Her eyes lit up when she saw him. ‘Alyosha!’ she squealed, and kissed both his cheeks and hugged him. She told him she’d been living in Berlin for almost three months already, after deciding there had been nothing to keep her in Paris. Alyosha asked her who was looking after Roksana.

  ‘She’s better off with her father.’

  There was an awkward silence, which Alyosha broke by asking after her father and Duchess Lydia.

  ‘They’re well, thank you. They’re married now.’ She smiled. ‘It’s so lovely to see you again.’

  She insisted that she was done with Montmartre, and done with cocaine. She’d also finished with Camlo, and was determined to start living her life again.

  ‘I’ve made such a fool of myself, you wouldn’t believe…’

  Rather like Alyosha, she’d come to Berlin because, after spending a few years there at the beginning of the 1920s, she knew it as well as she knew anywhere.

  ‘I want to make something of myself this time…’

  She told him that she had tried her best to do that in Paris, and, for a while, had done very well selling perfume at Galeries Lafayette.

  She sipped her drink. ‘You would have laughed if you could have seen how I made a show of myself – I was well worth seeing.’

  She’d won the award three times for Perfume Salesgirl of the Month. The manager, Monsieur Girard, had placed a blue sash over her shoulder, to wear all week, with the accolade printed on it in red letters. And she was allowed a small bottle of perfume for herself.

  ‘Whatever takes your fancy, regardless of the price, you choose.’

  That’s what Monsieur Girard had said to her, his breath smelling of garlic, as he’d batted her behind. He was a notoriously lecherous manager, and his female staff all tried their best to keep out of reach of his groping hands if possible. She had chosen an Eau de Cologne on each occasion. She loved to spray a fine mist of it over her body, and the smell always reminded her of her aunt, Lazarevna Petrovna, whom Galina had always admired from when she was a small girl, because she was such a picture of sophistication.

  Her sales figures had been so good, it had made the other girls jealous, and a few of them were real bitches, and had said terrible things about her behind her back, and to her face too.

  Her high spirits seemed to drain away.

  Her tone changed again, as she told him how much she loved acting – she loved it more than anything else in the world. Ever since she had been given that tiny part in his mother and stepfather’s film, her greatest ambition was to be able to make a living as an actress.

  ‘Do you remember me in it?’

  He told her that he did.

  ‘You’re such a bad liar!’ She slapped his arm playfully. ‘You don’t remember me acting at all, admit it.’

  ‘I do have a faint memory of you…’

  In the first half of the picture, she reminded him, she was standing in a group of aristocrats who were escaping from Russia. She was more or less at the front, only there was another princess, a cousin to the Tsar, standing in front of her – a rather wide woman in a tent of a frock, and there she’d been, on tiptoe trying to peep past her shoulder. But then some bad-tempered assistant, with a cap and a megaphone, had insisted she keep to her mark, which was chalked on the floor of the studio. And did Alyosha remember the other scene, where they were all doing their best to push their way onto the ship at Yalta, and everybody in a panic, shoving each other out of the way? She was in that one, too, in the crowd on the quayside, and she’d had to shout at the top of her voice, like this: and she placed her palms against her temples and opened her mouth in a wide silent scream.

  ‘Do you remember the horses? They were properly wild! That was such a dramatic scene I thought. When Alexei Alexeivich killed the Bolsheviks, and they all dropped like flies at his feet? Dozens of them – wasn’t he brave? He was such a handsome man, I was so jealous of your mother, the lucky woman. Then, there was one other scene – when I was in the nightclub in Istanbul. Now, what was it called, d’you remember?’

  In his mind’s eye, he saw his mother’s naked back, and the dribble of saliva at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Do you remember me in that one?’ she looked at him expectantly. ‘In the nightclub in Constantinople?’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Alyosha! Are you listening to me?’

