Edge of Eternity (71 page)

Who shot my President? he thought. Was it the Russians? Fidel Castro? The Mafia? The Ku Klux Klan?

He spotted his younger sister Beep. She yelled: ‘Is the President dead?’

‘Nobody knows,’ Cam said. ‘Who’s got a radio?’

She thought for a moment. ‘Doctor Duggie has one.’

That was true, there was an old-fashioned mahogany wireless set in the head’s study. ‘I’m going to see him,’ Cam said.

He made his way through the corridors to the head’s room and knocked on the door. Dr Douglas’s voice called: ‘Come!’ Cameron went in. The head was there with three other teachers, listening to the radio. ‘What do you want, Dewar?’ said Douglas in his customary irritated tone.

‘Sir, everyone in the school would like to listen to the radio.’

‘Well, we can’t get them all in here, boy.’

‘I thought you might put the radio in the school hall and turn up the volume.’

‘Oh, did you, now?’ Douglas looked about to issue a scornful dismissal.

But his deputy, Mrs Elcot, murmured: ‘Not a bad idea.’

Douglas hesitated a moment, then nodded. ‘All right, Dewar. Good thinking. Go to the hall and I’ll bring the radio.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Cameron.

*  *  *

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?’

*  *  *

‘I made a terrible mistake,’ said Karolin to Lili, sitting in the kitchen of the town house in Berlin-Mitte. ‘I should have gone with Walli. Would you fill a hottie for me? I’ve got backache again.’

Lili took a rubber bottle from the cupboard and filled it at the hot tap. She felt Karolin was too hard on herself. She said: ‘You did what you thought was best for your baby.’

‘I was timid,’ Karolin said.

Lili arranged the bottle behind Karolin. ‘Would you like some warm milk?’

‘Yes, please.’

Lili poured milk into a pan and put it on to heat.

‘I acted from fear,’ Karolin went on. ‘I thought Walli was too young to be trustworthy. I thought my parents could be relied upon. It was the reverse of the truth.’

Karolin’s father had thrown her out after the Stasi threatened to get him fired from his job as a bus station supervisor. Lili had been shocked. She had not known there were parents who would do such things. ‘I can’t imagine my parents turning on me,’ Lili said.

‘They never would,’ Karolin said. ‘And when I turned up on their doorstep, homeless and penniless and six months pregnant, they took me in without a moment’s hesitation.’ She winced at another pang.

Lili poured warm milk into a cup and gave it to Karolin.

Karolin took a sip, and said: ‘I’m so grateful to you and your family. But the truth is I’ll never trust anyone again. The only person you can rely upon in this life is yourself. That’s what I’ve learned.’ She frowned, then she said: ‘Oh, God!’

‘What?’

‘I’ve wet myself.’ A damp patch spread across the front of her skirt.

‘Your waters have broken,’ Lili said. ‘That means the baby is coming.’

‘I’ve got to clean myself up.’ Karolin stood up, then groaned. ‘I don’t think I can make it to the bathroom,’ she said.

Lili heard the front door open then shut. ‘Mother’s home,’ she said. ‘Thank God!’ A moment later, Carla came into the kitchen. She took in the scene at a glance and said: ‘How often are the pains coming?’

‘Every minute or two,’ Karolin replied.

‘Goodness, we don’t have much time,’ said Carla. ‘I’m not even going to try to get you upstairs.’ Briskly, she started putting towels on the floor. ‘Lie down right here,’ she said. ‘I gave birth to Walli on this floor,’ she added brightly, ‘so I expect it will do for you.’ Karolin lay down, and Carla pulled off the soaked underwear.

Lili was frightened, even though her competent mother was now here. Lili could not imagine how a whole baby could emerge through such a tiny opening. Her fear grew worse, not better, a few minutes later when she saw the opening begin to enlarge.

‘This is nice and quick,’ said Carla calmly. ‘Lucky you.’

Karolin’s groans of agony seemed restrained: Lili felt she would have been screaming her head off

Carla said to Lili: ‘Put your hand here, and hold the head when it comes out.’ Lili hesitated, and Carla said: ‘Go on, it will be all right.’

The kitchen door opened, and Lili’s father appeared. ‘Have you heard the news?’ he said.

‘This is no place for men,’ Carla said without looking at him. ‘Go to the bedroom, open the bottom drawer of the chest, and bring me the light-blue cashmere shawl.’

‘All right,’ Werner said. ‘But someone shot President Kennedy. He’s dead.’

‘Tell me later,’ said Carla. ‘Bring me that shawl.’

Werner disappeared.

‘What did he say about Kennedy?’ Carla asked a minute later.

‘I think the baby’s coming out,’ Lili said fearfully.

Karolin gave a huge wail of pain and effort, and the baby’s head squeezed out. Lili supported it with one hand. It was wet and slimy and warm. ‘It’s alive!’ she said. She found herself overflowing with an emotion of love and protectiveness for the tiny scrap of new life.

And she was no longer frightened.

*  *  *

Jasper’s newspaper was produced in a tiny office in the student union building. The room contained one desk, two phones and three chairs. Jasper met Pete Donegan there half an hour after leaving the theatre.

‘There are five thousand students in this college and another twenty thousand or more at other London colleges, and a lot are American,’ Jasper said as soon as Pete walked in. ‘We need to call all our writers and get them working straight away. They must talk to every American student they can think of, preferably tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest. If we do this right we can make a huge profit.’

‘What’s the splash?’

‘Probably “Heartbreak of US Students”. Get a mug shot of anyone who gives a good quote. I’ll do the American teachers: Heslop in English, Rawlings in Engineering . . . Cooper in Philosophy will say something outrageous, he always does.’

‘We ought to have a biography of Kennedy as a sidebar,’ said Donegan. ‘And maybe a page of pictures of his life – Harvard, the navy, his wedding to Jackie—’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Jasper. ‘Didn’t he study in London at one point? His father was American ambassador here – a right-wing Hitler-supporting bastard, apparently – but I seem to recall that the son went to the London School of Economics.’

‘That’s right, it comes back to me now,’ said Donegan. ‘But his studies were cut short, after only a few weeks.’