What Tomorrow Brings

by Mary Fitzgerald

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘In the summer?’ Mrs Cartwright broke into the conversation. She was small and dark, with heavy eyebrows and her long, obviously dyed, black hair was held in a low bun at the back of her neck. That neck was circled by diamonds, real ones, I thought, as were those in her ears and around both her wrists. Her kingfisher-blue dress was too full of material to make it fashionable, but it might have looked wonderful on stage with lights catching the flash of colour and the swishing of the taffeta. She frowned at me. ‘This summer?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ I could feel Amyas’s leg twitching beneath the table and knew, without any doubt, that he was begging me to help him. Why should I? I thought. After what he did to me. I should just dump him in it and let him find his own way out. But I couldn’t.

  ‘Yes,’ I said again. ‘He was on our beach with his two friends. I invited them up to our house.’

  ‘It was Graham and Percy,’ Amyas said. ‘You know, those boys I was tutoring.’

  Mrs Cartwright’s frown eased. ‘Oh, them two. I know.’ She had a strong northern accent. ‘Aye,’ she continued. ‘They went to Spain, to fight. Silly little beggars.’

  ‘Both of them?’ I asked, surprised. ‘Percy said he wouldn’t go.’

  ‘Well, he did.’ She sniffed and looked at von Klausen. ‘D’you get anything to eat in this place?’

  At von Klausen’s clicked fingers, menus were swiftly brought to the table and orders taken. ‘There is something about you, Frau Cartwright, that reminds me of the English singer, Gracie Fields.’ Von Klausen poured more champagne into her glass. ‘Perhaps you come from the same area in England?’

  ‘Not far away. She’s a Rochdale lass, I’m Bolton. I knew her years ago. Her name was Stansfield as a girl, when we toured the halls.’

  ‘So, you are an actress, yes.’

  Mrs Cartwright smiled, showing teeth yellowed by too many cigarettes. ‘I was once, love. A sort of an actress, mind. More revue, like. That sort of thing.’ She wagged her head from side to side and gave him a knowing glance. He looked alarmed and I saw Charlie’s eyes twinkling behind his glasses. But von Klausen persisted, determined to get as much information as possible.

  ‘And now you have retired from the stage, yes?’

  ‘Aye. I was luckier than Gracie. I married a rich old devil who left me very well fixed. I do what I like now.’ This last was followed by a proprietorial look in Amyas’s direction.

  It all felt rather surreal, sitting in this ballroom with Amyas and Mrs Cartwright, surrounded by Nazi officers, with Xanthe chattering and Charlie patently taking mental notes. In the gap between courses, Charlie asked Xanthe to dance; after a look that amounted to a plea for permission from von Klausen, she agreed. A second later von Klausen stood up. He’s going to ask me, I thought, my heart sinking. He’ll start asking me questions again, about my walk in the city, where I went and what I saw, but to my relief he turned to Mrs Cartwright and as they walked out on to the dance floor, Amyas and I were left alone.

  ‘You look absolutely beautiful, my darling Persephone,’ he said and caught my hand in his under the table. ‘Just seeing you is heaven.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I said, snatching my hand away. ‘How can you say that, after what you did to me? How can you be so casual?’

  ‘I have to, darling girl.’

  ‘Why?’ I tried to keep the whine out of my voice, but I knew it was there. We weren’t looking at each other, but watching the couples on the dance floor. Mrs Cartwright kept turning her head to stare at us. ‘Is it because of her?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Not entirely.’

  I was, once again, bewildered. ‘What are you doing in Berlin? You said you were going to Spain.’

  ‘Mm.’ Amyas inserted his fingers between mine and I felt that same rush of desire. ‘We’re in Berlin because she has business here. She’s put money into armaments. A lot of money.’

  ‘She’ll lose it in the long run,’ I said spitefully.

  Amyas grinned. ‘I know.’

  The band was playing the Merry Widow waltz and I looked at Charlie, who was falling over Xanthe’s feet as he attempted to dance. He was so decent. I knew he’d asked her to dance so that there would be a chance for Amyas and me to talk in private. The trouble was that I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to rage and scream and cry buckets over him and the effort to keep in control was making my whole body tremble.

  Biting my lip, I said, ‘So what happened to Spain? You got cold feet?’

