The Women in His Life. Barbara Taylor Bradford

into the adjoining room. This was his upstairs study where he sometimes worked, and where there was a small but well-stocked liquor cabinet.

      Meanwhile, Ursula and Teddy seated themselves on the chaise and Ursula continued to hold the girl’s hands, rubbing them between her own, trying to warm them.

      Theodora looked at her suddenly, and exclaimed, ‘They were so vicious when they smashed the synagogue, set fire to it. I couldn’t believe such a dreadful thing was happening.’ This scene stood out with such agonising clarity in her mind that she began to weep, and the tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked.

      Ursula brought her hand up to Teddy’s face, and gently wiped the tears away with her fingertips, and endeavoured to comfort her.

      Sigmund was back within seconds, carrying a silver tray upon which there were three liqueur glasses of brandy. ‘I think we all need a drop of this,’ he said, coming over to the chaise, offering the tray to his wife and Teddy.

      Theodora took a big swallow of the brandy and she felt the warmth of it in her throat at once. She took another swallow, and put the glass on a nearby table, looked from Ursula to Sigmund. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly, her expression one of deep gratitude. ‘Thank you for being so kind to me always.’

      Sigmund had tossed back his small glass of cognac in one quick gulp, and now he said, ‘I must go and make several phone calls … to Hedy, to make certain she and my mother are all right. I’m absolutely positive they are, out there in the Grunewald. Sigrid, of course, is in Hamburg with Thomas on business, so we don’t have to be concerned about them. And then I must reach the night guard at the bank, check out the situation in the Gendarmenmarkt.’

      ‘Yes, you had better do that,’ Ursula concurred.

      Sigmund nodded, and disappeared in the direction of his study.

      Theodora, who had been fumbling around in the pocket of her blue wool dress, pulled out her handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘I’m sorry I broke down before, Frau Westheim. But I couldn’t help it. This has been the most terrifying experience. I know one thing … I’ll never forget the ninth of November … Henrietta Mandelbaum’s twenty-first birthday and the night the Nazis torched the Central Synagogue. No, I’ll never forget it,’ she finished vehemently. ‘Not as long as I live.’

      ‘I don’t think anyone will,’ Ursula replied.

      She rose, walked over to a window, drew open the draperies and stood looking out at the sky. It was jet black and littered with bright stars, and on the horizon she could see a jagged patch of red flaring upwards. Fire, she thought. They’re burning something else in another part of the city. Another synagogue perhaps. Or someone’s home. Or both. Where will this end? Dear God, where will this end? She felt chilled to the bone, icy.

      Sigmund did not remain on the telephone for very long, and he soon returned to the bedroom, saying with obvious relief, ‘I spoke to Hedy. The Grunewald is as peaceful and sleepy as it always is, and the night guard at the bank tells me nothing untoward is happening down there in the financial district. So perhaps the demonstrations on the Ku’damm and the Fasanenstrasse are simply isolated incidents, started by the rowdies and thugs who are so frequently out of control –’

      ‘I doubt that,’ Ursula remarked in the softest of voices. ‘Not when there are stormtroopers involved. This is much more serious than anything we’ve ever seen before.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ Sigmund muttered noncommittally. Privately he agreed with her, but he did not want to foster her alarm; nor did he wish to frighten Theodora further, who had been through enough as it was this night.

      Abruptly, Ursula said, ‘It’s the beginning.’

      ‘The beginning of what, Frau Westheim?’ Theodora asked.

      There was a silence before Ursula replied. ‘The beginning of the end of the Jews in Germany.’

      

      After Theodora had gone to bed, Ursula and Sigmund sat together on the chaise, talking quietly, sharing their thoughts, trying to analyse the dramatic events of that night, trying to understand what they meant, and what they predicted for the future.

      At one moment, Ursula turned to him, and said slowly, ‘Stop trying to protect me by not telling me what you truly think, Sigi. I’m far too intelligent to be duped, especially by my own husband, a man I’ve known since childhood.’

      ‘Yes, you are,’ he said with a faint sigh. ‘And I only meant the best for you.’

      She tried to smile, unsuccessfully. ‘As always, my dearest Sigi, as always.’

      Taking hold of his hand she held it very tightly in hers and after a while she said in a voice choked with emotion, ‘We have to leave, Sigi … leave this house … leave the villa in Wannsee … leave the bank … leave the art collection … leave all of our possessions … and go. We have to leave Berlin, Sigi. We have to get out of Germany.’

      ‘Yes, I know,’ he said with resignation. ‘I’ve known it for a long time, really, but I suppose I haven’t wanted to face it.’ He sighed again. ‘The entire family must get out. And Theodora. We cannot leave her behind, that would be unthinkable. She will come with us, and I must get exit visas for everyone, and entry visas for another country.’

      ‘How?’

      Indeed how, he thought, but said, ‘To be honest, Ursula, I don’t know … yet. But I will. And very soon. Certainly I’ve got one thing in my favour.’

      ‘What is that, Sigi?’

      ‘Money.’

       Chapter Ten

      ‘Entschuldigen Sie, gnädige Frau,’ the butler said, excusing himself for disturbing her.

      Ursula looked across at him from the Louis XVI writing desk at the far end of the bedroom, where she sat working on some papers. ‘That’s perfectly all right, Walter. What is it?’

      ‘Die Gräfin von Tiegal ist da, gnädige Frau.’

      Ursula was momentarily startled. ‘The Countess von Tiegal is here?’ she repeated, making it sound like a question.

      Walter nodded, ‘Ja, gnädige Frau.’

      ‘Please show her into the library, and I’ll be down in a moment. Offer her coffee, and I’ll have a cup, too. Thank you, Walter.’

      ‘Gnädige Frau,’ he murmured, inclining his head, backing out, and quietly closing the door behind him.

      Ursula slid her papers into the top drawer of the desk, locked it and pocketed the key. She rose, smoothing down the skirt of her dark-grey woollen dress with both hands as she walked over to the dressing table, where she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her face was drawn, her mouth pale and tense, and there were dark circles under her eyes. This hardly surprised her, in view of the events of the previous night. She had not slept, had lain awake until the first light, worrying and pondering their predicament and their future. Sigmund had not slept either; he had risen at six and gone off to the bank very early. He had already spoken to her on the telephone several times since leaving the house, keeping his promise to stay in touch, to inform her of any new developments after the night of havoc in the city.

      She ran a comb through her short blonde hair, smoothed a hand over it abstractedly, then walked to the door, looking at her wristwatch as she did. It was still early, not quite nine o’clock. There was no question in her mind why Renata was downstairs, asking to see her. She had come out of genuine concern for them, and Ursula was immeasurably touched by the gesture.

      A moment later she was hurrying down the stairs, crossing the vast hall and pushing open the double doors which led into the library.

      Renata was standing looking out of the window, and she swung around when Ursula entered and ran to meet her. She caught hold of her almost roughly, hugged her