Sisters of Berlin

by Juliet Conlin

  She sits back down, heavily. Her outburst has left her stunned.

  Sebastian speaks. ‘Thank you, Kommissar Franzen. I think it would be best if –’

  Franzen gives Nina a last look, catching her eye. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats. ‘Truly.’

  He follows Sebastian out and a moment later, Nina hears the door clicking shut.

  When Sebastian comes back in, she says, ‘I don’t want to go there tonight.’ She sounds like a sulky child, but she doesn’t care.

  Sebastian puts a hand out to stroke her hair. Then he crouches down in front of her and puts his hands over hers. ‘You know that’s not an option,’ he says.

  ‘But what if I was ill?’

  ‘But you’re not. Listen –’ He pauses. ‘Listen. Life doesn’t stop here. I’m just as upset as you are about the investigation. But there’s nothing we can do about that now. Believe me, if I’d known what Franzen was going to tell us . . .’ He squeezes her hands. ‘This evening is very important for your parents, you know that. And it’s not going to be as bad as you think. If anything, it’ll be a distraction.’ He stands up. ‘Besides, would you want to miss seeing Bekka in action?’ he asks, smiling. ‘With the little apron and everything?’

  She shakes her head slowly and feels her teeth rattle in her skull.

  ‘I’m going to make us a drink,’ he continues. ‘Consider it medicinal. Come on –’ He takes her hands and pulls her to her feet. She doesn’t resist. ‘You go and get ready. Gin and tonic okay?’

  She nods, although she hasn’t really processed what he said.

  Sebastian goes out to the kitchen and Nina heads upstairs. In the bathroom, she brushes out her hair and starts backcombing individual strands. Yes, she is clutching at straws. Of course she is. She would drown otherwise. She tries not to think of Thiel, lying cold and rigid in a sliding drawer somewhere. She rubs her shoulder where he twisted it – she can still feel a twinge now and again when she lifts something heavy, but soon, the twinge will be gone. Did Franzen honestly think she’d be pleased to hear the man was dead? Maybe she should be pleased, or at least relieved. But she doesn’t feel relief. She feels nothing. It is not an unpleasant feeling. She’s not happy that he’s dead, but she’s not sorry, either. She pins up a strand of hair with a hairpin. Takes a few deep breaths. She feels something tugging inside her. This is it. There’s nothing more we can do.

  Sebastian shouts up the stairs that the drinks are ready and that she needs to get a move on. Nina calls down that she’ll be another ten minutes, then pins up the rest of her hair and appraises her reflection. It’ll do. Eyeliner, mascara, lipstick – she applies it automatically. What does Jakob Fraunhofer feel over Marie’s death? Is he grieving? She hadn’t considered this before, all those other people who knew Marie and might be in mourning for her. She switches off the bathroom light on her way out and steps out of her tracksuit. Life doesn’t stop here. She lets her hand glide down her belly, then to the side, her fingers skating one, two, three, four over the hip bone that protrudes over the elastic of her knickers. Life doesn’t stop here. Sebastian is right. Not just her life, but his, Rebekka’s, Kai’s, Jakob Fraunhofer’s.

  It would be a way out. To have another baby. As a father, Sebastian is delightful and delighted. Her practice will either survive or not. Perhaps she shouldn’t rule out the idea. Perhaps – and the thought is as shocking as a firework, an alarming crack and bang, but then fizzling out into nothing – Sebastian understands her better than she does herself. Something tugs inside her and snaps, but faintly, soundlessly. This is it. She slips the blue dress from its hanger and rubs the fabric – soft, silky – between forefinger and thumb. She needs to let go. Her heart is so small and dry, it’s barely more than a flutter inside her. A baby. It would be nice, at least, to have the option. She puts on the dress and looks in the mirror. As she feared, the thin straps show the boniness of her shoulders. She opens the wardrobe and roots around for the cardigan, which she finds right at the back, hanging in a plastic cover. She takes it out and smells it. No mothballs, just a faint whiff of dry-cleaning chemicals. She shrugs it on and goes downstairs to join Sebastian.

  26

  Hannah opens the door to them.

  ‘Good evening,’ she says, smiling, and helps Nina out of her coat.

  ‘Hello, Hannah.’ Nina hands her the scarf. ‘Thank you.’

  The dark rich smell of roasted duck fills the spacious hallway. It is intensely appetising and sickening at the same time.

