He held out his hand. Liese stared at him, reeling from his words, wondering if he was asking for more money.
‘Come with me.’
‘What?’
‘Come with me, Liese. You’re right: none of this matters. We could use your brains and your courage. I’ve seen you battling to hold this place together. Think what you could achieve if you put that energy to better use.’
‘I can’t…’
It was an automatic response. But she could. Her parents lived in a fantasy world – that didn’t mean she had to stay in there with them, feeding their delusions out of a worn-out sense of duty. She could leave with Michael right now – find a life with more meaning.
His hand was still out. She stepped towards it.
‘What would I do, if I came?’
‘So much! We need people with an eye for detail, who can think ahead and plan. You would be—’
His excitement was cut short by the front door slamming.
‘Who’s there? Why can I hear raised voices?’ Otto barrelled into the office, dropping his bag as he came. ‘Don’t tell me you two are still finding reasons to squabble? What is it this time?’
Liese jumped back from Michael’s outstretched hand, scrabbling for an answer before Michael could mention the money or announce she was planning to leave the salon and join the resistance.
‘It’s nothing. Michael was lecturing; I didn’t want to know. The usual stuff.’
Otto wasn’t listening; he was staring at his son.
‘What happened? Who did this to you? Have you been fighting?’
‘Of course I’ve been fighting. What else am I meant to do?’
Michael was still looking at Liese. ‘Are you coming?’
She wanted to say yes, she really did. But then she looked at Otto, saw how aged and brittle his face seemed when he looked at his son. Her shoulders slumped.
‘I can’t.’
Michael’s curse made Otto wince.
Liese tried to grab his arm as he stormed past.
‘You don’t understand. They need me; I can’t pretend I don’t know that. I can’t let them down.’
He shook her off and ran for the door, kicking it shut behind him with a crash that rattled the walls. Otto was left clutching at air.
‘What did he mean? Where were you going?’
‘Nowhere. It doesn’t matter.’
Otto dropped into a chair. He looked old and broken and far too vulnerable to be left.
Liese picked up Paul’s brandy and poured him a large measure.
‘You’re exhausted. Sit quietly; never mind Michael for now. Where were you? You’ve been gone for ages and it’s clearly done you no good. I thought this was meant to be a quick trip, Hamburg and back, but you’ve been gone nearly two weeks.’
Otto drained his glass and held it out for a refill.
‘There was nothing to be had in Hamburg, so I went to Munich and Stuttgart, and half a dozen towns in between. All of it hopeless. Everywhere is controlled as tightly as Berlin. Every factory and supplier is plastered with Adefa stickers and has a blacklist of Jewish businesses as broad as my arm. I couldn’t secure thread or buttons, never mind fabric. We’ll have to cast the net wider, maybe to Poland. That might keep us afloat until the French buyer comes.’
The French buyer. André Bardou, firmly holding on to his position as Paris’s trendsetter. Paul believed Bardou was still loyal and swore he would come in November with his chequebook open. Once, Liese would have been breathless at the merest hint of his arrival, poring over every detail of their brief, flirtatious meetings. Now, she doubted Otto believed in this lifeline any more than she did.
‘You’ll kill yourself, and to no purpose. Even if André is still allowed to use us, we don’t have the bodies, or the funds, to complete a collection. If he comes at all, he can take the unsold stock from last year. Or not. Other than him, we’ve virtually nothing: five dresses ordered at most. The fabric we have left can do for them.’
The question what next hung there unanswerable.
‘Let me see.’
Exhaustion made Liese clumsy. As she reached for the order book, she dislodged a handful of Reichsmarks which had fallen out of the snatched envelopes.
‘Has he been stealing from the salon? Tell me the truth.’
His voice sounded so hopeless.
Liese bent to scoop up the notes rather than face him.
‘No. Of course not. I gave him some money. I thought he might find a better use for it than me wasting it on stock.’
