Jack Ludlow: The Burning Sky

Two cups were consumed before Jardine’s contact arrived, his appearance — slim, athletic, with blond, near-white hair and blue eyes — giving Lanchester cause to wonder, not helped by the loud and very obvious way he greeted Jardine, returned without the use of a name by either. Another round of coffee was procured and then the two heads came together over the top of the table while Lanchester made a show of once more trying to read his paper. After a few minutes the contact left and at a nod from Jardine they exited a few paces behind to follow him.

‘Your chum looks the perfect Aryan, I must say.’

‘One hundred per cent Jewish, Peter; they’re not all ginger hair and ringlets.’

‘And he is taking us to?’

‘A safe house, where there is a family waiting to be helped to leave the country.’

‘I assume they are Jews and filthy rich?’

‘Wealthy, yes, but not as well off now as they ought to be. They are members of a family that have been in Germany for nearly three hundred years, since the time of Fredrick the Great; in fact, the Ephraims were his bankers during the Seven Years’ War. If we were in Berlin I could show you the house they were allowed to build, the first of its kind in the city and quite famous. Over time the family have bred and spread. This branch owned the department store and several other businesses in Konigsberg.’

‘Owned?’

‘The local Nazis kicked them out of it without so much as a pfennig in compensation, but that’s East Prussia for you. The further east you go the worse the anti-Semitism gets.’

‘It’s the way of the world, Cal.’

‘Is it? Papa Ephraim has an Iron Cross, First Class, which he got fighting us at Third Ypres. He was a major in the Imperial German Army and now he’s a sort of non-person.’

‘One is sorry for the Jews, of course, but they have brought some of it on themselves.’

‘Have they? By being prudent when others were blind? By being strong families and good neighbours, a community who looked after each other when times were hard? Does it not occur to you they might have a superior way of living their lives than us?’

‘Have you converted, old boy?’

‘You know me, Peter, I don’t believe in anybody’s God. It’s about the only thing I share with Adolf Hitler. Have you read Mein Kampf ?’

‘Good Lord, no!’

‘I suggest you do, because it will tell you what the next twenty years are going to be like and, if we don’t stop these bastards, the next thousand years. The Kaiser was bad enough but this bugger is worse. He’s a criminal leader running a criminal government and they will kill anyone who they do not like. I am doing my little bit to thwart him.’

While listening to this Lanchester had been casting his eyes about, across to the other side of the street and behind, his attention being taken by two men in dark double-breasted suits and big hats whose pace and route matched theirs.

‘You always were destined for sainthood, Cal, but I must tell you I think we are being followed, or maybe it’s your blond chum.’

‘We are and he is, Peter, by people who are there to make sure no one else is doing the same. If they speed up and pass us that is a signal to disperse, so we will take the next turning and make contact later.’

‘And your blue-eyed boy up ahead?’

‘Can take care of himself.’

‘How organised is this?’

‘Well enough to work, but they will need to find someone who is not Jewish to replace me.’ Jardine grinned. ‘Perhaps HMG will send someone.’

‘No fear,’ Lanchester replied, doing nothing to keep the distaste out of his voice. ‘I hope your charges are not headed for Blighty.’

‘Where else would they go but to the Mother of Democracy?’

‘We’ve got quite enough bloody refugees already. I don’t suppose you will take my advice to quit while you are still ahead, Cal. Don’t hang about, just go.’

‘No, when what you’re saying, Peter, is leave these people to their fate.’

‘Why did I say “sainthood” when I meant “martyrdom”?’

That made Jardine laugh, which he was still doing as the blue-eyed boy turned and entered a recessed doorway in a long mansion block, the front door open still when the two Brits got to the bottom step. Lanchester followed as his companion skipped up and into a dark oak-floored hallway, smelling strongly of polish.

He was then led towards the rear of the block to where a slightly ajar door took them into a well-appointed apartment full of good, heavy furniture, the seats of which were occupied by a middle-aged couple and four children of various ages. As they entered, the man stood up, his face carrying an anxious look of uncertainty, while the mother wrung her hands, clearly very frightened.

‘Herr Jardine?’ he enquired, in the way one does, Lanchester registered, when one is meeting someone for the first time.

The subsequent conversation, in rapid German, left him isolated, so he occupied himself in examining the furnishings, dark, ponderous and of the imperial age. He was aware that, on entering, there had not been that thing on the door lintel containing a prayer, the name of which he could not recall, which he had been told graced the home of every Jew.

This was not a Yiddish household, and as if to underline that, there was a large portrait on the wall of old Paul von Hindenburg, Reich Chancellor of Germany before Hitler, as usual in his medal-bedecked field marshall’s uniform, and looking so bulge-eyed and ferocious it was as if someone had a tight hold on his ancient balls.

Interest turned to the family: the father, talking to Cal, was grey-haired, with soft eyes and pale skin, the rather plump, fair-haired woman and her handsome children listening intently. The eldest, a girl, was strikingly beautiful, with dark eyes, flawless skin, clad in an elegant grey suit, and he guessed her to be of marriageable age, which earned her a smile intended to be disarming. In reply he received a glare and a dismissive toss of her head. Then she looked back to Jardine and that look softened considerably.

Has a soft spot for the lad, Lanchester thought, and on first sight! That was not an entirely happy reflection, given he had always seemed to play second fiddle in the lady-chasing stakes to the bugger.

Of the three boys, two were in their mid teens, while the last looked about twelve. All were well dressed and groomed, with that carefully barbered look that comes from wealth and an abundance of servants, leaving Lanchester with the general impression that they did not look overtly Levantine. He was also aware he was being introduced into the conversation and his presence explained.

What followed was more disputative, and from what words could be picked up it had to do with what Jardine thought they could safely carry, the young girl entering the fray being especially upset at what she was being told, eyes flashing under pretty lashes and the long fingers of her pale white hands used to emphasise her disagreements, with one of her brothers telling her, in words and gestures Lanchester did comprehend, to cease being so selfish.

‘Having a spot of bother, old boy?’

‘I’ve told them we must cut down on what they can take with them,’ Cal replied.

‘I rather gathered the drift of that. What’s the normal drill?’

‘A small vanload is usual, but I have said anything except what can be carried has to be left and that does not run to trunks full of clothing. We dare not expose others to potential arrest, given we have no idea what the police or the Gestapo know.’

The word ‘Gestapo’ made the mother put a hand to her mouth. ‘And it is not going down well?’

There was no need for Cal to answer that, while Lanchester was aware the girl was glaring at him as though he was the cause of the change, so he deliberately looked at her legs in a wolfish way that had her pushing her skirt forward to ensure the knees were fully covered.