‘This Elsa was in Bremen, but not for long. Her work left a useful paper trail to follow. She’s been working in Hamburg since ’48.’
Sam took the letter and read it for himself. He looked at them then at the letter again. His gaze rapidly searched it. ‘It doesn’t have an address.’
‘Jim probably doesn’t have it,’ said Ben.
‘Or thought it wasn’t appropriate to give out a woman’s address to a man he doesn’t know,’ suggested Helene helpfully.
Sam nodded. ‘You’re probably right. He doesn’t know me. I’ll have to visit her place of work.’
‘You are going to Germany?’ suggested Helene.
‘Yes,’ he said simply as he stared at her name in the letter. Ben’s contacts had taken less than six months to find her. Seeing her name in type, with details of her place of work, made it feel real.
‘You could write first. It may be less of a shock for her,’ suggested Helene kindly.
‘Yes. After all, it might not be her,’ cautioned Ben. ‘It’s a long way to travel.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I don’t want to write a letter. It could get lost or ignored. I need to see her for myself.’ He looked up at Helene. ‘I can’t explain it. But I have to.’
Helene was the first to understand. She smiled. ‘Then I think it should be sooner rather than later. You’ve waited long enough.’
‘I just want to speak to her. See how she is. I’ll not pressure her. She still goes by her maiden name, so I can only assume she did not marry.’
‘Unless she did marry and this is another woman,’ cautioned Ben.
‘But he won’t know for sure until he goes to Germany to find out,’ argued Helene.
Sam stood. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I just need some air.’
Ben and Helene hurriedly stepped back and watched him walk to the door. ‘Are you all right, Sam?’ asked Ben.
Sam nodded absently and waved them to stay inside as he stepped outside.
His boots crunched on the frosty coating of the cobblestones as his breath billowed into white clouds in the chilled early morning air. The cold nipped at his fingers and nose, reminding him of the beginning of his long march to freedom across Poland and what had then been eastern Germany in the early months of 1945. The temperatures had been lower then. Snow lay thickon the ground, its surface turning hard and sharp. Blizzards sliced through the air and stung at the eyes. He remembered the blackened fingers of frostbitten friends, and those who had fallen by the wayside. Near to death, he had been taken to a rural barn and a few days later she had stumbled into his life — and she had not left his heart ever since.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The fishmongers’ stalls were packed up for the day, leaving the familiar aroma of salty fish in the air. Elsa looked at the clocktower in the distance as she walked briskly through the market square. She had enough time to return home and prepare a meal before she went out again.
The harbour market was quieter now that many of the customers had wandered away. A tram arrived at the far end and she began to run to catch it, dodging rain puddles and discarded newspapers blown about by the breeze. She reached the other side and breathlessly climbed onto a waiting tram. It was crowded and she was forced to stand, but at least she could still see out of the window. A new crane had appeared in the distance, its long metal arm swinging majestically through the air. It was a welcome sight. The authorities had finally begun to clear the damaged buildings beyond her street so rebuilding could take place.
Five minutes later she disembarked and began the short walk towards her flat. As a teenager, she had never envisaged that she would live in an area like this, on a neglected working-class narrow street, where crowded housing was the norm and the air was constantly tainted with smoke from coal-burning stoves. Yet the east side of Altona district, nestled between Holstenstrasse train station and the river Elbe, had become her sanctuary. It was affordable and the inhabitants had too many troubles of their own to pry into her business. Elsa lived quietly and appeared respectable. They accepted her on face value and did not judge.
A teenager called Hilda and her little sister were dressed in shabby clothes and sitting on the wet stone steps four houses down from her own. As Elsa approached them she noticed their baby brother was with them, sleeping peacefully in his oldersister’s arms. Elsa knew their father collected scrap iron and rags, but their mother was usually around.
‘Mother’s got a new job. She’ll be home in a minute,’ explained Hilda when she asked. ‘I’m giving the little ones some fresh air.’ The chimney smoke prompted Elsa to suggest they could come back with her — she was sure she could find something for them to play with — but the teenager refused. ‘Mum won’t be long. Besides, you have a visitor.’
Elsa was in mid-search of her handbag trying to locate her door key as Hilda spoke. She looked up at Hilda. ‘I do?’
The girl nodded up the street. Elsa’s gaze followed. A man stood outside her building — and he was watching her.
‘What did he say to make you think he is looking for me? There are six families in that house.’
The man threw something away — a cigarette? — and began to slowly walk towards her. The way he walked seemed familiar, but his body did not. He was well-proportioned, strong, with muscular limbs that showed beneath a rain-drenched coat. A trilby covered his head and brows making it difficult to see his features from so far away.
‘Hilda,’ she asked again, this time a little more urgently, ‘what did he say to make you think he wants to see me?’
‘He didn’t say anything. He just showed me a picture of you.’
