance that, I should note, has not been authorised through proper military channels.’
Clara could hear the policeman clearing his throat nervously. ‘I was simply being thorough, Herr Captain. Ensuring all foreign nationals are properly, er, supervised.’
‘How conscientious of you, Wachtmeister.’ Friedrich’s tone dripped with sarcasm. ‘I trust you will be equally thorough in documenting your visit in your official reports. Including the date, time and specific reason for the unscheduled inspection.’
‘I will, that is, if everything appears in order.’
‘Everything is in perfect order. My wife is in full compliance with all regulations. Should you have any future concerns regarding her conduct or documentation, I trust you will direct them through the appropriate military liaison officer at the Bendlerblock.’ Friedrich’s voice carried the unmistakable finality of a dismissed subordinate.
‘I assume you are familiar with proper protocol?’
‘Of course, Herr Captain.’
‘Excellent. Then I believe your business here is concluded.’
‘Yes, Herr Captain.’
Friedrich spoke again, this time his voice softer but no less threatening. ‘Oh, and Wachtmeister? I’ll be sure to mention to Wachtmeister Arnold how dedicated you are to your duties. I’m certain he will be interested to hear about your initiative.’
The door closed with a firm click.
Clara remained frozen in the kitchen as Friedrich’s footsteps approached. When he appeared, his face was a careful mask, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set.
Friedrich moved to the window, looking out at the street below, before turning to face her, his expression grave. ‘I don’t like this. You are being targeted specifically. Not just as a foreign national, but personally. I don’t trust him not to return when I’m not here.’
Clara nodded, her throat tight. ‘I know.’
Friedrich looked out of the window once more. ‘He’s gone now.’ Then he turned back to her, his expression hardening with resolve. ‘I’m going to have a conversation with an old school friend of mine. It’s time Wachtmeister Fuchs learned about the proper chain of command.’