Page 25 of The Banned Books of Berlin

Portland, Oregon, August 2024

Maddie did her best not to think about Daniel and his relationship status over the coming weeks. His loss of a girlfriend might have been the reason he hadn’t contacted her, or something completely different might have been keeping him away. Speculating was pointless, and what did it matter anyway? He was just a friend: one she hadn’t known for very long, even if it didn’t feel like that sometimes. Whenever her thoughts started to wander, she corralled them firmly back in place. And then, well into summer, the German Journal WhatsApp group sprang to life with the news that Eva had finished her translation, and a friend was currently typing it up.

Shortly afterwards, Daniel texted Maddie separately. ‘Sorry for the radio silence. I’ve seen a handwritten copy of the translation and it gave me chills. We need to talk. Can you call me when you have a minute?’

Maddie sat on her hands for a couple of hours. The sight of his name coming up on her phone made her heart miss a beat, but she decided to wait until the next day before contacting him. That turned out to be impossible, though; she couldn’t concentrate on anything until she’d spoken to him. He answered her call immediately. ‘So go ahead, shoot,’ she said. ‘Tell me what’s so startling about my great-grandmother’s journal.’

‘The fact that the entire Magic Garden movie seems to be based on her writing – and probably the book, too, though I can’t get hold of a copy.’ Daniel’s voice was emphatic on the other end of the line. ‘There are so many similarities: plot twists, lines of dialogue reproduced verbatim, characters’ names, background details … It’s all Freya Amsel, but her name doesn’t appear anywhere in the credits. According to my research, the film was based on a novella written by a British guy called Rupert Harrington. It was published in the States in 1939 but went out of print in the fifties. Harrington wrote the movie screenplay, too – supposedly.’

‘Rupert Harrington,’ Maddie repeated. ‘Why was his novel published in America if he was a Brit?’

‘Because he moved to California in 1933 and made his home there,’ Daniel told her. ‘And where do you think he’d been living before?’

‘Berlin?’ Maddie guessed, and Daniel practically crowed with delight.

‘Exactly! Bet you a hundred dollars he and Freya knew each other. We need to look into this more deeply, Maddie. I know your mom doesn’t want you digging up the past but there might have been a terrible miscarriage of justice.’

‘But how could we prove that?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure we can. It has to be worth a try, though, right? I’d like to find out more about Rupert Harrington and his circle. I’ve come across his agent before: Frank Schwartz, a German who came to Hollywood around the same time as Harrington. The Magic Garden was a success for them both, especially once the movie came out. Schwartz went on to represent some big names on the Californian literary scene, though Rupert Harrington never wrote anything else. Or at least, never had anything else published.’

‘Interesting,’ Maddie said, although privately she was thinking the connections sounded a little tenuous. ‘Thanks for taking so much time and trouble over all this.’

‘You’re welcome. Must admit, I’m hooked. Listen, are you coming down to LA to see your folks some time? It would be good to talk face to face.’

‘I’m actually visiting in a couple of weeks’ time,’ Maddie said. ‘Ben’s moving out to live in a shared apartment and my mom could do with some moral support.’ She paused for a beat before asking, ‘How are things with you, anyway? I haven’t heard from you in a while.’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he replied – perhaps embarrassed, although she might have been imagining that. ‘A little up and down. I’ll tell you more when I see you.’

Maddie was even more unsettled after the call. She was intrigued by what Daniel had told her, but more than that, hearing his voice had lifted her spirits in a way she hadn’t expected. Only now did she realise how much she’d missed him – which was ridiculous, really, given the fact they didn’t even know each other that well. To distract herself, she concentrated on the substance of what he’d said, rather than the effect he had on her. She’d saved the picture of young Freya and her friend Violet at the Zaubergarten on her phone, and looked at it now, wondering what secrets lay behind that closed, wary face. Gramps could remember Freya typing in the evenings, long after she’d left Germany. So what had become of her later work? Had this Rupert Harrington stolen all of it? Or any at all? And then a disturbing thought occurred to her: what if Rupert and Freya had been lovers, and he was Gramps’ father? She Googled him quickly but every biographical entry mentioned Harrington’s homosexuality. He seemed to have a complicated love life – there were suggestions of a ménage à trois with Frank Schwartz and his boyfriend of the time, Grant Williams, a screenwriter – yet his relationships with women were all platonic. In fact, Rupert Harrington was widely considered misogynistic in real life, despite his sensitive portrayal of female characters in The Magic Garden .

