André blinked and stepped back. He no longer looked quite as thrilled.
‘Next week, on Tuesday. I’ve other clients to see and plans for the weekend. But, Otto, wait a minute. Liese coming with me is one thing, but I’ve never met your son. And I didn’t realise you meant right away. Why is there such urgency? Liese, help me out here.’
She wanted to, but she was waiting for Paul and Margarethe to protest. At the plan’s danger; at the separation from their only child. They were folded into each other, not looking at her, barely listening to Otto.
André nudged at her arm.
‘Liese, I will happily take you to Paris. But does it have to be like this? In such a rush? Using fake papers like a smuggler, taking a boy I’ve never met…’
Liese pulled herself away from any hope of Paul and Margarethe thinking beyond themselves and tried to focus on what André was asking, what Otto was demanding. The prospect of Paris, and of André, was certainly enticing, it was something she’d dreamed of in what felt like a different life, but how could she make such a huge decision so quickly? It would be like cutting out a dress without a pattern.
She tried to think clearly.
‘Otto, listen to me: this is too fast and too dangerous. Even if you do find the people to do the job and manage to secure the passports, we could get caught at the station buying the tickets. And if Michael gets questioned, do you honestly think he could keep his mouth shut, or pass convincingly as French? There’s too many holes in this plan.’
‘It’s my only chance.’
Otto was staring at her as if there was no one else in the room.
‘I have to get him out – you know that. I should have acted months ago. Using Bardou for cover gets Michael to safety, as well as you. Look at them.’
He nodded at Margarethe curled on Paul’s lap.
‘They’ll never make any kind of decision, and they’ll never consider you. Do this for me, and for Michael: he’ll go if you do. We’ll be all back together in no time, I promise. You won’t lose your family: you’ll help make sure it’s safe. Will you help me? Will you do this?’
They’ll never consider you. It was true and it stung.
Otto wanted her safe.
She felt André’s arm slip back round her shoulders. He cared for her; that was obvious – he had said he had intended to take her to Paris; he must want her safe too. And how could she bear anything happening to Michael if she could stop it?
She nodded; Otto beamed. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t steady them.
‘It’s all right; don’t get upset.’
She wasn’t upset. She was aware how many dangers this decision exposed them to, but André had her fingers cupped in his, patting them as gently as if he held a fluttering bird, and the sensation was too nice to spoil with a rebuttal. She stayed silent.
He dropped his voice so Otto couldn’t hear him.
‘He’s afraid, Liese. I won’t pretend to know what’s going on with his son, but, if this helps Otto feel better, where’s the harm in it? It’s plans, nothing more; we won’t need to act on them. Tomorrow, you’ll see this business outside is all nothing, a band of thugs and a pack of rumours spiralled out of control. You won’t have to do anything you don’t choose to do. But if you decide to come…’ He smiled his soft smile and traced a finger round her wrist. ‘Then I’ll take care of you, I promise.’
No one had ever promised her that. Despite her worries about where this road might take them, she wanted to believe that he meant it.
‘What are you whispering about? You haven’t changed your mind? You’ll get them both out?’
Otto’s eyes were too bright; his jaw clenched so tight, his neck had set solid.
André nodded.
Otto retired to an armchair, pulled out a notebook and started scribbling.
Outside, the sky’s black had dissolved into a sulphurous yellow and clouds had settled over the city, obscuring the streets. Liese felt like a castaway caught on an island. She leaned into André and let his strong arms enfold her.
Silence fell.
Paul and Margarethe got up, went into the bedroom and closed the door. Otto’s head was lolling; Stefan was already fast asleep. Liese imagined the heat from the fires rising, the windows melting. André’s grip on her tightened.
‘Let me help you forget all of this.’
His breath shivered like silk round her neck. There was no mistaking his meaning. Liese shuddered as his lips followed his breath. She slipped round to face him.
‘I’ve never done this before.’
If he was thrown by her directness, he didn’t show it.
‘Do you want to tonight?’
She watched his smile, watched his eyes darken. The models in the salon were perfectly open about sex – most of them had rich boyfriends whose attentions they seemed to adore. ‘Do it right and do it often and they’re all yours, honey’ was a sentiment Liese had heard from more than one laughing girl. She would like to have someone who was all hers. She would like that someone to be André.
She smiled back at him. ‘Yes, I would.’
There was another door, with a dressing room behind it. There was a sofa to welcome them.
He led enough; he let her find her own pace enough. Mouths met; bodies connected. Liese stared into eyes that looked only at her, and the riots and the smashed windows and the burning buildings slipped away under one simple thought: I want this.
Kristallnacht. Crystal Night. A beautiful name to blanket the orgy of violence the ninth of November had turned into. Liese shivered when she heard how the Party had christened it.
Three days had passed since the night in the Adlon, but the memory of Berlin’s shattered streets still broke up her nights. The hours in André’s arms had been timeless and far too short. He had been gentle and slow until she had needed him not to be and the only thing she had regretted was the need to stay silent.
When morning came, bringing with it a smoke-smudged sky, André had slipped out before the others were awake. He came back subdued, his hair dark with dust. The news was no more cheerful than it had been the night before, but they couldn’t risk hiding in the hotel any longer.
Liese had roused Otto and her parents. There wasn’t a moment to pick up the previous evening’s discussions. There wasn’t a moment for a farewell between her and André beyond a lingering look and a promise that he would call her later that day. The Elfmanns had flown down the corridors behind Otto, to the sound of maids approaching inside the hotel and an ominous silence outside.
The scenes that greeted them when they finally pulled out of the garage were worse than Liese expected, the destruction greater than Stefan had warned them. All the streets from the Unter den Linden to Friedrichstraβe were choked with the debris of ruined businesses. The pavements were littered with smashed lamps and display cases and splintered filing cabinets whose contents blew around like snowdrifts. Every window they could see was shattered, the innards of the looted shops and offices spilling out like the entrails of a butchered animal. Road after road was closed, packs of thugs still prowling.
Stefan was forced to ease the car round the edges of the Tiergarten and over the Spree, before taking them in a wide arc that circled the city. The detour he took them on led down through the wide square and elegant shops of the Molkenmarkt. It was as if they followed in the tracks of an invading army. Everywhere was ransacked, the towering Nathan Israel department store ripped open and gutted. Mannequins sprawled out of the gaping windows like crumpled bodies, clothes spilled across the street like dropped washing. Smoke pooled in the air, knitted into grey clouds heady with petrol. The Elfmanns passed the rest of the journey crouched down, without speaking.