‘Whatever is going on outside, Herr Vogel is clearly more concerned about the danger to the hotel from us being here than the risks for us if we leave. Welcome to the new Germany, where the Party hates Jews. Which means anyone who wants to stay in with the Party must also hate Jews.’ She smiled at him as if they were still flirting. ‘Didn’t you guess we weren’t the Adlon’s favourite guests? This table is barely in the restaurant. If you hadn’t made the reservation, I doubt they would have seated us at all.’
André flushed. ‘Well, yes, of course I noticed the change. I’ve eaten here with your father and Otto countless times; I could hardly miss it. And there’s been some disquieting things reported in Paris about the tightening attitudes here.’
He turned to Paul.
‘But you’ve been talking all night as if everything was normal. As if all of the takeovers and the missing faces I’ve asked about were of no concern. I knew your family is Jewish; I said I was worried. You told me, quite clearly, that the new rules didn’t matter because Haus Elfmann was different, too important to interfere with.’
Liese burst out laughing and couldn’t answer when he asked her why.
Vogel looked over. He gesticulated at the door.
‘I’ll fetch the coats. Inviting trouble by sitting here won’t help.’
Otto rose heavily from the table. Paul followed him, his arm round a white-faced and indignant Margarethe.
‘Let me at least come with you to the garage. Make sure you get safely away.’
Liese realised André was still beside her, his hand outstretched to help her up. She let him guide her through the restaurant, grateful for a shield against stares that felt icy.
‘None of it was true then, what your father said?’
‘No.’
Liese tumbled out a potted account of the business’s fortunes as they made their way down a staircase that was far dingier than the lobby’s gilded sweep.
‘You’ve been managing the whole thing by yourself? You’ve always been smart, but you’ve changed since I last saw you – you’ve grown much more confident. It suits you.’
She glanced up at him. That smile that crinkled his eyes – it melted her every time.
The stairwell was so narrow it was hardly surprising to find him pressed close as they navigated its turns. Despite her brave words, she was shaken by Vogel’s complete disinterest in their safety. It was a comfort to find André’s hand on her shoulder, his arm round her waist. And when he stopped, when he tilted her chin and kissed her… she thought she knew his kisses by now, but this one was different. The ones before were butterfly whispers that had made her feel giddy. This one encircled her, reached down inside her, demanded another she was more than happy to sink into. His hands were urgent, the wall against her back cold as ice. She could have let the Adlon slide away completely, but then Paul’s pleading voice crawled up the stairs and shattered the spell.
‘He won’t drive us. It’s quite ridiculous.’
When they reached the basement, both her parents were bristling.
‘I keep trying to explain that I can’t!’ Stefan, their chauffeur, was tight-faced and struggling to stay patient. ‘The streets are covered in broken glass – the tyres would be shredded in minutes. It’s not an excuse. I’ve been out there: it’s frightening.’
‘So what André heard in the restaurant was right: it is a riot?’
André’s hand whispered round Liese’s back, his fingers falling light as thistledown against her bare skin. She forced herself to concentrate as the driver answered her.
‘No. I don’t think you’d call it that…’ Stefan hesitated. ‘A riot suggests something unplanned and chaotic. Whatever this is, it’s very well organised. Word has it, there’s shops smashed and looted all over the city, but it’s the Brownshirts and the youth brigades causing the damage, not undisciplined mobs.’
‘Do the attacks seem random, or specific?’
The cavernous garage almost swallowed Otto’s voice.
Stefan’s face fell. ‘I can’t be certain; I only saw a handful of streets. But, if what I heard is true, they are very specific. It’s only Jewish businesses that have been targeted. Apparently, there’s stars and vicious slogans painted everywhere, some of them on windows that haven’t been broken yet, as if the paint is a sign of which ones to attack. And there are synagogues on fire all across the city. The one I passed had firemen beside it, but they were hosing the other buildings down, not bothering with the one that was burning.’
Margarethe began to shake. Liese instinctively stretched out a calming hand, but Paul was already there.
Stefan continued, quickening his telling as though he wanted it over with.
‘It’s not just the SA thugs out there on their own; the Security Police are on the streets too. There’s rumours of mass arrests, of Jewish houses smashed into and the owners snatched. So, you see, I can’t take you home, even if we could find a way round the broken glass. I don’t think you’d be safe there.’
‘We can’t stay here.’
Paul’s voice was even thinner than Otto’s. He was right: the garage was freezing and too open to the street to feel safe.
André whispered to Stefan, who reluctantly led him outside. When the two men returned, André was trembling.
‘He’s right – the streets are dangerous. You can’t risk it and there’s no point appealing to the hotel again. I have a suite. There is space for all of you in it. If we use the back stairs, no one will bother us.’
André rallied. Liese could almost see the mental shake he gave himself.
‘This must be a misunderstanding. Yes, there is trouble, but I can’t believe it’s as targeted as you think. Things looking brighter in the morning is a cliché for a reason.’
No one had the energy to argue.
They trooped after him, grateful to have been spared a treacherous journey home. When they reached André’s rooms, Liese went straight to the window. It was late, long past midnight, but the sky held the orange tinge of a sunset and its blackness had an uneven texture, like dye that had spilled onto bunched fabric and gathered in patches. She pushed open the pane and tasted smoke in the air, wood-filled and musty. A sudden vision caught at her, of Michael up to his neck in the fighting, and she shivered.
‘Close it. Come away.’
André had produced glasses and whisky.
Liese held the drink but couldn’t swallow it: the oily liquid smelled like the sky.
André smiled round the room as if he was hosting a cocktail party.
‘Well, at least you’re all safe now and can get a good night’s sleep. There’s nothing to be done till tomorrow. There’s a radio in the corner – why don’t I find some music? It might help us all relax.’
No one spoke as André fiddled with the dial, flipping backwards and forwards between stations offering the same bland diet of folk songs or military marches. No one complained when he gave up.
The room split itself into camps. Paul and Margarethe, having already claimed the main bedroom for the night, curled onto the largest sofa and began whispering to each other. Stefan, clearly awkward at sharing such an intimate space with his employers, found a chair in one of the shadowy corners. Otto prowled the room, fussing at the window, sitting down and getting up again until Liese began to feel dizzy.