‘Oh, does he make the furniture or just sell it?’ I don’t know why I was surprised that his father sold furniture. Perhaps I thought he had something to do with aircraft, like his son.

‘Both, although before the war, he was so busy he didn’t have much time to make furniture. I remember learning carpentry from him as a boy. He taught me how important precision and determined execution of each task was in ensuring the final product was worthy of the showroom floor. Sometimes my hands itch for the chisel, plane and saw. To have an image in mind and then be able to build it, give it form and a practical application is one of life’s great pleasures.’

I smiled, delighted to have an insight into what made this mysterious man tick. His creative flair, habit of thinking outside the conventional view and finding practical solutions was a gift. I saw it in his work. I understood that creative urge and only wished that I could bring my artistic desires into being. ‘I know what you mean. I feel that way when I’m taking photographs.’

‘I’ve heard from Bettina that you’re a talented photographer. You must show me some of your work. I’d love to see it.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ It was his turn to smile now, white teeth flashing in the darkness. ‘What do you photograph?’

‘Anything. People, landscapes, architecture, any object of beauty.’ I thought for a moment, warming to my subject. ‘It’s not so much about the subject as my interpretation of what I find beautiful in that scene. It might be the way the light falls, the shadow, or the contrast of colours, shapes and textures.’ Cars moved slowly beside us, headlights covered with slotted covers, dipped toward the ground, barely illuminating the dangers of the pockmarked road in front, piles of rubble spilling from the kerb. ‘You would make a good subject,’ I wanted to say to him, but didn’t dare.

‘Ah, you are an artist at heart,’ said the hauptinspektor. ‘Why didn’t you make photography your career? From the way you’re talking, I assume you studied.’

‘Yes, for three years but my parents…’ I shrugged. ‘After losing Ludwig, they wanted me to stay in München and a position as a civilian auxiliary in one of the local military offices was the safest they could find for me.’

‘I see.’ There was compassion in his voice. ‘Maybe you could show me how to take a good photo sometime. Although I enjoy it, my photos never turn out the way I want them.’

‘Of course,’ I said, flustered, as my heart started pounding in my chest. Perhaps he was really interested. Clasping my hands together tightly, I turned the conversation around, wanting to take the attention off myself. ‘Did you work in your father’s shop until the war then?’

‘No. I worked there for a time after finishing business school in Neisse, managing the shop for my father, but my heart wasn’t in it. I had always loved machinery, so I trained as a mechanic, learning to build motors at the technical school in Breslau. Planes were my passion and I had been gliding and flying small aircraft for years at the Gleiwitz Flight School. I found work there as an instructor and site manager, repairing aircraft as well, until I entered military service in 1938.’

‘How did your family end up in Sagan?’ I was feeling bold now, bolstered by the champagne. I heard the intake of breath as he stopped to stub out his cigarette and I immediately regretted my nosiness.

‘My first posting was to the Sagan-Küpper airpark as an aircraft engineer. Inga and I were married and we had Eva. Things were already rocky between us but I thought that the move away from our families would do us good and for a time, it was. I rose to group leader and wanted to become a technical advisor but had to do my higher diploma in Berlin, Jüterbog, actually, for a year. My family was settled in Sagan and Walter was only a baby. By the time I returned in late 1941, before moving to my new posting in Lemberg, I realised that our marriage could not be salvaged. I only saw them a few times before coming to München.’

I shivered and plunged my hands into my trench coat. He was a family man in a broken marriage and the sadness in his voice made me want to comfort him in some way.

‘You’re cold. Here have my coat.’ The hauptinspektor stopped in his tracks.

‘No,’ I said, mortified. ‘I’ll be fine, maybe we could just walk a little faster.’ The flush of warmth from the alcohol had passed and the brisk night air of late October had only now settled into my bones.

He wouldn’t take no for an answer. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘put this around you.’ He draped the woollen coat across my shoulders and immediately the lingering warmth from his body surrounded me.

‘Thank you,’ I murmured. ‘What about you? You must be cold.’

He shook his head. ‘No, not one bit.’

‘I feel bad taking your coat.’

