What Tomorrow Brings

by Mary Fitzgerald

  I craned my neck to get a better look at him: a small, narrow-faced man, who had limped when he walked into the room and who seemed to command the obedience of his staff with the slightest turn of his head. He was the most important man in Germany, after Hitler, and, from what I’d read, the most devoted to the elimination of dissidents. When questions were invited from the floor, I prayed that Charlie wouldn’t speak. I didn’t want the spotlight to be turned anywhere near us. But, of course, Charlie did.

  ‘Dr Goebbels,’ he called out, ‘does the German air force intend to bomb any more towns in Spain?’

  There was a collective gasp around the room as the journalists acknowledged the impoliteness of Charlie’s question.

  Goebbels was never going to answer.

  I watched his face darken and he put up one finger to summon an aide. A short, whispered conversation ensued before the minister looked back to the gathered journalists and to Charlie in particular. ‘A more relevant question please, gentlemen.’

  A succession of polite and desultory questions were proffered about the new buildings, and why was the Klosterstrasse underground station partially closed? ‘We’re constantly updating our infrastructure,’ was the reply. What I learned later was that Hitler, already with all-out war on his mind, had demanded that air-raid shelters must be built and the underground stations were the obvious choice.

  As we walked out of the building at the end of the meeting, I noticed that we were being watched by the official that Dr Goebbels had spoken to. I pointed him out to Charlie.

  ‘Yes, I can see him,’ he said. ‘I expected it and I know I should have kept my mouth shut. But that man is a reptile and I wanted to make him uncomfortable. It was stupid and unprofessional of me and that might make what we have to do this afternoon more difficult.’

  ‘What?’ I was excited.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get some lunch and I’ll tell you.’

  Over Wiener schnitzel and beer, he told me what he’d planned. ‘I’ve arranged to meet someone at the university, but at the same time I’ve made an appointment to interview one of the professors. We’ll start off talking to her together and then I’ll excuse myself to go to the lavatory and you can carry on talking to her. She speaks excellent English, by the way.’

  ‘And you’ll meet your contact?’

  ‘Yes, I hope so. Our watcher might stay with you, he’ll think that I’m only going to be away for a moment and that will be true. My contact will be handing over a dossier of information. How we get it out of Germany is another problem, but we’ll think about that later.’

  At two o’clock we walked down Unter den Linden to the Humboldt University. ‘It was from here that the books were taken for burning four years ago,’ said Charlie, as we walked across the plaza in front of the grand building. ‘Since then they’ve sacked all their Jewish professors and students. It’s a haven for Nazis, but there are a few lecturers left who’ve kept their sympathies quiet. This fellow I’m hoping to see is leaving soon, but he wants the world to know what’s going on. It’s our duty to report it. Having evidence will be so much better than simple hearsay.’

  ‘And who am I meeting?’ I asked. I felt nervous.

  ‘Oh,’ Charlie grinned, ‘she’s a doozy. Professor Helga Waldorf. She has the chair of ethnic studies. And, from what I’ve read, she’s quite mad.’

  That last didn’t reassure me and I could feel my feet dragging as I followed Charlie up the stairs to the professor’s department. I looked down as we turned on the half-landing and I could see our watcher coming up the stairs on the floor below.

  ‘He’s still with us,’ I muttered.

  ‘Yes, I guessed he would be,’ Charlie sighed. ‘This is going to be difficult.’

  The professor was waiting for us when we were shown into her office, standing, hands on hips, beside her enormous oak desk. ‘Good afternoon to you, Mr Bradford.’ She looked at me with piercing blue eyes. ‘And this young woman is . . .?’

  I stepped forward before Charlie could introduce me, I determined not to be intimidated, and said, ‘Persephone Blake, Mr Bradford’s assistant. How d’you do?’ For a moment she looked rather taken aback, at my boldness I suppose, then she nodded and indicated a chair against the wall where I was to sit. Charlie sat in the chair opposite her.

  ‘So,’ Professor Waldorf opened the interview. ‘You wish to know about my research. Yes?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ve read something of your work, on eugenics and the like. I’m interested in how you came to your conclusions.’

