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‘But why are these awful people so angry, and why tonight, Papa?’
‘I think they were headed for the Bürgerbräukeller – that big beer hall near the square,’ said Levi, relighting his pipe. ‘I’d seen a poster earlier in the day advertising a speech by vonKahr – the commissioner of Bavaria. I suspect that crazy Austrian – what’s his name, Adolf Hitler? – was on his way there, with his thugs, clearly intent on making trouble.’
Leila was now fiddling with the radio, trying to tune it to get a signal. ‘Will there be something about it on the news, do you think?’
‘I doubt it,’ replied her father. ‘The government won’t want to give these rebels any publicity.’
‘But it’s a disgrace,’ Leila persisted. ‘People should know about it.’
‘Of course…but what can we do?’ Her father raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Now, Hannah, what’s for dinner? I’m starving.’
Leila was unable to sleep that night. Tossing and turning in bed, she pictured MrLepmann trying to protect his stock and his shop; she thought of her father standing in the darkness as the mob ran by, wondering if he would be next. It was a miracle he had not been attacked. Surely, she thought, the government must do something about these awful people. And why were they so angry with Jews in particular? Her father had told her that Jews had lived in Munich since the twelfth century. ‘We have as much right to be here as anyone, Leila.’ But now, it seemed, their rights were under threat.
What she had seen that day crystallised her decision about her future career. As her professor had said – there had never been a more important time for journalists to expose the wickedness in their country.
Her only worry was what Minki would make of her decision. She hoped she would be happy for her. Perhaps they might even work together one day – as they’d done at university. With that comforting thought she turned out the light, and finally fell asleep.
3
MUNICH
December 1923
Minki was searching her tiny wardrobe for something suitable to wear. She had finally found a part-time position as the diary editor for a local Munich newspaper, and as a young professional woman she wanted her image to reflect her new career. She hauled out the old woollen skirts and Bavarian jackets that her father had considered suitable when she first started university, and laid them on the bed. The skirts were too long – fashions had changed, and hem length was now firmly mid-calf, or even above the knee. The jackets too were the wrong style, and made of sensible tweed, more suited to country walks than the sort of parties she would be required to attend as a diary editor. Although money was tight, she was determined to rid herself of her past, and new clothes were the first step on that path.
Minki bundled her old clothes up, tying them with a piece of string to take to a second-hand clothes shop she knew. Its owner would always pay a fair price for good-quality clothing, and might even agree to take her old clothes in return for something more stylish.
The shop was on a quiet side street. As Minki approached, her eye was drawn to the mannequin in the centre of the window display, wearing a simple teal-blue shift. Minki decided it would suit her very well.
Weighed down by her bundle of clothes, she greeted the shop owner cheerfully. ‘Good morning, Helga. I’ve brought some things I no longer wear and I wondered if we might do a deal – perhaps swap some of them for the dress in the window?’
Helga smiled. ‘Yes Minki…in fact, I thought of you when I bought that dress. A most elegant woman brought it in – similar shape and colouring to you. I’ll get it for you.’
While Minki tried it on in the changing room, Helga sorted through the bundle of clothes.
As soon as Minki stepped back into the shop, Helga beamed at her.
‘Oh, yes – that’s wonderful. Here, try this with it.’ She grabbed a long silk scarf in shades of green and blue and hung it round Minki’s neck. ‘What do you think?’
Minki admired herself in the mirror. ‘I like it. Can we do a swap?’
‘Yes, of course. In fact, I’ll give you a little extra cash too. One or two of your jackets are very good quality…someone will want them.’
Back home, Minki tried on the ensemble again, adding a string of her mother’s pearls. She twirled delightedly in front of the mirror. The dress was perfect – it emphasised her blue eyes, and contrasted well with her bright blond hair. All that was missing was a suitable coat to complete the outfit. On her last visit home, she had persuaded her father to hand over her mother’s fur coats, still languishing in Greta’s wardrobe so many years after her death. Minki knew he was only keeping them for sentimental reasons. ‘It’s such a shame, Papa… they just hang there attracting moths,’ she had insisted.
Reluctantly, her father had agreed, and Minki had returned to Munich with a silver fox fur coat and a cream mink evening jacket. Minki threw the fox fur coat artfully round her shoulders, and pirouetted in front of the mirror. Gone was the dowdy student – in her place was a glamorous professional woman.
She rushed downstairs to the communal telephone in the hall. ‘Leila, come and meet me at Café Luitpold. I’ve got something exciting to tell you.’
‘Oh, don’t make me wait till then, tell me now,’ urged her friend.
‘Oh, all right, if you insist. I’ve got a job.’
‘A real job?’
‘Yes, of course it’s a “real job”. I’m the new social and diary reporter for theMunich Latest News. Meet me at eleven?’
Minki rushed outside, only to find that snow had begun to fall. Glancing down, she realised she was wearing her best black suede shoes. She should have been wearing her old leather boots, but they wouldn’t go with the dress or the coat, so instead of going back upstairs and changing, she set off across the park. The snow was already thick on the ground by the time she arrived at Café Luitpold. Leila was waiting for her outside, shod in sensible snow boots, Minki noticed. She was stamping her feet to keep warm.
