A military patrol marched towards them, their boots clicking in unison against the cobblestones. Friedrich’s arm tensed beneath her fingers and his free hand came to cover hers in a gesture of protection. Clara looked down, not wanting to make eye contact with the soldiers. The patrol didn’t falter and carried on past them.
‘I suppose we’re going to see more and more patrols like that,’ she said.
‘Everything is going to be tighter now,’ said Friedrich. ‘Moving around the city won’t get any easier.’
Clara knew he was warning her to be careful without actually expressing his fears out loud. She leaned her head towards his shoulder. ‘Trust me,’ she said softly.
He squeezed her hand but didn’t say anything again until they were at the café. It was a large café situated on the corner, and Clara always thought it was very elegant with the small marble-topped tables and bentwood chairs arranged precisely on polished wooden floors. Large windows from its dual aspect let in natural light, while ornate brass light fixtures with frosted glass shades illuminated the space in the evening.
They found a table near the back of the café and Friedrich ordered their drinks – a black coffee for him and a milky coffee for Clara.
‘Ah, real coffee,’ said Clara as she sipped her drink. She had long since given up drinking tea in Berlin, it just wasn’t the same as in England.
‘Yes. Not sure for how much longer,’ said Friedrich. ‘It came at a price, but worth it today.’
‘This all feels so surreal,’ said Clara, looking around at the busy café. ‘I’m not sure what I expected but certainly not discussing the cost of coffee.’
‘We don’t know what the future holds,’ said Friedrich. ‘We have to make the most of the time we have together.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She reached across the table and held his hand. ‘Not today, anyway.’ She couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from Friedrich, but it was a real possibility. They hadn’t spoken about it properly, it wasn’t necessary. They didn’t need to inflict such thoughts on themselves unless it was actually happening. Friedrich could be posted away from Berlin and Clara, well, she could be whisked away at a moment’s notice.
Friedrich squeezed her hand in return.
As they sat there listening to the conversations around them, Clara became aware that everyone was talking about Great Britain declaring war on Germany. It was hardly surprising that it was the main topic of conversation. She suspected her parents and sisters were doing much the same, except they would probably be in the sitting room with a pot of tea.
The couple on the table next to her and Friedrich had recently been joined by another man and woman and their discussion was becoming quite animated.
‘The British think they can tell us what to do again,’ one of the men was saying. ‘Ever since Versailles, they’ve been trying to bankrupt us.’
‘They’ve crippled the economy,’ agreed the other man.
‘Well, they have sorely underestimated us. The Führer won’t let it happen.’
‘He gave them a chance for peace,’ said the first man. ‘Churchill should have taken it, but he’s a warmonger and can’t stand to see Germany strong again.’
‘I can’t stand the British,’ said one of the women. ‘They’ve always looked down their noses at us. They deserve everything that is coming to them.’
‘And if any of them are stupid enough to still be in this country, they should be rounded up and locked up,’ proclaimed the other woman.
Never before had Clara felt as unwelcome as she did in that moment. She sank back in her chair. Her coffee suddenly tasted bitter in her mouth and her hand trembled as she returned the cup to the saucer.
‘Clara?’
She realised Friedrich had asked her a question, but she had no idea what. She went to apologise, to ask him what he’d said but stopped. She didn’t want to speak out loud. She might be fluent in German, but she was well aware she’d never mastered the accent fully.
‘Clara?’ said Friedrich again. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
She shook her head. All she wanted to do was to get out of the café and go home to the safety of their apartment. Friedrich studied her, concern in his eyes. Then he was getting to his feet and pulling the chair back for her as she too rose. ‘We shall go home straightaway,’ he said.
Clara gripped Friedrich’s arm tightly as they made their way back to their apartment. She kept her head down, not wanting to look at anyone or anything.
Half an hour later they were inside the apartment. Clara still hadn’t spoken.
Friedrich took her coat from her and hung it up, then followed her into the kitchen where she was filling the kettle in sharp, jerky movements. Though aware of his presence, she kept her back to him. She began rummaging through the cupboard, pulling out packets of food with increasing desperation, items clattering against each other as her search grew more frantic.
There it was.
She stretched on tiptoes to reach the tea caddy tucked at the back. Not truly British tea, but black tea was as close as she could get now. Next she strode into the dining room, Friedrich stepping out of her way, saying nothing, just observing.
