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  ‘No, thanks. I’ll just go and see if I can have a word with someone. Find out a bit more.’

  The ward sister was brisk and efficient. ‘You’ll need to talk with Mr Clark, the consultant neurologist. If you’d like to wait a few minutes, I’ll see if he can be found.’

  He was shown into some kind of office down the corridor and after a good deal longer than a few minutes, the neurologist appeared. ‘Squadron Leader Harrison? Sorry to have kept you. Do sit down.’ The prognosis, he learned, was uncertain. ‘That’s the trouble with strokes, you see. It’s always hard to predict the outcome. So much depends on the patient and there are factors that are difficult to assess accurately. The General’s stroke was certainly quite severe, but I’ve known patients make a very good recovery from worse ones. The brain has some remarkable recuperative powers and other parts can take over damaged areas, given time.’

  ‘And if that doesn’t happen?’

  ‘Again, it depends on the extent of any permanent damage. Partial paralysis, speech impairment . . . down to the very worst picture which is no recovery at all. The next six to eight weeks will show us. I’m afraid we must wait patiently and see what happens. You’re on leave, I take it? Where are you stationed?’

  ‘Berlin.’

  The neurologist raised his eyebrows. ‘Berlin? Good heavens. All part of the airlift, I suppose. How’s it going over there?’

  ‘Pretty well.’

  ‘From what we’re told in the newspapers, you chaps are all doing a first-class job. Performing a miracle. Think you’re going to be able to stick it out?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Personally, I don’t care too much about the Germans, but we can’t let the Russians get the upper hand, can we?’

  They drove home. Mrs Lewis had left the drawing-room fire laid ready and he lit it, sat his mother down and poured her a large gin and tonic. She was still tearful, but more composed. ‘Sweet of you to come so quickly, darling. It’s a big comfort to have you here. Will you be able to stay for a bit?’

  ‘As long as I can,’ he promised. ‘The RAF are very decent about these things.’

  ‘Can I have one of your cigarettes?’

  ‘Of course.’ He lit it for her.

  ‘What’s happened to your signet ring, darling?’

  ‘I left it in Berlin.’ It wasn’t the time to tell her about Lili. He would do that later on.

  ‘So long as you haven’t lost it.’ She managed a smile. ‘There’s one good bit of news, anyway. Celia’s broken off her engagement.’

  ‘That sounds rather bad news.’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean, darling . . .’

  He knew only too well. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m not too sure. I expect she decided he was Mr Wrong, after all. I never liked him much, I must say. Rather a dull sort of type.’

  ‘Better to find it out now than later.’

  ‘She might be home this weekend. We could ring and see.’

  He said firmly, ‘I rather think we’ve got enough to cope with at the moment, don’t you?’

  Dr Meier was improving slowly. Lili went every day to take him whatever food and fuel she could and to chat with him. The chatting did the most good of all, she thought. He seemed to enjoy her company and she always stayed as long as possible. Once she had suggested that he moved into the apartment, though she knew that Dirk would be furious, but he had refused.

  ‘I am very grateful to you for such great kindness, Fräulein, but no. It is better that I remain here.’ She was always Fräulein and he treated her with an old-world courtesy. When she had told him of her engagement he had smiled and said how pleased he was for her. ‘I should very much like to meet your squadron leader when he returns from England. I speak some English and so we could converse a little.’

  In his letter Michael had written that he had no idea when he could be back, only that it would be as soon as he could. Take care of yourself while I’m away, Lili, until I can take care of you. She was glad of the hard work in the ruins. It occupied her days and, at night, exhaustion helped her to sleep. But she always lay awake for a while first, thinking of him and wondering how his father, the General, was and if he had told his family about her and what they would have to say.

  Dirk came and went with scarcely a word. The suitcase was always with him and never left unlocked. Every so often he would dump something else on the table: sausage, bacon, a bar of soap, a tin of American ham, a jar of peanut butter, another hunk of meat – pork this time and fresh enough to eat. She had stopped asking questions because he never gave answers.

