Russell asked him.
‘Too damn long,’ was the predictable reply.
* * *
‘Do you trust Shchepkin?’ Effi asked, after Russell had finished describing his meetings with the Russian and Lindenberg. ‘He was the one who got you into all this.’
‘I don’t trust any of them,’ was Russell’s instinctive response. ‘But if I had to choose between him and Nemedin – and I probably will – it would be Shchepkin every time. He’s still recognisably human.’
‘So we wait,’ Effi said. They were whispering in bed, ears cocked for any indication that Rosa was no longer fast asleep.
‘We wait for the Americans, but whatever they say I’ll be going – the Soviets will still want me there to check up on the comrades.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
The feeling of relief was intense, but did nothing to dispel the accompanying anxiety. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ he asked her.
‘Don’t you want me to?’
‘Of course I do. I just… I just worry. Berlin sounds like hell on earth at the moment, and God knows how difficult the Russians are going to be. At least…’
‘But it can’t be as bad as the last few weeks of the war. They’re not still bombing the place, are they?’
‘No, but…’
‘The only question in my mind is whether or not we take Rosa,’ Effi insisted.
‘Well…’ Russell thought about offering an opinion, and realised two things. One, that he could see advantages to both options, and two, that this was a decision that Effi would – and should – take on her own.
‘The film offer came today,’ she told him. ‘A motorcycle courier brought it.’
‘Did you look through it yet?’
‘A quick look, yes. It’s not the script, just an outline, but there was a list of the people involved. You remember Ernst Dufring? I always liked his work, and apparently he’s back from America. And the storyline seems intelligent – it’s about how the members of one family come to terms with what happened under the Nazis, and the various compromises they have to make as individuals. In fact it’s more than intelligent. It actually sounds worthwhile.’
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Russell wished he could say the same for what the Russians had planned for him.
‘We need to talk to Zarah and Paul,’ Effi went on.
‘Together or separately?’
‘Together, but without the children. Tomorrow night?’
‘Paul’s out tomorrow. He’s going to see a Bogart film. He didn’t actually say so, but I think he’s going with Solly’s secretary.’
‘No!’ Effi said, almost leaping up in bed.
‘I think so.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Let’s hope. But the family conference will have to wait until Friday.’
* * *
The next two days were cold and rainy. Russell went out walking whenever the rain slackened, and read when forced back indoors. No matter how many times he analysed his situation, he came to the same depressing conclusions. And Shchepkin’s hope of eventually getting them out from under seemed more fanciful with each day that passed. It would, Russell thought, take another Russian Revolution to set the two of them free.
When Friday evening came round, and he, Effi, Zarah and Paul were wedged knee-to-knee in the small kitchen, he tried for a more positive presentation. The others knew the background to his current predicament, but he went through it again, from Shchepkin’s knock on his Danzig hotel room door in the early hours of 1939 to Lindenberg’s casual acceptance of his status as an experienced spy. Which he supposed he was – people living ordinary lives didn’t find themselves in illicit possession of Baltic naval dispositions, SS pesticide purchases or atomic research documents. He wished he never had, but there it was. He’d signed up to this long game of consequences, and more would surely follow.
‘So I have to go back,’ he concluded.
‘Have to?’ Paul asked quietly. ‘Couldn’t you – you and Effi and Rosa, at least – move out
‘Too damn long,’ was the predictable reply.
* * *
‘Do you trust Shchepkin?’ Effi asked, after Russell had finished describing his meetings with the Russian and Lindenberg. ‘He was the one who got you into all this.’
‘I don’t trust any of them,’ was Russell’s instinctive response. ‘But if I had to choose between him and Nemedin – and I probably will – it would be Shchepkin every time. He’s still recognisably human.’
‘So we wait,’ Effi said. They were whispering in bed, ears cocked for any indication that Rosa was no longer fast asleep.
‘We wait for the Americans, but whatever they say I’ll be going – the Soviets will still want me there to check up on the comrades.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
The feeling of relief was intense, but did nothing to dispel the accompanying anxiety. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ he asked her.
‘Don’t you want me to?’
‘Of course I do. I just… I just worry. Berlin sounds like hell on earth at the moment, and God knows how difficult the Russians are going to be. At least…’
‘But it can’t be as bad as the last few weeks of the war. They’re not still bombing the place, are they?’
‘No, but…’
‘The only question in my mind is whether or not we take Rosa,’ Effi insisted.
‘Well…’ Russell thought about offering an opinion, and realised two things. One, that he could see advantages to both options, and two, that this was a decision that Effi would – and should – take on her own.
‘The film offer came today,’ she told him. ‘A motorcycle courier brought it.’
‘Did you look through it yet?’
‘A quick look, yes. It’s not the script, just an outline, but there was a list of the people involved. You remember Ernst Dufring? I always liked his work, and apparently he’s back from America. And the storyline seems intelligent – it’s about how the members of one family come to terms with what happened under the Nazis, and the various compromises they have to make as individuals. In fact it’s more than intelligent. It actually sounds worthwhile.’
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Russell wished he could say the same for what the Russians had planned for him.
‘We need to talk to Zarah and Paul,’ Effi went on.
‘Together or separately?’
‘Together, but without the children. Tomorrow night?’
‘Paul’s out tomorrow. He’s going to see a Bogart film. He didn’t actually say so, but I think he’s going with Solly’s secretary.’
‘No!’ Effi said, almost leaping up in bed.
‘I think so.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Let’s hope. But the family conference will have to wait until Friday.’
* * *
The next two days were cold and rainy. Russell went out walking whenever the rain slackened, and read when forced back indoors. No matter how many times he analysed his situation, he came to the same depressing conclusions. And Shchepkin’s hope of eventually getting them out from under seemed more fanciful with each day that passed. It would, Russell thought, take another Russian Revolution to set the two of them free.
When Friday evening came round, and he, Effi, Zarah and Paul were wedged knee-to-knee in the small kitchen, he tried for a more positive presentation. The others knew the background to his current predicament, but he went through it again, from Shchepkin’s knock on his Danzig hotel room door in the early hours of 1939 to Lindenberg’s casual acceptance of his status as an experienced spy. Which he supposed he was – people living ordinary lives didn’t find themselves in illicit possession of Baltic naval dispositions, SS pesticide purchases or atomic research documents. He wished he never had, but there it was. He’d signed up to this long game of consequences, and more would surely follow.
‘So I have to go back,’ he concluded.
‘Have to?’ Paul asked quietly. ‘Couldn’t you – you and Effi and Rosa, at least – move out
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