Just as he went to press the bell, the door opened. Peter was relieved to see Lotte’s face. She had guessed when the caller had abruptly hung up the telephone that someone was in trouble and had been keeping watch as best she could at the door. She was anxious, though pleased to see him. As he stepped towards the light of the hallway she noticed the blood on his collar.
‘What’s wrong? You are hurt Peter.’ She stepped out of the doorway as she said this, hoping to avoid prying eyes from behind her.
‘It’s Wolfi,’ Peter said, tearfully, ‘he’s badly injured. They cleared the woods with soldiers and dogs. His side was ripped open by another dog as he defended us.’
‘Tell me what you need, quickly,’ Lotte replied, ‘my husband is still here. I have persuaded him to take a bath. He is still soaking at the moment, but he will become suspicious if I am not there when he gets out.’
‘I need to borrow the car and my old chauffeur’s uniform. Please hurry! Wolfi can’t last much longer.’ Typically Lotte did not react when he said he needed to borrow her husband’s car.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ Turning away she closed the door behind her.
Minutes after disappearing Lotte opened the door. She handed him a parcel made up of a woollen blanket containing his old chauffeur’s outfit, a set of car keys, a cognac bottle filled with water and a card with an address, inside an envelope. Next to the card lay an earring, pearl and gold.
‘You can change in the car. The address is a vet that I know. Show him that earring and he will know I have sent you. He will look after Wolfi for you. I will try and telephone and warn him, if I can. Hurry! My husband’s driver is due to come for the car early tomorrow.’
She kissed Peter and told him not to worry and then disappeared inside. In the cellar flat, Herr Klein, the block warden and caretaker, closed his window and sat back pondering what to do about the scene he had just witnessed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was after eleven o’clock and Peter was at the wheel of the powerful Daimler. He was in the chauffeur’s uniform that he had last worn to escort Berta to the Swiss border. If stopped his identity card gave his work details as ‘chauffeur’. He just hoped that the car would not be missed until he completed his task. The petrol gauge showed that there was still half a tank of fuel. That should be more than enough to get him to Wannsee and back.
The temptation to race through the streets was almost overwhelming. He resisted, knowing that car accidents in the blackout were much more common. Travelling at a steady forty kilometres an hour he soon left the central precincts of Berlin and was now motoring at greater speed along the Spanische Allee towards Wannsee. His journey was uninterrupted and he arrived at the closest point to his camp, still on the road. He pulled the Daimler into a lay-by and leapt out, blanket and cognac bottle in hand. In his haste he almost forgot to switch off the lights, such was his anxiety to see Wolfi again.
It was almost fifteen minutes walk to the camp. He covered it in less than ten. He crawled through the tunnel of branches and ran to Wolfi’s side.
‘It’s all right Wolfi. I won’t leave you now.’
Wolfi was not moving. Frantic, Peter placed his ear towards his mouth. His breathing was very faint and just audible. He was still alive! He took the cognac bottle and poured a little water into Wolfi’s mouth. The weakened animal drank a small amount and slowly licked his lips. He poured some more water into the dog’s mouth.
‘It’s all right boy. It’s all right,’ he said, soothing his dog. Slowly he slipped the edges of the blanket under Wolfi, who moaned as it touched his hind quarters.
‘Sorry boy,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to lift you.’ He wrapped the blanket completely around the injured animal, knotted the ends together and lifted the whole lot with the greatest care. Wolfi groaned at first then went silent. The distressed groans were upsetting, yet Peter preferred that to silence. Any noise or movement by Wolfi meant he was still alive.
Wolfi was a big dog, though in his time in the wild he had lost all excess fat. In the same time Peter had grown to be a strong, athletic adolescent. It was hard work nevertheless, as he carefully carried his dog in the blanket back to the car. All the time he spoke words of comfort. He opened the rear door and laid him gently on the more spacious back seat.
Peter drove away as smoothly as possible, aware that a rough journey might cause further injury. Carefully he navigated the many potholes avoiding any sudden jolts. He had a vague idea where the vet lived and as he neared his destination he had to slow down to read the street signs.