  He suddenly looked at her and said, ‘You were sitting at one of the tables—’

  ‘Yes I was! Watching couples dancing the foxtrot. I was dressed like a princess from the Tsar’s court, with rings and a necklace and earrings, but I was sad, because I’d lost my entire family and was living far from home. “Look sadder.” That’s what Alexei Alexeivich told me. That was one of only two times he spoke to me. “You’re not sad enough. You need to look sadder!” And then, after we’d finished, he came over, and do you know what else he said?’

  Alyosha was aware that the back of his neck was becoming damp with sweat under the strap of his cigarette tray.

  ‘That I acted a sad person very well. That I was the best saddest person he’d ever seen.’

  She looked rather lost and empty. A middle-aged man came up to Alyosha and bought a packet of cigarettes from him. Then Alyosha remembered the name of the nightclub in Istanbul. It was called the Rose Noire.

  ‘The Rose Noire. You’re right! What a good memory you have.’

  Galina was buoyant again, and asked him if he could introduce her to anybody in the film industry. She’d heard that the Mexico was very popular with actors, producers and directors, especially at the weekends, and that’s why she’d come, in the hope of making some contacts.

  ‘Svetlana Gosovska was here earlier in the week,’ he told her.

  ‘No, really? How I’d love to be like her.’

  Alyosha promised if he ever had the opportunity, he’d do his best for her.

  ‘Thanks, Alyosha. You’re a love,’ and she placed a feathery kiss on his forehead. ‘You know I think the world of you. My parents told me years ago that I should have married somebody like you…’

  He felt rather sorry for her.

  ‘Never too late, you know,’ she said and took a sip of her cocktail through a straw. ‘Why are you smiling?’ Galina tweaked his nose. ‘I’m serious. Instead of marrying those two fools, I should have married you. You’d have made a far better husband.’

  ‘Two fools? You remarried?’

  ‘Yves. The bank clerk, remember? After Marcel finally agreed to a divorce. Unfortunately for me… and him.’

  Not that she missed him. But she missed Roksana.

  22.

  Alyosha didn’t see Galina Andreyevna for a while after that. When she next came in, on a Saturday night towards the end of the month, her eyes were rolling, her hair was untidy, and her make-up looked as though she’d put it on in the dark. She ordered a Martini, and then she wandered around aimlessly. The club was busy and full, and Alyosha was kept too occupied selling cigarettes to keep an eye on her. But, when things became a little quieter and he was allowed to take his break, he looked for her, and saw her sitting in one of the booths, her hand on Baron von Haumer’s thigh. On a whim, seeing the adjoining booth was empty, he went to sit and eavesdrop. Galina was in the middle of telling the Baron about something that had happened to her in Russia… How hundreds upon hundreds had died of typhus on the way from Petrograd to Kiev, when the Reds had the upper hand… The train journey to Kiev alone had taken almost a month, and then another month to reach Odessa… Her father like a ghost, his hopes failing, and his will to escape becoming weaker by the hour. His greatest concern, though, had been for her and her little baby…

  Little baby? Alyosha was all attention now because Galina didn’t have a baby back then – what on earth was she talking about?

  The Whites had been fighting the Reds in Vladikavkaz, so there hadn’t been any boats to take the fugitives, and nowhere to stay. In the end, after many difficulties, her father had managed to rent half a room for a small fortune, from some old peasant who made her living by making kefir from goat’s milk in her half of the room. There had been only one bed, and Galina and her mother had slept in it, with the baby girl between them. Alyona, the child, had been healthy for the moment, but they’d lived in fear that she would fall prey to typhus or cholera, as everything around them had been so unsanitary and squalid. One night, after they had gone to sleep, they’d been awoken by furious hammering on doors, and voices warning that the Red Army were on their way, and people should leave at once. Galina and her parents had thrown their things into their bags, but when they’d arrived at the station, Galina had realised she didn’t have any water for the baby. She’d left Alyona with her parents, and run to the station tap, but it had been dry. Then, the whistle had blown, and so she’d squeezed her way onto the nearest carriage instead of fighting her way through the throng of people to where her parents were. But they had uncoupled half the train, and she’d realised with mounting horror that her parents and baby girl were in the front half, which was starting to pick up speed as it travelled down the track.

