Entwined

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Thank you to all the people who gave me so much of their time, especially to those who opened their past and painful memories with such heartfelt frankness and honesty.

I also wish to thank Rose Marie Morse.

Hilda Deikmann moved silently across the sitting room of the suite and paused to check her appearance in one of the floor-to-ceiling gilt mirrors. Her dress had seen better times — but then so had the hotel. It had not been restored yet to its original splendor, but already it reflected the changing times. East Berlin was now free; the wall had come down.

Standing by the sashed windows, she could see the porters in their new red and gold uniforms, way below in the street. From her post Hilda watched the Mercedes limousine glide to the entrance, and a tall man in a fur-collared coat step from the front passenger seat. He gestured to the porters to remove the luggage from the trunk as a car drew up behind them. A blond woman in a bright red coat was helped out of the backseat. She turned to speak to the tall gentleman as another woman, wearing a dark coat and hat, hurried from the second car. The threesome conferred before bending to the remaining passenger seated in the rear of the Mercedes.

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