‘It’s so damn dark,’ Peter complained, as he struggled to see ahead and read the directions Lotte had given him. At last forty-five minutes after lifting Wolfi in the blanket he was in the right street, just off Barbarossa Square, near Nollendorf Square.
Nollendorf was familiar to Peter as he had once had piano lessons in a small apartment in one of the side streets. That had stopped shortly after Kristall Nacht when his Jewish tutor had been forced out of the area.
The premises were easy to identify. It was a flat above a glass-fronted window with the inscription ‘Dr. Gerhard Messner, Verterinary Surgeon’. Beneath this was engraved a list of qualifications and opening hours. The premises looked a little shabby, a poor shadow of their previous splendour. In wartime there was less call upon the services of a vet, as pets were often a luxury many civilians dispensed with first. Peter was pleased that the doctor lived above the shop. Had he been resident in an apartment block his visit would have been difficult to conceal. Next to the vet’s premises were a number of businesses, each seemingly with accommodation above.
Peter parked adjacent to the kerb. There were few other vehicles around and so plenty of space outside the vet’s surgery. He decided to leave Wolfi in the car for the moment. If the vet was unwilling to see him, there was little point increasing the poor animal’s distress. He climbed out of the driver’s seat and leaned into the back.
‘Don’t worry Wolfi. I’ll be back soon.’ Wolfi did not stir.
He closed the door softly. With mounting trepidation he approached the door of the surgery and pressed the buzzer marked ‘Dr. Messner. Emergencies only’.
‘I hope he’s in,’ Peter said, ‘And I hope he agrees to treat Wolfi.’ A full minute passed.
‘Come on! Come on! Please be in.’ Peter had no idea what to do should the vet be away. Wolfi could not survive much longer.
There was no sign of life. He pressed the buzzer again this time for longer and more impatiently. A light went on upstairs and he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the front door. The door opened a fraction and a handsome face looked back at him.
‘What do you want? It’s late. I don’t know you do I?’ the face enquired. The tone was hostile and unfriendly, as was common in wartime Berlin. Lotte had not been able to telephone him.
Peter had little time to waste. He held up the earring and said simply, ‘Lotte.’ The effect of the name was remarkable.
‘Come in come in, don’t just stand there,’ the vet said, beckoning him inside.
‘My dog is badly injured. Lotte, my friend, said that you would treat him,’ Peter replied, knowing that every moment was precious. He emphasised Lotte’s name and did not move.
The vet’s face filled with disappointment as he realised his professional services were required. His passion for Lotte had not dwindled, even in the years since he had first presented her with the pair of earrings, one of which this stranger held in his hand. They had cost him almost three months income in the years before the war, but she was worth it.
‘Please will you help my dog?’ Peter pleaded, interrupting the vet’s reminiscence.
‘Where is the animal?’ the vet said, adopting a professional manner.
‘In the car. I will bring him to you,’ Peter said, so overjoyed he was already running back to Wolfi.
At the passenger door he leaned into the vehicle and spoke encouragingly to his friend. ‘It’s al
l right boy. You will be all right.’
Wolfi lifted his head barely millimetres from the seat in acknowledgement. Peter winced at Wolfi’s painful whimper as he placed his arms under the dog and lifted him out of the car.
It was not long until he had carried Wolfi from the car and into the doctor’s surgery. They were in a room at the back of the building on the ground floor. The vet was unwrapping the blanket covering the wounded animal. Under the spotlight Peter could see for the first time the amount of blood that Wolfi had lost and the depth of the wound. He recoiled in horror at the sight.
‘It may be worse than it looks,’ the vet attempted to reassure him. He wiped around the affected area as Peter held Wolfi’s head, comforting him.
Once cleaned, the wound, though still long and deep, did not appear quite so bad. They hardly spoke. Peter was not in a state to note the irony of the black and white poster on the wall behind the vet. It was entitled ‘Law on Animal Protection 1933’ which prohibited cruelty to animals and threatened severe penalties for their mistreatment.
