‘It only takes one word to the right person, and people might start to ask what you’re really doing here,’ said Brandt.
‘The Reich has no patience for traitors or their little foreign wives.’ Krüger folded her arms across her chest.
This was too much for Clara, she couldn’t hold her tongue now. ‘You talk about loyalty. Germany must be so proud of you both. Threatening and bullying other professional women.’
‘Watch how you speak to a German citizen,’ warned Krüger.
Brandt looked Clara up and down with contempt. ‘One rumour is all it takes. Mind your step, Miss Clara.’ She made a scoffing noise and returned to her bag where she proceeded to get ready for her shift.
Clara turned to Marie, looking for some sort of support, but Marie just shook her head. ‘Don’t,’ she said quietly, as if anticipating Clara’s response. ‘Don’t make things worse.’
Clara’s heart plummeted. It was bad enough they were openly threatening her, but to make such threats about Friedrich was outrageous. Much as she wanted to shout and scream at Brandt, she daren’t. She couldn’t risk the vile woman carrying out her threat and reporting Friedrich.
The tears burned behind her eyes, and she blinked hard, refusing to let them fall. She would not give Brandt the satisfaction.
With as much composure as she could muster, she closed her locker and after fastening the belt of her apron, with her head held high, she walked across the changing room to the door.
‘Remember,’ came Brandt’s voice. ‘One rumour is all it takes, Miss Clara. Just one.’
Chapter 2
By the time Clara reached her ward, she had managed to hold off the tears. Yes, she was hurt by their comments, and yes, she was angry, but most of all she was frightened. Not for herself, but for Friedrich. Would they really report him to the authorities, the Gestapo even? She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him because of her. She’d have to do exactly what Brandt and Krüger said, she’d have to watch her step.
Fortunately, she didn’t work directly with either of the women who both worked on a different ward to her. On her way to the office for the handover, Clara passed the nursery room where the newborns were cared for by the nursery nurses who settled the babies. The Charité encouraged breastfeeding every three to four hours, after which the babies were brought back to the nursery to allow the mothers to rest. The babies were all lined up in their basinets, swaddled in white cloth and wearing little knitted hats.
Handover was an efficient and swift affair. Instead of sitting in her usual place at the table next to Clara, today Marie had chosen to sit on the other side. Clara tried to ignore the little pang of disappointment.
Once the handover was complete, the day staff began to file out of the room.
‘Frau Bergmann,’ came Matron’s voice. ‘Can I have a word, please?’
Clara’s heart thudded against her breastbone. ‘Of course, Oberschwester,’ she replied, standing to one side as the rest of her colleagues left the room.
‘Today, you will be working in the storeroom,’ said the matron, looking at the duties list in front of her. ‘You are to restock all items, linen and equipment and then carry out a full stocktake.’
‘A stocktake?’ repeated Clara.
‘Yes. Do you have a problem with my instructions?’
‘No. But .?.?.’ She wanted to say what about the ward, the women, the babies, but she knew it would be considered extremely rude to question her superior. The matron raised her eyebrows as if daring Clara to object. ‘Very good, Oberschwester,’ said Clara.
‘Good. That is all.’
And just like that Clara was dismissed.
It was the most awful shift Clara had ever experienced at the hospital. She felt alone and isolated. Of course, she knew why but she hadn’t thought it would come to this. She’d thought at least her friends and colleagues would be professional, but it seemed the prejudice against her as a British woman was strong.
Clara went about her tasks as diligently as ever, despite the nature of her new duties. If she complained it might give Matron more reason to keep her from going back to the ward. She checked her watch and realised it was tea-break time.
As she walked down the corridor towards the staffroom, she became aware of raised voices at the nurses’ station ahead of her. One of the voices belonged to a young woman, who was clearly heavily pregnant and judging by the way she was holding her stomach, experiencing a lot of discomfort. Clara slowed as she neared the altercation between one of her colleagues and the pregnant woman.
‘Please, just get your matron,’ the pregnant woman was saying. ‘This can’t be right. What am I supposed to do?’
‘I’m sorry, but she won’t say anything different to what I have,’ said the nurse.
At that moment, Matron did appear, obviously summoned by the raised voices. ‘What is going on here?’ she demanded. ‘There are women in labour and newborn babies. You’re disturbing my peaceful ward.’
‘Please, my wife needs medical help,’ said the husband. ‘She’s six months pregnant with twins.’
