She took the staircase to her apartment and was glad to close the door behind her, shutting out all the tension from the city. Her home was her sanctuary. A place where it was just her and Friedrich and everything else in the world mattered not a jot.
Without his presence, it felt especially uninhabited that evening. It wasn’t like Clara didn’t ever come home to an empty space, but the solitude was emphasised by the knowledge he wasn’t there.
Clara slipped off her cape from her shoulders, took the notebook from her pocket and went through to Friedrich’s study. Just the act of sitting at his desk made her feel closer to her husband. She laid the notebook open in front of her and tore out the page with the details she’d copied down in Hans Müller’s study. Then, using Friedrich’s fountain pen, one she’d bought him for his birthday last year, she copied the information neatly onto a separate piece of paper. Her writing this time more legible so that it would be easy for Max to read.
Clara didn’t know when or how Max would make contact. She hoped it was soon. Carrying such information around with her was dangerous. She looked at the address of the clinic she had also copied down. Again, she questioned the reliability of what Max had told her. How could he be sure the information was correct? Was it possible that a clinic would collaborate with the authorities in such a way? Were women and babies really being relocated? Being in the medical profession was all about saving lives, not destroying them.
Yet, despite this logical and humane reasoning, Clara also knew it was naive of her to hold everyone to the same standards she lived by. She only had to look at what had happened to the Jewish community and, to a lesser extent, her own ostracization, to know that.
A knock at the door jolted Clara from her thoughts. Adrenalin rushed through her, tingling the tips of her fingers as she snatched up the pieces of paper. She looked around for somewhere to hide them.
Another knock. Clara stepped into the hallway, her eyes fixed on the door as if she could somehow see through to the other side. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t there. If it was the authorities then they would break the door down and how would she explain refusing to answer? She would look suspicious straightaway.
Without another thought, she lifted the hall runner and slipped the papers underneath the rug.
Clara took a steadying breath as she approached the door and unlocked it.
She barely had time to register who was there before Max was stepping through the door, closing it swiftly behind him. He didn’t say a word but put his finger to his lips and gestured for her to retreat further into the apartment.
In the living room, Clara went to turn on the lamp, but Max put a hand on her arm and shook his head. She watched as he went over to the windows and pulled the curtains closed, then he turned on the lamp.
‘What took you so long answering the door?’ He sounded disgruntled.
‘Because I didn’t know who it was,’ replied Clara, matching her tone to his. ‘I’m not in the habit of receiving unexpected visitors in the evening.’
‘You need to get used to it.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes, it is, actually,’ snapped Max.
‘And you think you can just turn up on my door unannounced and I’ll let you in?’ Clara gave a derisory laugh. ‘Have you forgotten I’m married to a German officer? It’s only luck he’s not here tonight.’
It was Max’s turn to scoff. ‘Not luck, Clara. I don’t do luck. Everything I do is done after careful consideration. After weighing up the odds. After doing my research.’ He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. ‘You don’t mind do you?’
‘It’s a bit late for me to mind,’ said Clara, watching the smoke drift through the air. ‘Anyway, what do you mean by you don’t do luck?’
Max shook his head slowly and sighed. ‘For an intelligent woman, you ask some unintelligent questions.’
Clara could feel her patience wearing thin. ‘Enlighten me.’ She folded her arms across her chest.
‘Can’t you work it out?’
There was a challenge in his voice that Clara couldn’t ignore. Then the realisation dawned on her. ‘You’ve been spying on me. That’s how you know my husband isn’t here.’
‘Bravo,’ said Max. ‘Now, see if you can work out why I’m here.’
No wonder she had felt like she was being constantly watched lately. She’d told herself she was being paranoid, but it turned out she wasn’t at all. Maybe she should pay more attention to her instincts. She realised Max was waiting for an answer.
She met his gaze. ‘Wait there,’ she said, before going out to the hall. She flipped over the edge of the runner and picked up the neatly handwritten piece of paper, returning to the living room. She held it out to Max.
He took the paper, looked at the information. ‘Good.’ He then folded it in half and tucked it into the lining of his hat.
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Clara. ‘I mean, now you have the list?’
‘The less you know the better,’ replied Max. He took a draw on his cigarette.
‘I won’t say anything.’ She wanted some sort of reassurance that the women on the list would be saved, moved to a safe house maybe. Just so she knew she was doing something tangible.
