I hand her a glass of champagne. She accepts it; she is placatory—‘Could we find some opium? My nerves. Or some cocaine?’ I shrug. ‘Are you afraid? Do you want to go home?’ I am still sluggish and am not properly awake. She shakes her head. ‘Of course not. But with all this news, not knowing who is doing what or where my parents are and so on—Well, it’s not surprising I’m a little agitated. Could you get some opium?’ She begins to dry her hair, staring hard at her face in the mirror of the dressing table. ‘I’m sure it’s possible,’ I tell her. ‘But is it wise?’
She pouts, glares at me in that gesture I have come to recognise as her substitute for direct anger. ‘Is any of this wise?’ And then turns as if to say What have you made of me? I am in no mood for accusations. ‘Are you suggesting—?’ But of course she has suggested nothing in words. ‘You are only what you were before we met. I am merely the instrument of your desire. I have told you that from the beginning. You can return to your parents’ home if you wish and we’ll say goodbye as friends.’ I know that she will not go. I have countered her attempt at manipulation. ‘I love you, Alexandra,’ I say. She begins to cry. ‘You have overtaxed yourself. Lie down for half-an-hour. Tonight I’ll see if there is any opium to be had. When you’ve rested we’ll go shopping. Some new clothes.’ She cheers immediately. She has almost no sense of the future. She lives only for immediate, meaningless victories. She chooses not to rest but to get dressed so we shall not find the shops closed. I put on my dark brown suit with the buff waistcoat and kid boots and gloves, the cream cravat, a pearl pin. I am pleased with the effect. Today I think I look younger than she, but her paintbox and her powder soon adjusts the balance. She wears pale green silk with darker green lace ruffles, a matching hat with pheasant feathers. Her boots and gloves are also of the dark green. I pick up my stick, she her reticule, and we are off on our expedition. Carriages are lined up outside the hotel, eager for business. I am uncomfortable with the situation, for we, almost the only guests left, are more conspicious than usual. I wonder about changing hotels, but once we are in the carriage and she has lowered her veil I dismiss my anxieties. On the way to the fashionable arcades of Falfnersallee we note the increased number of soldiers. Some of the shops have their shutters up. Here and there workers are moving sandbags against walls. I smile. ‘They are taking this all very seriously, eh?’ She smiles mindlessly at me for she is already thinking of the dress she will buy. The ladies of Falfnersallee are delighted to see us. We have all their attention as we move from shop to shop. She orders dresses, underclothes, a tea-gown, an umbrella, a Japanese kimono, all of which I must approve and pay for. Trade is slow at present, I am told. For my own satisfaction I take her to a jeweller’s and there buy a Lalique brooch for her, green and white wisteria which looks perfect on her dress. She kisses it, kisses me and she is my happy schoolgirl again. We return via the quays and stop the carriage to watch two swans bobbing on the choppy waters. The misty light of the evening softens their outlines and they seem to merge with the silver river and vanish. The poplars in the dusk of Falfnersallee are black as Indian ink on a grey wash and rooks are calling from them like bored boys on a Sunday; noisy but unenthusiastic. Otherwise the great avenue is eery, virtually deserted. ‘Has everyone abandoned the city?’ I say. ‘Have we the whole of Mirenburg to ourselves?’ We embrace. In our rooms, with the gas lit, we inspect her parcels, her new hats, her brooch, a gold chain, a silver bracelet, her shoes. She spreads them all over the bed. She has the air of a soldier, triumphant from a looting expedition. She bites her lip and grins. She might have stolen all this. Unexpectedly I realise I could be preparing her for someone else, someone for whom she will make every sacrifice she will not make for me. It is not that I frighten her, though she says I do, it is that I do not frighten her enough, for real, committed love must always have a little fear in it or it would hardly be so precious. It is I who am afraid. I hate myself for my mysterious cowardice. I cannot identify its source. I continue to smile like a fool. I am more intelligent, more powerful, more experienced, even more humane than she: yet I am helpless. I grin like a clown as she parades her booty. My cheque-book is almost exhausted. I must go to my bank and get a new one tomorrow. I can always telegraph for more funds if necessary. I have not yet overstepped the mark with my family, I am certain, although of course they would not support me if they received any word of this escapade. I begin to doubt the wisdom of asking for Clara, as I did last night. There is still time to telephone to Frau Schmetterling. Alone, I would enjoy Clara’s attentions, would happily give myself up to her, but now I am afraid Alexandra will think less of me. Even as I smile at her I become determined to make a show of strength tonight.