  And then, one night, he didn’t come home.

  She had gone to bed early, even more tired than usual, and slept soundly. In the morning she went into his room and saw that the bed was empty. He didn’t come home that day, or that evening, or the next night, or the night after that.

  After five days, Harrison’s father recovered consciousness. The hospital had telephoned first thing in the morning and, hurrying downstairs to answer the ringing in the hall, he had expected to hear the worst. Instead, the news was good. His father was not only conscious but able to speak a little. He drove his mother to the hospital and they found him, eyes wide open, talking to the nurse. The speech was slurred and he kept mixing up words but it was intelligible. His mother burst into tears again – tears of relief this time. The neurologist was cautiously optimistic. ‘Early days but, with luck, he may make a good recovery. He’ll need treatment and lots of rest and he’ll have to take it easy for a long time. Nothing strenuous. No excitements. Peace and quiet. One has to remember the danger of a second stroke.’

  By the fire with his mother, after dinner that evening, he broached the subject of his return to Berlin. ‘They need me back as soon as possible. Do you think you can cope with things?’

  ‘Of course, darling. It’s quite different now. I’ll be fine. Celia telephoned from London, by the way. She wanted to know how your father was. So sweet of her. Will you try to see her before you go back?’

  He said steadily, ‘There’s absolutely no point going on about Celia, I’m afraid. I’m not going to marry her. I’m going to marry somebody else. I would have told you before, but it was hardly the right time with Father so ill.’

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘But who, darling? I’d no idea there was another girl you were seeing! You’ve kept it awfully dark. Do I know her?’

  ‘No, you don’t know her. You’ve never met her. You couldn’t have done because she lives in Berlin.’

  ‘Berlin? Good gracious. Is she one of the WAAFs or something? I remember you saying in one of your letters that there were several of them on the station.’

  ‘No, she’s not a WAAF. She’s not English, she’s German.’

  He saw it register and the dismay that followed. ‘German! Michael, you’re not serious? You can’t possibly marry a German girl, darling. It would be madness. Complete madness. You can’t really mean it.’

  ‘I’m afraid I do really mean it.’

  The dismay was now horror. ‘But who is she? How did you meet her?’

  ‘Her name is Lili. Lili Leicht. And I met her at her home in Berlin. I happened to come across a chap who was at school with me, quite by chance, and he knew her and introduced me.’

  ‘What chap?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t remember him. The point is, Mother, I love her and I want to marry her. And I hope you’ll be glad for me. She’s a wonderful girl. You’ll like her very much.’

  ‘I know I shan’t. And I can’t be glad for you. She could ruin your career, your whole life. Haven’t you thought about that? How much it would harm you to have a German wife, in your position in the services? She wouldn’t care, of course. All she’ll care about is catching an English husband, getting out of Berlin.’

  ‘If you knew her, you’d also know that’s not so. I’ve had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to marry me.’

&nbs
p; ‘Playing hard to get is one of the oldest tricks in the book. You’ve given her your signet ring, haven’t you? That’s what you’ve done with it. How could you, Michael? How could you? That ring belonged to your grandfather. He left it to you.’

  ‘I gave it to her until I can buy her a proper engagement ring, that’s all.’

  ‘You’ll never get it back. She’ll go and sell it, or something.’

  ‘That’s uncalled for.’

  ‘Well, what do you know about her? Next to nothing, I should think. Does she live with her parents?’

  ‘They’re both dead. Her mother and grandmother died when we bombed Berlin and her father was hanged by the Nazis for refusing to kowtow to them. She’s only nineteen and she’s had a pretty rough time.’

  ‘A rough time? Plenty of people here in England had that during the war – thanks to the Germans.’

  He said quietly, ‘It’s impossible for you to imagine how bad it was in Berlin – unless you’ve seen it with your own eyes. And still is. They survive from day to day, living in the most appalling conditions in the ruins.’