  She smiled, showing large, horsey teeth, and slapped her hands down on her desk. ‘It was easy,’ she whinnied. ‘Look around the world and you can see which are the inferior races. They have made no progress in a thousand years. They remain Stone Age peoples.’

  ‘And you take no account of climate, availability of food, water or natural resources?’ Charlie’s question, though mild and delivered gently, received a decisive shake of the head.

  ‘It is not necessary, Mr Bradford. We have done experiments on some of our subjects. Submitted them to tests and brain examinations. My theory is proved every time. Let me explain further.’

  I sat quietly, taking notes as they continued with the interview, not only on what the professor said, but on her appearance. She was the very epitome of German womanhood; her thick, faded blonde hair was severely parted along the centre of her large head and wound into plaited circles beside her ears. She wore a brown skirt and jacket over a cream blouse, which almost looked like a uniform, right down to her laced-up brown shoes. I gazed around the room and was struck by the large framed portrait of the Führer. She had draped a red cloth over the frame at the top and put a little laurel wreath above it. It looked almost like a shrine. There could be no doubt where her allegiance lay.

  Suddenly Charlie stood up. ‘I’m very sorry, Professor, will you excuse me for a moment. I need to find the toilet.’

  She looked surprised but said, ‘Of course, Mr Bradford. It’s at the end of the corridor.’

  I stayed in my chair and gave her an embarrassed little smile. ‘Mr Bradford has not been too well this week,’ I said. ‘I think it was something he ate on the train here.’

  She shrugged her hefty shoulders. ‘It happens, Fräulein,’ she said, rearranging the papers on her desk into neat piles, and looked at me again. ‘So. What is it that you do in London?’

  ‘I’m training to be a journalist,’ I answered and allowed a breathy quality into my voice. I hoped I sounded eager, although still at a learning stage. ‘This is my first foreign assignment.’

  ‘And your education?’

  ‘I read English at London University.’

  ‘Good. Young women should be educated.’ She gave me her horsey smile. ‘You come from an academic family?’

  ‘No,’ I laughed. ‘Not really. My father studies Ancient Greece, but that is his private occupation. My mother and sister don’t have the slightest interest in learning.’

  She nodded. ‘Many women are the same. You have to fight to get anywhere in this world, even in Germany. It is a man’s world. But I hope you’ve been able to see something of our wonderful city?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I’m hugely impressed.’

  ‘And had some fun, yes?’

  ‘Mr Bradford and I went to a dance at the Kaiserhof hotel last night. That was fun.’ I thought of Amyas and how I’d seen him across the dance floor, and then I thought of him in my bed at the Adlon. I almost laughed out loud. Now that had been hugely enjoyable.

  ‘Ach, yes. I think some of the most prominent people in the government were there. I didn’t attend. To me this ballroom dancing is decadent. The music is written by inferior races, is it not? I would, instead, prefer to encourage folk dancing. It combines healthy exercise and a display of our culture . . . but my views are not always followed.’ She sighed and settled her muscular rear end more firmly in her chair. ‘At the Kaiserhof, did you meet anyone import
ant?’

  ‘I met a Count von Klausen. He seemed to be quite important.’

  To my astonishment Professor Waldorf gave her whinnying laugh. ‘Ach, young Wolf. He’s very well known. He was my student you know and quite a naughty boy! None of my ladies was safe.’ She calmed down. ‘He’s grown up now. Married into old Prussian nobility and is a rising star in the SS.’

  I decided to pretend to confide in her. She obviously liked to gossip and it would cover the lengthening time that Charlie was taking. ‘I’m sorry to hear that he’s married, Professor. He brought my young sister as his guest and she seemed quite struck on him.’ I bit my lip. ‘Oh dear,’ I whispered in mock despair, ‘I don’t think she knows that he’s married.’