  ‘No.’ Amyas shook his head slowly. ‘It just wasn’t possible, but I did go to Paris, to the 9th arrondissement. I took Percy.’

  ‘But he said he wouldn’t go,’ I said, turning to face him. ‘He had obligations to his parents.’

  Amyas shrugged. ‘He wanted to be with Graham. That mattered more.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I said bitterly. ‘Love mattered more. How very nice for them.’

  ‘Love does matter, darling girl,’ Amyas said, almost under his breath, his eyes on the dance floor. ‘But sometimes other things get in the way.’ He stood up as von Klausen led Mrs Cartwright back to her seat. ‘Did you enjoy that, Elvira?’

  ‘I did, lad.’ She fanned herself with the pudding menu. ‘It’s a long time since I enjoyed a whirl around a dance floor and this young man has excellent footwork.’

  ‘Oh he has,’ said Xanthe, who had returned with Charlie. ‘I love dancing with him.’

  Von Klausen gave her a careful smile. ‘Thank you, meine Liebe.’ He picked up the menu and studied it carefully. ‘Now, what shall we have for dessert?’

  I’d had enough, both of the food and the evening. There had been too many shocks and I needed to be alone in my room to think about them. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I have a dreadful headache. Would you mind if I went back to the Adlon?’

  Charlie stood up. ‘I’ll take you.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’ll get a taxi. You stay and talk. I’ll be all right. I probably walked too far today.’ I didn’t look at Amyas when I said my goodbyes, but Xanthe got up and followed me as I headed towards the lobby.

  ‘Seff,’ she said, grabbing my arm. ‘If Mummy and Daddy ask about me, tell them not to worry, and if Wolf divorces his wife and we marry, speak up for me. Please.’

  I nodded. ‘I probably won’t see them, but if I do, I will. But, Xanthe, you must do something for me first.’

  ‘Anything!’

  ‘Don’t talk about me and Amyas. Don’t tell von Klausen or Mrs Cartwright what happened in Cornwall. Promise!’

  ‘I promise,’ she said, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  The taxi ride lasted less than ten minutes, but it felt like hours. I almost ran through the lobby to the lift and once in the privacy of my room, I threw myself on my bed and sobbed. I was in despair. I still wanted him, still felt the same and knew that I always would. But he didn’t care. He had moved on. I was a summer’s fling.

  I was still lying on my bed, in my beautiful sea-green gown, two hours later when the knock came on my door. It’ll be Charlie, I thought, wearily. Come to see if I’m all right. Maybe, if I don’t answer, he’ll think I’m asleep. But the knock persisted and dragging a hand across my tear-stained face I got up and went to the door. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Charlie. I’m all right,’ I said as I opened the door.

  ‘But you’re not,’ said the man waiting in the corridor. And while I stood with my mouth open and my heart fluttering, Amyas walked in and took me in his arms.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘WHAT D’YOU WANT,’ I said tremulously.

  ‘I want you.’ His voice was heavy with desire as he led me to the bed and tore off my dress. ‘I will always want you, Persephone. Don’t doubt me on that.’ And we made love; serious, passionate love, which left my whole body tingling from the feel of his hands and his beautiful body. I didn’t hold back. Why would I when this was what I’d yearned for, all these months? I was as abandoned as I’d ever been, touching and holding and guiding h
im into me as though I was sucking the very life out of him.

  And afterwards, when we lay back and gazed at the smooth plasterwork ceiling of the Hotel Adlon, I permitted myself a smile. He wanted me. That’s all I needed to know.

  ‘God, Persephone, you are wonderful.’ He said it as though he meant it.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, feeling suddenly that our roles had irrevocably changed. ‘I am.’

  He laughed. ‘I thought you’d throw me out.’

  Did he sound sorry? No. Amyas never admitted that he’d done anything wrong. I looked at him, lying naked on my narrow hotel bed, with me squeezed up against the wall. Moonlight shone through the window on to his body and he was just as I’d remembered. Utterly perfect. Skin wonderfully smooth, without any blemishes, and his torso flat and impeccably muscled. And then there was his film star face and his thick, black hair, now tousled and lying untidily over his forehead. In the Kaiserhof it had been brushed smoothly back, which had given him a gaucho look, as though at any moment he would break into a tango. Now, in my bed, he was the Amyas of Cornwall. My lover who’d come out of the sea. My pirate king.

