with the tenderness of a lover. Was this what it would feel like if Sarah touched his face?
‘One more try,’ he said to himself.
He dressed and went to his office, opened up his computer and began to write.
Chapter 13
Berlin, last September
Katherine Hazleton’s diary kept me up until the early hours. When I went up to my bedroom after supper with Herr Schmidt, it was about ten o’clock. When I next looked at the clock, it was two in the morning. I had read as far as May. Katherine – Kitty as I had come to think of her, just as her friends did – had escaped the monstrous finishing school at last, sneaking out in the middle of the night to catch a train to meet her lover in Berlin. Her cross-eyed room-mate Miranda kept watch while Kitty shinned her way down a drainpipe. All the girls at the school came to their windows to silently cheer Kitty on her way.
As I closed the diary, Kitty had just arrived in Berlin. She had found herself a room at the Hotel Adlon and sent word to Cord Von Cord that he should meet her there. I had the feeling it would not go well but I also had the feeling that it wouldn’t matter if it didn’t. Kitty Hazleton was clearly a girl of some spirit. As I walked past the Adlon the following morning, I imagined Kitty holed up inside, waiting for her dashing German lover to arrive and relieve her of the heavy burden of her virginity.
When Anna Fischer came for her English lesson, I told her about Kitty’s adventures.
‘My sister stayed at the Adlon once,’ she told me. ‘She was also with an unsuitable boy.’
As I arrived home from a day in the library, I tapped on Herr Schmidt’s door in passing.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘For giving me those diaries. I’m halfway through the first one. It’s really rather funny, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Herr Schmidt, somewhat abruptly. ‘I haven’t read it.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t read English as well as I speak it and the handwriting is quite untidy.’
‘I suppose it is,’ I said. It was a good job Herr Schmidt had never tried to decipher a page of my own writing, which was legendarily bad.
‘Do you think you can find the owner?’ he asked.
‘Well, her name is on the outside of the letters in the box. It’s not very common. Hazleton. I’m sure I’ll track her down. You can find most people on the Internet these days.’
‘Good,’ he said.
I almost pointed out to him that Kitty would probably be dead by now. Though not necessarily; plenty of people lived to a hundred. Perhaps he already had.
‘If you’d like me to translate the diary for you, I’d be very happy. My German isn’t wonderful, as you know, but between us, we could get the gist. If you’d like to hear what Kitty got up to . . .’
‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to know what the diaries say.’
‘But . . .’
He shook his head. ‘I’d just like to reunite her with her belongings.’ Herr Schmidt didn’t seem so keen to chat that evening. In fact, he looked a little tired. I bade him goodnight and made my way upstairs.
When I got to my study I discovered that the Internet was working again so I was able to get online and check my private email account. I’d been avoiding doing so at the office because I wasn’t sure whether such things were frowned upon. I scrolled through the usual spam. Bea in Venice had sent me a link to a funny video of a kitten. My mother had sent an email reminding me my sister’s birthday was coming up.
The last thing I was expecting was an email from him. It came in while I was replying to Bea.
Just seeing his name was still enough to make me feel as though I had reached the top of a roller-coaster and was plummeting down through a second of zero gravity, while all my internal organs raced to catch up. I stared at his name, bracing myself for the disappointment that would inevitably follow. Then, when I could wait no longer, I clicked the open button.
Dear
‘One more try,’ he said to himself.
He dressed and went to his office, opened up his computer and began to write.
Chapter 13
Berlin, last September
Katherine Hazleton’s diary kept me up until the early hours. When I went up to my bedroom after supper with Herr Schmidt, it was about ten o’clock. When I next looked at the clock, it was two in the morning. I had read as far as May. Katherine – Kitty as I had come to think of her, just as her friends did – had escaped the monstrous finishing school at last, sneaking out in the middle of the night to catch a train to meet her lover in Berlin. Her cross-eyed room-mate Miranda kept watch while Kitty shinned her way down a drainpipe. All the girls at the school came to their windows to silently cheer Kitty on her way.
As I closed the diary, Kitty had just arrived in Berlin. She had found herself a room at the Hotel Adlon and sent word to Cord Von Cord that he should meet her there. I had the feeling it would not go well but I also had the feeling that it wouldn’t matter if it didn’t. Kitty Hazleton was clearly a girl of some spirit. As I walked past the Adlon the following morning, I imagined Kitty holed up inside, waiting for her dashing German lover to arrive and relieve her of the heavy burden of her virginity.
When Anna Fischer came for her English lesson, I told her about Kitty’s adventures.
‘My sister stayed at the Adlon once,’ she told me. ‘She was also with an unsuitable boy.’
As I arrived home from a day in the library, I tapped on Herr Schmidt’s door in passing.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘For giving me those diaries. I’m halfway through the first one. It’s really rather funny, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Herr Schmidt, somewhat abruptly. ‘I haven’t read it.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t read English as well as I speak it and the handwriting is quite untidy.’
‘I suppose it is,’ I said. It was a good job Herr Schmidt had never tried to decipher a page of my own writing, which was legendarily bad.
‘Do you think you can find the owner?’ he asked.
‘Well, her name is on the outside of the letters in the box. It’s not very common. Hazleton. I’m sure I’ll track her down. You can find most people on the Internet these days.’
‘Good,’ he said.
I almost pointed out to him that Kitty would probably be dead by now. Though not necessarily; plenty of people lived to a hundred. Perhaps he already had.
‘If you’d like me to translate the diary for you, I’d be very happy. My German isn’t wonderful, as you know, but between us, we could get the gist. If you’d like to hear what Kitty got up to . . .’
‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to know what the diaries say.’
‘But . . .’
He shook his head. ‘I’d just like to reunite her with her belongings.’ Herr Schmidt didn’t seem so keen to chat that evening. In fact, he looked a little tired. I bade him goodnight and made my way upstairs.
When I got to my study I discovered that the Internet was working again so I was able to get online and check my private email account. I’d been avoiding doing so at the office because I wasn’t sure whether such things were frowned upon. I scrolled through the usual spam. Bea in Venice had sent me a link to a funny video of a kitten. My mother had sent an email reminding me my sister’s birthday was coming up.
The last thing I was expecting was an email from him. It came in while I was replying to Bea.
Just seeing his name was still enough to make me feel as though I had reached the top of a roller-coaster and was plummeting down through a second of zero gravity, while all my internal organs raced to catch up. I stared at his name, bracing myself for the disappointment that would inevitably follow. Then, when I could wait no longer, I clicked the open button.
Dear
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