  ‘To think of you marrying a girl from such circumstances! Does she have any other family at all? Any background?’

  ‘She has two brothers and a grandfather who live with her.’

  ‘And how old are they?’

  ‘Nine and seventeen. The grandfather is elderly. I’m not sure of his age.’

  ‘And what will happen to them? I suppose she wants you to look after them all too and you’ve agreed? No wonder she set her cap at you. You were the answer to her prayers.’ His mother began to sob hysterically. ‘This is too much, Michael. I can’t bear it . . . first your father and now this horrible news. For God’s sake, don’t tell him. It’ll kill him. Promise me you won’t say anything to him.’ She clutched at his arm. ‘Promise me.’

  It took her hours to find the right place; hours of walking up and down streets and searching for some sign. He’d given her a business card once, but, of course, she had thrown it away. She was on the point of giving up when, at last, she came to a half-ruined building standing alone in a street and saw another card, just the same, pinned up outside the entrance. Phönix Verlag, Phoenix Publishers, Édition Phénix. Even then, her courage almost failed her. ‘You have no choice, Fräulein,’ Dr Meier had said. ‘You must ask him for help. He is the only one who might be able to give it.’ The door was unlocked. Lili opened it and stepped into a bare, dark hallway. Another door stood a little open and she could hear Nico’s voice beyond. She pushed open the door a bit further. He was speaking on the telephone, sitting at a desk; behind him there were shelves containing books. As soon as he saw her, he slammed down the receiver and jumped to his feet. ‘Lili! Is there something the matter? You don’t look well at all. Sit down, sit down.’ He fussed around her.

  She sank onto the chair. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘A cigarette?’

  He was hovering too close, one hand on her shoulder. In spite of the need to be polite to him, not to offend, she couldn’t help shrinking from his touch. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind if I do.’ He took his hand away and went to sit behind his desk again. He fitted one of his Turkish cigarettes into the holder and lit it. ‘Something must be very badly wrong for you to come here. Tell me what has happened.’

  ‘Dirk is missing,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t been home for nearly a week. I’ve heard nothing from him. Not a word.’

  ‘Is that so unusual? He’s very independent.’

  ‘He never tells me where he’s going or what he’s doing but he always comes home. This is the first time he hasn’t done so. And for so long. I know something must have happened to him.’

  ‘And you have come to me for help? I’m astonished. Why not to Michael?’

  ‘Michael is in England. His father has been taken seriously ill.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. So, poor Lili, you’re on your own with nobody but me to turn to. That’s a terrible situation for you.’ He leaned forward with his arms on the desk, the smoke spiralling upwards from the cigarette and nauseating her. ‘Now, tell me, what’s Dirk been up to lately that makes you so especially worried?’

  She told him about the morphine ampoules, the dealings with the Americans, the locked suitcase. ‘I’ve tried to stop him but it’s hopeless. He won’t listen to me.’

  Nico smiled faintly. ‘What self-respecting young man of seventeen would listen to his elder sister? Naturally, he knows better.’ He turned and lifted the telephone receiver. ‘The most likely thing is that he has been caught and arrested by the police. In which case I may be able to do something about it.’

  He spoke first in German and then, at some length, in Russian. Lili tried to guess from the tone of his voice and the look on his face if there was any news, but it was impossible. Nico never gave anything away. At last he put down the receiver. ‘It’s as I thought. The east sector police arrested him several nights ago. He was carrying a suitcase crammed with black-market goods.’

  ‘Where is he? Can I go and see him?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. He was kept in the cells for a while for questioning and then moved.’

  ‘Moved? Where to?’

  ‘To Sachsenhausen.’

  ‘Sachsenhausen. Oh, God!’

  ‘The Russians have started to use it again. A convenient, ready-made prison camp. Try not to distress yourself, Lili. I promise you that I will do everything I can to get him released. You must trust me. It’s by no means hopeless.’ He put his head on one side. ‘I see you’re wearing Michael’s signet ring. Too late to try and hide it. I take it that this means happy news?’

