Sisters of Berlin Read online

  PRAISE FOR JULIET CONLIN

  The Lives Before Us

  ‘Superb storytelling! The Lives Before Us chronicles the courage and endurance of two women in wartime Shanghai, separated, then reunited, in a dangerous and desperate place. Strongly drawn characters quickly demand attention, and empathy, and their compelling story charts a little-known aspect of the Second World War, and of a persecution felt far beyond Europe. Very well written and well researched. Thoroughly recommended!’

  – SARAH MAINE, author of The House Between Tides

  ‘Juliet Conlin vividly recreates the lost world of wartime Shanghai’s Jewish ghetto – a place of hope and despair in equal measure; a city of temporary refuge, yet continuing daily struggle. I was absorbed.’

  – PAUL FRENCH, author of Midnight in Peking

  ‘Opens up a captivating new world in a war I thought I knew about, a raucous Casablanca transposed to the East, filled with the intrigues of outcasts and determined survivors.’

  – ALEX CHRISTOFI, author of Let Us Be True

  ‘Brings wartime Shanghai so vividly to life with a wealth of fascinating detail.’

  – SARA SHERIDAN, author of the Mirabelle Bevan series

  ‘Mesmerising and compelling, A beautifully written novel, telling a little-known story from World War Two. Once you start reading this, you’ll have to finish.’

  – ELISABETH GIFFORD, author of The Good Doctor of Warsaw

  The Uncommon Life of Alfred Warner in Six Days

  ‘I recommend this book with my heart and soul. It’s life changing!’

  – LOVE BOOKS GROUP

  ‘The book really drives home how one single moment – one chance meeting, can have such a profound effect . . . It’s unique, gripping and beautifully written.’

  – BIBLIOPHILE CHRONICLES

  ‘A mesmerising, empathetic, gripping story, quite often heart-wrenching too . . . I loved every minute of it! This is a book that you will take into your heart and never let it go. Alfred’s story needs to be heard, and you need to hear it.’

  – WHISPERING STORIES

  ‘A book which made me feel profound sadness for Alfred at times, but also great joy. Juliet Conlin is a natural storyteller and it almost felt as though Alfred was talking directly to me . . . It is a memorable tale of hope and shows that being a little bit different isn’t always a bad thing.’

  – PORTOBELLO BOOK BLOG

  ‘There is an endearing, insightful and captivating experience listening to an elderly person reflect on the events and experi-ences they witnessed during their life. When those events include world wars or other major historical moments, then be prepared to sit up all night long listening or reading. When the writing is as good as Juliet Conlin’s, you will be immersed in the life of Alfred Warner. It is a very sentimental and poignant story of reflection, loss, love, and a family secret Alfred must pass on.’

  – THE READING DESK BLOG

  First published 2020

  by Black & White Publishing Ltd

  Nautical House, 104 Commercial Street

  Edinburgh, EH6 6NF

  www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

  This electronic edition published in 2020

  ISBN: 978 1 78530 304 3 in EPub format

  ISBN: 978 1 78530 288 6 in paperback format

  Copyright © Juliet Conlin 2020

  The right of Juliet Conlin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook compilation by Iolaire, Newtonmore

  To Jenny Brown

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  July, 2019

  The sun had set over an hour ago, but the sky was still tinged with a pink blush, the air thick and warm as a blanket. They were sitting on Marie’s ornate but crumbling balcony, between them a small table with a citronella candle and the oily remnants of the tapas that had taken an hour to prepare and only minutes to demolish.

  Marie topped up their wine glasses, almost to the brim. Her short hair, as dark as Nina’s was light, curled up damply at her neck.

  ‘Here, eat,’ she said, pushing the plate with the last few toothpick-skewered chorizo slices towards Nina. Nina reached out to take one, savouring the spicy, garlicky meat on her tongue.

  ‘So, how’s it going?’ Marie continued.

  Nina swallowed. ‘How’s what going?’

  ‘The practice.’

  ‘Well, lots of mums are away in the summer holidays, so it’s normal for things to be quiet.’ She glanced out across the street. From here, on the second floor, she could see into the little grassy square on Boxhagener Platz. Wisps of smoke from illegal barbeques drifted into the sky, and the happy drunken laughs and shouts coming from the park fit the mellow summer mood perfectly. The yellow flame of the candle was perfectly still.

  Marie had been living here for two years, in this small grubby flat in the district of Friedrichshain, the longest she had ever lived in one place since she’d left their parents’ home. Nina wondered if she was starting to put down roots, and felt an unexpected tug of sadness that the burden of adult life might finally have caught up with her vivacious, carefree little sister. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? Everyone had to grow up sooner or later.

  Marie put her head to one side. ‘So you’re worried about the practice?’

  Nina shrugged.

  ‘Hey. It’s me you’re talking to.’

