‘It’s very different to working at Charité,’ she enthused to Friedrich over their evening meal. ‘The staff are welcoming. No one seemed to be concerned about me being British.’
Friedrich smiled as she recounted some of the expectant mothers she had dealt with that day. ‘I’m very happy for you,’ he said.
‘Thank you for arranging it all,’ said Clara, leaning over and kissing Friedrich’s cheek. ‘I’m so lucky.’
‘We are the lucky ones,’ corrected Friedrich. ‘Me and the clinic – lucky to have you.’
Clara kissed her husband again, but even though he was smiling, she could see a strain on his face. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy talking about my day, I haven’t even asked you about yours.’
Friedrich patted her hand. ‘Your day is much nicer to talk about than mine.’ He sighed and rose from his chair.
‘Why don’t you sit down in the living room for a minute,’ said Clara, taking his hand and leading him through to the other room, sitting him down on the sofa. ‘I’ll fix you a drink. You look tired.’ When he didn’t resist, she felt even more concerned. Quickly, she poured a glass of wine and took it over to him. She sat down beside him.
Friedrich took a long sip of his drink, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds, savouring the moment of the taste of the alcohol. When he opened them, he looked at Clara and gave a small chuckle. ‘You really want me to tell you?’
‘Really.’
He took another sip. ‘Increased movement of supplies, equipment requisitions, transportation logistics, troop movements, et cetera, et cetera. All of it means increased paperwork and increased scrutiny of said paperwork.’
‘I saw a newspaper at work today,’ said Clara. ‘The Germans in Poland were ecstatic to be liberated, I think it said.’
Friedrich took a long time before saying anything. He swirled the last drop of wine around in his glass. ‘The situation in Poland .?.?. it is perhaps more complicated than what’s being reported.’
Clara wanted to press for more information, but she didn’t want Friedrich to compromise his position. She knew how much he loved his country, or at least, what was his country before the rise of the current regime. She could see the pain it was causing him. ‘Do others not see what you see?’ she asked in a whisper.
Again, there was a long and heavy pause. Eventually, Friedrich reached for her hand. ‘I am not alone but we are few.’
Clara leaned into her husband, wrapping her arm around his body as he cradled her against his chest. It was a sobering thought that even in their own apartment, they felt compelled to talk in whispers and almost in code.
Later that evening after she had cleared away the dishes, they had sat down in the living room and listened to music on the radio, a small escape from what was happening around them.
The following morning Clara woke to the apparent triumphant news from German radio that a U-boat hard targeted and sunk HMSCourageousoff the coast of Ireland in the North Atlantic.
‘They sound practically jubilant about it,’ she said to Friedrich. ‘Over five hundred men lost. And this is just the beginning of it all.’
‘This is the price of war,’ said Friedrich, shaking his head.
‘How can people celebrate? It doesn’t matter what nationality they are, they are all someone’s husband or brother or son.’
Despite Friedrich trying to comfort her, Clara couldn’t shake the broadcast from her mind. As she took the tram to the clinic, her thoughts went back to England and the families who would be waking up to the devastating news that their loved one was never coming home again. It could easily be someone she knew, someone in the West Sussex village she had come from.
For the first time in a long time, she wished she could be at home. She hadn’t seen her parents or sisters, Rose and Evie, for two years. Her last contact had been a letter she had received from Rose six months ago. Even then, her post had been opened by the authorities before it was delivered to her – ensuring her and her sisters weren’t exchanging secret information. Rose had said she was still working at the hospital, and thinking about it now, Clara realised that her sister had omitted to mention which hospital. Clara now wondered if that had been deliberate.
She was lost in thought and would’ve missed her stop had it not been for a gentleman sitting behind her who tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Entschuldigung, gnädige, Frau.’ Excuse me, madam, he said quietly. ‘Wilmersdorf Geburtsklinik? You wanted to get off here?’
Clara jolted back from her thoughts. She looked out of the window and recognising the area, jumped to her feet. ‘Danke,’ she said. She hopped off the tram, as did the man. ‘Danke,’ she said again, looking properly at the man for the first time.
He tipped his hat and was about to walk away, when something occurred to Clara. ‘Einen Moment, bitte.’ She touched his sleeve lightly. ‘How did you know this was my stop?’
The man hesitated before smiling. ‘Your midwife’s uniform is unmistakable and your cape.’ He gestured towards the pin on Clara’s cape with the clinic’s name.
‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ Clara’s hand went to her pin.
‘Guten Tag, Frau Bergmann.’
‘Guten Tag,’ she replied automatically before hurrying along the path towards the clinic. As she pushed open the gates, a chill ran through her. She stopped abruptly. The man had used her name. He knew who she was.
