‘How dare you talk like this?’ Vicky asked him furiously.

  ‘Vicky, when an enemy attacks you, you need to listen to what they’re saying instead of turning a deaf ear. More often than not, an enemy can expose your weaknesses, and far more honestly than any friend would dare.’

  This only made her hackles rise all the more.

  ‘We’ve got nothing to learn from the Nazis,’ she spat.

  ‘Why are you always so self-righteous?’ Alyosha turned to her.

  ‘I’m not self-righteous. You’re talking rubbish.’

  For the rest of the week, Vicky worked even longer hours than usual, perhaps to avoid seeing him. She was very nearly caught one evening smuggling KPD pamphlets into the barracks of the Reichswehr. She was also trying to organise a strike in the Siemensstadt Power Station, in order to plunge much of Berlin into the same blackness that she was beginning to feel in her heart.

  8.

  As Captain Malinowski never bothered to rise before midday, being his chauffeur was very pleasant work. Driving him to his various appointments around the city, Alyosha realised that, beyond the unemployment, the demonstrations and the fighting, the pleasant world of lunches and teas and dances in luxurious hotels continued as usual. While people were out on the streets, begging and whoring, the tables at the best restaurants were fully booked, night after night, for dinners and theatre suppers after the curtains had come down on whatever performance the Schauspielhaus Theatre was showing. The young officers of the Reichswehr were smart and handsome, and their girlfriends, in their white gloves and drop earrings, beautiful, as everybody mingled with members of the SA.

  Captain Malinowski was a highly sociable man, with appointments almost every afternoon and evening. He often instructed Alyosha to stop at the Polish Embassy to pick up his great friend, Colonel Flezar. Alyosha would listen to them laughing at their private jokes in the back of the Mercedes, the Colonel’s quiet chuckle a counterpoint to the Captain’s loud guffaw. Neither of them ever neglected their stomachs, and Colonel Flezar especially, a carnal, healthy man, was a stranger to self-restraint where it came to his pleasures. He adored the company of women – the flirting, the dancing, the tried and tested jokes to make them laugh, the ogling of curves covered by thin dresses. He particularly admired opera singers, with their generous figures and exuberant breasts. But, the Colonel, in spite of his earthy tastes, was a man who had been polished by years of expensive education. He was an inveterate gossip, and took a perverse pleasure in undermining his friends and acquaintances by pulling them down a peg or two in company. He had never married, and his only true love was to his country.

  One Saturday night, Alyosha drove Colonel Flezar and Captain Malinowski to a reception held by the President of the Reich at his official residence on Wilhelmstrasse, a lavish affair for some hundred and fifty diplomats, all in gala dress. Several hours later, as Alyosha drove them both home, he listened to them discuss the evening. The Colonel had thoroughly enjoyed himself, as he had been seated between the wives of the Russian and Italian ambassadors. The Russian was a simple woman of the people from Rostov-on-the-Don, but the Italian was a very refined woman, with a glorious embonpoint. Captain Malinowski had talked to President von Hindenburg for some time before dinner, but had found him rather unimpressive. But what had pleased both men particularly was that, after dinner, when the company had withdrawn to one of the beautiful reception rooms, decorated with eighteenth-century tapestries, they had both had a short conversation with the new Chancellor. They agreed that what had struck them both about him was his humility; indeed, he was almost shy. Even though they hadn’t talked of anything very consequential, they’d both felt glad that they had introduced themselves to him, and had enjoyed the pleasure of Herr Hitler’s company greatly.

  9.

  Every Wednesday afternoon, Alyosha would be sent to Wannsee. Captain Malinowski had given him clear instructions, which he was to follow to the letter each time. After turning off the main road and parking at the top of a tree-lined lane, he was to extinguish the engine and wait. On no account was he to stir from the motor car. Usually, he had to wait ten minutes or so, but once, a few weeks ago, he’d been smoking in the motor car for almost half an hour.

  As he never left the Adlon until late in the afternoon, by the time he reached the banks of the Havel, it was always dark. On this particular occasion, there was not a sound to be heard, not even a bird’s song. It was the middle of February, and earlier in the day, it had been snowing, the flakes whipped up by a keen east wind.

  A knock came on his window. It was the same ghostly young woman as always, her scarf covering her face, her black eyes just visible under a velvet hat pulled low over her forehead. He lowered the window and took the envelope without greeting her, as instructed, and she immediately turned on her heel, leaving him to watch her until she disappeared back through the gates of the villa. Then he turned the Mercedes around, and made for Berlin.

  10.

  To judge from the miasma of smoke, Paul had obviously been in the apartment for a good part of the afternoon. Since the evening in the bar on Bülowplatz, Alyosha couldn’t bear the sight of him. He had no doubt that he was poisoning Vicky’s mind against him, and he hated the fact that the two of them did so much together, though he was powerless to prevent it.

  ‘Can’t you keep him more at arm’s length?’

  Impossible, was her answer to that and then, infuriatingly, ‘Why are you so jealous?’