  ‘I know, sorry,’ Nina said. ‘Yes, I’m worried about how few patients I have, but I tell myself I just need to give it time. And I do love being my own boss.’

  ‘Me too,’ Marie said, smiling.

  ‘Not quite the same thing.’ Nina exhaled loudly. ‘It’s so much responsibility. I lie awake at night fretting. But I really want it to work.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Marie said and placed a hand on Nina’s, squeezing gently. ‘It’s early days. And I’ve been recommending you left, right and centre.’ She sat back and lit a cigarette. ‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘it’s easy for you. Everything you touch turns to gold.’

  Nina cocked an eyebrow and gave her sister a side glance. ‘Listen, if you need a bit of money, I can give you a hundred, max. I’m not exactly flush –’

  For a moment, Marie didn’t speak, just stared at the glowing tip of her cigarette. She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t need any money.’

  Nina laughed. ‘What? I never thought I’d see the day! D’you win the lottery or something?’

  M
arie blew a neat column of smoke circles. ‘No, I’ve been careful with my spending, that’s all.’ She reached over to pluck a birch seed from Nina’s hair. She opened her mouth to speak, then her eyes slipped away from Nina’s. ‘I spoke to Bekka the other day. She wants to sleep over, while the school holidays are still on.’

  ‘Have you two been making secret plans or something?’ Nina boxed her sister playfully on the arm. Despite Sebastian’s misgivings, she was pleased that Bekka and Marie got along so well. The relationship brought out the best in both of them, she thought.

  Marie grinned. Her lips were stained bluish from the Beaujolais. ‘Everyone’s entitled to a secret or two.’

  Nina boxed her again. ‘Ha! Not on my watch.’

  1

  Kommissar Franzen is younger than he sounds on the telephone. Mid-thirties, perhaps, with short dark hair and mild eyes. He doesn’t look like a police detective, Nina thinks, before she realises the only detectives she knows are those in films and on TV. But still, he looks like someone better suited to a caring profession than investigating violent crime – a social worker. Or a teacher.

  ‘I hope my visit isn’t inconvenient,’ he says and shakes her hand with a smile that is unexpectedly disarming.

  ‘No.’ Nina offers him a seat and sits down behind her desk. ‘I do get male visitors here now and again,’ she says, ‘but they’re usually accompanied by their pregnant partners.’

  He laughs gently, and she realises he’s interpreted her words as a joke. She notices the warmth in his eyes and for a snatch of a moment, the reason for his visit seems forgotten. Then something in her stomach twists and hardens. She skipped breakfast this morning, couldn’t face even half a slice of toast after Franzen called to arrange the meeting. She takes a deep breath to dispel the queasiness.

  Franzen takes a TicTac box out of his shirt pocket. ‘Would you like one?’ he asks.

  She shakes her head. He taps out two mints and pops them in his mouth.

  ‘My allergy pills give me a dry mouth,’ he says, as if in apology. Then he chews the mints, swallows, and clears his throat.

  ‘Dr Bergmann, I’d like to ask you some questions about your sister.’ He pauses.

  She has been expecting his words, and yet they hit her with force, like the unanticipated shock of bumping painfully into the corner of a chair in the dark.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Marie?’ he asks. ‘Before the attack.’

  Nina takes a breath. Her throat is hot and tight and it’s an effort to push out the words. ‘Last week. Wednesday. She came for dinner.’

  ‘To your house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you’ll know that she was pregnant.’

  Nina is not prepared for this. She stares at him, wordless, can think of nothing to say.

  ‘Approximately ten weeks,’ he continues after a pause, his eyes resting on her. He seems to be expecting a reaction. He waits for a moment, then clarifies: ‘You didn’t know?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘So you’re not close?’ he asks. Then, ‘What’s the age difference between you and your sister – five years?’

  ‘Ten.’ And, then to correct his initial assumption, she says, ‘We are close.’ She pauses. ‘Very. I thought we were. I –’

  Franzen puts his hands on his lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, his face flushed, ‘I didn’t mean to – I thought, because of what you do, professionally I mean, your sister is bound to have told you.’

  ‘Marie and I are very close,’ Nina repeats. She keeps her face blank while her brain struggles to process what he’s just told her. ‘Perhaps . . . perhaps she wanted to wait before she told me. For another couple of weeks. Just to be sure, you know? After twelve weeks, the risk of miscarriage drops significantly.’ She pauses, hears the words echo inside her head. This is what she recently told a patient when she confirmed an early pregnancy. The woman had been trying for years to become pregnant and was desperately afraid of disappointing her partner. For her, a miscarriage would have constituted a personal failure, and nothing Nina said managed to convince her otherwise. But Marie? Surely she would have known she could count on Nina’s support and understanding?

  But then Franzen nods. ‘Yes, that’s probably it.’