  ‘Well,’ said the professor severely, ‘you must tell her immediately that he’s only having a bit of fun with her. He will never leave his wife. Oh, no. The countess is part of the establishment and her family is very close to . . .’ She nodded towards the portrait of Hitler. ‘I won’t say more. Now,’ she looked at her watch. ‘I have a seminar very soon. Where is Mr Bradford?’

  ‘Shall I go and look for him?’ I stood up and edged towards the door.

  ‘No. I will.’ She heaved herself up and, reaching the door in a few strides, flung it open. The watcher who was standing in the corridor looked up, startled by the abrupt noise and at her sudden, emphatic appearance. Professor Helga gave him a withering stare. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ she demanded. At least I thought that was what she said, because the conversation was held in German and I only gathered a few words.

  ‘Herr Professor Braun,’ the man stuttered. ‘I’m looking for him.’

  ‘Chemistry or Law?’

  ‘Chemistry,’ answered the watcher. I knew from his face that he’d hazarded a guess.

  ‘Wrong building. Go down the stairs and across the Platz.’ She pointed to the staircase. ‘Off you go.’

  He had no choice and I watched as, with a last look down the corridor towards the closed door, he walked reluctantly down the stairs and out of sight.

  ‘Now, we find Mr Bradford,’ the professor said, but at that moment Charlie appeared through the door at the end of the corridor. His face was pale, I thought, and rather grim-looking.

  ‘My profound apologies, Frau Professor,’ he said.

  I butted in quickly. ‘I told Professor Waldorf that you haven’t been very well.’

  She frowned at him. ‘You should go back to your hotel, Herr Bradford, and lie down. And sadly, I can give you no more time. My students are expected directly.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlie said gratefully. ‘Despite its being curtailed, our discussion has been very useful. I’ll make sure that your position is explained fully in my article.’

  ‘Good.’ She shook his hand and then as I followed him she caught my arm. ‘Tell your sister to go home. It is wrong for her to divert Count von Klausen from his duty.’

  ‘Yes,’ I nodded and closed the door behind me as we left. A group of students were waiting in the corridor as another group emerged from another room. I noticed a small middle-aged man come out of the door from which Charlie had emerged earlier and mingle with the students who were going downstairs. In the veritable scrum he vanished almost instantly. We followed more slowly.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked. ‘You looked awful when you came out of the toilet.’

  ‘You’d look awful if you’d heard what I just have. About concentration camps and sudden arrests. Medical experiments on live patients without anaesthetic. God, it’s disgusting.’

  The sun had come out as we walked back up Unter den Linden and the city glowed. I could smell coffee and cinnamon buns in the air. What Charlie had said seemed almost unbelievable. ‘Have you got any proof?’ I asked. ‘Without it . . .’

  ‘I’ve got names and dates and places,’ said Charlie, patting his jacket. I could see a bulge. ‘I can check it, but I don’t think I’ve been given duff information. It’s red-hot stuff.’

  We walked on further, past the dress shop and I looked in the window. The helpful girl was there, arranging a midnight-blue evening gown on a dummy, and when I smiled at her she gave me a cheerful wave.

  ‘What was that about Xanthe?’ Charlie asked as we walked into the lobby.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ I said. ‘At supper. Where are we going, by the way?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Let’s meet in the bar here, at about seven thirty, and go on from there. Will that do?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  ‘I’m going to phone the paper.’ Charlie walked towards the bank of telephones which stood in the corridor beside the reception desk. ‘I need to find out what our esteemed editor thinks of what we’ve done so far.’ He grinned at me. ‘I’ll tell him you’ve been brilliant. Couldn’t have managed without you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and went towards the lift. The door was just closing when a young girl slid in. It was Kitty Goldstein.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘KITTY!’ I WAS astonished and at the same time concerned that she had come into the centre of Berlin.

  ‘Please, Fräulein Blake, do not be angry with me for disturbing you at your hotel. I have to speak with you.’ Her young face was creased with worry and I took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘I’m not angry, Kitty. But isn’t it difficult for you to come here? Does your mother know?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘I got a lift in with Isaac, the baker. He makes bread for this hotel. It is not talked about but his bread is the best. He will come back for me in an hour. I waited for you in the lobby, only ten minutes. Mamma thinks I am having supper with my friend, Rakel.’