  She’d been left behind.

  She’d had no option but to walk along the track, trusting that the train would not go far before coming to a halt at a siding or the next station. Sure enough, half dead with fatigue after walking some twenty miles with no food or water, she’d caught up with the train where it had come to a standstill at a small station. However, her troubles had only just been beginning. Her parents had fallen ill with typhoid, and they’d had to bribe their way into a hospital. Galina had had to nurse them herself, as most of the staff had fled. Her milk had dried up, and she’d been unable to nurse Alyona, so she’d found a wet nurse locally, and given the child into her care.

  Sadly, her mother had died, but her father had miraculously recovered, and, as soon as he had grown strong enough, they’d gone to fetch Alyona in order to resume their journey. The second Galina had seen Alyona’s dear little face, her cheeks, her lips, her hair, all her troubles had temporarily melted away. But the woman had refused to give up the baby. She was Ingush, so they’d not had much common language, but she’d managed to convey to Galina that Alyona had fallen ill and died, and that this was not her baby. Galina had known the woman was telling lies – she recognised her own baby. Her father had taken what little money he’d had, and offered it to the woman for the return of the child, but the woman had just shaken her head, steadfastly maintaining that the baby was hers, and that her name was Aabish.

  ‘She’s my baby,’ Galina had sobbed, ‘and her name is Alyona.’

  The woman had gone into her house, and returned with Alyona’s clothes, blanket and rag doll, and given them to Galina, then gestured for them to follow her. She’d led them along a path which went through a cherry orchard, at the far end of which had been a little mound of earth on a small grave. Galina had knelt, and the sound of her heart breaking could be heard all through the sky. But, from that day to this, she was none the wiser whether her daughter was dead or alive.

  23.

  ‘You have to help me,’ Galina begged him through her sobs. ‘Alyosha, you’re the only one I can turn to.’ Her real story spilled out: she had left Paris in order to escape her debts, but her biggest problem had followed her all the way to Berlin. ‘And now he says he wants to kill me… Those were his exact words… And if Camlo says he wants to kill somebody, that’s usually exactly what he does. You have no idea what he’s like.’

  ‘Here, take this to wipe your nose…’

  ‘Thank you. I went to the doctor yesterday. He makes my flesh crawl, but I never have to pay him, not if I…’ She stuffed the handkerchief up her sleeve. ‘…and he told me I have syphilis. Can you believe it?

  ‘Syphilis?’

  Galina laughed through her tears. ‘That’s exactly how I said it too… Syph-ilis?’ She wiped her tears with her sleeve. ‘“Are you sure?” That was the next question I asked him.’

  The doctor didn’t want his usual payment, so it was a safe bet he was sure.

  She was warned, in no uncertain terms, to stop working at once – never mind what her pimp said – until she was better. ‘“You don’t treat something like this lightly”. That’s what he said, the pig.’

  That was all very well, but Camlo wouldn’t see it like that. He’d lose his temper when he heard, and beat her black and blue. She was in no doubt of that. ‘Doesn’t matter what the doctor says, Camlo will make me work all the same.’

  ‘Not if you’re ill,’

  ‘I won’t have a choice, Alexei.’

  Alyosha suspected another reason: if Galina refused to work, then Camlo would withhold the little bags of white powder.

  ‘This is all his fault. He’s the one who forces me…’ she sniffed.

  ‘You have to leave him. You don’t have a choice.’

  She gave a weary smile. ‘I’ve already tried. Why else do you think I came back to Berlin? From choice? But it doesn’t matter where I run to. Name any city, any country in the world, sooner or later, Camlo will be sure of finding me, no matter how far I go.’

  24.

