Roots of Evil(77)

‘Who are Mr and Mrs Wilson?’

‘It does not matter. But you can trust them absolutely, and so can I.’ Her parents would disapprove of Deborah’s existence – a child born out of wedlock, they would say, shocked – but they would look after her, Alice knew this. She said, ‘I’ll write a letter for you to give them, explaining what has happened.’

‘But aren’t you coming as well? Madame, if there’s danger, you must come with us.’

‘I’m not coming,’ said Alice. ‘I can’t. I must stay here until I find out where Conrad is. One of the labour camps, the SS man said. If that’s true, I must find a way of getting him out.’



It had torn Alice apart to send Deborah away, but it had had to be done. And once the nurse had taken her, and Alice, leaning out of the windows, had seen them get into a passing cab, she experienced a huge bolt of relief. They would be all right. They would almost certainly get to safety.

She moved swiftly about the rooms, flinging things into a suitcase, listening all the time for the sounds of heavy SS vehicles in the street below. Would Leo Dreyer come after her? Would he do so tonight? But don’t think about that. Think about getting out of this apartment, leaving no trace behind, and concentrate on vanishing, on becoming anonymous. This last was so nearly absurd that Alice could have laughed aloud. Lucretia von Wolff, anonymous! The infamous baroness with her strings of lovers and her exotic gowns to vanish into obscurity! Yes, but I came from obscurity, let’s never forget that. And now I can go back to it.

She had given Deborah’s nurse most of the money, but she counted what was left and thought there was sufficient to keep her for a while if she lived carefully. She was just searching the bureau for her passport when she became aware that the humming of the traffic outside had changed. She listened intently. Was she imagining it, or had she heard the staccato sounds of marching? Yes, she could hear the ring of boots on the cobbled street and the shouting of crisp orders. Some kind of heavy vehicle was lumbering along, and there was the growling purr of motorbikes. She darted to the light switches, plunging the apartment into darkness, and peered cautiously out of the windows.

The panic came in a huge breath-snatching wave because the soldiers really were here, they were halfway along the street, going systematically from house to house, hammering on doors, peering through windows. With them was one of the Nazis’ large distinctive army-type vehicles, flanked with six outriders on motorbikes. If that really is for me, I’m getting the full honours, thought Alice, beating down the fear. Six motorbikes, no less. And at least twenty soldiers.

A thin dispiriting drizzle was falling, turning the helmets of the soldiers and the leather capes of the motorbike riders shiny black, like the carapaces of scuttling insects. Clouds of vapour came from the lorry’s exhaust and at intervals its powerful engine revved, turning it into a snarling surreal monster, its bulbous headlights searching the darkness for victims. I can’t fight that, thought Alice in horror. I can’t fight monsters, and I can’t outwit all those shiny-armoured men. But in the next instant she knew she must try, and she took several deep breaths and held on to the window-ledge as tightly as she could, forcing the narrow edge of the sill into her palms. The small pain helped clear her head, enabling her to think clearly again.

She stared down into the street. The rain had turned everything into a grainy monochrome painting: black and grey and bleak, a landscape from a nightmare, or a madman’s distorted ravings. Almost like a scene from one of my own films. But if I’m going to play the heroine in this one, I don’t think I’d better stay here long enough to risk any dramatic encounters, in fact I’d better vanish before the villain reaches me.

The villain. Alice could not see Leo Dreyer among the soldiers but she thought he would be there. She had no idea yet if he knew her real identity, but he had said they were seeking out the families and the associates of Jewish people, and he would certainly relish capturing the infamous baroness…


But they aren’t going to capture me, she thought determinedly, and stepping back from the window she snatched a long dark raincoat from the wardrobe, stuffing the money and the few remaining strands of jewellery into the pockets and thrusting her passport into an inner pocket. She grabbed the suitcase, trying not to gasp at its weight, and went out on to the communal landing, closing the apartment door as softly as possible. But already there was the sound of the gilded-cage lift clanking up from below, and with her heart pounding Alice ran along the landing and through the door that led to the back stairs. She skidded down the stairs, praying not to miss her footing, and reached the bottom safely. As she went out through the side door into the narrow alley that ran alongside the building, she heard the angry shouts of the SS men from above.

Not daring even to glance over her shoulder, she half-ran into the maze of streets beyond.



The frightened lady’s maid of all those years earlier would probably have spent the night huddled miserably in a doorway somewhere, hoping to avoid the soldiers. Lucretia von Wolff, of course, would have sailed imperiously into the largest, plushest hotel she could find, and demanded a suite.

Alice did neither. She walked as far as she could, occasionally putting the suitcase down to rest her arms, and eventually came to a slightly run-down district on the eastern side of the city. The houses had peeling fa?ades, and some of them looked a bit seedy, but several had signs in the windows offering rooms for rent. This was what she had been looking for. After a careful appraisal she chose the one that looked the cleanest, but before approaching it she took from her case a silk headsquare which she tied over her hair. She would not be able to entirely obliterate the baroness, but she could at least disguise her a bit.