Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

'Draughts won't do our patient any good.' Marlene closed the window.

Edelgard was filling the kettle at the sink. 'They say Siidmaringen is a very pretty place. How nice for you, lieutenant-colonel. Tea will be ready in a moment.' She was about to close the door of the cubby hole behind her.

Armand's right hook came quick as lightning. With a sigh, Nurse Edelgard collapsed on the floor. 'She was only going to make tea,' said Marlene reproachfully.

'She was going to raise the alarm.' Armand closed the door of the tiny room and pocketed the key. 'The femur is the thigh bone. Any real nurse would know that. The phone is connected to Gestapo HQ.'

'Was connected,' Marlene said, showing him the two ends of the telephone wire that she had broken as she closed the window. A temporary field connection like that isn't very stable, someone once told me.'

'Jolly good show,' said the Englishman appreciatively.

And now to get out inconspicuously.' Marlene put the raincoat round his shoulders and led him out of the room. Armand brought up the rear. On the stairs, the medical officer joined them and accompanied them to the car. All the best, lieutenant-colonel,' he said to Colby.

'Thank you, doctor.' The red Panhard started up. Colby turned to Armand. 'Now what?'

'You'll be back in London in a couple of days' time.'

They stopped in the middle of Neuilly park, behind some dense bushes. Bertrand put two fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Two bicycle taxis raced over the grass. Armand left his cap and uniform jacket in the car, Marlene added her nurse's cap to them. She helped the Englishman into one of the vehicles and squeezed in beside him. The rider stepped on the pedals. 'I like your Resistance. It's fun,' she called, in high spirits.

'Only as long as they don't catch us,' said Armand, quelling her exuberance.

No one's going to catch me, thought Marlene, eager to do something. She asked Yvonne, 'Where do you go shopping around here?'

At Printemps or the Galeries Lafayette. Or the Place Vendome if you have enough money.'

One of the bicycle taxis took her into the city. At the Credit Lyonnais they changed her forged Swiss francs into French francs without demur, giving her enough for a pretty dress and a coat of inimitable Parisian chic to go with it, as well as a pair of divine shoes with high heels and a matching handbag in the Place Vendome, as well as silk underwear and stockings from Madame Schiaparelli's boutique in the Ritz Hotel.

The muted sound of voices rose in the hotel bar. She sat down at one of the little tables. A couple of high-ranking German officers were drinking aperitifs with their women. Some French businessmen were pouring RICARD over a cube of sugar in a glass. The world was going to the devil in style. She ordered a glass of champagne.

Two men were drinking whisky at the bar. Marlene saw the backs of their tweed jackets. One of them was watching her in the mirror. It was Frank Saunders. He nodded at her with an inquiring glance, and she inclined her head. He picked up his whisky glass and strolled over to her.

'Changed your hunting grounds?'

'What, with all the local competition?' She adopted his own light tone as if they'd last met only yesterday.

'You have no competition at all.' He kissed her fingertips. 'How about it? I live just around the corner.'

'Going there at once, are we, or can I finish my drink?'

'Hey, sweetheart, you never used to be so touchy. Tell me, what are you doing in Paris?'

'It's a long story. Are you still with the Herald Tribune?'

'In charge of our office here. Fascinating job. As a neutral I have freedom of movement.'

'I have something for you. Where can we talk undisturbed?'

'Like I said, I live just around the corner.'

'Not to fuck, Frank. To talk.'

'The pianist at Harry's plays so loud you can hardly hear yourself speak. It's only a step away.' Saunders waved to the waiter and paid. 'See you tomorrow, Ernest.' He clapped his tweed-clad companion on the shoulder as he passed. A colleague. Reporter for the New York Times, writes novels on the side.'

Harry's New York Bar was in the rue Daunou. A piano tinkled a metallic staccato as they entered. 'Two glasses of Scotch in the back room,' Saunders ordered. 'OK, shoot,' he said.

'Which bit would you like to hear about first? Skeletons with skin stretched over their bones starving on watery soup? Guards beating helpless prisoners to death with their cudgels? Human subjects with their heads chopped off for use in experiments? Or just being kept in a cellar where the rats gnaw off your toes? The place is called Blumenau. It's one of their camps. They torture and murder human beings there.'

'Sounds damn improbable. And what are you, a German civilian, doing in Paris in the middle of the war? Where did you come by this story? Are you sure of the details? Convince me.'

She talked without stopping for half an hour. In spite of the horrors, she didn't forget to mention the forged money. Saunders pushed his whisky glass back and forth. He thought about it. 'Yes, this is what we must do,' he finally said. 'Listen. My secretary Nancy is blonde like you. With horn-rimmed glasses you'd resemble her passport photo. We can take the plane from Lisbon over the Azores to Florida and fly on to New York. As soon as we land I'll introduce you to the press and radio.' His enthusiasm was growing as he talked. 'Ex-wife of concentration camp commandant tells all. What about that? Good, don't you think? Sweetheart, it will be the sensation of the year, with your sex appeal. You'll get a fabulous fee. And most important of all, you'll be safe.'

As simple as that.' Her tone conveyed the despair of all the maltreated people for whom there was no escape.

'Nancy's hair is shorter than yours. Go to the hairdresser.'

'Telephone!' called the barkeeper, holding up the receiver. After a brief conversation, Frank Saunders returned to their table.

'I don't want to go to America,' said Marlene quietly. 'I want to stay here. And when the whole bloody thing is over I want to go back to Berlin.'

'You'll be able to do that sooner than you dared to hope. That call was from my office. Hitler's declared war on the United States. The poor stupid sod doesn't know that means he's lost the war, of course. Sorry, I must go and pack. They're giving us just a few hours to leave the country.'

'Will you publish the story?'

'It's worth nothing without you there in person. You can't sell that kind of thing at home without sex appeal. Sorry, sweetheart. Try the Swedes. They have a gloomy Nordic taste for horror stories.'

She walked away without a word. There was nothing more to say.

She ran into Major Wachter outside the Cafe de I'Opera. It was too late to avoid him. 'You're not going to turn me down this time, are you?' he asked.

'Very well, a cup of coffee.'

'I don't even know your name.'

'Helene Neumann. I'm from Berlin. I'm here looking for suitable quarters for the local headquarters of our Women's Association.'

'I'm from Nuremberg. A toy manufacturer. I get around Paris a good deal as adjutant to the city commandant.' He waited for her reaction. 'We could have a lot of fun together,' he said.

Still doesn't know how to win me over, she thought, analysing his advances to her.

Adjutant to the city commandant — that must be an interesting post,' she said non-committally.

'Paradise for a lover of French food and wine. The French are paying court to the victor. I accompany the general to dozens of receptions and banquets. Though sometimes I'd rather have a couple of good Nuremberg sausages and a beer.'

She rose to her feet. 'Thank you for the coffee.'

He leaped up. 'Shall we see each other again, Fraulein Neumann?'

'Perhaps. I quite often come here for a cup of coffee. Good day, Major.'