  ‘There’s nothing to be happy about,’ she said desolately. ‘Not any more.’

  Harrison went alone to say goodbye to his father. He had been moved to another room – comfortable and pleasant with a Constable print on the wall and a window overlooking some quiet gardens. He was propped up in bed against a backrest and a mound of starched pillows, complaining about being kept there. ‘Damned stupid . . . bored to death lying here.’ His speech was still very slow and indistinct, each word obviously a difficulty.

  ‘They think you should take it easy for a bit, that’s all.’

  ‘Lot of . . . nonsense.’

  He sat down beside the bed. ‘I’ve brought you a couple of books from home – when you’re up to reading.’

  ‘Can’t seem to . . . read . . . yet.’

  ‘It’ll come in time. They’re pretty pleased with the progress you’re making.’ He put the two volumes of war memoirs away in the bedside locker. ‘I’m off to London today, then back to Berlin.’

  ‘Good of you to stay . . . so long . . . meant . . . a lot . . . your mother. And . . . me.’ His father turned his head away towards the window. ‘Damned proud of you . . . Michael . . . war record . . . everything . . . want you . . . know that.’ His voice faltered and Harrison saw his hand reach up clumsily to brush away the tears that were trickling down his cheeks. It was the first time he had ever seen him cry.

  He drove up to London later that evening. The flat was silent and cheerless, the only offerings in the store cupboard tinned baked beans or sardines. On impulse, he phoned Celia. Her flatmate answered and he waited for her to come to the phone, wondering if he’d been an idiot to call her. Presently he heard the receiver being picked up and her clear voice speaking.

  ‘Michael? How nice to hear from you. How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘I heard you were over. I’m so sorry about your father. Is he any better?’

  ‘Much improved, I’d say. The outlook seems quite hopeful.’

  ‘I’m awfully glad. That’s wonderful news. So, you’re off back to Berlin now, I expect?’

  ‘Very early tomorrow morning. I’m at the flat in London tonight. Actually, I wondered if you’d be free for dinner this evening?’

  There was a slight pause, then she said, ‘Yes, of course. That would be love
ly.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up about eight – if that’s OK.’

  ‘Look forward to seeing you.’

  He took her to the same French restaurant as before. She looked much as always, he thought – well groomed and attractive – though she’d done her hair a bit differently, he noticed. It was longer and softer and it suited her rather well. Made her seem more vulnerable, more feminine. He raised his glass to her.

  ‘Thank you for turning out this evening. Sorry it was such short notice.’

  She said easily, ‘It’s always nice to see you, Michael. We’re old friends, aren’t we?’

  He nodded. ‘I was sorry to hear your engagement didn’t work out.’

  ‘Just one of those things.’

  ‘Any particular thing? None of my business, of course.’

  ‘Not really. I simply realized – in time, thank goodness – that it wasn’t right. I’m afraid I hurt Richard a lot but I couldn’t go through with it. No excuses. My big mistake.’

  ‘Easy enough to make.’

  ‘Not really. I’m not proud of it. I ought to have known from the beginning – actually part of me did know but I didn’t listen to myself.’ She set down her glass. ‘That’s enough of that. Have you any plans yourself in that direction, Michael? I sort of get the feeling that there is someone.’

  He said slowly, ‘Yes, actually there is but I have to ask you not to say anything about it to anyone else at the moment.’

  ‘I promise I won’t. Who is she? The girl in Berlin? The one you told me about when you were last home on leave? The one who works in the ruins?’

  He was amazed she’d remembered. ‘I’ve forgotten what I said . . .’

  ‘Not much. But from the way you said it, I rather guessed she already meant quite a lot to you.’

  ‘Yes, she did. And she does, even more now.’ He smiled. ‘You seem to know me pretty well, don’t you, Celia?’

  ‘Well, we’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we? More than twenty years. On and off. I ought to have some idea of what makes you tick. I’m very happy for you, Michael. I know that she must be a wonderful girl.’