Otto sighed. ‘I know you’re covering for him. He’s been taking money from me for months, for this fight he’s pledged his life to, I presume. I pretend not to notice. If I tackle him, he’ll leave and then what chance do I have to protect him?’ His voice broke on a sob. ‘He’s going to end up dead. He’s a Jew and a communist, and not quiet about either: what does he think is going to happen to him? We haven’t seen anything here yet compared to what’s coming; the Party still has its gloves on. That won’t last, not now they’ve had a free run in Austria. Attacks, expulsions, mass arrests, and none of it challenged. They’re not taking Jewish businesses there – they’re taking Jews.’
He was crying freely now, without noticing the tears.
‘Why wouldn’t your father listen to me? Why wouldn’t he leave? I should have gone; I should have taken Michael away when he threw in his lot with the KPD, but how could I abandon your father? The pair of them have torn me in two.’ His face had caved into shadows and bone.
Liese clutched his hand, but there was nothing she could say to soothe him.
‘Michael is going to get killed. If I don’t do something, if I don’t get him out, my boy won’t last the year.’
How many lies did Paul think André could stomach? Liese twisted her napkin under the table as her father batted the Frenchman’s questions away.
‘Have times been tough since the Führer moved against Austria? For some perhaps, but not Haus Elfmann. You’ve heard rumours that say otherwise? Our competitors trying to discredit us – you know how this industry works. The last show? Such a triumph, such a shame that you missed it.’
On and on he went, piling up his tall tales until Liese was convinced she would suffocate. Otto had stopped trying to intervene, André had grown steadily quieter; Paul gave no sign that he’d noticed either. He’d been deftly not noticing a thing since they’d stepped out of the November chill and into the warmth of the Hotel Adlon. Liese, however, was raw with discomfort.
All the years her family had patronised the hotel, all the money they’d spent, and yet tonight they were invisible, shuttled into a corner, until André came down to the lobby and rescued them.
Liese had blushed when she saw his frown. Paul had greeted him with overdone delight and swept ahead of André into the restaurant as if he was still king of it. He had behaved in his usual exuberant fashion, dispensing waves and blowing kisses and moving too quickly to see how they were taken. The maître d’, who had run the restaurant since Liese had needed a high chair, waved them to a table tucked into the shadows. Paul thanked him effusively for respecting their privacy. He laughed away the long wait between courses and pronounced the empty bread basket a good thing for his waistline. Liese couldn’t tell whether his performance was brave or deluded. From his increasingly fixed smile, neither, it seemed, could André.
‘Perhaps we should order coffee, balance out the wine?’
Otto motioned to another waiter too busy to notice.
‘Let me arrange it. They seem rather stretched.’
André rose with a bow for Margarethe and a smile for Liese that shivered with promises. He was so ridiculously handsome, with his dark blonde hair and eyes the blue-green of sea glass. And still as enamoured with her as she was with him, or so his whispered asides suggested.
Liese watched him walk away, his stride unhurried, his smile for the waiter generous, and momentarily forgot the embarrassments that had come before. Then Paul
opened his mouth and reminded her.
‘I told you it would work. A good dinner, a cosy chat. We’ll have an order out of him before the brandy arrives.’
‘This is madness – you do know that?’
Paul put down the fork heaped with the chocolate cake he was trying to tempt Margarethe into eating.
‘Excuse me?’
Once the icy stare would have stopped her, but Liese was long past being the good little girl trying to please her father. That had ended two years ago in his office.
‘Were you listening to yourself? Haus Elfmann is untroubled? The last show was a hit? What show? André’s not the fool you’re treating him as. He must know we’ve not had a collection out in a year, that we’re barely able to trade anymore.’
She expected fury, or at least indignation. Instead, Paul’s lower lip disappeared like a child caught out in a fib.
Liese pushed her dessert plate away, her stomach churning. When would her father start living in the same world as the one she was forced to navigate?
‘How did you even persuade him to come to Berlin? What lies did you tell him?’
Paul poured another glass of wine before Otto could move the bottle. His face was as red as the lobster he’d guzzled.
