‘Come over here.’
André was sitting in an overstuffed armchair he was pretending was big enough for two. Liese hesitated, glancing first at her parents. They were far too wrapped up in each other to notice anything she might be doing.
André patted the seat again; she slid in beside him. He smelled of spices and lime. She let him slip his arm round her, let him nuzzle his lips against her hair.
‘Tell me about Paris, André.’
He moved her closer into his side until the length of their legs was touching. She smiled and threaded her fingers through his.
‘Please, it would be a distraction. Tell me about the music, and the nightclubs and what the women wear.’
André was such a skilled storyteller, Liese completely lost track of time, and place. He had her sipping Martinis under dimmed chandeliers, dancing in rooms thick with perfume and red velvet, running barefoot down the Champs-Élysées hand in hand. When she heard raised voices, she presumed it must be a Parisian gendarme.
‘Tell me you didn’t! Tell me this is some kind of a joke.’
Otto was on his feet, looming over Paul, who was slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands.
‘What’s going on?’
Otto answered Liese’s confused question but didn’t turn away from Paul.
‘I was trying to explain to your father what tonight actually means. That it’s an ending. That we have to stop stalling and get out of Berlin. And he agreed.’
Liese jumped up, startling André out of the dreamy state he had lulled them both into.
‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? So why are you cross?’
‘Tell her, Paul.’
Her father’s voice was so small, Liese had to cross the room to hear him.
‘We don’t have passports. Not ones we can use. When we were meant to surrender them last month and get the new ones stamped with a J, I didn’t do it.’
‘Why not?’
Paul shrank further into himself. Liese could feel her heart hammering.
‘Father, I don’t understand. The Nazis were very clear it had to be done. I saw the order. It was on your desk. You must have known.’
Paul continued to stare at his hands. ‘I did. But I thought I could find a way round it. I didn’t see why we should be labelled. And then, yesterday, another letter came. If I don’t turn them in, I’ll be arrested. If I’d been at home when this started—’
Paul broke off as Margarethe cried out.
‘Even if I could find a sponsor somewhere in America or Europe to vouch for us, I don’t think they’ll let me leave the country now, or at least not with the money we’d need…’ He tailed off, turned to comfort Margarethe.
His arrogance will ruin us.
‘What’s wrong, Liese? What has Paul done, or not done? What is this problem with passports?’
Liese didn’t know where to begin to explain the humiliations that were becoming a part of their everyday life, that were so alien to the elegant world André inhabited. She was grateful that Otto answered him before she could try.
‘We need to leave Germany and start the business again somewhere safer and for that we need paperwork, which Paul now doesn’t have.’
He turned his attention back to Paul.
‘Listen to me. This has made our situation harder, but not impossible – not if we’re clever enough. Tomorrow, when things have calmed down, you will go and surrender the passports. You’ll tell them it was all a mistake and that you’re sorry. That will buy us some time to make plans, to decide where to go. Not America – that’s too complicated. Somewhere closer. I just need to think.’
‘Well, if you want somewhere close, that’s easily done.’
André was on his feet, pushing his way into the conversation.
‘Paris. You must go to Paris. Isn’t that obvious? I’ve just been telling Liese how wonderful it is, and, if you really think it’s time to go, what better place to restart the salon than Paris?’
Otto finally gave André his full attention. ‘And you’d help with that?’
André beamed at Otto and bowed to Liese. ‘Of course. I would be charmed to show Liese my city. I would have asked her to visit whether you needed to leave Berlin or not.’ He caught up Liese’s hand and kissed it. ‘But you knew that anyway.’
She didn’t. She thought they were simply weaving stories. Then he kissed her hand again and stroked her cheek and perhaps she had known after all.
Otto, at least, was all certainties.
‘It’s a solution – a good one! We will need fake passports, of course; surrendering the old ones is a ruse and we can’t trust that the Nazis will issue new ones. But I can find people to do that, I’m sure.’
Liese pulled her hand back from André’s caresses. She wanted to embrace Otto’s excitement, to see André’s declaration as wonderfully romantic, but it all felt too rushed to be real.
‘Otto, slow down. How can fake passports be a sensible idea? How often have Mother and Father been photographed, and me as well, at the shows, and goodness knows where else? How many officials know us?’ Her spine started to prickle as the reality of Otto’s plan hit her. ‘We’ll be recognised – you know we will. And if we’re caught with false papers, or you’re caught trying to buy them—’
‘There’ll be a way; just give me a minute.’
Liese continued to protest, but Otto wasn’t listening and André was trying to pull her back into his arms. She wriggled free, uncomfortable with the rescued-damsel role André seemed to have cast her in. Otto was still talking; he sounded as if he was ticking off a list.
‘We have to get out, that’s the main thing. This is the crackdown I’ve been afraid of. The Party have set out their stall now. They’ll sweep up the last Jewish businesses; confiscate the money and houses they haven’t already seized. Securing a passage outside Europe might not be possible and moving together might be dangerous, but, if we don’t go far and we split up, there might be a way. If you aren’t with your parents, fewer people might make the connection, and no one will know Michael.’ His smile was so wide he looked crazed. ‘Then that’s it.’
He grabbed André’s hand; André jumped.
‘You are right: Paris it is. We can make that happen immediately. I’ll drive Paul and Margarethe out through Switzerland – crossing the border will be safer that way for them. Michael and Liese can travel by train with you. Liese’s French is good, and we can use Ettinger, her grandparents’ surname, as a cover. She could be your assistant. And then we’ll all meet up in Paris. It’s not just a good solution, it’s perfect.’
‘Slow down. Who is Michael?’ André’s smile had disappeared.
Otto grimaced at the interruption, as if André should know.
‘He’s my son. He’s a couple of years older than Liese. He’s a good boy – he’ll stay quiet, do what you tell him. You could say he’s another buyer, a trainee. There’s money in the salon, plenty of it. You can take it and keep it safe until we’re all reunited. When are you meant to be leaving?’