at the Taverne, an Italian bistro run by a gruff German and his shy Belgian wife, a favorite gathering spot for American journalists and their spouses. Martha always found a place at the Stammtisch, the table reserved for regulars, and during his previous visit Thomas had been welcomed even more heartily. They moved on from there to his favorite watering holes, one after another, enjoying reunions with old acquaintances, drinking and dancing until the early hours of the morning when they declared themselves incapable of downing a single drop more.
Staggering out of the Kakadu and onto Joachimstalerstrasse, Thomas hailed a cab to take them to Tiergartenstrasse 27a. “You must stay the night,” Martha said as they helped each other stumble to the front door. “No, for your entire visit. I insist. We have plenty of room.”
“I’m delighted to accept,” said Thomas, his breath thick with the scent of whiskey. “Especially since I can’t recall the name of my hotel.”
She burst out laughing and sank down upon the doorstep. Choking back laughter, Thomas took her key and attempted to fit it in the lock, but before he could, the door swung open. “Kaffee, Fraulein Dodd?” Fritz said, eyeing them dourly as Thomas hauled Martha to her feet and helped her inside. “Aspirin?”
“No to the former, yes to the latter.” Head spinning, Martha seized Thomas’s hand and tugged to compel him to follow her to the kitchen. “Never mind. I’ll get it myself. We’re going to need a whole bottle.”
“Apiece,” Thomas added, and she exploded with laughter again.
When she woke the next morning, bleary-eyed and aching, she discovered that however many aspirin she had taken, it had not been enough. Her head throbbed and she had no memory of finding her way to her room and collapsing on her bed, fully clothed. And yet it must have happened, for there she was.
With a groan she sat up, judging by the harsh light streaming through the windows that it was almost noon. She hoped Thomas had found his way to a guest room and was not passed out in the hallway outside her door.
After a soothing shower, a change of clothes, and fresh makeup, she descended to the kitchen to find Thomas seated with a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of fried eggs and buttered toast. “You must have a liver made of steel,” she remarked, envious.
“I’m twice your size and I’ve built up a tolerance.” He gestured to an adjacent chair, and as she sank into it, he gallantly rose and poured her a cup of coffee. “Anything to eat?”
“God, no.” She closed her hands around the cup and took a deep, restorative drink. “Maybe in a bit. How much of last night do you remember?”
“All of it. You?”
“Nearly all.” She sipped her coffee. “I seem to recall you holding many whispered conferences in dark corners. Plotting something?”
“Not yet.” His grin faded. “I lost count of how many friends took me aside to confide the Nazi horrors that haunt their nightmares.”
“Ah, yes.” She set down her cup with a sigh, willing her headache to recede. “Reality encroaches upon our fun despite our attempts to drown it.”
“I once thought the rise of the Nazis was about politics. I don’t anymore.” Thomas rubbed at his jaw, his gaze distant. “It’s something deeper, more sinister, going well beyond mere racial prejudice. The German people are desperately ill with some dread malady of the soul.” He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “Think of it. An entire nation has become infected with an ever-present hatred and fear, twisting and blighting all human relations.”
Martha wished she could deny it with a careless laugh, but he was right. It was little wonder her mother’s anxiety increased with each passing month, that her father spoke wistfully of resigning and returning to Chicago and his beloved farm in Virginia. But as long as President Roosevelt wanted him to stay on as ambassador, Martha’s father would do his duty. And as long as her parents remained in Berlin, Martha would too.
After a piece of dry toast and some hair of the dog, Martha felt much better, so they decided to join the opening ceremonies in progress. They had slept through numerous official events—religious services, a wreath laying at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, synchronized athletic displays by thousands of German schoolchildren, Goebbels’s speech at the Old Museum for International Olympic Committee guests and thirty thousand members of the Hitler Youth—but Martha and Thomas agreed they