‘Don’t get high-handed with me, Miss – the salon’s still mine; you’ve not pushed me out yet. And there was no persuading because there was no need. We exchanged some letters. He mentioned the illness that kept him out of Germany last winter, and the worries over Austria that kept him away in the spring. He assumed he’d missed our shows. I don’t know what news they get in France about the way things are being done here, so I didn’t correct him. No persuasion and no lies. I didn’t need them. Unlike you, Monsieur Bardou still respects who I am.’ He not only looked like a child, he sounded like one.
Margarethe slammed down her glass and glared at her daughter.
‘Apologise to your father, young lady. I warned him a little responsibility would go to your head and now here’s the proof.’
A little responsibility. Liese ignored her. Her father’s smile was so smug and self-satisfied it was hard not to slap him.
‘What did you think would happen when André came? Even if, by some miracle, he doesn’t recognise that the dresses we have left are a year or more out of date, he’ll see that the salon’s deserted. He’ll speak to his other clients. You do know he’s going to find out the state we’re in?’
Paul swatted her away as easily as he’d dismissed André.
‘But he won’t. Didn’t you hear me lay the groundwork? If anyone says anything negative, we’ll call it the jealousy I’ve already mentioned. As for the salon: we can tell him it’s being redone and bring the dresses here. You can retrim them and your mother can model them. He’ll place an order and then, when I get word to the Party about the valuable international business we’re still doing, they’ll beg us to begin showing our collections again. I’ve thought of it all; I didn’t even need Otto!’
He bowed to the table and sat back as if he was expecting applause.
Otto stayed focused on his wine glass. Margarethe broke into coos at Paul’s cleverness. Liese couldn’t think of a single reply. She didn’t know whether to be grateful her father had finally, if uselessly, acknowledged the business was in serious trouble or scream at his unshakeable bravado.
‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I think something’s wrong.’
André’s return was such a welcome distraction it was a moment before Liese registered his words, or his frown.
‘Forgive me being away from you all so long. Herr Lindgen was insistent about explaining the changes at Wertheim and I couldn’t dissuade him. While we were talking, the waiter brought him a message. There’s trouble spreading round the city – a riot, from the sound of it – although that is surely unthinkable. Except the other tables appear to be getting the same news.’
Otto scrambled to his feet, his first thought clearly the same as Liese’s. Not unthinkable: Michael and the protest he’d been promising since the summer.
Liese craned round, expecting to see the restaurant emptying, its well-fed diners running in fear of baton-wielding communists. No one had moved. The waiters still circled; people were laughing. She thought she heard a toast celebrating ‘a lively and long-needed night’.
‘It can’t be that serious. No one looks concerned.’
‘Then why is Vogel running over as if he’s got wheels strapped under him?’
The maître d’ was at the table before Liese could find Otto an answer.
‘Monsieur Bardou, forgive me, but your guests need to leave.’
‘Why?’ Liese jumped in before André could speak.
Vogel didn’t look at her. ‘There is a disturbance.’
‘Then surely we’re safer staying here? No one else is moving, so I assume that’s what you’re encouraging the other diners to do?’
This time, Vogel looked straight at Liese. He didn’t offer a smile or a more soothing tone. Echoes of Hertie’s prickled her spine.
‘That isn’t possible. Not in your case. I’ve asked for your car to be brought round to the garage and would suggest you make your way there at once. Monsieur Bardou, as our guest, this difficulty doesn’t involve you. You are welcome to stay here, or retire to the lounge, where coffee is waiting.’ Vogel bowed and was gone before anyone could work out a response.
André stared from one to the other. ‘I don’t understand. Why would he treat you so rudely?’
‘Because we’re Jewish.’
Liese shrugged as André’s eyebrows shot up at the bluntness of her answer. She ignored Margarethe’s horrified gasp. There was a strange relief in saying the words and nothing to lose by continuing.
