Clara felt her legs give way beneath her, the shock and terror of the evening finally overwhelming her. Friedrich caught her weight, guiding her to the sofa as great, heaving sobs wracked her body. It was several minutes before she could calm herself.
Friedrich knelt in front of her, his hands gentle on her face as he wiped her tears away. ‘You’re safe now,’ he murmured, though his eyes were dark with fear. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘Paul came to the apartment. Marie was here,’ she began, managing to tell Friedrich the whole story before the enormity of what had happened caught up with her again. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to Marie or Paul. They were supposed to be behind me.’
‘We can’t do anything tonight. It will look suspicious if I start asking questions at this late hour,’ said Friedrich. ‘All we can do now is to try to get some sleep. From a purely selfish point of view, I am so glad you made it out of there. I was going out of my mind with worry. There was no book on the table to tell me you’d gone out to help someone.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’ Clara sniffed.
‘This is why I was so against you doing anything like this again.’ His hand moved to her stomach. ‘Especially now.’
‘I’m sorry. I feel guilty putting our child in danger.’
‘No recriminations now,’ said Friedrich. ‘You were just being you. But, please,liebling, no more.’
As he had done so just the other week, and had done so every night since then, Friedrich held Clara in his arms all night long. She had never felt more scared and yet so safe than she did lying there next to him. His deep, steadying breathing, in and out like a metronome, calming her, lulling her into a sleep, albeit it shallow.
Clara awoke the following morning to Friedrich coming into the bedroom, already dressed for work, carrying a breakfast tray with him.
‘I’m being very spoilt this morning,’ said Clara as he set the tray down. ‘Toast, eggs and tea.’
‘You need to rest,’ said Friedrich, kissing the top of her head. He perched on the edge of the bed, passing her the daily newspaper. ‘Page five.’
Clara hesitated, not sure what she was going to find. ‘What is it?’
‘According to reports, the police have caught the Angel of Life.’
Clara shook her head as she realised what that meant. ‘No. Oh, no, please say it’s not true.’ Clara snatched the newspaper up and found page five. She scanned the article. So full of German pride and victorious at having caught the Angel of Life who had confessed to her crimes the previous evening. Tears rushed from Clara’s eyes. Blobs of tears hitting the newspaper as the words blurred. She cried some more at the thought of her dear friend being arrested and pretending to be the Angel of Life. Clara couldn’t put into words how much of a sacrifice Marie had made. She wasn’t sure she deserved such loyalty. Friedrich took the paper from her. She looked up at him. ‘What about Paul?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Friedrich, softly. ‘He didn’t make it.’
He held her as he’d done so many times while she cried for the loss of her friend. A young man who had been forced to betray her but who had ultimately given his life to save her.
Clara pulled back from Friedrich’s embrace, her face soaked with tears. ‘They’re both dead because of me. Marie is going to die for my crimes and Paul gave his life saving mine.’ Her voice broke completely. ‘I should have seen the trap. I should have protected them better. They deserved so much more than this.’ She looked down at her trembling hands. ‘How can I live with this? How can I escape to safety when they paid the price for my choices?’
Chapter 34
All too soon the following day came, and it was time for Clara to leave. She had to be at the tram station for five o’clock in the morning and Friedrich was going to accompany as far as he could. He couldn’t risk being seen with Clara and recognised as that would give the game away as to Clara’s real identity.
‘Are you ready?’ His voice was gentle.
Clara had her back to the door, and she felt his hands on her shoulders as he spoke. His mouth near her ear. Was she ready? It was probably one of the most ridiculous questions he had ever asked her. She couldn’t look at him. She’d end up bursting into tears.
Instead, she nodded. ‘I think so.’
They stood like that for a moment. As if neither dared to move. It was Friedrich who broke first, turning her around to face him. ‘Be brave,liebling. Be brave for us – all three of us.’
Then with a final hug, he was stepping back, straightening his jacket. She used to love seeing him in his uniform. She used to feel so proud of him, but these days all it engendered was a sour and repugnant sensation. Not Friedrich but everything the uniform represented.
Clara took a deep breath. If there was a time to be brave, then it was now. She owed it to her husband and her unborn child. She looked at Friedrich. ‘I’m ready.’
He picked up her bag. She couldn’t take much with her, just a few changes of clothes. Too much would arouse suspicion if she were stopped. But right now, material things didn’t matter. She followed Friedrich out to the hall, pausing at the table, running her finger down the frame of their wedding photo. She had so wanted to take that with her, but she couldn’t. It was too much of a giveaway if her bags were searched. Instead, she had taken a small photograph of Friedrich and sewn it behind the ribbon of her hat.
They walked hand in hand through the deserted streets of Berlin, their footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. It was the end of May, and the weather was warming, but Clara barely noticed. Ordinarily, she might have savoured these last moments in the city that had been her home for so long, but today she was desperate to leave it all behind.
‘Remember,’ Friedrich whispered, his voice barely audible in the pre-dawn stillness, ‘you are Frida Hoffmann, married to Karl Hoffmann of Infantry Regiment Fifteen.’ His grip on her hand tightened. ‘If anyone comments on your accent, just say you’re originally from a small town near the Swiss border. The dialect there can sound different to Berlin ears. Don’t elaborate.’
Clara nodded, her mouth dry. She’d been memorising these details for the last couple of days, repeating them like a prayer. All she had to do now was act natural. Not say too much, not ask questions, be utterly forgettable.
