Page 1 of Meet Me in Berlin

Chapter 1

Holly, Berlin

Then

Itilted my head as though it would give me a different perspective.

‘Does looking at it from that angle help?’

Startled, I turned in the direction of the British accent. The person sitting on the opposite end of the bench looked around my age, with cropped black hair, flawless brown skin, a playful half-smile and dark, soulful eyes. My face warmed. ‘Erm, maybe?’ I glanced back to the large canvas on the gallery wall. ‘I was trying to work out their relationship.’

‘Ah,’ the stranger said, her tall, thin body scooting across the bench. ‘It’s called Italia und Germania by Johann Friedrich Overbeck.’ She gestured to the artwork. ‘The woman on the left represents Italy, with the Italian landscape behind her, and the other represents Germany, with a medieval German city behind her. It’s a symbol of the connection between Northern and Southern Europe in the early 1800s.’

I raised my eyebrows, which the stranger – or gallery guide, I wasn’t sure which – took as an invitation to continue.

‘It’s from the romantic-religious movement founded by German artists. Nazarene art, it’s called.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Impressive.’ I pointed to the plaque below the painting. ‘You can read, too.’

Her face split into a grin and her dark eyes danced. ‘I can, yeah.’

That look made me want to melt right there in the Alte Nationalgalerie – a soft mess of liquified bones slowly oozing across the parquet floor. I’d be mistaken for a piece of contemporary art called Liquified by Lust or something equally wanky.

‘But I’m also studying art history at university,’ she continued, snapping me back to the conversation. ‘We’re doing nineteenth-century art this term.’ She leant closer. ‘I wouldn’t know any of that otherwise. I’m not a total smart-arse.’

My eyes drifted to her full, silky lips and I pictured them gliding across my collarbone. ‘I reckon you might be a bit of a smart-arse.’

She laughed – a rich, comforting sound that zapped the chill from the room. ‘My name’s Casey, by the way.’

I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. ‘I’m Holly.’

‘Holly,’ she said slowly, as though trying it out for future use. ‘That’s pretty. It suits you.’

The flush in my cheeks intensified, and I was grateful when Casey turned back to the painting.

‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘What were you trying to work out?’

I shifted my gaze to the artwork. ‘The intimacy between them; it’s tangible, like the connection isn’t about the countries. It’s so much more than that.’

‘Mmm. They’re definitely more than friends.’

‘Yeah. Like they want to kiss.’ I turned my attention to Casey. ‘Like they need to kiss.’

Her eyes met mine. ‘Or like they were lovers in the past and have met again after being apart for so long. It’s the pain of separation in their expressions.’

‘Oh,’ I breathed. ‘Yes. That.’

Casey gave a satisfied smile and gestured to the doorway. ‘Want me to take you around the gallery and show off more of my art knowledge? There’s an Aesthetics of Resistance exhibition on.’

I picked up my bag. ‘I have no idea what that means, but defo up for a tour guide.’

Casey hooked a small backpack over her shoulder and started walking. ‘You’re Australian, yeah?’

I fell into step beside her. ‘Yep. From Melbourne. And you’re a Londoner?’

Casey raised a surprised brow. ‘Very good. How’d you tell? Please don’t say EastEnders, otherwise I’m going to have to compare you to someone from Ramsay Street.’

I chuckled and shook my head. ‘No. British parents. My dad’s Welsh and my mum’s from London. She grew up in Wanstead.’

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