bag from her maid.
‘Goodnight, Gisela,’ she said, pausing in the doorway and turning around. ‘And please don’t wait up for me.’
‘But Frau Westheim, I always help you to –’
‘No, no, it’s not really necessary,’ Ursula interrupted softly. ‘I can manage by myself, but thank you anyway.’ With these words she walked along the corridor to the staircase.
This swept grandly down to the vast baronial entrance foyer of the Westheim house, a mansion on the Tiergartenstrasse, near the Tiergarten, in a charming residential area of Berlin.
Halfway down the stairs, Ursula stopped, stood stock still listening, her head on one side.
Sigmund was playing the piano in the music room, and the melodic strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata came wafting to her on the warm air. It was beautiful … delicate … but so ineffably sad. Her throat ached with unexpected emotion, and inexplicably tears sprang into her eyes. And she realised that tonight for some reason this particular piece of music seemed to move her especially, perhaps more than it ever had before.
She stood for a moment longer, composing herself and marvelling at Sigmund’s touch. It was magical. If he had not been an investment banker she believed he could easily have become a classical concert pianist, such was his talent. But banking was in his blood. Centuries of it. Passed down from father to son, ever since Jacob Westheim, the founding father of the dynasty, had opened the original merchant bank in Frankfurt in 1690. The entire family had moved to Berlin over a hundred years ago, and the Westheim private investment bank in the Gendarmenmarkt, Berlin’s financial district, dated back to 1820. Like his father and their illustrious forebears, Sigmund had a brilliant financial brain, and he loved the bank and his work, but had he been born into any family other than the Westheims he might easily have turned out to be a musician by profession.
The clock in the foyer began to chime and the pendulum struck six times, announcing the hour and cutting into her thoughts. She hurried down the stairs, deposited her things on an antique loveseat underneath a Gobelin tapestry, then crossed the black-and-white marble floor, heading in the direction of the music room. Here she paused in the doorway, stood regarding her husband, thinking how handsome he looked in his dinner jacket and black tie.
The moment he saw her, Sigmund stopped playing, sprang up, came swiftly to meet her. Brown-haired with bright blue eyes and a warm, sincere smile, he was about five foot eleven, slender, compact of build, a good-looking man with a strong, well-defined face. He was thirty-six years old, and he had been married to Ursula for fifteen years.
Ursula walked towards him.
They met in the middle of the room.
He took hold of her hands, pulled her to him, put his arm around her, brought his lips to her cheek. They had known each other all of their lives, and their parents had always hoped they would marry; when they had, two elite German families had been united. But it had not been an arranged union. Theirs was a true love story. They had fallen in love as children and they had never wanted anyone but each other. It was a perfect match.
Sigmund broke their embrace, held her away from him and looked down into her face. ‘You are very beautiful tonight, Ursula.’
A faint smile touched her lips and her eyes signalled her deep love for him, but she made no response, merely inclined her head graciously.
He put his arm around her, walked her back towards the foyer. ‘I was going to have a glass of champagne with you before we left, but I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. I think we must leave. I promised Irina we would meet her at the reception, and I don’t want to keep her waiting since she’s going there alone.’
Ursula nodded. ‘Of course, I understand.’
Her voice was so low it was barely audible and Sigmund came to a standstill, glanced at her swiftly, then tilted her face to his. He frowned when he saw the worry in her eyes and the gravity which had suddenly settled on her face. ‘What’s wrong? What is it?’
‘I wish we didn’t have to go, Sigmund.’
‘But you were enthusiastic when the invitation came. Why this change of heart at the last minute?’ He sounded puzzled.
‘I was never that enthusiastic,’ she replied. ‘Not really.’
‘It’s important that we make an appearance, you know. The Ambassador is expecting us.’
For a moment she did not speak, and then she said slowly, ‘There will be Nazis there.’
‘That’s true, yes. But then there are Nazis everywhere these days. You mustn’t let it concern you.’
Again she was briefly silent before saying, more vehemently than was usual for her, ‘But it does concern me, Sigi. We’re Jews.’
‘And Germans, Ursula. Real Germans, just as our forefathers were for centuries before we were born. Remember, we are both from great and ancient families, and furthermore, as an investment banker, I am extremely important and useful to the Government and State, as I have so often pointed out to you. You know they need me to help them build the economy, and for my foreign connections, the bankers and industrialists I’m acquainted with, and also for the foreign currency and gold the bank deals in.’ He put his arm around her again, held her close to him, finished confidently, in a reassuring voice, ‘We are not at risk, Ursula, please believe that.’
She leaned away from him, looked up into his face, gave him a penetrating stare. ‘The Nazis fill me with dread. I detest being anywhere near them, or having to even breathe the same air.’
‘I know, I know. But, Ursula, many of our good friends will be present this evening, and you’ll be with them. Renata and Reinhard, Kurt and Arabella von Wittingen, and Irina …’ His voice trailed off. He was not sure how to make her feel better at this moment.
‘Yes, many of our friends will be there, Sigi,’ she concurred softly, ‘including those who are now members of the Nazi Party. I’m uncomfortable with them, too, these days.’
His swift nod indicated that he acknowledged the truth of her comments, and he grimaced, then cleared his throat. ‘But I’m afraid we can’t possibly cancel at this hour, and we really must leave. Now, darling. Quite aside from not wishing to keep Irina waiting, I don’t want to offend Sir Nevile Henderson by being late.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said at once, forcing a smile, putting on a bright face, instantly trying to change her demeanour. There was nothing to be gained by upsetting him further. ‘I’ll be fine, Sigi, please don’t worry about me.’
Looking relieved, he smiled into her eyes, took her arm, squeezed it, and together they hurried out of the music room into the foyer, where Sigmund picked up her wrap. He was placing it around her shoulders when Walter, the butler, came through from the servants’ quarters at the back of the house. When he saw his employers, to whom he was devoted, he inclined his head respectfully, went immediately to the clothes cupboard, took out Sigmund’s overcoat and brought it to him.
‘Thank you, Walter, but I think I’ll carry it,’ Sigmund said.
The butler nodded, carefully folded the coat, handed it to him, then ushered them out.
