As Clara reached for the door handle to leave, Ursula called softly, ‘Clara, this conversation, we should keep it to ourselves. We shouldn’t speak about things like this openly. Hans says there are informants everywhere these days. People reporting each other. Neighbours turning on neighbours. Even friends.’
Clara held Ursula’s gaze. ‘True friends wouldn’t.’
Clara was folding laundry in the bedroom when she heard Friedrich’s key in the lock, followed by the distinctive sound of his briefcase being set down with unusual care. She found him in his study, removing a manila envelope from beneath a stack of Wehrmacht reports, a frown creasing his forehead.
He looked up at her and his expression lifted. ‘Liebling.’ He kissed her as she reached the desk before turning his attention back to the manila envelope.
Clara watched as he removed the contents and spread them out over his desk. There were several official documents, each bearing Wehrmacht stamps and signatures. Clara recognised the quality paper, the precise typography of military forms.
‘Emergency medical authorisation,’ Friedrich explained, holding up the first document. ‘This gives you authority to respond to urgent medical situations anywhere in Berlin, day or night. It’s signed by Oberarzt Voigt at Wehrmacht Medical Command. A real signature I acquired.’
Clara studied the document, noting her name typed in the appropriate field. ‘How did you .?.?. ?’
‘The less you know about how, the better but I’ve been worrying about you.’
‘When don’t you?’ said Clara with a smile.
‘More so lately. Patrols and checkpoints are becoming more vigilant. I’ve organised some up to date passes for you, just to be on the safe side.’ Friedrich set aside the document and picked up a second paper. ‘This is a standing medical supply requisition. It authorises you to transport medical equipment and supplies for emergency obstetric care. If anyone questions what’s in your bag, you’re delivering sterile instruments. I expect you already have one from the clinic, but this one gives you more scope outside your working hours.’
Clara picked up a leather wallet from the desk. She opened it to find a medical identification card, exactly like the one she held with the clinic, except this new one had been updated to include Wehrmacht contractor status. On the reverse was her photograph mounted beside official stamps and authorisation codes. ‘Friedrich, if they discover these are forged.’
‘They’re not forged.’ His voice was firm. ‘I wouldn’t put you in that kind of danger.’ He turned her to face him. ‘Every stamp is real, every signature is authentic, every authorisation code is correct. Everything can be officially confirmed. What makes them irregular is they haven’t been issued through normal channels.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I have access to the forms, the stamps, the codes. I simply expedited your paperwork through unofficial means.’ There was a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. ‘If anyone investigates thoroughly, it might throw up some questions about the speed it was all issued, but essentially everything is correct and in order.’
‘You’re amazing,’ said Clara.
‘I don’t work miracles though,’ said Friedrich. ‘These cover your travel around the city, but if you’re caught in the act of helping a Jewish woman .?.?.’ He didn’t or couldn’t finish his sentence. He blew out a long breath and crossed the room to the window, checking the courtyard below. ‘I can only protect you so far. What happens once you arrive is still dangerous.’
Clara crossed the room, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his broad back. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I promise I’ll be careful.’
A knock at the door made them both jump. Immediately, Friedrich began gathering up the documents. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’ he asked as he scooped them into his briefcase, throwing some files over the top, before snapping the lid shut and sliding the briefcase under his desk.
‘No one.’
‘Go through to the kitchen,’ instructed Friedrich, shepherding her out of the study and closing the door behind him.
Clara scurried off to the kitchen, glancing back down the hallway as Friedrich strode towards the door, where he paused for a moment to regain his composure. He looked back at Clara and motioned with his hand for her to do as he’d said.
There was a further knock. Clara filled the kettle as she heard Friedrich open the door. There was a heavy silence, some sort of hesitation. She couldn’t see what was happening, but she could feel the tension sweep through the apartment.
‘Can I help you?’ came Friedrich’s voice with the controlled bearing of an officer.
‘I am here to conduct a routine check on the foreign national residing at this address,’ came a man’s voice full of authority.
Clara stiffened. She recognised that voice. Friedrich didn’t answer straightaway, and Clara could imagine his hostile expression. She could picture the way his blue eyes would have turned cold when faced with a threat. ‘And you are?’
‘Wachtmeister Fuchs. Local precinct.’
‘Fuchs?’ repeated Friedrich his tone ice cold.
‘Yes, Herr Hauptmann.’
‘It’s Captain,’ Friedrich corrected sharply. ‘Captain Friedrich Bergmann, Wehrmacht Logistics Division, stationed at Bendlerblock. Tell me again, why you are here.’
‘The English-woman.’ Fuchs’s voice faltered slightly. ‘I wasn’t expecting, that is, I understood the residence would be .?.?.’
