From the cabinet, she withdrew the Royal Doulton art deco teapot – a wedding gift from her grandmother – and two matching cups and saucers. The delicate gold pattern around the rim of the cups catching the light as she marched back into the kitchen. The kettle began to whistle. The teacups rattled against the saucers as she set them down on the table rather too forcefully, followed by the milk jug. She ignored the splash of milk pooling on the worktop.
‘Tea?’ she asked, finally meeting Friedrich’s gaze, her voice brittle. ‘It’s fine, it’s not British tea. It’s good old German tea.’
She knew she was being irrational, but this small act of rebellion was the only control she had.
Clara’s hands trembled as she poured the tea, her vision blurring slightly with unshed angry tears. She felt Friedrich’s warm hands suddenly cover hers, steadying them before the hot liquid could spill. The gentle pressure of his touch momentarily cut through her fury.
‘Liebling,’ he said softly, and something in her chest tightened at his term of endearment. He guided her to the chair and pulled the other seat beside her, turning her chair so they were facing one another.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said. His voice was steady, familiar.
Clara stared at the teacups on the table, struggling to find words that wouldn’t sound hysterical or childish.
‘In the café,’ she began. ‘They were all talking about the British and saying how much they hated us .?.?. them .?.?. by default that means me.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I could feel the hatred brewing, it was like they were shrouded in this poisonous aura.’ A tear dripped from her eye, splashing onto her hand. ‘I felt intimidated, scared. I was too frightened to speak.’ Her voice cracked on the last word.
She was almost too scared to look at her own husband for fear of seeing that same denouncement. And when she did, she hated herself for even having such a thought. His face, the one she’d woken up to for the past seven years, showed no judgement, only concern.
He took her hand in his. ‘Whatever they say outside these walls, whatever they say about the British, they do not know you.’ His thumb stroked across her knuckles. ‘I am sorry I did not hear what they were saying. I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been and then I would have defended you.’
‘No,’ said Clara quickly, her anger subsiding as concern for Friedrich took over. ‘I don’t want you to do that. It will only cause trouble for you. They will think you are a spy.’
‘But you are my wife.’
‘It doesn’t matter. They won’t see it like that.’
She watched as Friedrich took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. ‘You know I do not agree with this aggression, with the invasion of Poland, with the way the Führer is behaving.’
‘I know but you cannot say that to anyone,’ said Clara, her anger subsiding a little more. ‘You shouldn’t even say it out loud to me.’
‘Those things you heard today, were just words. Ignorant. Bigoted. Brainwashed words.’ He paused. ‘I have sworn oaths to my country, yes, but my deepest and most important promise has always been to you. We will find a way through this. Together. I don’t know how, but we will.’
Clara’s heart expanded. She loved this man so very much. For the first time that day, she felt she could breathe again.
Chapter 7
Clara stood at the apartment window waiting for Friedrich to emerge from the main entrance out onto the street. When he did, he paused and looked up at her, raising his hand. She waved back and continued to watch as he hurried off to work.
Clara had relished in the safety of Friedrich’s arms all night. Just the two of them, cocooned in their apartment, away from their warring countries, in a place where there was nothing but peace. When she had woken and Friedrich’s side of the bed was empty, an impending sense of unease pitched up in her stomach. A sensation she feared she was going to have to learn to live with all the time the world was in turmoil. What that turmoil would look like, she couldn’t imagine.
Later, over breakfast, Friedrich asked her what she planned to do that day. Her response was vague. She listed some household chores and what she was going to make for dinner, but that was all. She didn’t say that she was due to visit the Bauers. If she didn’t outright say it, she was protecting him. If anything were to happen to her, then Friedrich would have no part in it.
Of course, her husband wasn’t stupid. He looked at her. ‘Is that all?’
‘It’s enough to keep me busy,’ she replied. He held her gaze for a long moment. His eyes conveyed a morass of concern, love and maybe even pride but most of all fear. ‘Just for today,’ she added.
‘Just for today,’ he repeated.
She knew the situation in the city, the country, had changed now. She would have to be even more careful than she already was, but she also reasoned that, all being well, she probably wouldn’t need to visit Annelise again. Just this last visit and then she wouldn’t have to put herself, and more importantly Friedrich, in a difficult position. The last thing she wanted was to cause him any problems at work.
Clara had no appetite for travelling across the city but her promise to Annelise weighed on her conscience. The café incident had left a bitter taste, yet what troubled her the most was this new feeling of vulnerability, a sensation as foreign to her as she now was to Germany. This hesitation, this fear, this wasn’t her. This wasn’t the young woman who had packed her bags and left England’s suffocating expectations behind, seeking something more in Berlin’s sophisticated streets. Despite this alien feeling, she refused to be diminished by others’ judgements. Helping another woman and her baby was most certainly more tangible and meaningful than clinging to the ritual of English tea as her small act of rebellion.
After Friedrich had left for work, Clara began tidying up the breakfast dishes and kitchen. She looked at the washed-up teacups and pot from the night before, still sitting on the draining board, and let out a sigh. Poor Friedrich, he had borne the brunt of her frustration and like the true and honourable gentleman he was, he hadn’t taken offence. In fact, he had sympathised with her. A lesser German officer may have spouted Nazi rhetoric and berated her, but not Friedrich. He was so much better than that. She never failed to acknowledge how lucky she was that they met, and she felt that sentiment even stronger today.
She went over to the bookcase and removed the midwifery book that had been returned to its usual place the night before. She left it on the coffee table before picking up her medical bag and leaving the apartment.
She took the tram across the city and less than an hour later she was being shown into the Bauers’ apartment by Richard.
‘We weren’t expecting to see you,’ said Annelise, her face lighting up when Clara entered the living room.