The vet looked up. ‘He has lost a lot of blood and is dehydrated. I shall do my best. Be prepared. He may not survive.’
Peter was not surprised, though reassured himself that Wolfi had survived a long time already. Now he was in the right hands he knew his dog would fight on.
‘Come on boy. Don’t leave me now,’ Peter whispered close to the dog’s ear. He cradled Wolfi’s head in his arms.
He watched as the vet skilfully inserted a drip and suspended it from a stand. He shaved the fur around the hole in Wolfi’s thigh. Next he sterilised the wound with iodine and began to stitch the flesh back together. Wolfi initially tried to bite at the area as each stitch caused pain, then settled as Peter calmed him, in spite of the discomfort.
‘I’m sorry I don’t have any pain relief,’ the vet said.
Peter nodded his understanding and the vet continued stitching. As he finished the final stitch, the vet looked up and said what Peter had hoped not to hear: ‘He’ll have to remain here for a few days. He has to be completely rehydrated and he needs medicine to counteract any infection. The greatest danger is that the wound has been exposed for so long. Ideally I would like to give him a blood transfusion, but I have no supplies.’
So be it. This was clearly the best place for Wolfi and his best chance of survival. Peter would just have to trust the vet with his friend. Whatever hold Lotte had over him, it was a powerful influence.
‘You look exhausted. Will you take a coffee with me? You can tell me all about Lotte,’ the vet offered. For the first time Peter noticed the limp and the prosthetic leg as the vet stood upright.
‘That would explain why he is not in the forces,’ he thought. ‘I would like to. I must get the car back. This is for the treatment.’ Peter held out the earring to the vet.
The vet closed Peter’s hand around the piece of jewellery and said, ‘That was a gift to a special friend. Tell her a visit from her would be more than enough payment. It has been far too long.’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged. I will bring you payment of my own. Thank you doctor. Thank you very much.’ Peter reached out and shook the vet warmly by the hand.
The vet was impressed by the maturity of the young man in front of him and his quiet determination. Mostly though, he was excited about seeing Lotte again.
* * *
It was one thirty in the morning and Peter was at the wheel of the long black limousine again. He was very tired and regretted that he had not accepted the vet’s offer of coffee. Even substitute coffee. Before he could return the car to Lotte’s address he had one more thing to do. As Lotte’s husband was still at home she would not have the opportunity to warn Franz that their camp had been raided. He would have to do it.
He was making his way as carefully as possible along the still dark streets. There was virtually no other traffic and although the kerbstones were identified by fluorescent paint, at times it was difficult to keep the car in the correct position.
His eyelids were heavy. A combination of mental and physical exhaustion began to take its toll and he struggled to stay awake. As he rounded a bend he jolted upright as the runner board scraped the pavement.
‘Damn it!’ he swore at himself and the dark. There was nothing for it he would have to go straight back to Luisenstrasse and deposit the car. He would pass the Professor’s apartment on foot and alert them. With luck he would still make it early in the morning before anyone was up and about.
There were a few near misses as he drove through the dark streets, until eventually he pulled up outside Lotte’s apartment. He was so tired he did not see Herr Klein pull back the curtains in his basement flat and observe as he got out of the car and locked the door. He bent over to examine the nearside runner board. It was badly scratched. He hoped that the car’s official driver might not notice the difference in fuel level from the night before. He could not fail to spot the damage to the runner boards, certainly not in daylight. A near exhausted Peter pondered whether to ring the doorbell and warn Lotte. It was so late at night she would struggle to explain to her husband what was happening. He placed the keys into the envelope which had originally contained the card with the vet’s address, and sealing it he was about to drop it into Lotte’s postbox when the door opened. Lotte appeared in the gap.
‘Your friend the vet has stitched Wolfi’s side. He has to stay with him for a few days. I am really sorry, I have damaged the runner board.’ Peter gave her the envelope and the earring. Lotte was completely calm and simply touched his arm.
