For a moment she stood in the centre of the room and looked around quietly. It was strange, returning to her old apartment, after her life took such an unexpected turn. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, she stepped reverently across the room, the floorboards creaking under her shoes. Eliza let her fingers run across the few pieces of furniture that had made up her home. The small bed with the worn-out mattress, the dresser, whose one door didn't close right any more, the washing stand, clothes stand, the old stove, where she could cook her sparse meal. It wasn't much, but it was everything she had.
She packed her few belongings in the two bags she had brought with herself from England; good bags her grandparents had given her, when the embassy had hired her. "You'll need to travel a lot," her grandfather had said. "And a good bag is more important than the contents." Right now, she couldn't argue with that, since the content was just a few washed-out clothes.
When she had finished packing, she knocked on the door of her landlord. The past few months she had tried to stay out of his way, after she knew she couldn't pay him anymore, but now she at least wanted to say a proper good-bye. And who knows, if her new employ was everything it was cracked up to be, she'd be able to settle her debts as well. "Herr Schulz," she said smiling, when the older man opened his door a crack. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to tell you that I'm moving out. I... I can't afford the rent anymore, and..."
He shrugged. "It's quite alright, Fräulein Spur," he replied. "I know how it is." He looked older than she remembered him. Haggard, bleary-eyed, with deep rings below his eyes.
"I... I will pay back the rent that I owe, Herr Schulz," Eliza said hurriedly. "As soon as I have money. I promise."
He shrugged again. "Nobody's got money no more," he said defeated. "It's all worthless nowadays. I'll tell you, Fräulein, they wanted to destroy us completely, after the war, and they're getting there. They do it slowly, but rigorously, those Jewish bankers and their foreign helpers, but soon they'll have us completely on our knees. Mark my words!"
Eliza nodded politely. "As soon as I can, I'll bring by the money," she just replied, without commenting on his remarks. He shrugged wearily one more time, and then closed the door behind himself.
When she was back in Kaiserstraße 60, she started by storing her belongings carefully in her bedroom. Her old clothes seemed out of place in the pretty, precious closet, and she closed its door in shame. As soon as she had money, she'd buy herself some new clothes, she thought. Oh yes, of course after having paid off old Schulz. But right after that.
A knock on her door tore her from her thoughts. It must be Frau Schütz, Eliza thought, who else would want something from her? Who else would even know she was here? She opened the door smiling and stared into the eyes of an older, heavily made-up harlot, who obviously was working in the house. A cigarette was hanging from the corner of her mouth. "You're the miss of Frau Schütz?" she asked.
Eliza blinked. Was that who she was? "Uh, y-yes," she answered.
"Then tell her she's got a gentleman visitor," she replied snippy and pointed with her thumb at a well-dressed man in a long coat behind her, who was looking around somewhat indignantly.
Eliza just nodded and smiled sheepishly at the man. "Uh, if you will wait here for a moment," she said and stepped out into the hallway. "I'll see to it that Frau Schütz will see you right away." She spun around and had almost reached Kathleen's door, when suddenly something important came to her mind. "Uh, whom may I say is calling?" she asked nervously.
"Walker," the man replied with a strong English accent. "Herbert Walker. I'm secretary extraordinaire of the attaché of the ambassador of the United States of America in Berlin. It's about an issue of utmost national import."
Eliza's eyes got wide and she nodded reflexively. "Of course. Herr Walker." She spun around and knocked heavily at Kathleen's door.
Without waiting for an answer she entered and closed it shut behind her again, then took a deep breath. Kathleen looked up from her desk and stared at her puzzled, a fountain pen in hand and obviously at work writing. Her hair was tousled as usual, and her attire was likewise out of order, but Eliza overlooked all of that. "T-there's a man," she stuttered. "Of the embassy. With a message. A messenger, so to speak, an American. He wants to see you. I'll send him in, yes?"