‘Whatever is going on outside, Herr Vogel is clearly more concerned about the danger to the hotel from us being here than the risks for us if we leave. Welcome to the new Germany, where the Party hates Jews. Which means anyone who wants to stay in with the Party must also hate Jews.’ She smiled at him as if they were still flirting. ‘Didn’t you guess we weren’t the Adlon’s favourite guests? This table is barely in the restaurant. If you hadn’t made the reservation, I doubt they would have seated us at all.’
André flushed. ‘Well, yes, of course I noticed the change. I’ve eaten here with your father and Otto countless times; I could hardly miss it. And there’s been some disquieting things reported in Paris about the tightening attitudes here.’
He turned to Paul.
‘But you’ve been talking all night as if everything was normal. As if all of the takeovers and the missing faces I’ve asked about were of no concern. I knew your family is Jewish; I said I was worried. You told me, quite clearly, that the new rules didn’t matter because Haus Elfmann was different, too important to interfere with.’
Liese burst out laughing and couldn’t answer when he asked her why.
Vogel looked over. He gesticulated at the door.
‘I’ll fetch the coats. Inviting trouble by sitting here won’t help.’
Otto rose heavily from the table. Paul followed him, his arm round a white-faced and indignant Margarethe.
‘Let me at least come with you to the garage. Make sure you get safely away.’
Liese realised André was still beside her, his hand outstretched to help her up. She let him guide her through the restaurant, grateful for a shield against stares that felt icy.
‘None of it was true then, what your father said?’
‘No.’
Liese tumbled out a potted account of the business’s fortunes as they made their way down a staircase that was far dingier than the lobby’s gilded sweep.
‘You’ve been managing the whole thing by yourself? You’ve always been smart, but you’ve changed since I last saw you – you’ve grown much more confident. It suits you.’
She glanced up at him. That smile that crinkled his eyes – it melted her every time.
The stairwell was so narrow it w
as hardly surprising to find him pressed close as they navigated its turns. Despite her brave words, she was shaken by Vogel’s complete disinterest in their safety. It was a comfort to find André’s hand on her shoulder, his arm round her waist. And when he stopped, when he tilted her chin and kissed her… she thought she knew his kisses by now, but this one was different. The ones before were butterfly whispers that had made her feel giddy. This one encircled her, reached down inside her, demanded another she was more than happy to sink into. His hands were urgent, the wall against her back cold as ice. She could have let the Adlon slide away completely, but then Paul’s pleading voice crawled up the stairs and shattered the spell.
‘He won’t drive us. It’s quite ridiculous.’
When they reached the basement, both her parents were bristling.
‘I keep trying to explain that I can’t!’ Stefan, their chauffeur, was tight-faced and struggling to stay patient. ‘The streets are covered in broken glass – the tyres would be shredded in minutes. It’s not an excuse. I’ve been out there: it’s frightening.’
‘So what André heard in the restaurant was right: it is a riot?’
André’s hand whispered round Liese’s back, his fingers falling light as thistledown against her bare skin. She forced herself to concentrate as the driver answered her.
‘No. I don’t think you’d call it that…’ Stefan hesitated. ‘A riot suggests something unplanned and chaotic. Whatever this is, it’s very well organised. Word has it, there’s shops smashed and looted all over the city, but it’s the Brownshirts and the youth brigades causing the damage, not undisciplined mobs.’
‘Do the attacks seem random, or specific?’
The cavernous garage almost swallowed Otto’s voice.
Stefan’s face fell. ‘I can’t be certain; I only saw a handful of streets. But, if what I heard is true, they are very specific. It’s only Jewish businesses that have been targeted. Apparently, there’s stars and vicious slogans painted everywhere, some of them on windows that haven’t been broken yet, as if the paint is a sign of which ones to attack. And there are synagogues on fire all across the city. The one I passed had firemen beside it, but they were hosing the other buildings down, not bothering with the one that was burning.’
What Only We Know: A heart-wrenching and unforgettable World War 2 historical novel Page 9