  The lift stopped at my floor and I held Kitty back while I looked out to see if there was anyone watching. The corridor was empty and I led her to my room where she immediately went to the window and looked out. ‘Oh,’ she said excitedly. ‘I can see so much. Look!’

  ‘I’ve seen it,’ I laughed. ‘And I’ve walked down Unter den Linden several times.’

  ‘You are . . . fortunate, is that the word?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am fortunate, here in Germany. But in England everyone can go where they want to. London is a wonderful city with as many museums and galleries as there are in Berlin. And you would be able to go into them whenever you wanted. You and your mother would be so much happier.’ I smiled at her. ‘Your Uncle Jacob is a nice man. He would make a good life for you both.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’ Kitty’s smile had faded and she heaved a sigh. ‘Mamma, she has doubts. We should stay here, she says, we will be all right – but I don’t think so. I am frightened.’

  I was quiet for a moment, then I took her hand. ‘You must try again, Kitty. You must persuade your mamma to use Jacob’s money to leave Berlin. You’re already in danger and it’ll only get worse.’

  Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes and she held a small, embroidered handkerchief to her face. ‘I have tried, Fräulein Blake,’ she sobbed, ‘but she will not hear me. Only you can tell her. I beg you. Please, come to our flat again.’

  Oh God, I thought, dismayed with the whole situation and guiltily wishing I hadn’t got involved in the first place. I can’t go to that district again. I’ve promised, not only Charlie, but Amyas as well. But the girl looked at me, her brown eyes large and full of pleading, and I knew that I wouldn’t turn her down. ‘I’ll try to get to you, Kitty,’ I said cautiously. ‘But I’m being followed most of the time by the police, I think, or the SS. I might bring more danger to you and your mother if I come to your home. Let me think about it and decide what I can do, but it will have to be soon, because I’ve only got one more day here in Berlin.’

  She nodded and wiped her eyes, while my mind worked furiously to try and engineer some sort of a plan. We’d need to meet in a neutral place.

  ‘Is there a park you know, here in the city? One that you and your mother would be allowed to go into?’

  Kitty was looking out of the windo
w again. She seemed fascinated by the view but she turned her head. ‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘We go to Monbijoupark. It is near the river and near the synagogue and there is a museum. It is very nice.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, making up my mind. ‘Tell me a place at the park where we can meet.’

  ‘By the museum steps?’

  ‘Fine,’ I answered, with a smile, although I didn’t feel like smiling. ‘You be there, with Mamma, at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon and if I can get rid of the men following me, I’ll join you. But, Kitty, if I’m not there, it’s because I think it’s too dangerous. For both of us, I mean.’

  She smiled, lighting up the room with her pretty, girlish face. It is all too cruel, I thought, and went over and gave her a hug.

  ‘Thank you . . . Seffy.’ She said my name shyly and as I pulled away she buttoned her green cloth coat and pulling out a knitted beret from her pocket, placed it on her dark curls. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I must go.’

  I went to the door first and looked out. The corridor was empty. ‘Be careful,’ I said, and she smiled.

  ‘I will go down in the service lift to the kitchen. Isaac will be waiting for me. Do not worry, I will be all right.’ And with a kiss on both my cheeks she ran lightly down the corridor and round the corner, to where the big double-door service lift halted.

  I did worry though and was still thinking about the plan I’d devised when I met Charlie in the bar later on.

  ‘Here you are at last, Blake,’ he said and pushed over a Martini. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘We said half past seven.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I’m on time.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ He looked over his shoulder and moved closer to me. We were sitting on high stools next to the bar and the room was crowded with early evening drinkers. A pianist in the centre of the floor was playing hit songs, but it was difficult to hear the music properly because of the loud chatter and clinking of glasses. Charlie lowered his voice and muttered, ‘It’s that stuff I got this afternoon. I’ve been going through it and, I have to say, it’s dynamite. Places, names, dates. If we can get it back safely, it must go straight to the government. They’ll have to take notice.’