At the Müllers’ house, Ursula’s pregnancy progressed. Clara continued to copy list after list from Hans’s briefcase. She’d grown skilled at delicate timing, memorising names and addresses in the few minutes she had while he walked Kaiser. A man of habit, it was easy to plot her strategy and carry it out. Clara had grown genuinely fond of Ursula, making each betrayal of trust feel like a small knife in her heart. But she kept her focus on why she was doing it. Why it was necessary.
But for every success of someone they saved, there were names on Hans’s list that were marked with a red X in the ‘completed’ column. Women Clara had never met and babies she would never hold.
Chapter 25
April 1940
Spring had arrived in Berlin with an almost mocking cheerfulness, as if the city could forget the darkness that had settled over it through the long winter months. Over that time, Clara had memorised the rhythm of Hans Müller’s routine down to the minute. Several months of Thursday visits had taught her exactly how long it took him to remove his coat, greet his wife, and take Kaiser for his evening constitutional. Six months of friendship with Ursula, six months of stolen glances at forbidden lists, six months of names saved, and names lost.
Clara emerged from the clinic into the crisp spring air. She pulled her scarf tighter around her and paused for a moment, grateful for the coolness against her flushed cheeks. The sterile warmth of the clinic was stifling some days. As she drew a deep breath, a thought struck her suddenly. When had her last monthly period been? February? She frowned as she tried to recall, then shook her head firmly. No. It wasn’t possible, was it? Not after all this time? She pulled her scarf tighter around her and head down against the wind, made her way up the road to the tram stop, pushing the foolish thought aside.
She was about to start her afternoon home visits. She was particularly anxious to get to Ursula that evening. Ursula’s blood pressure had been raised the day before and she had been complaining of backache. The baby was due in roughly three weeks’ time, but as Clara was well aware, babies tended not to stick to the schedule.
As she was mentally going over the scenario of Ursula going into labour, a voice cut through her thoughts.
‘If it isn’t Miss Clara. What a surprise.’
Clara spun around towards the voice she’d just passed to find Greta Brandt stepping out from the shadows of a shop doorway.
‘Frau Brandt.’ Clara’s voice came out steadier than she felt. ‘It is indeed a surprise that we should meet. What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, just visiting Berlin on official business. I no longer work at the Charité. But you probably know that already.’
‘No. I didn’t, actually.’ Clara’s heart picked up its pace. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I am on house calls this afternoon and have patients to attend to.’
She went to sidestep Brandt, but the German planted her feet solidly in Clara’s path. ‘I would tell you where I’m working now, but again, you probably know that already.’ There was a glint of satisfaction in the woman’s eyes. She was clearly savouring the moment. ‘I’ve been asked to assist with a rather important investigation. Something that’s been keeping the authorities quite busy lately.’
‘That’s good for you. Now, I really must get on.’
‘Oh, but I think you’ll find this fascinating.’ Brandt grabbed Clara’s arm, forcing her to stop. ‘You see, they’re looking for someone. A midwife who’s been, shall we say, operating outside official channels.’ Her fingers pinched into Clara’s arm. ‘The strangest thing happened though. When I heard about this investigation, I couldn’t help but remember an incident from my previous posting. A midwife who claimed to be collecting a pregnant woman after an administrative error.’
Clara’s mouth dried. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t you?’ Brandt’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Someone with a strange accent, possibly British. A midwife. Someone who collected a patient and disappeared rather suddenly. A midwife who, after enquiries, it seemed no one had heard of.’ She leaned closer. ‘I’ve been thinking about that visit for months, Miss Clara. And now, hearing about this Angel of Life, well, it’s remarkable how these things can appear connected, isn’t it?’
‘It could be anyone,’ said Clara carefully.
‘Could it?’ Brandt’s eyes glittered with malice. ‘Tell me, have you heard any rumours about the Angel of Life? Being a midwife yourself, surely word travels in your professional circles.’
The question was a trap, and Clara knew it. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you with your investigation, Frau Brandt.’
‘I thought so.’ Brandt almost purred the words. ‘You see, I’ve volunteered to help identify this person. The authorities are very interested in my insights.’
Clara straightened her spine, summoning her courage. ‘I’m sure the authorities are very grateful for your help. I would strongly warn against jumping to conclusions based on instincts. Ensure you have hard facts so no one’s time is wasted. Reckless accusations could land you in serious trouble, the kind of trouble that ends careers.’
For the first time, Brandt looked uncertain, but she quickly recovered. ‘You think you are clever, but you don’t fool me.’
‘Likewise,’ said Clara. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. The kind of work that serves the Reich properly.’
This time Brandt didn’t try to stop her walking away. Clara kept her back straight, her head held high, and her pace measured. Only when she was safely seated on the tram did she allow her hands to shake.
Her visit to Ursula helped her focus her mind on something other than Brandt and by the time she left, Clara felt much calmer. She made her way across the city to the church and after kneeling in the Lady Chapel, she lit a candle and struck a mark on the wall. She needed to tell Max about Brandt, about the investigation which if it gained momentum, could compromise not only Clara, but Max and the wider resistance operation.
As she left the church, she had that feeling of being watched again – the sensation that never seemed to leave her these days but tonight felt especially strong. She rounded the corner and was about to cross the road when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned around and saw the figure of a man approaching.
‘It’s me,’ came Max’s voice.
Clara breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’ve just been to the church.’