Freya Amsel was an elusive quarry: Maddie would have to sneak up on her in a roundabout way. She ran through the clues they’d found so far, turning them over in her mind. This Violet person had to be significant, or Freya wouldn’t have bothered to keep a photograph of them together. Violet wasn’t a German name; it sounded more British than anything. And then Maddie remembered the painting of a country house – Beechwood Grange, home to the Framley-Chambers family – that she’d found in Freya’s suitcase, which had made such an impression on Gramps. What if Violet were a Framley-Chambers? She’d be the black sheep of the family, obviously. Well, the possibility was worth investigating; Maddie opened her laptop and got to work, even though it was late.

Several hours were to pass before she shut her computer down, and sleep would be hard to come by that night.

‘So tell me about your encounter with Nightshade,’ Daniel said, passing Maddie a glass of beer and settling down himself. ‘Did you actually confront him?’

‘He was a she. And that’s old news – I’ll save it for later.’ Maddie didn’t care about Lily-Anne anymore. ‘What’s more important is the fact I’ve found Violet. You remember, Freya’s friend from the Zaubergarten?’

They were sitting under the vine-covered terrace of her favourite bar in LA on a warm late-summer Friday evening, and it felt strange to be talking about such long-ago times in Europe.

‘Go on, then – shoot,’ Daniel said, tossing a peanut into his mouth.

‘She was Violet Framley-Chambers,’ Maddie began. ‘Born in 1911 and died in 1946, the youngest daughter of Sir Anthony Framley-Chambers. He was a great friend of Oswald Mosley, the British Fascist, and had links with Germany: his sister married a German and went to live in Munich. Violet was brought up in Beechwood Grange, the family seat in Oxfordshire, and educated at home by French and German governesses. She spoke both languages fluently and – get this – spent two years in Berlin, where she worked as a part-time artist’s model and cabaret dancer.’

‘In the Magic Garden, I assume.’ Daniel sat back, folding his arms.

‘That’s right. Remember the photograph of her and Freya that I showed you?’ Maddie took a sip of beer. ‘Anyway, she left Germany before the war and lived in France for several years before returning to England. After the war broke out and France was occupied by the Germans, she was parachuted back into the country as a member of SOE. You know, the Special Operations Executive that Churchill set up to secretly fight the Nazis?’ Daniel nodded.

‘Of course, nobody realised that at the time,’ Maddie went on, ‘not even her family. It was only when the documents were declassified about thirty years ago that she was revealed as an agent who transmitted radio messages back to London. Her code name was Pearl, apparently, and she was one of the bravest and most daring of them all. The Gestapo were desperate to find her but they never did.’

‘And she died soon after the war ended?’ Daniel said.

Maddie nodded. ‘I’m not sure how. Sad, isn’t it? She wasn’t married and didn’t have any children so she hasn’t left much of a trace.’

‘It is,’ Daniel agreed. ‘Though I can’t see how identifying Violet is going to help us find out whether Rupert Harrington stole Freya’s movie script.’

‘It might not, but she’s the one person I’ve come across who knew Freya and might be able to tell us more about her.’

‘Except she died in 1946,’ Daniel said, ‘which is a bit of a disadvantage.’

‘I know,’ Maddie sighed. ‘I just can’t help feeling that Violet and the house she was brought up in play a major part in Freya’s story. It must be significant that Gramps felt such a connection to Beechwood Grange when he saw the picture in Freya’s case. Why would she have kept it?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m becoming obsessed with Freya and Violet – they seem to have led such mysterious, interesting lives.’

