The Dark Frontier A. Decker (i like reading TXT) 📖

But they preferred to ignore the fact that the industry here also profited very nicely from its German neighbours. In fact, it was the city’s chemical industry that supplied the blood-red dye for that flag and those Nazi uniforms.”

The wry smile that crossed Dr Zellweger’s lips as he spoke these words was quickly replaced by a darker expression.

“You know, Basel has a long social-democratic tradition, but there were also some people here at that time who supported Germany. Some even joined the German army. And many of the business leaders were also happy to sack the Jews in their company to satisfy their business partners north of the border.”

After buying her ticket, Ellen walked over to customs in pensive silence, the image of refugees still preying on her mind. Dr Zellweger walked beside her, carrying her suitcase.

“They were difficult times,” he repeated at last, as he waved her off through the customs barrier, but not before making a note of her sister’s phone number and promising to call as soon as he had any news of Frank.

Why he should assume that Frank would still be roaming the streets of this fascinating city, she had no idea. It had long since dawned on her that, if this man really was Frank, he would almost certainly have already gone. He had no ties to this place, so what would keep him? But on the other hand, where would he have gone? What would he be doing there?

These questions were of no interest to Dr Zellweger, and why should they be? Ellen asked herself. His interest was in the patient. And the patient had discharged himself, as had the patient’s wife. So when he waved Ellen off across the border into Germany, she detected a sense of relief in the way he moved his arm hastily through the air and turned back to face his day’s clinical duties. It left her with a disquieting sense of vulnerability.

Chapter 15

Ellen’s journey north to her sister Beth proved tediously uneventful, until she had to change trains in Cologne. It was the first time she had ever been to Cologne, and since she faced a long wait before her connection, she decided to spend the time down on the riverside enjoying the fresh air and the views. But the air proved a little too fresh to enjoy, while the views were dominated by the cathedral. And the forbidding darkness of the building that rose into the grey afternoon sky gave her no comfort. Ellen found it so oppressively imposing that she would almost certainly have missed the object of far greater interest across the street had it not been for a yapping dog that drew her attention in that direction. It was an irate and lost-looking dachshund, which stood outside a café barking at nothing in particular, as far as she could see.

Then out of the café emerged a figure she knew at once. The mop of thick brown hair. The walk. It could only be him. It was Frank. Her heart missed a beat. Was this a dream? Ellen asked herself. There could surely be no other explanation. She felt she could not trust her own eyes. She wanted to shout to him across the street. She wanted to wave.

But she was transfixed. Could do nothing but gape in disbelief. Was it really Frank? It seemed impossible. What could he be doing here? And by the time she had collected herself, it was already too late. He was stepping onto a tram and moving off out of Ellen’s life again as abruptly as he had re-entered it. She was confused. Was it a dream? Was she going mad? Was this really happening?

Ellen was barely aware of the strange impression she must have created, rooted to the spot, gaping into the empty space across the street where Frank had been. A few people approached her and made noises of concern. But she was unable to understand. Each one moved on with a shake of the head when Ellen made no response. When eventually she regained her composure, she returned to the station and found a place to sit. A place where she could gather her thoughts.

She was uncertain what to do. She could not go to the police. Even supposing she would be able to overcome the language barrier, they would simply think they had a raving lunatic on their hands.

Ellen remained totally distraught and bewildered, yet overjoyed at the same time, by the knowledge that Frank was here in Cologne. So close and yet still out of reach. She decided to check into a hotel near the station.

After phoning her sister to let her know she had been delayed, Ellen returned the next morning to the place where she had spotted him. And each day for the next three days, she sat in the café he had emerged from and drank cup after cup of what passed for tea – a bag in lukewarm water with a slice of lemon – and watched the comings and goings: the middle-aged women who gathered for coffee and cakes; the single women with their poodles or terriers, which sat patiently beside their mistresses drinking from a water bowl; and the occasional business types, briefcase in hand, who stopped by for a quick espresso. None sat for as long as Ellen, who stared in growing despair also at every passer-by who walked past on the street outside. Not one of them even remotely resembled Frank.

Ellen became conscious of the strange looks and whispers from the café staff even before the end of the first day. By the third day, she had the feeling that the tolerance in those looks had turned to hostility. It became clear to her that this was no way to find her husband and she would do best to resume her journey.

She checked out of her hotel, comforting herself with the thought that perhaps she could persuade her sister Beth to return to Cologne with her