She woke up with a start to find the train not moving, and Walter standing in front of her, shaking her shoulder gently.
“Oh! Thank you.” She scrambled to her feet, put her coat on, and looked out of the window. The large sign said HAMBURG, and she grasped her case and handbag and went to the door, Walter on her heels. It was crowded with other people getting off.
She heard the familiar sounds of German being spoken around her and easily fell into the pattern herself. It did not take Walter long to make the appropriate inquiries for the fastest train to Berlin, and to change some money into German currency.
They caught the train and found seats with only a few minutes to spare. Were the trains scheduled to coincide, or was it just good luck? She had heard rumors that Adolf Hitler managed to get many things improved, and the Germans had always taken a natural pride in order. Perhaps it was by design. When things worked as they should, it created ease. Trust. Even hope.
* * *
—
The train drew into Berlin a few minutes early. If the taxis were still in the same place, she would have no trouble finding one, and every driver had to know where the main embassies were.
The whole station seemed to be as she remembered it. There was no time now to look for small changes, new restaurants or shops. She had just under an hour to get to the embassy before five o’clock. It should be easy, but one always had to allow for traffic jams, a queue somewhere, an official who needed to be persuaded or was in too much of a hurry to listen.
She turned to Walter. “I can never thank you enough for all that you have done, but I need to go alone from here.”
“I understand. Or…I don’t…but I believe you. Take care of yourself, Elena Standish!” He smiled and bent forward, kissing her lightly on the forehead, then turned and walked away, elegantly, easily.
Within minutes he was lost in the crowd, but she had no time to miss him.
She was both hungry and thirsty, but refreshments would have to wait. If she got to the embassy in time there would be a cloakroom where she could try to tidy her appearance a bit more.
There were half a dozen people waiting for taxis when she reached the stand. Only four taxis were in sight. How long might she have to wait? Did it matter if she asked anyone if they were going near the British Embassy? She could wait here long enough to be late! The big rally where Scharnhorst would appear was tomorrow at midday. If she missed Cordell tonight, she might not catch him at all. Tomorrow was Tuesday; he could be anywhere then. But should she draw attention to herself? At the head of the queue was a man in a drab business suit. Everyone looked tired, more than ready to go home. What on earth did embarrassment matter?
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” she said very clearly. “I have an appointment for which I am late, at the British Embassy. Is anyone going in that direction? I will be happy to pay the whole fare, I just dare not miss my…meeting, please?”
They all looked a little startled. There was panic in her voice. She had heard it herself, and she sounded distraught. Please heaven, one of them must find money more important than time?
The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, but it was probably less than a minute. Then one of the women, the third in the queue, nodded her head.
“I’m going that way. If you take me there, and pay the taxi, you can get the driver to take you the rest of the way in a few minutes.”
“Thank you!” Elena was flooded with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said again, adding the German courtesy of “gnädige Frau.”
The taxi ride seemed long, although in fact it was less than twenty-five minutes. Elena remembered the streets well enough. The driver followed exactly the same route she would have expected, first to the address the woman had given him, then from there to the British Embassy.
There were lots of people out, shoppers, talking to one another, on foot and moving quickly. Many walked with heads down, as if not wanting to catch anyone’s attention. One old man, white-bearded, stepped aside into the gutter to allow a group of brown-shirted men in semi-uniform to go past. He kept his face averted, but moved even farther into the street to avoid being bumped by them. They took no notice of him at all.
Two women stopped talking to each other and moved quickly in the opposite direction.
The taxi driver muttered something under his breath, but assuming he might be speaking to her, Elena asked him to repeat it. He shook his head and drove faster.
Outside the embassy, he stopped. She paid him what he asked and added the usual tip.
“Thank you,” she said, and alighted quickly.
He drove off without answering, leaving her on the pavement in her bloodstained dress, her one small suitcase containing her camera at her feet.
CHAPTER
11
Roger Cordell sat alone in his office at the British Embassy in Berlin. It was a handsome room, old and spacious. Perhaps it was a little shabby, but the proportions were perfect, and it spoke of elegance and good taste. He did not want it redecorated. He was comfortable here, and so were the visitors he cared about, men with assurance who had no need of outer display.
Did he need to attend the rally the following afternoon? Scharnhorst was an important figure in Germany, and unfortunately, likely to become more so. As Hitler increased in power, so did Scharnhorst. The man affected a sort of hysteria, winding himself up into a paroxysm of Hitler worship and the corresponding hatred of all his perceived enemies. If his persona was genuine, he was a lunatic, but if it was a calculated display, then he was far more dangerous. He was not out of control, but instead very much in it.