  Something in his voice, something soothing, gives her the feeling that he’s right. That must be it. There would be no other reason for Marie to keep it a secret. When Nina found out she was pregnant with Kai seven years ago, she hadn’t waited an hour to tell Marie. But by then, it would have been too late to do anything about it anyway.

  ‘Was,’ she says quietly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You said she was pregnant. Not is.’

  Franzen nods slowly. ‘She lost the baby as a result of the assault. I’m sorry.’

  It’s not your fault, Nina wants to say, but stays silent. Her mind is curdling. She feels seasick. Her sister was found yesterday in her flat by her elderly next-door neighbour, beaten, bleeding and unconscious. She hasn’t yet recovered consciousness, is lying in intensive care, wired up to machines. Before Nina can stop it, she sees in her mind the swollen, purple eyes, the bandaged head, the tube coming out of Marie’s mouth, pulling the corners of her mouth downwards so that it looks as if she’s on the verge of crying.

  ‘Dr Bergmann?’

  Nina blinks. The image fades, leaving behind a sick, hollow desperation. ‘Yes. What did you say?’

  He frowns. ‘Please forgive me if this question sounds clichéd, but did you notice anything different, anything out of the ordinary, about your sister when you saw her on Wednesday? Was she quieter than usual, or livelier? Did she mention anything unusual?’

  ‘No,’ Nina says immediately and only then stops to think about the last time she saw Marie, whether something, however trivial, has stuck in her memory that might be considered odd in retrospect. But nothing comes to mind. Marie arrived just in time for dinner on Wednesday evening, at around seven, unannounced. But this is something she does regularly, at least twice a month. Sebastian wasn’t happy about it, though that wasn’t exactly a surprise, either. He considers it rude to drop in on other people’s mealtimes.

  ‘Your sister was in a relationship with a –’ Franzen hesitates, evidently retrieving a name from memory, ‘a certain Robert Kran until two or three months ago, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. How do you know?’

  ‘I visited your parents yesterday evening,’ he says, ‘and asked them similar questions.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Did Marie mention a new boyfriend? Or that she got back together with Herr Kran?’

  ‘No. She definitely doesn’t have a new boyfriend,’ Nina says, then adds, ‘She would have told me.’ Trying to sound convincing, to herself and to Franzen.

  ‘And Herr Kran?’

  ‘No. Robert moved to Leipzig two months ago. They’re still in touch, they’re still friends, but as far as I know, he has a new girlfriend.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like you’re in the know,’ Franzen says, but she can still hear doubt in his voice.

  ‘I certainly am,’ she says, coolly. ‘As I said, we don’t have secrets from each other.’

  Franzen leans forward, his eyes kind. ‘Dr Bergmann, I appreciate how difficult this is for you. If you’d prefer, I could come back another time, to your house, if that’s more convenient.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ she assures him. ‘At home – well, the children don’t know the details of what happened to Marie yet. I’m not sure how they’d cope.’

  This morning at breakfast, Kai and Rebekka wanted to know when they could visit Aunty Marie in hospital. Nina and Sebastian have decided not to tell the children about the attack; not yet, anyway. As far as Kai and Rebekka are concerned, their aunt is in hospital recovering from an accident.

  ‘I understand,’ Franzen says. ‘But they’ll have to be told sooner or later. I might need to talk to them.’

  Nina looks down and runs her finger along the edge of
the desk. She straightens a patient file that is lying askew. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘So,’ he continues. ‘Marie was – is – still in contact with Herr Kran. I’m sorry, would you mind if I took some notes?’

  ‘Please, go ahead,’ she says and wonders vaguely why he asked. Surely he doesn’t need her permission.

  He takes a spiral notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. She almost smiles. Suddenly he seems just like the police detectives on TV.

  ‘Do you have any idea who might have attacked her?’ she asks him as he doodles on his notepad until the pen releases its ink. He isn’t wearing a wedding ring, she notices.

  ‘That’s exactly what I wanted to ask you,’ he says, then adds: ‘Great minds.’

  That smile again. It throws her off balance.

  ‘You assume Marie knows her attacker?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m not assuming anything yet, Dr Bergmann. But statistically speaking, it’s most likely that she knows him. Or her.’

  The desk phone rings. It’s the internal line. Franzen nods his approval, although she didn’t ask for it. She feels a strong surge of irritation towards him as she reaches for the phone, and forces herself to take a deep breath. It isn’t his fault. It occurs to her that she has been in a position similar to his, having to inform a desperate patient she is unlikely ever to become a mother, feeling the sickening shape of a tell-tale lump in a middle-aged woman’s breast, seeing the dread in another’s eyes when she has to inform her that her smear test results are ‘abnormal’. Those are the times she wants to discard her professional distance and wrap the women in her arms, promising them everything will be okay – knowing it is a lie.

  She picks up the phone. ‘Yes?’