‘How is the baby?’ asked Clara.
‘Very well.’ There was a softness in his voice this time. ‘Thank you.’ A small pause followed before he spoke again. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow with the list.’
‘I can’t. I’m not working there anymore,’ said Clara, her grip tightening on her bag. ‘My services are no longer required.’
‘I thought you had made friends with her.’
‘I had but her mother is coming to stay, and she doesn’t want or need me there anymore.’
‘You need to find an excuse to be there.’ Max’s voice was void of any warmth now.
‘Not possible.’ Clara dipped her head, her gaze falling to her feet.
‘You were caught, weren’t you?’ Max stated, rather than asked.
‘She covered for me,’ said Clara.
Max swore under his breath. ‘You were caught and now Paul is missing. I don’t like coincidences.’
‘I have done everything possible to help you. No, make that help mothers and babies. None of this is my fault, so don’t you dare try to blame me for this.’
Max was silent for a long time before speaking. ‘You need to be careful now. If Paul has been arrested, it’s only a matter of time before they come for the rest of us.’
The tram pulled up before Clara had a chance to reply. Max boarded ahead of her, taking a seat near the back of the carriage, while Clara took one in the middle. All she wanted to do was get to the safety of her home.
However, the familiar comfort of approaching home evaporated the moment she saw her apartment. Harsh electric light blazed from both windows in the living room – not the usual gentle amber glow of their table lamp, but an unforgiving brightness of overhead bulbs. Someone wanted to see everything clearly.
Her footsteps slowed involuntarily on the cobblestones. When a figure moved across the window – tall, broad-shouldered, definitely not Friedrich, her heart began hammering against her ribs. The silhouette paused, as if sensing her presence, then moved away from the window.
Clara’s mouth dried, the metallic taste of fear coating her tongue. She fumbled with the strap of her bag, her fingers clumsy and cold. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and walk away, to disappear into the maze of Berlin’s side streets until whoever was in her home left. She tried to reason with her fear. Perhaps it was someone Friedrich knew from work. A colleague. A friend.
But even as she tried to convince herself, her stomach clenched with fear. The street felt different tonight. It was too quiet, too empty. No neighbours hurrying home with their evening shopping. There was just the distant hum of the city and the sound of her own shallow breath.
That’s when she noticed the black Mercedes parked across the street, half hidden in the shadow between two streetlights. It had been so still she’d almost missed it, but now she caught the faint glow of a cigarette tip through the windscreen. A match flared, illuminating two faces in the front seats for a brief, terrifying moment. Both men turned to look directly at her.
The match died, plunging them back into darkness but Clara could feel their eyes on her. Her legs felt weak. The men in the car were waiting. For how long? Waiting for her?
Even if running had been an option, it certainly wasn’t now. They’d catch her before she reached the end of the street.
She hoped to God that Friedrich was in the apartment and not working late. She didn’t want him to come home and not know where she was. She hadn’t left out their secret sign that she was helping mothers and babies, so he would naturally worry about her even more. No, running wasn’t an option. She had to be there for him as much as she needed him there for herself.
Chapter 31
Clara stepped into the apartment and immediately felt the tense atmosphere. It was as if the air had been squeezed out of the room. ‘Hello,’ she called out, trying to sound normal, when she felt anything but.
Clara walked down the hallway, feeling like she was walking to the gallows. As she stepped into the living room, her heart missed a beat. Standing by the window was Friedrich’s friend and police officer, Herr Arnold. Friedrich was standing by the fireplace. His face was drawn and his expression grim, but it was his eyes that said so much more. All at once Clara could see the anguish, sadness and fear. It was then she realised there was another man in the room. He was sitting in the fireside chair, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a dark suit, his hat perched on the arm, with one leg crossed over the other. She didn’t recognise him at all.
‘Clara,’ began Friedrich but was interrupted before he could say anything else.
‘Good evening, Frau Bergmann,’ said the man in the chair. He threw his cigarette into the fireplace and got to his feet. ‘You’re later than we expected.’
Clara looked to Friedrich and then between the two other men, before back at her husband again. Any reassurance she was hoping for disappeared.
‘Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,’ she said, hating the shake in her voice as she tried for British disinterest.
‘My apologies,’ said the man. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Captain Boris Wolf, from Berlin’s police force.’
‘I see,’ she replied. She wanted to go to Friedrich and as if he sensed her need, he held out his hand, and she went to stand beside him. He put a protective arm around her shoulders.