  There had been a warrant out for some days for Paul’s arrest. The SA was doubtless responsible for planting the rumour that he was the one who had shot Vlasich Pesotski. With the police hunting for him, Paul was sleeping at Vicky’s apartment temporarily.

  Waking that night, Alyosha slid his hand along the mattress to Vicky’s side of the bed and felt a cold emptiness. He opened his eyes, and heard a low murmuring coming from next door. He crept over to the door on tiptoe, and stood listening. The door was slightly ajar, and by the dim moonlight, he could just make Vicky out, crouched down on her haunches next to Paul, who was lying on the shabby sofa.

  As the two were only inches apart, he could only catch the odd word, along with a muffled laugh. One word, though, he did hear clearly: his own name.

  When he saw Vicky get to her feet, he quickly jumped back into bed. She came back with a glass of water in her hand, but he pretended to be asleep.

  After Paul had left the next day, he insisted on having a word with her before she left for work.

  ‘You think I’m in love with Paul?’ she said, looking surprised. ‘What on earth makes you think such a thing?’

  ‘What were you discussing last night then?’

  ‘What do you think? You.’

  ‘At least you’re honest.’

  ‘And you know why, too. He’s still not sure about you.’ Vicky lit a cigarette. ‘The night the SA attacked us. Why did you rush out onto the street?’

  ‘I’ve already told you, because I was worried about the motor car. You know I’m not allowed to drive myself home in it.’

  ‘Paul thinks that’s a poor excuse.’

  Alyosha felt himself grow warm with indignation. ‘He actually thinks I went out to meet them? That I would give SA information? Tell them who lived where in the block? What doors to knock? Who to arrest? Is that what he’s insinuating?’

  ‘Why are you shouting?’ asked Vicky quietly.

  ‘Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?’

  ‘He feels you might be a danger to me. That I’d be better off without you.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’ he asked her.

  She looked away.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He’s threatening to report the whole thing. I could find myself in hot water.’

  The KPD disciplinary committee. By now, Alyosha knew exactly what the final authority of that committee was.

  ‘You understand what that would mean for me?’

  He understood, but that wasn’t what worried him. ‘Vicky, be honest… Are you happy that Paul is driving us apart?’

  She smoked without giving him an answer.

  ‘I’m not, and I’ve never been, an agent provocateur. If I was working for them, don’t you think Paul would have been arrested by now? Or some of the other communists in this block?’

  Vicky considered this for a moment before saying, ‘You can’t deny you were in the SA though?’

  ‘Yes, because there was food and drink to be had, that’s why. That was the only reason. I had a job that paid nothing, I was practically starving.’

  ‘And the brotherhood? Didn’t you say there were other Russians there with you?’

  It felt like he was reasoning with a stranger.

  ‘You don’t have a choice, Alyosha. The only way out of this is if you prove yourself to us.’

  ‘Prove myself how?’

  ‘By showing us beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re not one of them.’

  ‘If you don’t believe me, what hope have I got?’

  ‘Prove whose side you’re really on.’

  Even Vicky didn’t believe him anymore: that was clear as day. Paul’s poison had proved its strength, and he felt sure he was going to lose her.

  11.

  By now, the old Community Centre at the end of their street had been turned into a barracks for the SA. Just two hundred yards away from the apartment block, there they were, day and night. There were always a couple of them swaggering on the pavement in front of the building in their brown uniforms, stopping people on the slightest pretext, and generally throwing their weight around.

  It was a dark-enough morning, a dirty drizzle falling over the city. Vicky and Franz had called a meeting of the Street Defence Committee, and Vicky had insisted on Alyosha attending. That’s when he heard for the first time that there was an intention to rename the street Pesotskistrasse. Franz told them that the Nazis were also going to erect a marble memorial at the spot where the martyr had fallen. The tenants agreed that they should oppose this vigorously. Somebody proposed laying flowers where the schupo fell. But they all knew they were losing the propaganda war.

  At the end of the meeting, Vicky asked Alyosha to stay behind. Franz shut the door.

  ‘As you know, Alyosha, the situation is worse than ever,’ she started, in a rather formal voice. ‘What we desperately need is eyes and ears in the SA.’

  ‘A spy at the end of the street,’ seconded Franz.

  It was crucial for the Communist Party to know what the fascists were up to. If they could place somebody among them, it would be possible to make a lot of trouble for Hitler’s men. The hatred between Goebbels and Otto Strasser was no secret, and there were still socialists in the NASAP. The KPD’s Central Committee was of the opinion that such things could be manipulated in order to weaken them internally.

  Did they realise what they were asking of him?

  ‘If you send me to them, you’re sending me to my grave. Vicky, I know I wouldn’t last more than two seconds in the SA.’

  He could hardly believe that she would even suggest such a thing.

  ‘Do you have to be so selfish?’ she asked.

  The life of every communist in Berlin was in danger, she told him, and Franz put his good arm around Alyosha’s shoulders and urged him to help them. Alyosha drew away because his breath was foul. His mother, Frau Kempowska, had often begged him to go and see a dentist, but Franz always refused because of the cost. He’d much rather spend what little money he had on more important things – like printing KPD pamphlets.