‘Wait till you read Freya’s journal,’ Daniel said, running a hand through his hair. ‘We need to talk about that. In the meantime, would you be interested in hearing what I’ve discovered about Rupert Harrington and Frank Schwartz?’

Maddie almost choked. ‘Oh my God, yes. Tell me!’

‘It’s not much,’ Daniel said, ‘but it might be a start. Well, you may already know that Rupert Harrington died quite young, in the 1950s – drove his car into a tree while he was blind drunk. His agent, Frank Schwartz, became literary executor of his estate, handling all the copyright issues and so on. When Schwartz died, years later, he left the Harrington archive to his nephew, a guy called Waldo Brookes, from San Francisco. Schwartz’s sister had followed him out to the States, you see: she was an interpreter who fell in love with an American GI stationed in Berlin after the war. They lived in Germany for a couple of years and then moved to San Francisco, where Waldo was born. The good news is, he still lives there and he’d be happy to meet me. Or us, actually. I thought you might like to come too.’

‘I’d love to,’ Maddie said, her head still spinning from too much information. ‘I’m only here till Sunday, though.’

‘Sure. He’s busy for a couple of weeks, anyway.’ Daniel drained his glass. ‘Just give me a few dates that are good for you and I’ll try to fix something up.’

‘Let me get you another beer,’ Maddie said, glancing at her watch. There was just about time. ‘Thanks for going to all this trouble, Daniel. I really appreciate it.’ He was looking tired and his voice was a little flat. She wanted to give him a hug, or at least let him know she understood how he felt.

When she came back from the bar, he was gazing morosely into the distance. ‘So how are things with you?’ she asked.

Daniel took a sip of beer and winced. ‘Not great, to be honest. Christina and I have split up. You know, my girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, I mean.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Maddie replied, her heart beginning to thump. She was glad her mother had given her some warning and she didn’t have to make a fool of herself by blushing or blurting out something inappropriate.

‘Yeah.’ Daniel sighed. ‘Turns out there weren’t so many bachelorette parties after all. She was having an affair with a guy from work, and I was the last to know.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Maddie said. ‘How did you find out?’

‘One of her friends took pity on me in the end. It’s just so humiliating! How come I didn’t realise what was going on when it was staring me in the face?’

They were both quiet for a while, absorbed in their own thoughts. Maddie took a deep breath and said, ‘If I tell you my own break-up story, you might feel better.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Daniel said.

‘No, I will.’ She’d never willingly shared the excruciating details with anyone else, although her mother had wormed them out of her eventually, but now she was several years down the line and could honestly tell Daniel that life goes on, that you wake up each morning and force yourself to walk through the day with your head held high, even though you might feel like curling into a tiny ball of shame and pulling the covers over your head.

‘We were going to get married,’ she said. ‘We’d been engaged for a year. And then one morning, I opened an envelope addressed to me that had been hand-delivered to the newspaper where I work.’ She closed her eyes for a second, reliving the moment when her world had fallen apart. ‘And inside were photographs of my fiancé, Aaron, with another girl. They were kissing, eating dinner and drinking wine, walking along holding hands, lying together on the grass.’

Daniel said nothing, just stared at her.

‘There were copies of text messages, too,’ she went on. ‘He was arranging to meet her when I’d gone with my mother to choose a wedding dress. And they sometimes joked about what an idiot I was for believing him.’

‘Oh my God,’ Daniel said slowly. ‘That is awful. And you got this package at work?’

Maddie nodded. ‘In an open-plan office.’

‘But who sent the pictures to you?’ Daniel asked. ‘Why would anyone be so cruel?’

‘Turned out this other girl was married. Her husband suspected she was cheating on him, so he had her followed by a private detective. When he had proof, he sent it to me. He was trying to get back at Aaron, I suppose, and I was just collateral damage.’

‘If I could find that guy …’ Daniel shook his head. ‘What a complete asshole.’

