He stepped back to look into her smiling eyes.
‘Are those for me, or were you expecting someone else?’
‘Marlene Dietrich must have missed the train.’
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. Rath handed her the bouquet.
‘Now I’m completely defenceless,’ she said, raising both hands. In the left she held a small travel bag, in the right the bouquet of flowers.
‘Defenceless is good,’ he said, and kissed her. When she reciprocated, he could have fallen on her there and then, but the dog had started to bark and people were looking their way.
‘How about we go somewhere more private?’ Rath said, and she smiled.
He organised a baggage handler and led Charly to the car where the handler stowed Charly’s suitcase and bag onto the dickey seat as Kirie sprang inside. He removed her by the collar, consigning her to the tip-up seat next to the cases.
‘She should know to sit in the back when I’ve got company,’ he said, taking his place beside Charly and starting the engine.
‘Have you had a lot of company these last few months?’
‘So little that Kirie has forgotten her manners.’
Charly didn’t seem to notice that they turned off from Hardenbergstrasse as soon as they reached Steinplatz. When he opened the passenger door on Carmerstrasse, however, she looked around curiously. He lifted the dog out of the tip-up seat, then the suitcases, and marched towards the building behind Kirie, who already knew the way, glad that Charly couldn’t see his smile. She followed them up the small exterior staircase into a bright, marble-panelled stairwell.
‘Good morning, Herr Rath,’ the porter said from his lodge.
‘Morning, Bergner.’
‘What’s going on?’ Charly whispered, as they stood by the lifts more or less out of earshot. ‘Where are we?’
‘Patience. You’ll see.’
Rath pressed the button and the lift door opened. He didn’t have to tell the boy where they were headed, and when they emerged onto the third floor, Charly could scarcely believe her eyes.
He took the key from his pocket and opened up, and Kirie disappeared straight inside. Opening the door wide he set the cases down on the marble floor in the hall, turning away so that Charly couldn’t see his grin. Only now had she spotted the brass plate next to the door.
Rath, it said simply. He hadn’t wanted to commit himself to an initial. At least not yet.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, stepping inside.
‘I thought I’d upsize a little,’ he said, helping her out of her coat. ‘Don’t you want to look around?’
She gazed in admiration. Even the hallway was impressive. Bright and modern. Only Kirie, who had settled in her basket and was blinking sleepily, disturbed the picture-perfect image.
‘How long have you been living here? Did they make you detective chief inspector, or move you straight up to superintendent?’
He was afraid she might ask something like that. ‘Inheritance,’ he said, as casually as possible. ‘Uncle Joseph.’
That was true, of course, but his godfather, who had died six months previously, hadn’t left him much. He thought it best not to mention the cheque that had arrived from overseas three and a half months ago. It might not have carried Abraham Goldstein’s signature – the two-thousand-dollar consulting fee was made out by Transatlantic Trade Inc. – but Charly would put two and two together, which was precisely what he hoped to avoid. No one could know that he accepted handouts from dubious sources, and, further, that he actually believed it was money owed – especially since the Free State of Prussia was in no position to pay him properly. His yearly salary didn’t amount to five thousand marks.
He loved Charly’s dark eyes all the more when they were wide open like this. He knew how much she adored modern architecture, and had furnished the four rooms accordingly. It wasn’t cheap, but the leather, steel and fine wood was sturdy enough to last a hundred years.
He opened the door to the drawing room. ‘If you would be so kind as to step this way.’
The morning sun sent its first rays through the window onto a lavishly decked breakfast table of freshly baked bread rolls and coffee. The champagne stood in the cooler, and the glasses were in their place.
Charly seemed genuinely lost for words. ‘I… gracious me. Well, how’s that for a welcome party,’ she said.
‘A Berlin breakfast. I’m sure you couldn’t bear the sight of another baguette with Camembert.’ He gestured towards the one door he still hadn’t opened. ‘And afterwards, I can show you the bedroom.’
‘You old lecher!’
‘At your service, my lady.’ He realised even the thought of going next door aroused him. Suddenly breakfast didn’t seem quite so important.
‘Isn’t that…’ Too late. She had seen the champagne. ‘…Heidsieck Monopol?’
The same brand they had drunk the first time, in Europahaus. When Rath thought that three years had passed since then, his next move seemed long overdue. Pouring carefully, he handed her a champagne glass. The one with the ring.
They clinked glasses. Charly smiled, revealing her dimple. He studied her as she drank. After a moment she hesitated and fished the ring out of the bubbles. She didn’t say anything, just stared at the glistening ring as it dripped through her fingers. Slowly she began to grasp its significance.
‘Fräulein Charlotte Ritter,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘With God as my witness, I, Gereon Rath, do hereby request your hand in marriage.’
He gazed into her astonished eyes and realised, for once, that his customary irony was misplaced. ‘Charly,’ he said, thinking he had never been so earnest before in his life, ‘will you marry me?’
She stared at him, in shock almost, or so he thought, and sank onto the nearest chair. ‘Phew,’ she said. ‘That’s quite enough surprises for one morning.’
‘I thought I’d propose before we went into the bedroom. I’m Catholic.’
‘That’s never stopped you before.’
‘Charly…’ He was still holding her hand, actually kneeling before her now like some romantic suitor from the last century. ‘I should have asked you long ago. Only… Paris got in the way. But I’m serious, goddamn it. Will you be my wife?’
She looked at him. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, but before I respond, I have to…’ She broke off and started again. ‘Gereon, you realise that it’s a very serious question. And even if you should have asked it long ago, it’s still rather – sudden. I…’
She broke off again, and all at once he knew why he had shied away from this moment for so long; why he had continued to avoid it despite purchasing the ring more than a year ago. The sense of estrangement he had felt at the station came hurtling back. The woman before him wore the latest in Parisian fashion; the Berlin girl of memory was gone.
He let go of her hand and was about to get up, when he felt her taking his head in her hands and kissing him. The erotic atmosphere he had thought destroyed returned, or his erection, at least.
‘Is that a yes?’ he asked.
‘Let’s not talk. Not now. Later.’ He kissed her again and began to unbutton her blouse. ‘Take it easy. Didn’t you want to show me the bedroom?’
‘As you wish, madam.’
‘We aren’t married yet!’
He lifted her high and carried her through. She was just as soft and warm and feather-light as he remembered. He didn’t know if he had made a fool of himself with his proposal, didn’t know how she would respond; he only knew that she had brushed the weighty topic aside with a kiss, and now, suddenly, everything was as it had been before.