Giles checked the seating plan displayed on a board to one side of the double doors. Sir Giles Barrington and his interpreter were on table number 43 near the back of the room, where they wouldn’t attract attention, Walter had explained. He and his companion found their places and sat down. Giles tried subtly, and then crudely, to find out her name and what she did, but came up against another brick wall. It was clear that her identity had to remain secret, so he satisfied himself with talking about London and the theatre, to which she happily responded, until several people around them stood up and began to applaud—some more loudly than others.
Giles stood to see the diminutive figure of Comrade Honecker enter the room surrounded by a dozen bodyguards who towered over him, so that he only occasionally bobbed into view. Giles joined in the applause, as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. The general secretary walked toward the top table and, as he climbed the few steps up onto the platform, Giles spotted Walter applauding about as enthusiastically as he was.
The West German foreign minister was seated just two places away from the general secretary, and it wasn’t difficult for Giles to work out that the man between them had to be Walter’s Russian counterpart, because he was clapping more enthusiastically than anyone else at the top table.
When everyone in the room finally sat down, Giles saw Karin for the first time. She was seated behind the two foreign ministers. He was immediately reminded why he’d been so captivated by her. During the meal he couldn’t stop staring in her direction, but she never once returned the compliment.
The three-course meal was both interminable and inedible: nettle soup followed by boiled beef and soggy cabbage, and finally a slab of brick-hard cake covered in custard that any self-respecting schoolboy would have left untouched. His companion began asking him questions, clearly trying to distract him from constantly staring at Karin. She asked which musicals were on in London. He didn’t know. Had he seen Oh! Calcutta!? No, he hadn’t. What was showing at the Tate Gallery? He had no idea. She even asked if he’d met Prince Charles.
“Yes, once, but only briefly.”
“Who’s the lucky girl who will marry him?”
“No idea, but it will have to be someone the Queen approves of.”
They continued chatting, but she never once mentioned Karin or asked how they had met.
At last the waiters began to clear away the pudding; there was enough left over to feed the five thousand. The chairman, the mayor of East Berlin, rose slowly from his place and tapped his microphone several times. He didn’t begin to speak until he had complete silence. He then announced in three languages that there would be a ten-minute break before the general secretary of the Socialist Unity Party would address them.
“Good luck,” she whispered, and was gone before he had time to thank her. He watched as she disappeared into the crowd, not sure what was going to happen next. He had to grip the sides of his chair to stop himself trembling.
The ten minutes seemed an eternity. And then he spotted her walking between the tables toward him. She was wearing the same dark suit as his erstwhile companion, an identical red scarf, and black high-heeled shoes, but that was where the similarity ended. Karin sat down beside him, but said nothing. Interpreters don’t hold real conversations, she had once told him.
Giles wanted to take her in his arms, feel the warmth of her body, her gentle touch, smell her perfume, but she remained detached, professional, giving nothing away, nothing that would draw attention to how he felt about her.
Once everyone had resumed their places and coffee had been served, the chairman rose for a second time and only had to tap the microphone once before the audience fell silent.
“It is my privilege as your host to introduce our speaker today, one of the world’s great statesmen, a man who has single-handedly…” When the chairman sat down twenty minutes later, Giles could only wonder how long the general secretary’s speech was going to be.
Honecker began by thanking all the foreign delegates and distinguished journalists who had traveled from many parts of the world to hear his speech.
“That’s not the reason I came,” murmured Giles.
Karin ignored the comment and faithfully continued to translate the general secretary’s words. “I am delighted to welcome you all to East Germany,” said Karin, “a beacon of civilization which is a benchmark for all those nations who aspire to emulate us.”
“I want to touch you,” whispered Giles.
“I am proud to announce that in East Germany we enjoy full employment,” said Karin. A smattering of applause from some well-placed apparatchiks allowed the general secretary to pause and turn another page of his thick script.
“There’s so much I want to talk to you about, but I realize it will have to wait.”
“In particular, our farming program is an example of how to use the land to benefit those most in need.”
“Stop staring at me, Sir Giles,” whispered Karin, “and concentrate on the leader’s words.”
Reluctantly Giles turned his attention back to Honecker, and tried to look engrossed.
“Our hospitals are the envy of the West,” said Karin, “and our doctors and nurses the most highly qualified in the world.”
Giles turned back, just for a moment, only to be greeted with, “Let me now turn to the construction industry, and the inspiring work our first-class engineers are doing building new homes, factories, bridges, roads…”