Maddie smiled. ‘I don’t know, maybe he did me a favour. Imagine if I’d ended up marrying a jerk like Aaron?’ There were tears in her eyes, though, which she tried unsuccessfully to blink away.

And then Daniel surprised her. He leaned across the table, took her face in both hands and kissed her on the lips. Maddie felt the colour rush to her cheeks. She had no idea how to react once he’d let her go.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sitting back in a daze. ‘I don’t know what came over me. That was so stupid!’

‘No, it wasn’t. It was … lovely,’ Maddie stammered. But she couldn’t think what to say; she could hardly carry on talking as though nothing had happened. Or could she? Dammit, she wasn’t a teenager. She should have gained a little more poise by now.

Flustered, her cheeks still burning, she glanced at her watch again. ‘Sorry, Daniel, but I have to go. Ben’s moving out tomorrow and we’re having a family supper tonight. Listen, thank you so much for everything. I’ll text you about dates for San Francisco.’

Should she kiss him now? No, that would be weird. And if she went to hug him, he might think she was moving in for a kiss. He was sitting and she was standing, which made things doubly awkward. She settled instead for a sort of half-hearted wave, as though she were drowning languidly at sea.

‘Sure,’ he said, raising a hand without looking at her. ‘Let’s keep in touch.’

Admit it: you’re falling for him, Maddie said to herself in the back of the cab. Maybe he likes you too – or at least, doesn’t hate you – otherwise why would he be spending so much time on your family history? Because he’s interested in the Hollywood angle, of course. And now you’ve screwed everything up anyway, because you’re such a klutz.

Although, there was still San Francisco …

‘Where have you been?’ Sharon asked as soon as Maddie walked through the door. ‘Supper’s almost ready.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she replied, holding up her hands. ‘I was out for a drink and lost track of time.’

‘With Daniel?’ Gramps asked, smiling knowingly at her. ‘Eva told me you were meeting up. How did that go?’ He turned to Sharon and added, ‘You remember he’s broken up with his girlfriend? She was two-timing him. Eva always said she was a piece of work.’

‘Gramps! It was just a friendly drink.’ Maddie took off her jacket and slung it over the banister, aware she was blushing. ‘Talk about making something out of nothing.’

‘Well, now you can help Ben set the table,’ Sharon said, ‘and then can you make your famous salad dressing?’

Ben looked up as she came into the dining room. ‘Are they nagging you?’

‘Not really.’ Maddie hugged him. ‘So how are you feeling? Excited?’

Ben nodded. ‘It’s going to be so cool. I have my own bedroom and there’s a lounge where we can all hang out together.’ He told her about the guys he’d be sharing with: Josh, who loved video games and was going to show him how to play Minecraft; Ethan, who worked in a deli and loved to cook; Steve, who was older and didn’t say much, but that was OK because he was like that with everyone and it didn’t mean he was angry – it was just the way he was. There was also a tabby cat who lived in the house, Jellybean, and a lady called Maria who helped to run the place.

But then Ben put down a handful of cutlery and looked at her tentatively as he asked, ‘Do you think I can manage by myself?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Maddie replied. ‘It’s bound to be a little strange at first, but the others sound nice, and Maria will be there.’

Ben smiled. ‘It’ll be nice to have people to talk to whenever I like.’

He’d probably been lonely for a while, Maddie realised. ‘I can’t wait to see your room tomorrow,’ she said. ‘We’re going to make it look great.’

Now Ben was beaming, and hugged her again.

‘Remember, you can always call Lisa if you have any problems,’ Maddie said. ‘And Mom won’t be far away. I bet you’ll be fine.’

‘Well, isn’t that lovely,’ Sharon said, bringing through a bowl of salad. ‘My two wonderful children. Couldn’t be prouder of you both.’

