*
Jasper Murray was invited to the opening night of A Woman’s Trial at the King’s Theatre in London’s West End. Student journalists did not normally get such invitations, but Evie Williams was in the cast, and she had made sure he was on the list.
Jasper’s newspaper, The Real Thing, was going well, so well that he had dropped out of classes to run it for a year. The first issue had sold out after Lord Jane attacked it, in an uncharacteristically incontinent outburst during Fresher’s Week, for smearing members of the governing body. Jasper was delighted to have enraged Lord Jane, who was a pillar of the British establishment that disfavoured people such as Jasper and his father. The second issue, containing further revelations about college bigwigs and their dubious investments, had broken even financially, and the third had made a profit. Jasper had been obliged to conceal the extent of his success from Daisy Williams, who might have wanted her loan repaid.
The fourth issue would go to the printer tomorrow. He was not so happy with this one: there was no big controversy.
He put that out of his mind for the moment and settled in his seat. Evie’s career had overtaken her education: there was no point in going to drama school when you were already getting film parts and West End roles. The girl who had once had an adolescent crush on Jasper was now a confident adult, still discovering her powers but in no doubt about where she was going.
Her distinguished boyfriend sat next to Jasper. Hank Remington was the same age as Jasper. Although Hank was a millionaire and world famous, he did not look down on a mere student. In fact, having left school at the age of fifteen, he was inclined to defer to people he thought were educated. This pleased Jasper, who did not say what he knew to be true, that Hank’s raw genius counted for a lot more than school exams.
Evie’s parents were in the same row, as was her grandmother, Eth Leckwith. The major absence was her brother, Dave, whose group had a gig.
The curtain went up. The play was a legal drama. Jasper had heard Evie learning her lines, and he knew that the third act took place in a courtroom; but the action started in the prosecuting barrister’s chambers. Evie, playing his daughter, came in halfway through the first act and had an argument with her father.
Jasper was awestruck by Evie’s confidence and the authority of her performance. He had to keep reminding himself that this was the kid who lived in the same house as he. He found himself resenting the father’s smug condescension and sharing the daughter’s indignation and frustration. Evie’s anger grew and, as the end of the act drew near, she began an impassioned plea for mercy that had the audience silently mesmerized.
Then something happened.
People began to mutter.
At first the actors on stage did not notice. Jasper looked around, wondering whether someone had fainted or thrown up, but he could see nothing to explain the talking. On the other side of the auditorium two people left their seats and walked out with a third man who appeared to have come to summon them. Hank, sitting beside Jasper, hissed: ‘Why don’t these bastards keep quiet?’
After a minute, Evie’s magisterial performance faltered, and Jasper knew that she had become aware of something going on. She tried to win back the attention of the audience by becoming more histrionic: she spoke louder, her voice cracked with emotion, and she strode about the stage making large gestures. It was a brave effort, and Jasper’s admiration rose even higher; but it did not work. The murmur of conversation rose to a buzz, then to a roar.
Hank stood up, turned around, and said to the people behind him: ‘Will you lot just bloody well shut up?’
On stage, Evie stumbled. ‘Think of what that woman –’ She hesitated. ‘Think of how that woman has lived – has suffered – has been through . . .’ She fell silent.
The veteran actor playing her barrister father got up from behind his desk, saying ‘There, there, dear,’ a line that might or might not have been in the script. He came downstage to where Evie was standing and put his arm around her shoulder. Then he turned, squinting into the spotlights, and spoke directly to the audience.
‘If you please, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said in the fruity baritone for which he was famous, ‘will someone kindly tell us what on earth has happened?’
*
Rebecca Held was in a hurry. She came home from work with Bernd, made supper for them both, and got ready to go to a meeting while Bernd cleared away. She had recently been elected to the Parliament that governed the Hamburg city-state – one of a growing number of female members. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me rushing out?’ she said to Bernd.
He spun his wheelchair around to face her. ‘Never give anything up for me,’ he said. ‘Never sacrifice anything. Never say you can’t go somewhere or do something because you have to take care of your crippled husband. I want you to have a full life that gives you everything you ever hoped for. That way you’ll be happy, you’ll stay with me, and you’ll go on loving me.’
Rebecca’s question had been little more than a courtesy, but clearly Bernd had been thinking about this. His speech moved her. ‘You’re so good,’ she said. ‘You’re like Werner, my stepfather. You’re strong. And you must be right, because I do love you, now more than ever.’
‘Speaking of Werner,’ he said, ‘what do you make of Carla’s letter?’
All post in East Germany was liable to be read by the secret police. The sender could be jailed for saying the wrong thing, especially in letters to the West. Any mention of hardship, shortages, unemployment, or the secret police themselves would get you in trouble. So Carla wrote in hints. ‘She says that Karolin is now living with her and Werner,’ Rebecca said. ‘So I think we have to infer that the poor girl was thrown out by her parents – probably under pressure from the Stasi, maybe from Hans himself.’
‘Is there no end to that man’s vengefulness?’ said Bernd.
‘Anyway, Karolin has been befriended by Lili, who is almost fifteen, just the right age to be fascinated by a pregnancy. And the mother-to-be will get plenty of good advice from Grandma Maud. That house will be a safe haven for Karolin, the way it was for me when my parents were killed.’
Bernd nodded. ‘Are you not tempted to get back in touch with your roots?’ he asked. ‘You never talk about being Jewish.’
She shook her head. ‘My parents were secular. I know that Walter and Maud used to go to church, but Carla got out of the habit, and religion has never meant anything to me. And race is best forgotten. I want to honour my parents’ memory by working for democracy and freedom throughout Germany, East and West.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Sorry to make a speech. I should save it for the Parliament.’ She picked up her briefcase with the papers for the meeting.
Bernd looked at his watch. ‘Check the news before you go, in case there’s something you need to know about.’
Rebecca turned on the TV. The bulletin was just beginning. The newsreader said: ‘The American President, John F. Kennedy, was shot and killed today in Dallas, Texas.’
‘No!’ Rebecca’s exclamation was almost a scream.
‘The young President and his wife, Jackie, were driving through the city in an open car when a gunman fired several shots, hitting the President, who was pronounced dead minutes later at a local hospital.’
‘His poor wife!’ said Rebecca. ‘His children!’
‘Vice-President Lyndon B. Johnson, who was in the motorcade, is believed to be on his way back to Washington to take over as the new President.’
‘Kennedy was the defender of West Berlin,’ said Rebecca, distraught. ‘He said: “I am a Berliner.” He was our champion.’
‘He was,’ said Bernd.
‘What will happen to us now?’