He rounded on her.

"Why are you defending her? Has the old witch put a spell on you or something? Or maybe she's the devil!"

"Otto, please, I don't want to fight," she kissed him on the cheek "It's good that you're home. I'll get dressed and we can go out."

He simmered slightly.

"You looked like you were just going out when I arrived or you were going downstairs for a tea party perhaps."

"Never mind her. Take me shopping Otto."

"Haven't you got enough clothes?" he asked her poking about in the wardrobes.

"A girl can never have enough."

She disappeared into the bathroom again. He noticed the new stockings that Koenig had bought her half in and half out of a drawer. He picked one up and sniffed it.

"These are new," he called out to her "and expensive."

She came out of the bathroom to see him holding her stockings.

"What are you doing with those?"

"They're new."

"Yes."

She took them from him and stuffed them into the drawer.

"How can you afford those?"

She slammed the drawer shut with irritation.

"My father gives me an allowance every month."

"Your father?"

"Yes because you're never here to support me. You're always away with your friends and never home."

He felt himself getting angry again and he crossed the room to her like lightning.

"That's because I'm working hard for us."

She came back at him now wanting the fight.

"Working hard?" she scoffed "that's a joke. All you do isa."

"Shut up Elsa before you say something you may regret."

It worked. There was a history of violence in their relationship. She always being on the receiving end. The last time he had hit her he had given her a black eye. She had packed her bags and moved to her parents. After four days he had begged her to come back promising to change.

"Or what?" she said "you'll hit me again."

"I've said a hundred times that I'm sorry."

She smiled and blew him a kiss.

"I know you have."

He was about to lay on the bed when he noticed his photographs.

"Why are my pictures facing the other way?"

Back in the bathroom Elsa cussed herself for not having put them right after Koenig had left. She sat on the toilet and tried to sound calm.

"Because if Mrs Drescher sees them it upsets her. Apparently you looked a lot like her son.

"Do I?" he said turning a large photo of himself around. He picked it up and held it flat and gazed at himself. He liked what he saw.

Proud, strong, arrogant. The deaths head insignia glittering on his lapels.

"I suppose there is no harm in her liking the old woman," he said to the face that stared back at him. He put the photograph back and threw himself onto his back on the bed fully clothed.

"I'm being sent away Elsa."

The words went through her and she felt excitement at the prospect.

*While the cat's away,' came into her mind 'maybe I can persuade Hans to stay now.'

She quickly thought about the situation. She found she really liked the idea of her husband away from her, hopefully away from Berlin. She would be safe then, safe from him, his drinking, his temper.

"Where?"

She tried to sound interested but when the answer came it made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

"North Africa Elsa."

She suddenly felt a terrible foreboding. She stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

"North Africa! I didn't think the SS were involved in the fighting."

"We can be sent anywhere. I am going to oversee an archaeological expedition. Herr Himmler has appointed me. It seems that the Fuhrer has a dream," Otto said knowing that he should not be discussing it with anyone, not even his wife but he couldn't help it, caught up in it.

"This could be my big chance to impress Elsa. I will be serving under Rommel. This could be my one chance to make Colonel Elsa. Just imagine it. The first of my family."

"I'm pleased for you Otto," she shouted trying to sound enthusiastic for him.

He put his hand under his head and stared at the ceiling. After a while he turned on his side to face the window. His eyes focused on the bedside table. Slowly he lifted his head off the pillow. He had a puzzled look on his face.

By the bed on the table were two glasses. One clearly had lipstick on it, the other didn't. He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. The glass he had been using was on her dressing table. He picked the other two up. They smelled of cognac. There was a tiny amount of it in the bottom of each glass. He inspected the one with the lipstick first. It was definitely hers, her shade.

When she came out of the bathroom she was confronted by him standing in the middle of the room with a glass in each hand. His expression one of questioning. Instantly she tried to cover up, to speak first, to try to gain an advantage.

"I wanted a fresh glass."

He shook his head at her.

"No only one has lipstick on it."

Then it dawned on him. The photographs facing the wrong way. Two glasses used, lipstick on one. The new stockings in the drawer.

"You've had someone here. Another man."

"No Ia. I haven't."

"Don't lie to me," he shouted.

He rushed over to the dressing table elbowing her out of the way. He yanked the drawer open and held the stockings under her nose.

"He bought you these didn't he?"

"No. No I told you my fathera."

"Lies. Lies."

"I'm not lying."

"Who was it? Who?" he yelled.

"No one Ia."

Suddenly he was rushing for the door.

"If you won't tell me maybe the old bag will."

"Otto stop! I'll tell you everything," she said desperate for the old lady's safety now.

Then a thought struck him. He came back into the room.

"It was him wasn't it."

She was lost now. Not sure as to who he was referring.

"Him. The Colonel I passed in the lobby. The Colonel in the Wehrmacht. It has to be. Who else could afford such gifts?"

Now she knew she was fighting not just for her but for her lovely Hans as well. She had little doubt that her husband would track him down and kill him.

Otto Wurtz began pacing up and down the room with his hands on his head.

"I'm so stupid. I thought it was safe to leave you here all by yourself . I thought the little rich bitch was happy and all the time I'm away you are screwing every Tom, Dick and Harry."

While he was talking she grabbed a large pair of scissors and held them in both hands behind her back. She vowed that he'd never beat her again. He would never humiliate her like that again.

Then he did something unexpected. He went to the telephone.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm ringing your precious father to tell him what a whore his daughter is."

"Please Otto don't. Leave my father out of this."

He slammed the receiver back.

"Who is he? What's his name?"

"You think I'd tell you!"

He picked up the receiver again.

"He's a Colonel. Higher rank than you," she sneered "He eats Majors for breakfast."

"You think his rank frightens me. We the SS fear no one."

She could see that he meant it. Could it be that her Hans was doomed?

Suddenly he slammed the receiver down again and in a rage he picked the telephone up and threw it at her, missing her by inches.

"You're a filthy fucking slut! I'll fucking kill him!"

Something snapped inside her and suddenly she was rushing at him scissors held high. It took him by surprise but even so he was able to avoid her downward slash. He twisted and chopped her with the flat of his hand across the back of her neck. It increased her momentum and she tripped over a rug, her body out of control now, and crashed heavily into her dresser, the force of the collision knocking it over and breaking the mirror.

There followed utter silence.

Elsa Wurz lay face down amid the furniture and items that were scattered. Otto stood staring unsure as to whether she was acting or not.

"Elsa," he called gently.

No reply.

"Elsa."

Again nothing.

Slowly he approached her afraid of what he might discover. The scissors were still clutched in her hand and he took them out of her grasp and threw them out of reach across the floor.

"Elsa."

He gently stroked her hair. She looked as though she was sleeping. He wanted to wake her softly. Slowly he turned her over. Her eyes were open. A purple bruise was already forming on her forehead. When he touched it, it felt spongy, almost as if there was no bone beneath it.