‘The main thing is that Wolfi gets better. Now take this parcel and go to the Professor’s. I will visit Wolfi tomorrow and the day after,’ she promised. ‘We shall meet at the Professor’s the day after tomorrow, at two in the afternoon.’
Peter took the parcel and peaking inside could see his naval uniform. His quizzical expression told Lotte he had not comprehended. He was obviously too tired to think straight.
‘You can’t turn up at the Professor’s dressed as a chauffeur, when you have previously been seen as a sailor. You must change before you go,’ she explained. She beckoned him into the lobby and kept watch as he switched outfits. He wrapped the chauffeur’s uniform and his old clothes in the brown paper and wished Lotte good night.
As Peter descended the steps, Herr Klein moved away from behind the curtains. He did not notice the new uniform, nor had he heard any of the conversation between Lotte and Peter as they were speaking very quietly. Unluckily for him he was unable to observe the exchange on the steps, as they were out of the light. Nor had he been able to identify the young man, either from earlier that night or more recently. He suspected that they were one and the same. It might even have been someone he had seen at the apartment, except that young man was never without his dog and too young to be a chauffeur, for he was confident it was a chauffeur he had seen just now. He so wished he had heard and seen more. It was clear, however, that their meeting and the one earlier had not been innocent. He would do nothing at that precise moment. This was an opportunity and he would have to consider carefully how best to exploit it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Peter made good progress on foot. The combination of the fresh, cold night air and the exercise helped to revive him. His eyes were by now quite accustomed to the darkness and he was able to avoid the many obstacles on the pavements.
He was in a much better frame of mind. Wolfi was far from saved, but he now stood a decent chance of recovery. His original decision to contact Lotte had proved to be the correct one. The vet had confirmed this. Without her name and his obvious devotion to her, Peter doubted whether he would even have spoken to him.
It was approaching four in the morning when Peter arrived outside the Professor’s tenement block. It was much less grand than Lotte’s residence, in the poorer working class district of Kreuzberg. As everywhere these days the buildings were half-standing, half-demolished. The great advantage of the Professor’s residence
was that the concierge did not live in the building itself. He was responsible for several buildings and lived in the next street. The Professor, like all residents of Berlin, had his own warden to enforce Party rules. In this building it was a man of almost seventy who seldom left his apartment on the top floor. He had deliberately chosen the top floor, in spite of the stairs, as he liked the view over Berlin. He was not particularly well-qualified to act as the official warden. Nobody complained as his son was a high-ranking Party member, and all assumed, rightly, that it was his son who got him the job. A warden who kept himself largely to himself was much more preferable than the snooping, prying Herr Klein.
Peter pushed open the front door into the foyer. It was not locked. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and gently tapped on the door to the Professor’s lodgings. Two short taps, a single louder tap and then two further short taps. The noise was deliberately gentle, though sufficiently loud to be heard by Franz who was asleep on the sofa.
Franz was rubbing sleep from his eyes as he casually opened the door.
‘For heaven’s sake, Franz, ask who is there before opening up. I could have been anyone,’ Peter said.
‘Sorry. Why are you here?’ Franz said, holding back a yawn.
‘Wolfi’s been hurt. The camp was raided by soldiers and he was mauled by their dogs.’
As soon as Franz heard the words ‘Wolfi’ and ‘hurt’ he woke up completely. Peter could see his distress and tried to reassure him. ‘He’s all right for now. It’s touch and go, but at least he’s with a vet.’
‘What about the others?’ Franz asked, fearful of the reply.
‘Robin didn’t make it. The others are safe for the moment on Peacock Island.’
‘Robin has been caught?’ Franz asked. The prospect of Lotte being arrested was uppermost in his mind.
‘Not caught. Killed,’ Peter replied. Both were aware that the poor man’s tragedy had probably saved them. He could not have withstood questioning at the hands of the Gestapo.
Berlin Wolf Page 20