  ‘I might throw you out, some time,’ I said, though part of me simply refused to believe that.

  ‘Good.’ He pulled me to him. ‘I like you tough. It suits you.’

  ‘Can you stay?’ I asked, after a while.

  ‘Until the morning.’ He rolled over. ‘The injection will knock her out for quite a while.’

  I wondered about that, but only briefly, and, exhausted by passion, I was soon asleep. But when I awoke at dawn, with the pale light sneaking through the small windows, I thought about the drugged Mrs Cartwright and her relationship with Amyas.

  ‘What are you thinking of?’

  His voice made me jump. I’d thought he was still asleep. ‘What d’you think,’ I said and he laughed softly and, pushing his knee between my legs, lowered his mouth on to mine. Later, sitting up in bed, while Amyas lay with his head turned towards the window, I asked him about her. ‘Do you sleep with her?’

  ‘I have,’ he said. ‘But not for some time.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘She likes to show me off. Like an expensive pet.’

  ‘How can you bear it?’

  ‘Easily,’ he answered. ‘She’s very generous. I’m a kept man, and kept very well most of the time. Now and then she can be mean and sometimes, when the mood takes her, she leaves me short. Then I have to rely on my own devices.’

  ‘You stole my father’s books.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ The lack of concern in his voice shocked me and I turned my head to look at him. He was lying with his eyes open and a faint smile on his lips. ‘They’re quite rare volumes and the bookseller on the Charing Cross Road was thrilled to see them.’ Amyas broadened his smile into a grin. ‘We struck a good deal.’

  ‘But that makes you a thief.’

  ‘I suppose it does, my darling, but at the time it was necessary. I had no money and I needed to get away.’ He frowned, thinking. ‘The books were still in the shop last time I was there. Your father could easily buy them back. The amount would be nothing to him.’

  I’ll buy them back, I thought, and send them to Father and that would be one less thing for the parents to have over me. An unsuitable lover was one thing but a lover who was also a thief . . .

  ‘You were lucky that my father didn’t go to the police.’

  Amyas said nothing. He knew as well as I did that my parents would do anything to avoid scandal. He looked at me. ‘What have you been doing since the summer?’

  Should I tell him? Should I cry and say that I spent three precious months carrying our unborn child and then tell him about the abortion forced on me by my mother? And how the surgeon bungled it and about how a few days later I nearly died of blood loss. Of the blood running out of me which wouldn’t stop, and having to crawl on my hands and knees to the telephone. How to explain about the ambulance men running up the stairs and hammering on my door and then breaking in because I was too weak to open it? What could I tell him about the starchy disapproval of the nurses in the private hospital where I had the blood transfusion and spent my time weeping? No. I couldn’t tell him any of it.

  ‘I bought a flat,’ was all I said. ‘In Belgravia. I live there now.’

  He nodded. ‘I thought last night that you seemed to have grown up. You are a lovely woman, Persephone. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Particularly your silly little sister.’ He sighed. ‘She’s swimming in dangerous waters.’

  ‘Xanthe can’t swim,’ I said, thinking back to our childhood. ‘She’s never been able to.’

  ‘Then she’ll drown.’

  A clock struck somewhere in the city and then another one. ‘I have to get up,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what Charlie’s got planned for today but I want to go with him. I need to get in on this assignment properly.’

  ‘Are you sleeping with him?’ Amyas got out of bed and stood, naked, looking out of my small window at the view down Unter den Linden.

  ‘No,’ I laughed, dragging on my dressing gown and getting my wash bag. The bathroom was down the corridor. ‘Obviously not. There’s barely room for two in this bed, let alone three.’

  ‘I like him,’ Amyas nodded. ‘He’s one of the good guys.’

  We ate breakfast in the dining room, Amyas oblivious to the other guests staring at his dinner jacket. Indeed, when he leant over to the next table to ask for their glass dish of plum jam, the woman fluttered a smile and the man beamed, ‘Of course, sir,’ and gave a deferential little bow. I shook my head and laughed to myself. He gives off an air of nobility, I thought. How does he do it?