  ‘How’s Rebekka doing?’ Sebastian asks. ‘Help or hindrance?’

  Hannah puts her head to one side. ‘She’s a lovely girl. Far more use to me than those students Frau Bergmann usually gets in to help on these occasions.’

  She gives Nina a big smile, just as Antonia comes into the hall from the adjacent dining room.

  ‘The fridge is out,’ she snaps.

  ‘No, Frau Bergmann,’ Hannah says, hurrying past them to hang up the coats. ‘I adjusted the temperature a little so the canapés wouldn’t get too hard. From the cold.’

  ‘Well, you must have switched it off completely. I checked the wine and it’s barely cool. Why don’t you ask me before you interfere like that?’

  ‘I’ll go and see.’ Hannah scoots down the hall towards the kitchen.

  ‘And please don’t roll your eyes at me,’ Antonia says, loud enough for Hannah to hear.

  Sebastian steps forward and kisses her on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry about the wine,’ he says. ‘Pop it on the terrace for half an hour. It’s certainly cold enough out there.’

  She gives him a smile. ‘I do apologise, Sebastian. I shouldn’t be griping like this. But it’s hard not to be a little nervous, you know?’

  She turns to lead them into the drawing room. Sebastian catches Nina’s eye and winks. Nina is aware that she’s ever so slightly unsteady on her feet, but feels glad she had a drink before coming.

  In the drawing room, the fire has been lit and the lights dimmed. The room seems drowsily elegant, as though the immaculate yet cosy style of the place is somehow accidental and it hasn’t taken Antonia hours and hours to get the ambience exactly right. Nina takes a seat closest to the fireplace. She’s cold in her thin dress, in spite of the cardigan. Sebastian remains standing, and Antonia takes a seat opposite Nina. Despite her claims of nervousness, she looks perfectly calm, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap.

  ‘You look nice,’ she says to Nina.

  ‘Thanks, Mama. So do you.’ It’s true. She’s wearing a simple black dress, Armani perhaps, the neckline showing just enough cleavage to suggest a certain confidence in her appearance, but not so much as to indicate that she thinks she’s younger than she is. She has perfect style, from her pearl-drop earrings to the unobtrusively matching buckles on her shoes.

  ‘How was Papa’s speech, by the way?’ Nina asks, remembering suddenly.

  ‘Oh.’ Antonia looks away into the fire.

  ‘Not good?’ Sebastian asks.

  Antonia sighs. ‘They decided to drop it,’ she says. ‘Papa was brief about it on the phone. They claimed a scheduling conflict or something, but I assume it had more to do with that arrest. The spy, you know? Papa was responsible for his most recent promotion.’ She looks at Nina and then up at Sebastian. ‘Naturally, he had no idea. Best not mention it when he comes.’

  ‘Too bad,’ Sebastian says.

  ‘Yes. After all that effort.’ She gets up. ‘I suggested he give a condensed version after dinner, but – oh, never mind.’ She waves her hand across her face. ‘From tomorrow, he’ll be out of my hair for a couple of days, at least.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Nina asks.

  ‘I booked him a golfing holiday. Four days in Mallorca. I thought he might need it after all this. He’s off first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind that myself,’ Sebastian says. ‘You didn’t fancy joining him, Antonia?’

  She puts her head to one side and gives him a coy smile. ‘I’ll be glad
of the peace and quiet, if I’m honest.’ Then she straightens her posture abruptly. ‘Now we just have to get this dinner over with. Like I said to Nina, a simple reception would’ve been fine, as far as I’m concerned. But Hans insisted that everyone was bound to be starving after standing about in the cold for hours.’

  ‘Well, he has a point,’ Sebastian says with a chuckle. ‘Speaking of which, when are you expecting them?’

  She checks the slim gold watch on her wrist. ‘In about fifteen minutes. Goodness, I’d better see how Hannah and Bekka are getting on.’ She crosses the room. ‘Oh, would you mind fixing yourselves a drink?’ She indicates the drinks cabinet. ‘I don’t mean to abandon you, but –’

  ‘Not to worry,’ Sebastian says. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  She leaves the room and Sebastian pours himself a whisky. ‘G and T?’ he asks.

  Nina nods and he fixes her drink. The kitchen is two rooms away, separated from them by the commanding dining room, but they can still hear Antonia conversing urgently with Hannah. Nina takes a sip. The bubbles of tonic fizz on her tongue.