  ‘We’re all in danger of being imprisoned, or worse. Think of Paul. Every schupo in Berlin is after him, and the SA too. If they get hold of him, do you think he’ll get a fair trial?’

  And how was he meant to explain to the SA that he had saved a prominent communist like Margarita from being beaten up by the Nazis? Vicky argued that he could convince them how that happened.

  ‘It was just an instinctive thing, to save your cousin. Everybody will understand that.’

  Vicky and Franz did their best to persuade him. After all, there were so many things working in his favour. Hadn’t his father been a prominent White Russian, a man who had done his utmost to defeat the Bolsheviks? On top of which, he knew Oberführer Krieger, who was now working for Joseph Goebbels himself.

  As she spoke, it was Paul’s voice Alyosha was hearing. He was behind all this. Did Paul want rid of him? Was that the true reason?

  After Franz left, he took Vicky’s hand and noticed her fingers were cold.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Listen to me. I’ll say it again…’

  The truth was that Alyosha was sick and tired of living in Berlin. He didn’t tell Vicky, but Captain Malinowski had hinted he might have other clandestine tasks for him shortly, which he was none too thrilled about, but in any case – and this he could tell her – he had no desire to spend the rest of his life as a chauffeur. He had been saving his money for the two of them, and he had already made enquiries about two tickets on a ship bound for Buenos Aires.

  Vicky shook her head emphatically.

  ‘But what kind of a future do we have here?’

  With an election on the fifth of March? The most important election ever? It stood to reason that here was their place, especially now that so many of their people had already been imprisoned – for their own good according to the Nazis, to protect them from the people’s anger. This was the most important election in the history of Germany, and it was absolutely imperative that the parties of the left – the SDP and KPD – beat the Nazis.

  ‘That’s why I have to say here. Stay and fight.’

  ‘I know, but…’

  ‘What else is there to say? How could you ever think I would leave?’

  Vicky spoke passionately about her commitment to the working class, and how important it was for everybody to give their all to beat the fascists conclusively, instead of trying to save their own selfish skin by running away abroad.

  ‘I think the battle is already lost,’ he told her.

  Defeatism maddened her more than anything. Harsh words were said on both sides, but it was clear that South America didn’t hold the slightest attraction for Vicky. Without a shadow of a doubt, if it came down to it, the only place on earth she would flee to would be the Soviet Union. How could he have thought anything else?

  12.

  When the Captain’s butler let him in, Alyosha saw that there were three others in the room. They had obviously been there for some time, as the room stank of smoke, coffee and cognac. Colonel Flezar looked up from his conversation, but looked away at once when he saw it was only the chauffeur. He was mid-flow in an anecdote about the Italian Ambassador’s wife. Fiorella had telephoned him more than once after that evening when he sat next to her at dinner, and then, three nights ago, he had bumped into her at a gala dinner held by Ernst Roehm, head of the SA, at his palace on Mattäi-Kirchstrasse. At the end of the night, the two of them had left in a taxi for the Herren Club to continue their conversation.

  A blonde woman with large breasts chuckled as she tapped the ash from her cigarette.

  ‘And where did you go after, I wonder?’

  ‘Home.’

  She laughed again. ‘Home indeed!’

  ‘I assure you.’

  ‘Since when do you sleep in your own bed?’

  Captain Malinowski noticed Alyosha standing there.

  ‘I want you take Baroness Kosub and Countess Kołodziejska…’

  Colonel Flezar’s broke off at the look of shock on the face of the chauffeur.

  ‘What is it? What? Do you two know each other or what?’

  Countess Kołodziejska had risen from her chair. ‘Hello, Alexei.’

  He kissed her blue glove. ‘Hello, Ludwika.’

  He ran his eyes over her and stammered, ‘It’s been a long time.’

  She smiled sweetly, ‘A long time.’

  In spite of himself, he lowered his eyes to take her in all over again.

  13.

  Through the darkness, he heard knocking, and a woman’s voice calling his name. He had absolutely no idea where he was, nor what was happening around him, and it took several seconds to drag himself back into the present. Then, he remembered where he was. He remembered who he was and that his life, as always, was at the mercy of fate. He rubbed his eyes, before grabbing his trousers where he’d left them on the floor and throwing them on quickly. The floor was cold under his soles as he padded over to the door.

  It was Frau Kempowska, Franz at her shoulder. ‘They’re here.’ She turned back to her own apartment, and Franz rushed past Alyosha into his apartment, with a small package in his hand. He slammed the door shut, just as heavy boots were heard stomping up the stairs, followed a moment later by insistent banging on the opposite door.

  ‘They’re not stupid,’ whispered Franz hurriedly, ‘My bed will still be warm.’

  They had a minute or two at most before they’d be knocking on Alyosha’s door. Franz was already unbolting the window.

  ‘Be careful. It’s slippery,’ Alyosha helped him clamber out.

  They were already banging on his door.

  ‘Open up!’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Look after my mother,’ were Franz’ last words as he disappeared into the night.

  Alyosha bolted the window shut, and took as long as he dared to answer the door, although the banging was now louder and angrier.