  ‘What d’you think of Berlin?’ he asked, while the waiter poured more coffee into his cup.

  I waited until he had gone before answering in a lowered voice. ‘The buildings are magnificent and most of the people seem to be healthy and happy, but I think it’s a different place for some. The uncertainty is all a bit frightening.’ I looked around the dining room at the stout, cheerful people tucking into large breakfasts of sausage and hard-boiled eggs and at the friendly waiters for whom nothing seemed to be too much trouble. ‘If you based an opinion on what you see here, you’d think Berlin is a wonderful city, but yesterday I went to an address off Auguststrasse . . .’

  Amyas put his cup down so quickly that some of the coffee slopped into the saucer. ‘Auguststrasse? Why the hell did you go there?’

  ‘I had a message to deliver. From my neighbour at home.’ I frowned. ‘Not that it’s any of your business. Anyway, he wanted me to take some money to his sister so that she and her daughter could leave Germany and come to London to live with him.’ I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was listening before saying, ‘They’re Jewish.’

  ‘Of course they are,’ Amyas said angrily. ‘You shouldn’t have gone. It’s a wonder you weren’t stopped.’

  ‘I was.’ I couldn’t resist gloating. ‘By the police. Or, at least, I think they were the police. I gave them the slip.’ I thought back to yesterday morning and gave an involuntary shiver. ‘But, Amyas, it was frightening. The place is horrible, with boarded-up buildings and dreadful words written on the walls. And Mrs Goldstein says she won’t leave. She says it will all blow over and that because she’s a teacher she must stay with her girls.’

  ‘She’s mad.’ He said the words bleakly as if they were a fact, not an opinion. ‘It will get worse.’ He picked up his coffee cup. ‘Don’t go there again.’

  ‘I won’t. I’ve promised Charlie.’

  ‘Is that my name I hear taken in vain?’ Charlie joined us at the table. He was dressed for work in his dusty grey suit with his trench coat slung over his arm. He nodded to the waiter, who brought him a cup and poured coffee. ‘I’ve already had breakfast,’ he said, giving me a quizzical look. ‘I thought you’d join me but I see you’ve got more exciting company.’

  Was I being reproved? I didn’t know, but I did feel my cheeks beginning to glow.

  ‘We’ve been
catching up on old times,’ Amyas said. ‘And I’ve been hearing about Persephone’s activities here in Berlin.’

  Charlie changed the subject rather abruptly. ‘What are you doing in this city, Mr Troy?’

  ‘Oh, this and that. Mrs Cartwright has contacts here whom she needs to meet.’

  ‘What contacts?’ Charlie leant forward.

  Amyas laughed. ‘Quite the newshound, isn’t he, Persephone?’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up. ‘You’ll excuse me. I have things to do and I know you have too.’ He bent and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Goodbye.’ The rest of the farewell was muttered in my ear, for me alone. ‘I’ll see you tonight, darling girl.’

  Charlie and I watched him walk out of the dining room. People turned to stare, and Amyas smiled at one or two and stopped to shake hands with a rather plump man in uniform who was just coming in through the door. ‘My God,’ said Charlie, ‘that’s Hermann Göring. How the hell does he know him?’

  ‘You met Heydrich last night,’ I shrugged. ‘Some might ask, in a year or so, how the hell do you know him? What’s the difference?’

  ‘I don’t know, Blake, but there is one.’

  In the taxi on the way to a press conference, Charlie said, ‘So is it all on again with Troy?’

  I shrugged. I didn’t know the answer and even thinking about it made me uncomfortable.

  ‘Well?’ he insisted.

  ‘We’re ships that pass in the night,’ I muttered, trying to seem casual, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew how stupid I sounded.

  Charlie laughed. ‘From the look of you both,’ he said, ‘I’d hazard a guess that those ships docked last night.’

  I blushed again and my face stayed like that for the short distance down the Wilhelmstrasse where we entered the Propaganda Ministry to listen to Joseph Goebbels extolling the virtues of the Third Reich. However, the Reich Minister’s message wasn’t all sweetness and light.

  ‘The dissidents and terrorists who burned down the Reichstag have been dealt with and over the last few years we’ve brought law and order to the Fatherland.’ Goebbels’s words were chilling, as was everything else about him.