  ‘She doesn’t know, does she?’ she says after a few moments’ silence. ‘About Fraunhofer.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem so,’ Sebastian replies. He sits down in a large leather armchair, Hans’s favourite. ‘And I don’t think we should mention Franzen’s visit. Not tonight. It can wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘That was very considerate of him,’ Nina says, ‘to remember that my father’s involved in the celebrations.’

  Sebastian raises his glass to her. ‘I think he just wanted an excuse to come and see you.’

  She doesn’t look at him. She’s blushing – it’s a weird sensation, her face hot and the rest of her body cold. She takes another sip. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she says quietly.

  Sebastian lets out a soft laugh. ‘I don’t mind. Not at all. It’s a compliment when other guys have the hots for my wife.’

  ‘He hasn’t got the “hots” for me,’ she retorts, annoyed.

  ‘You don’t –’ he begins, but is interrupted by Rebekka, as she comes into the room.

  ‘Good evening, Madam. Good evening, Sir,’ she says, doing a goofy bob of a curtsey.

  Nina gets up, teeters slightly, but manages to stabilise herself on the arm of the chair. Two gin and tonics on an empty stomach. ‘Stupid heels,’ she says, nodding at her shoes, but neither Sebastian nor Rebekka seem to have noticed.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Rebekka is saying, ‘how much work there is. Hannah’s been up since six this morning, cooking, and there’s still loads to do.’ Her cheeks are flushed with excitement. ‘You wouldn’t think, just for a dinner party.’

  Sebastian laughs. ‘Well, if you pick up any useful tips, make sure to try them out at home.’

  ‘Of course, Papa,’ she says, and grins. ‘If you pay me fifty euros.’

  Nina goes over to her and fixes a strand of hair back into a pin. ‘You’re not getting tired, are you?’

  Rebekka rolls her eyes. ‘No, Mama. I’m having a ball. By the way, you have to try the stuffed cherry tomatoes. I made them all by myself.’

  Nina wants to know what else is on the menu, but Rebekka skips back out of the room before she has a chance to ask.

  ‘Looks like she’s enjoying herself,’ Sebastian says.

  They hear the sound of car doors slamming outside. Antonia dashes in from the dining room, wiping her hands.

  ‘They’re here,’ she says. She takes a deep breath and goes out into the hall.

  Nina looks at Sebastian, but he shrugs, and so they stay where they are. A rush of cold air from outside hits the fire, making the flames dance about. More car doors slamming. They must have arrived in convoy. In the hall, Antonia is greeting the guests, her voice bright and chirpy, no trace of the nerves she claimed to be feeling earlier. But then, she has been doing this for years. Nina remembers the parties – formal and casual – that her parents gave while she was growing up here. And as far back as she can remember, she would be among them, in her best clothes, awkward and diffident when she was small, overwhelmed by the adult talk and the smoke-filled rooms (in the days before her mother felt socially validated enough to ban smoking in the house), and then less timid over time as she learned the art of small-talk, of being graceful and accommodating.

  In contrast to Marie, who, even as a small girl, enchanted guests by singing to them, scandalising their parents by running naked through the house at the age of five, and – from the onset of puberty – generally upsetting everyone by making vehement noises of disgust when meat was served for dinner, or initiating aggressive debates on abortion, child labour, female genital mutilation, the destruction of the environment, or any other topic in the newspapers that had irked her. Nina remembers how her sister was always too rebellious, too spirited to keep the peace in these formal, mannered settings, not caring when she was punished for striking out, breaking family conventions – and she feels a wild tug of longing for her. She wonders, vaguely, whether her parents’ social life is still as busy as it used to be; she senses not, but realises this is one of the many things she no longer discusses with them.

  Hans leads the guests in from the hall, and suddenly, the room is full. There are twelve guests in total, including Sebastian and Nina. Introductions are made, but she can’t hold on to most of the names. She recognises the state secretary, Helmut Zweck, who is accompanied by his wife Claudia. There is only one couple younger than her and Sebastian: a press officer, Sabine Till, who remains standing in the background next to her partner, Justus Rielke. Gloria and Bernhard Klopp enter last. Bernhard spots Nina on the other side of the room and throws her a smile.

