David Downing - Masaryk Station

Inside Sonja’s house, her father was greeting the guests, looking suitably heartbroken. Two of the ex-husbands were there, but not the father of her children-he had been killed entertaining the troops at Stalingrad.

There was a table groaning with food, supplied by her recent Soviet employers, and enough unopened bottles of vodka to induce the traditional Russian stupor. Fortunately, the Americans had also deemed it politic to send their respects in liquid form, and so Effi chose a small glass of Bourbon to wash down the Russian hors d’oeuvres. Angela had wandered off, and Effi scanned the crowd for another familiar face. She caught the glance of Sonja’s first husband, the actor Volker Heldt. He and Effi had worked on a DEFA project only the previous year.

He walked across to join her. ‘A good crowd,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Effi agreed. ‘Don’t look now, but who’s the man leaning against the wall in the grey suit? He keeps staring at me.’

‘Who wouldn’t?’ Volker said gallantly, taking his time to look around. ‘Oh him-he stares at everyone. He’s one of the Russian culture people. MGB most likely. It was their police who found her, you know.’

‘I didn’t. I still can’t believe she killed herself.’

‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt, despite what some people are saying.’

‘How did she do it?’

‘Sleeping pills. And there’s no doubt she bought them. She paid a fortune for them on the black market.’

‘Did she leave a note?’

‘No, and that was strange. But she’d only just broken up with her last boyfriend-the one almost half her age-so who knows what was going through her mind. And anyway what reason would the Russians have for killing her?’

‘Is that what people are saying?’

‘A few. Like Eva here.’

The blonde joining them had done the costumes on several of Effi’s films. Eva Kempka was in her forties now, and thin enough to look a little stretched. She had been married once, but according to Berlin’s cinematic grapevine, had since changed her sexual proclivities.

‘What are you accusing me of?’ Eva asked Volker, with more than a hint of disdain.

‘Of believing the Russians killed Sonja.’

‘I’ve never said that. I just don’t believe she killed herself.’ The way she said it made Effi think there’d been some emotional involvement, either real or unrequited.

‘Well, maybe not you,’ Volker admitted, ‘but there are a lot of people out there who think the Russians are behind every mysterious happening. Good or bad. And the Russians are really not that smart.’

‘Yes, but Sonja was …’ Eva began, then, for some reason, suddenly stopped.

‘Sonja was what?’ Volker asked.

‘Nothing,’ Eva said quickly. ‘And you’re right about everyone blaming the Russians for everything. But they are in control. They closed down the all the help stations on the autobahn yesterday-it took a friend of mine eleven hours to reach Helmstedt.’

‘Are they still closed?’ Effi asked. She had the feeling that Eva had only just realised that she was talking to one of Sonja’s ex-husbands, and was eager to change the subject.

‘I don’t think so,’ Volker answered her. ‘But they could be again tomorrow, and there doesn’t seem much we Berliners do about it. Appealing to the Americans is a waste of time-they’re too scared of starting another war.’

‘A good thing to be scared of,’ Effi argued. ‘But we can’t complain about what the Russians have done for our business-if it hadn’t been for them, there wouldn’t have been any new German films. The Americans would have been happy to sell us theirs, and make the occasional one here using their own crews and actors.’

‘Like Foreign Affair ,’ Eva suggested.

‘Exactly. Marlene was the only German with a decent part.’

‘True,’ Volker agreed, ‘but things seem to be changing over the past few months. Last year the Americans were only interested in propaganda, while the Soviets were encouraging thoughtful movies, but these days the roles seem almost reversed. I’ve no idea why.’

‘Neither have I,’ Effi said, having just noticed that the grey-suited Russian was listening intently to their conversation, a dark frown on his face. Russell had actually explained it all in a recent letter-the Russians, having interpreted the American Marshall Plan as a declaration of hostilities, were busy battening down every hatch they could, including the cinematic ones.

Another group called Volker away, and Eva seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. But instead of returning to the subject of Sonja, she asked Effi what she was working on.

‘Another film with Ernst Dufring. I agree that the Soviets are becoming less open, but they haven’t stopped people like him making thoughtful films. Not yet, at least.’

‘What’s this one about?’

‘It’s the history of a family, and one woman in particular-Anna Hofmann. The film’s named after her. She starts off as a serving girl in an officer’s family around the turn of the century, has a family of her own, loses her husband and son, and ends up making a dress for her granddaughter’s graduation-they’re the only two left. But it’s not depressing, not really. And it asks a lot of questions.’

‘And who do you play?’

‘The woman in middle age. It’s not a big part, but it’s a good one. Anna Jesek wrote the screenplay, and some of the lines are heavenly. What about you?’

‘Oh, nothing at the moment. No one’s making period dramas-I guess the Nazis made too many-and films set in the last few years are pretty easy to clothe-any old rags will do.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘So what’s next?’

‘No idea. I’ve got an audition at the American radio station-they’re planning a serial about ordinary Berliners which sounds interesting. And DEFA have offered me a film which doesn’t, although I haven’t seen the script yet.’

‘Will the Russians be happy to let you go?’ Eva wondered.

‘They don’t own me.’

‘No, but they can make life difficult for people.’

‘Well, if they do, I just might take an extended holiday. I need to spend more time with my daughter anyway.’

‘I didn’t know you had one.’

‘We adopted Rosa after the war. Both her parents had been killed.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Eleven and a half.’

‘A difficult age.’ Eva opened her mouth to say something else, closed it, and then took the plunge. ‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it here, but the Russians were making life difficult for Sonja, and I just have to tell someone what I know. Could we meet for a coffee or something? I know you’re busy, but …’

‘Of course. But why me? I hardly knew her.’

Eva smiled. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always thought you were more sensible than most actors.’

A back-handed compliment if ever she’d heard one, Effi thought an hour or so later, as she waited for the tram to carry her back across town. But a coffee with Eva would be pleasant enough. She wondered if the woman had had an affair with Sonja, and what secrets she had to tell. Nothing dangerous, she hoped.

There was no point in worrying about possible problems in the future when she had enough on her plate already. Rosa might be almost twelve, but she could act anything from age six to sixteen. Most of the friends Rosa had made in their neighbourhood were a lot older, and though none of them seemed like bad children, some were definitely on the wild side, with no obvious signs of parental control. At school, where her marks remained high, Rosa’s friends seemed mostly the same age as she was.

Effi’s sister, who looked after Rosa when Effi worked early or late, insisted there was nothing to worry about, and she was usually right about such things. But these days Zarah’s attention was so focused on her new American lover that she wouldn’t have noticed a visit from Hitler. And bringing Rosa back to Berlin had always felt risky to Effi as the girl had lost both her parents here.