Karen now looked again, with obvious delight of course, at her new acquisition—a prized carved elephant she had purchased. Then Hermann asked between puffs of swirling blue smoke from his Corona cigar: “I would have thought, Karen, that this artist would have sold it as part of a pair. And don’t elephants always mate for life, or so I’ve heard or read somewhere?” he asked, looking at them all for confirmation.

“No, I don’t think so, Captain,” replied the nurse kindly. She then looked intently at the statue herself and added, “I know many animals are supposed to mate for life, like swans. But not elephants, I’m afraid.”

“I think she’s right,” said Karen in agreement, still admiring her statue and lovingly running her long, manicured fingers along the polished curves of the magnificent, detailed carving. Then, with affection, she added, “But anyway, I’m glad I purchased it. I hope it will become a family heirloom, to be treasured forever.”

She looked at Walter for agreement, and he replied with a silent nod, though his mind seemed elsewhere.

Meanwhile, in the warm bedroom, Carin was seated, preparing herself for a professional examination by a nervous Dr. Nagel.

For some unknown reason, the doctor had drawn the drapes to offer privacy for her illustrious patient. Carin neither knew nor cared how that would be achieved on the third floor. Instead, she switched on all the available lighting offered in the room’s elaborate system.

“Would you remove your blouse, please, Countess?” the doctor asked, reaching for her medical bag to withdraw her faithful stethoscope and other necessary items.

But first, she walked into the ocean-themed tiled bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. Removing her jacket, she looked at the garish tiles depicting smiling whales, dancing crabs, lobsters, half-naked mermaids, and other creatures of the deep. Ugh, she thought, how common!

She fiercely lathered her hands, examining her face in the oval-shaped mirror above the pedestal sink. Why is the lighting always so blinding and harsh in hotel bathrooms? she wondered. After drying her hands carefully on one of the hotel’s luxury Indian cotton monogrammed towels—often taken by guests as souvenirs—she returned to the bedroom for the examination.

“Ah,” said Carin with a mischievous, knowing smile as she sipped from a tall glass filled, perhaps, with tonic water. This glass had been created in a traditional factory in Chevroux and presented to the Goerings after a private visit last year. Carin had selected it from a limited number pressed by the same factory for immediate export to Singapore, Malaysia, and beyond.

Noticing the doctor’s leather medical bag, Carin commented, “I see you’ve come well-prepared, as every doctor should. I hope?”

She laughed, adopting a patronising tone, “Or never, leave home without that trusted medical bag by your side. Guard it with your life!”

As the doctor listened to her patient’s erratic heart rate, Carin studied the doctor’s face, searching for unusual characteristics—a skill she had perfected over the years. It was a face that Carin suspected had likely been examined in many rooms by her previous patients.

It was a face that Dr Nagel presented professionally to the world surprisingly inscrutable as a stone sphinx. But Carin could usually delve behind an unreadable facade.

This fixed expression was perhaps the result of witnessing too much pain, possibly from an indifferent family, and certainly from the unkind, predictable opposition of male university tutors who tried to prevent her from achieving her ambition of becoming a qualified physician.

Carin reasoned correctly that Dr Nagel must have been endowed with an avalanche of ambition. Yet, her brown eyes revealed pools of loneliness she tried to hide from the world—and not always successfully. Today, for some strange reason, the doctor seemed to be trying even harder, and Carin naturally wondered why.

Perhaps it had something to do with Dr Bernstein’s sudden disappearance, about which Hermann had not informed her. Carin also noticed, through her well-tuned perception, that no happy long life awaited the doctor. Death would likely come quickly, perhaps by an “arranged” accident or even a planned murder in the near future.

But she would say nothing for now and, as they say, “hold her powder.”

“Well, this is the first time I’ve been examined by a woman doctor,” Carin remarked light-heartedly, with a fixed smile.

“And this is definitely the first time I’ve ever examined a Countess!” came the immediate response.

“So, it’s the first time for both of us, in very different ways,” laughed Carin at her joke. The doctor smiled and said nothing.

After carefully measuring Carin’s heart rate and pulse, the doctor cursorily examined other areas of her body, asking Carin to recount any medical problems she could remember, both past and present.

Carin explained her annoying heart ailments, infrequent bouts of pneumonia, frequent fatigue, and the usual respiratory problems that had plagued her all her life. She also mentioned an old broken foot injury sustained years ago in Sweden, which she had managed to overcome, surprising even herself with her determination to face its limitations and succeed.

The doctor recognised the seriousness of these ailments that had assaulted Carin for many years and suspected that the future prognosis was not good for the Countess.

For some reason, she suddenly thought of the Countess’s husband, Hermann, comfortably seated in the next room, probably chomping on his usual cigar—a disgusting habit, she thought. But a very powerful man in Germany, no doubt. And don’t all-powerful, conceited men seek even more power? They expect to be flattered and praised by their simpering acolytes.

Hadn’t Goering, earlier in his career, used both flattery and veiled threats to acquire what he demanded? Even using some of that charm on her, persuading her to undertake the unusual task of decoding that wretched diary of a dead, soon-to-be-forgotten doctor, which might or might not offer Goering what he desperately needed to aid his obviously ailing wife.

But now she wasn’t sure how this situation might develop, especially concerning her own immediate safety.

Out of nowhere, the Countess suddenly asked, as she buttoned up her silk blouse, “Do you by any chance offer spa or sauna sessions at your Berlin clinic? Or maybe a hydro pool? Your clients might appreciate its merits, you know.”

“I don’t, unfortunately,” the doctor replied, rather annoyed at the sudden question about her clinic.

“Well, do you have a large basement or cellar in the house?” Carin continued.

“Well, yes, but it’s occupied by a family firm of local printers, Levi and Son. They’ve been there for years.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Carin interrupted curtly. “I’ll ask Hermann to consult one of his architect friends to see if several water and heating units could be fitted and plumbed in. I’m sure we can work something out, doctor. Hermann usually gets his way if he can.”

She laughed as she stood up and smoothed down her skirt. The examination was finished, and all had gone well so far, the doctor thought. Without the Countess’s medical notes to consult, she was, as they say, “flying blind.” A rather useful expression she had learned from a colleague in the Air Force, who had once nervously asked her to marry him. She had declined him, as she had several other suitors who had approached her, all of whom were disappointed by her abrupt refusals.

She then asked the Countess to excuse her and returned to the bathroom to rinse her hands again and brush her hair. It was probably time, she supposed with a sigh, to rejoin the others and later discover and decipher the late doctor’s medical notes.

She was certainly not looking forward to that unwanted task, especially given the potential consequences if she failed. What would happen to her? She shuddered at the thought, now feeling very frightened about her uncertain future in Berlin. Knowing that if she failed, arrest would surely follow, leading to beatings and starvation in a brutal work camp—no longer a woman, but just a convenient number.

She shuddered again as she dried her hands, knowing that time was certainly not on her side.

To be continued…

© G. Patrick Battell

August 2024

(All Rights Reserved)