‘I have very little experience of the domestic life.’ Van Geest nods as if I have made a profound observation. He is moody this afternoon. ‘Your instincts are good, von Bek. Marriages are based on romantic lies and decent women demand that we maintain those lies at all costs, lest the reality of their situation be brought home to them. Here the whores are paid to lie to us. At home we pay for our domestic security with lies of our own.’ He looks up at the sky. ‘Do you think it will snow?’
‘It’s a little early for that.’
He turns to go back inside. ‘Well, I shall probably be home for Christmas,’ he says.
Clara comes to join me. ‘Our Alice has bought herself a thousand new petticoats!’ She kisses me on the cheek. Somehow we have taken to calling Alexandra ‘Alice’, while I use ‘Rose’ as a nickname for Clara. She, in turn, calls me ‘Your Lordship’ in English. Alexandra does not know our nicknames. ‘She is upstairs, now, trying them on.’ Van Geest lifts his cap and enters the house. ‘What were you talking about?’ She is all rustling velvet in her long winter coat. Marriage, I believe,’ I say. ‘I’m not altogether sure. Vantreest seemed to want to get something off his chest.’ Clara is amused by this. ‘That’s our job. Whores are trained to listen. What was he saying?’
‘That domestic bliss is founded on a lie.’
The argument is familiar to her. ‘Working here, one begins to disbelieve in any great difference between people. The girls in this house have more varied personalities than most clients, and that’s saying very little, I should think. You cannot pursue individuality here. There’s more realism and virtue, perhaps, in celebrating commonality. There are certain lies, surely, we would all rather believe.’ She links her arm in mine. We are almost like husband and wife.
We go to peer in at Frau Schmetterling’s little hothouse, at the orchids and the fleshy lilies, and at her aviary where a pair of pink cockatoos, an African Grey parrot and a macaw fidget. ‘Frau Schmetterling has no interest in birds,’ says Clara. She puts her lips together and makes kissing sounds at the gloomy creatures. ‘These were given to her at the same time, I believe, as the peacocks. The peacocks died. She’s sentimental enough to want to keep her parrots properly, but they get no attention from her. ‘Mister’ looks after them. Some of us have asked to keep them in our rooms, but she says it would be vulgar.’ I am becoming impatient to see Alexandra, even though I know she will be demanding something of me the moment I walk in to our room. ‘Shall you be going to the celebration this evening?’ asks Clara. I had forgotten. Frau Schmetterling had mentioned it at lunch. ‘To honour the end of the bombardment,’ she had said. ‘It will cheer us all up.’
‘I’ll look in for half-an-hour or so,’ I say. ‘And you?’ Clara nods. ‘Oh, yes. I think it will be amusing.’ Since Alexandra will sulk if I go I have almost made up my mind not to bother. ‘They are difficult, these children,’ says Clara. ‘More trouble than they’re worth, sometimes.’ I feel a moment’s resentment of what I take to be her criticism, but she squeezes my arm and the mood vanishes. I enjoy Clara’s company more and more and continue to be impressed by her tolerant intelligence. ‘By the way,’ she says casually, ‘did you hear that they had attempted to burn down the synagogue. The Jews are being held to blame, as usual.’ I laugh at this. ‘Where would we be without them?’ But Clara is not pleased with my response. ‘I came through the Quarter on the way home. It’s miserable. No market, of course, to speak of. Such a terrible sense of fear, Ricky.’