She was doing well, and she kept up a positive front throughout supper: a succession of Ben’s favourite dishes. They ate meatloaf and corn muffins with tomato and avocado salad, followed by pumpkin roll with cream-cheese frosting, even though it was nowhere near Thanksgiving and Sharon had had to use canned pumpkin purée. Maddie looked at the smiling faces around the table and thought how much happier everyone seemed than the last time she’d been home. Ben was moving on, Sharon was about to embark on a two-day orientation course so she could volunteer at the local Down syndrome association, and Gramps went for weekly walks with Eva. He’d joined her book group, too. And he hadn’t mentioned his funeral once, although Sharon told Maddie in the kitchen – raising her eyes to heaven – that he and Eva had each bought build-your-own caskets, which they were using as bookcases in the interim.

‘But now what do you think of my mother’s journal?’ Gramps asked, as they were sitting over coffee after Ben had gone upstairs to bed. ‘Isn’t that the most fascinating thing?’

‘I haven’t read it yet,’ Maddie confessed. ‘Give me a chance! You only emailed it to me this afternoon.’

‘And I’ve been too busy with Ben,’ Sharon told him. ‘I’ll have a look tomorrow, I promise.’

‘Eva thinks we should get the thing professionally translated,’ he went on. ‘She says she doesn’t have the skill to do the writing justice, though it seems to me she’s done a pretty good job.’ He shook his head. ‘What a life my mother must have led. Eva’s going to see what she can find out about her years in Germany: where she lived in Berlin, that kind of thing. I sure wish Mom could have told me more about it.’

‘You can’t force people to talk if they don’t want to,’ Sharon said. ‘You have to respect their privacy.’

‘Yes, but this notebook …’ Gramps sighed. ‘Well, it raises more questions than it answers, and it’s made me desperate to find out about my mother’s early life. Read the translation, Maddie, and you’ll feel that way too.’

Sharon turned to her daughter with a look that clearly said, ‘See what you’ve started?’

There were dishes to be cleared and washing-up to be done. ‘Well, my girl, I just hope you know what you’re doing,’ Sharon said, as she and Maddie carried a stack of plates into the kitchen. ‘Who knows where this is going to lead.’

‘To the truth, maybe?’ Maddie replied. ‘Isn’t that worth something?’ But Sharon merely raised her eyebrows.

Maddie stayed up late again that night, even though they’d have to be up early the next morning to pack the car and drive Ben to his new home. She couldn’t resist a quick look at Eva’s translation of Freya’s journal, and she needed a distraction from endlessly turning over her encounter with Daniel. Was she making too much of it, or had something significant happened between them? Would it lead anywhere? She wondered for a moment whether Gramps had deliberated in the same way about Eva, and whether you ever reached an age when the answers to these questions came more easily, or if you simply stopped asking them.

The first page of Freya’s diary had Maddie sitting bolt upright in bed, startled out of her reverie. The writing was as clean and bracing as a cold shower, plunging the reader straight into the violent, teeming heart of Berlin.

Yesterday Frau Apfelbaum fell out of her fourth-floor window into the courtyard, narrowly missing the old man who plays his concertina there in the evening , read her first entry.

I say ‘fell’ but who knows whether she jumped or was pushed. She’s been a sitting duck since her son was killed in the May Day demonstrations, the year before last, and today a major from the SS moved into her apartment with his wife and two children. Apparently they are a respectable family and having them here will be good for our security. Yet I miss Frau Apfelbaum, whose only crimes were to have been Jewish, and to have raised a Communist son.

This was a world Maddie knew already from the movie she’d watched with Daniel. She could absolutely see what he meant: almost everything Freya described made its way into the movie, and was probably to be found in the book, too. Interspersed with the factual entries were vignettes, germs of stories that described a country on the brink of collective insanity as the Nazis gradually, inexorably took control. Freya’s sense of despair was palpable.

Her very last entry was the saddest of all.

Today at dawn, I walked through the city I love for the last time , she wrote.

I could sense my mother beside me and when I reached Opernplatz, she sent me a sign: a book to rescue. I can never come back here, never again decorate her grave with linden blossom. Forgive me, Mutti, for leaving you, and for the terrible thing I have done.

And now Maddie realised what her grandfather had meant.