  When the club doors were locked at half-past four in the morning, Alyosha felt he had no choice, and told Galina she could stay with him that night. As they walked back through the fine rain, she slipped her arm through his and said, ‘You know I still dream about love?’ She could always find the energy to discuss herself, even when she was exhausted. ‘Do you Alyosha?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I long to feel those emotions you only have when you’re in love, because they’re the only ones I value. From when I was a little girl, as far back as I can remember, I learnt how to treat men. Perhaps I learnt it at my mother’s knee. Every time Mother wanted something new, a dress, or something for the house, she’d always be especially sweet to my father when he came home from the bank. She usually got her way. Later on, I learnt about the advantages of going to bed with men, even though I didn’t quite understand what I was doing half the time, or the effect it had on some of them. I only married Marcel in order for Yves to realise what he was missing. Instead of holding back, keeping him at arm’s length, until his desire for me drove him wild, I just gave myself to him without winning any advantage. As for Camlo, he just played with me.’

  They waited for an empty tram to rattle by before crossing the square.

  Alyosha was practically asleep on his feet.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’

  ‘Mmmm-hmmm…’

  ‘Sure?’ She nudged him with her hip. ‘Or are you just humouring me?’

  ‘No, no. Carry on, I’m listening.’

  ‘I’m so afraid. Afraid of what will become of me, Alyosha. Afraid of people. Afraid of Camlo.’

  ‘We all live with regrets.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how much I long for somebody to fill my life with love. Proper love. I can’t bear to be on my own. I loathe my own company. The thought of growing old by myself like my Aunt Lazarevna terrifies me.’

  He wearily unlocked the door and ushered her in. His room in Rüdersdorf wasn’t much. ‘You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.’

  Alyosha remembered the morning when he’d first walked into this room – how empty and bare it had been, with just the iron bedstead, wardrobe, and a rough wooden table and chair. The threadbare carpet had smelled stale and sour, and the cat’s hair over everything had made his nose itch until he started to sneeze. Even in an empty room, traces of other people’s lives remained. At the bottom of the wardrobe, there had been a pile of newspaper cuttings, including some reports of Soviet Union aviation breaking the record for flying over the Arctic. He’d also found a postcard from a girl called Zelda, addressed to ‘V.’ She’d written that she wasn’t ready to leave Mannheim, and that she needed more time to think about their marriage. The picture on the front had been of a municipal park with ornamental fountains.

  Alyosha had mused over the short message. Had V taken a train to Mannheim to find Zelda and convince her to give him a second chance? Or had she come back to him? Were they still married? Alyosha could only speculate. He’d read the card several times, before pinning it on the wall by his bed, the short sentences like the bones of some short story, one of thousands like it.

  25.

  At last, Margarita was in a position to leave Bruno and Larissa’s house for a small apartment of her own, on the third floor of a block in Neukölln. Her commute to the Aznefttrust office was shorter and easier, but by far the biggest advantage was not having to bite her lip continually in front of Bruno. Living under his roof had become too tiresome.

  A host of other communists lived in the building, some of them employed at Die Rote Fahne. So, when Vicky sent Margarita a message that there was a rumour that SA Stormtroopers were going to attack the block that night, as cell leader, she called an emergency meeting at once to alert everybody. The news came as no surprise, as some nights previously, three gunmen of the Roter Frontkampler Bund – a group of armed communists – had driven past a beer cellar where the SA were holding a meeting, and had opened fire. Two Nazis had been killed and seven injured, two seriously. There had been almost forty in the meeting, and everybody was surprised more hadn’t died. The attack was a retaliation for an earlier SA attack on a KPD cell.

  More than a hundred and fifty RFB men came over to the block, and by eight o’clock, there were guards on every entrance. Others went up onto the roof, to keep a lookout.

  As Margarita went downstairs to relay a message to the two at the front entrance, she came face to face with Kai-Olaf, who was bounding up the stairs with his customary energy, as though he had a dog at his heels. They hadn’t seen each other for a while, as he had been away in Italy. Margarita invited him to her apartment, and he said he needed to see somebody else first, but that he would call after that. When Margarita returned to her apartment, Paul, the out-of-work printer, was sitting on his haunches looking at her shelf of books, running his thumb along their spines in an abstracted way. His little white mouse, Rosa, was running up and down his arm. He turned to look at her, and asked, ‘Is anything happening?’.