‘Well in that case, how about you take my arm? Walking close to you will warm me up.’

I blushed but it was reasonable request. ‘Of course, we can’t let you freeze to death,’ I said lightheartedly, trying to cover my rising confusion, pleased he couldn’t see my face in the darkness.

The hauptinspektor laughed, a deep throaty sound that made me smile, easing my anxiety. ‘Not likely.’

I threaded my arm through his, feeling slightly self-conscious as we continued to walk.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I was very touched by the celebration this evening.’

‘It was nothing,’ I said automatically. ‘Besides, Bettina organised most of it.’

‘She’s a great girl and an asset to our department. But you – you I can’t do without.’

I felt a wave of delicious warmth bombard me and curl its way through my body, turning my muscles to liquid, until it came to rest in my belly, heavy and pulsating. I leant into him. He pulled me closer, his solid warmth reassuring, and I felt safe and protected by his side. The cool night air and the ugliness of a war-torn city disappeared, leaving only the hum of tension that ran through the hauptinspektor like a surge of electricity.

‘I only do what I can.’

‘You don’t realise it, but you’re a breath of fresh air, Lotte,’ he said quickly, as if he had to get the words out before he lost his courage. ‘Because of you, this posting isn’t something I have to endure.’

I stopped walking, suddenly wary. I had never had that effect on anyone before. It left me with a feeling of power and a need to surrender all at the same time. I tried to peer into his face but all I could see was his silhouette in the dark. ‘Hauptinspektor, I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t done anything but my work.’

‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘You make sure I function each day, no matter what happens. Nobody has cared for me like that in a very long time.’ I felt his body sag. ‘The champagne has probably made me say things I shouldn’t have said. I have no wish to make you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know how valued you are…’

He was just grateful. I relaxed a little. I wondered if he would be embarrassed tomorrow.

‘Thank you,’ I said, forgiving him. I felt honoured that he had shared such vulnerability with me and sad that he carried so much pain.

We began to walk again, still arm in arm. To leave the awkwardness behind us, I began to tell him about my family and about my life in München. All the while I was very much aware of his presence by my side, the slight pressure of his arm against mine, the warmth that radiated from him. He was a good listener, with a quick wit and a dry sense of humour. I was enjoying myself.

‘You laugh with such abandon, it’s infectious,’ he said, his own laughter fizzing away after one wisecrack. ‘It’s deep and heartfelt, just like your smile.’

His compliments made me weak at the knees and I was glad I was holding onto his arm. I didn’t want this walk to end. ‘I can’t help it. I’ve always been like this. Mutti tells me it’s not very ladylike but it’s who I am. Anyway, I’m the eternal optimist and I believe in finding something good in every situation. Laughter is life and life’s for living, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is.’

Then we were at the front of my building.

‘Thank you for walking me home, hauptinspektor,’ I said, removing my arm reluctantly from his and lifting the coat from my shoulders.

‘It was the least I could do after such a lovely party.’

I smiled, handing him the coat. ‘Maybe now you can stay warm.’

‘Please call me Erich when we’re not in the office,’ he said. ‘We’ve worked together so long now and we spend so much time together travelling… It’s nice to hear my name sometimes.’

He stood close to me and, for a moment, I wondered what it would be like to kiss his wide, sensuous mouth. I looked up at him, confused, trying to discern his expression in the near darkness but could find nothing to fault in his courteous demeanour.

‘All right.’ After all I had learnt about him that night – alone without his family, without warmth and companionship – I supposed it would be fine. ‘Goodnight, Erich,’ I said tentatively, but I didn’t want him to leave.

‘Goodnight, Lotte. See you at work in the morning.’ A car turning the corner briefly lit the inky blackness. Our eyes met and he smiled with such warmth that it caught my breath, before we were plunged into darkness once more and he was gone.

7

Requisitioned by the Luftwaffe, Kloster Scheyern was a grand old Benedictine monastery, built in the twelfth century, about fifty kilometres north of München. The main complex held an array of chapels and the basilica. The monks who were still there lived in the adjoining wing. Before the war, the furthest wing had housed a grammar school. Now this wing became our office building and the wing opposite the accommodation for all the staff.