  They have brought with them the smell of a November evening; damp-cold, a few of them carrying the musty odour of cigarette smoke. They’re all talking about the celebrations at Brandenburg Gate, the speeches and fireworks. Nina glances at her father. He must be painfully disappointed that his speech was dropped, but he doesn’t show it. He stands with his back to the fireplace, listening to Zweck tell him, in a loud bass of a voice, how Angela Merkel had complained that her legs were freezing and how she wished she’d worn her ski suit. Nina is gripped with the bizarreness of the situation, the sensation that she’s standing to one side of herself, looking on at these happy hungry dinner guests, with Thiel’s body lying in a morgue somewhere, Jakob Fraunhofer stunned and relieved at this auspicious twist of fate, and Marie’s murderer still at large, somewhere in this city perhaps, free as a bird.

  Her father’s voice cuts through her thoughts, sending a collection of little black dots into her line of vision. Her heart thumps sharply, three times, four times, before retreating back into a steady rhythm.

  ‘Here’s my girl!’ he declares over the chatter as Rebekka enters the room, carrying a tray of filled champagne glasses.

  All eyes turn to look at her, and Rebekka pinkens and gives a shy smile.

  ‘Our granddaughter, Bekka,’ Antonia says proudly, giving Rebekka an encouraging nod.

  Hannah comes in behind her with the canapés, two huge silver trays with bite-sized delicacies. Nina smiles and shakes her head as Hannah passes, while Sebastian shoves one in his mouth and balances another two on the palm of his hand.

  Rebekka walks around the room, smiling back at the guests. Gripping the sides of the tray tightly, she offers each one a glass of champagne. Someone asks her age, and Rebekka replies quietly and politely. But when she gets to Bernhard and Gloria, she hesitates, her nerves getting the better of her. The glasses begin to wobble on the tray, and before she can steady herself, it happens: first one, then another glass falls off the tray, and they hit the polished wooden floor in an explosion of expensive, mouth-blown slivers of Venetian glass.

  Antonia rushes forward, holding her arms out as though to prevent anyone from stepping on the glass splinters and cutting themselves. ‘Never mind, never mind,’ she says to a distraught Rebekka. ‘Hannah, go and get a cloth and dustpan.’

  Rebekka, close t
o tears, ignores Nina’s outstretched arm and, head down, dashes out of the room. Hannah follows her out.

  ‘Shards bring good luck, isn’t that what they say?’ Hans asks. People laugh politely but sincerely; the mood in the room is lively and hardly likely to be spoiled by a couple of broken glasses and spilled champagne.

  ‘Gloria, Bernhard, let’s get you another drink, shall we?’ he continues.

  Hannah comes back with another tray. She offers Herr and Frau Klopp their drinks and steps over to Antonia. ‘I’ll clean up as soon as the guests have been seated for dinner,’ she says quietly. ‘We can start any time.’

  Antonia smiles and nods. She claps her hands together to get everyone’s attention. ‘Please,’ she says, ‘dinner awaits.’

  Her announcement is followed by a collective murmur of approval. Hans offers Frau Zweck his arm and leads her into the dining room; the other guests follow. The mahogany dining table has been extended to its fullest, making the large room appear almost cosy, and the table setting is spectacular in white and silver. A floral centrepiece in the colours of the national flag – black, red and yellow – is eye-catching. The guests find their seats, and Hannah and Bekka bring in the first course. It is a simple consommé, Nina notes gratefully. Bekka is serving the guests on the opposite side of the table, fully focused, her flushed cheeks perhaps a remnant of her embarrassment. Hannah fetches a bottle of white wine from a sideboard and begins to fill the glasses.

  ‘Bon appétit,’ Hans says, and there is a brief silence as everyone begins eating.

  Nina lifts the spoon to her mouth and she is forced to revise her opinion as soon as she tastes the broth. There is nothing simple about this consommé. It’s delicious – earthy, rich and salty – intended to whet the appetite. It succeeds. Her stomach rumbles and whines, and she glances from side to side, hoping no one heard. And, it seems, no one has. At the head of the table, Antonia has struck up a conversation with the state secretary, but they keep their voices low and Nina is too far away to catch their words. As if on cue, her father begins to talk to Gloria Klopp, sat to his left, about some mutual acquaintance at the Ministry of Justice. Nina doesn’t know how many of the guests her parents have met before, and she can’t tell just by observing them. Her parents are professionals in the art of hosting.