The maestro stood taller and bowed his head in thanks before glancing at Ursula. “You are aware, Herr Hitler, that Fräulein Becker sang the role of Gretl in the production that you attended.”
He nodded curtly. “I am aware, yes.”
“I am sure that you would agree that she did an outstanding job in the role.”
“She was enjoyable, to be sure.”
It wasn’t his words. It was the manner in which he’d stated them that made Ursula’s blood rise. She had received nothing but positive reviews regarding her performance, both in person and in print. To be receiving a mediocre report from an egotistical Anglophile was an affront.
“Well, Herr Hitler, I am so sorry to hear that you had to suffer through my performance.”
Willy turned to her with a playful glint in his eyes. “Are you aware that your eyes take on a deeper hue of brown when you’re angry, Fräulein? They are quite off-putting, if I may say so. I certainly did not mean to offend. You should understand, I detest the opera. I attend only because my uncle insists that I gain more culture in my life. You were exquisite, but you see, your grandeur was lost on this ignorant troglodyte.”
Ursula tried not to smile but lost the battle. She burst out laughing.
“My God, but you’re beautiful,” Willy said.
She brought her hand to her mouth and blushed. “And you are quite forward, Herr Hitler. I’m sure that my father would not approve.”
The maestro, fearing that his presence had been forgotten, shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. Willy tore his gaze from Ursula. “Forgive me, Maestro, but I must take my leave. Again, it was a pleasure to meet you. Both of you.” Willy turned to Ursula and took her hand. “If I promise to behave, may I present myself to your father so that you and I might dine together this evening?”
Ursula knew that she should say no. Warning bells rang in her head about this suave man who had inadvertently insulted not only her singing, but her chosen profession as well. As a performer, Ursula possessed a vivid imagination, and there was no way the situation ended well in any version of events. But before her brain could fully process a response, her mouth spoke.
“Yes. That would be lovely.”
“Splendid. I shall pick you up at, say, six? That will give me enough time.”
“Enough time for what?”
Willy smiled and Ursula felt her pulse quicken. “To persuade your father that I’m not the cad you will make me out to be upon your arrival home.”
Ursula had never met anyone so brash in his speech. No German man would utter such nonsense and expect the date to occur. And yet, somehow, the confidence fit him, this nephew of the one and only Führer.
5
“A date, Ursula? You have finally secured a date?” Otto shook his head, then looked up and raised his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Mein Gott, you are truly up there. My daughter has a real date.”
“Papa, please.” Ursula rolled her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Otto’s waist and lay her head against his barrel chest. He responded by kissing the top of her head and enclosing her in one of his bear hugs. She smiled as she took in his scent, then sighed in contentment. Not one moment was taken for granted since Otto had come so close to death several years ago. When Ursula had turned Doctor Brandt away at the door, Otto’s health had steadily declined until she had insisted that he see someone. Although many of the best physicians had left Berlin in search of a stable political climate, Ursula had managed a barter agreement. In exchange for doing his family’s washing for one month, Dr. Gottlieb had agreed to see Otto. He could do nothing about the bullet lodged against his spine but had diagnosed Otto with high blood pressure and a severe lung infection.
In confidence, Dr. Gottlieb had told Ursula that the illness was well-advanced and would most likely worsen. In Otto’s presence, however, the doctor was more positive. He had instructed Otto to lower his stress level and had prescribed strong herbal tea to aid healing. Over the next six months, Otto had meticulously followed the doctor’s orders and his health had slowly improved. He now coughed only intermittently and had been able to do sporadic jobs that boosted his pride and contributed to the family budget. He had lost most of his hair during his recovery, however, and blamed it on the tea. But he was grateful to be alive, and his only wish, which he voiced every chance he could, was to see his two girls grown and happily married.
“Yes, I have a date. But I’ve told you many times, Papa. I do not need another man in my life. You are most important, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Besides, we’re more financially sound now. I don’t want you to worry about me.”
Otto glanced at Anna and sighed. “And what of your sister if something happens to me, Ursula? She’s only eighteen years old. How would you manage then? You wouldn’t have a life of your own.”
Ursula reached up and took Otto’s face in her delicate hands. “Papa, Dr. Gottlieb told you not to worry. I’m also telling you not to worry. Nothing will happen to you. And if it did, I’m very capable of taking care of Anna. My goodness, she is almost grown. Before you know it, she’ll be playing in the orchestra. Another well-paid musician in your house.” Ursula smiled proudly.
“Things can change quickly, Ursula. Look at what’s been happening to the Jews in the city. Herr Kravitz’s shop windows were broken. He was dragged into the street and beaten in front of his own family. Trust me when I say that things will get worse before they get better.”
“Papa, I’m sorry for the Kravitz family, but the fact is that we need to care for our own family. Right now, we’re doing well. Please, just be happy with that. You speak often of the plight of the Jews. Again, I ask you, what concern is that of ours?”
“It matters because they’re human beings and aren’t being treated as such. It matters because, well . . .” Otto paused and examined his hands. “I just want to ensure your safety and security, whatever it takes.” A soft knock sounded.
Ursula grinned and jumped up. “Your speech will have to wait, Papa. How do I look?” She touched her hair and smoothed the skirt of her flower-print dress.
Otto raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care how you look for your date if I’m the most important man in your life, dear daughter?”
Ursula narrowed her eyes and twisted her mouth into a grin as Anna crossed to the door. When she opened it, Willy touched the brim of his hat and beamed at Ursula. He removed his fedora, then inclined his head politely toward Otto. “Herr Becker, it’s my honor to make your acquaintance.” Turning toward Anna, he said, “I assume this beauty standing before me is your sister?” Anna giggled and ran into the bedroom, closing the door quickly behind her.
Otto stood at his full six-foot-two frame and nodded once. Walking quickly forward, he gripped Willy’s hand. “So, you are the young gentleman who has my Ursula tying herself in knots.”
“Papa!” Ursula bit her lip and stood next to Otto.
“In all of her excitement, she has told me little about you. I know you only as Willy, the man she met at rehearsal. Come, sit, and tell me about yourself.”
Ursula drew a quick breath. “Papa, we have a reservation . . .”
Otto glared at her. “The young man can take a moment to tell me what he does for a living and what his future plans are.”
Ursula offered Willy a tight smile and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. Willy sat and cleared his throat, turning his fedora round and round in his hands. Otto sat heavily in the chair opposite him.
“Well, sir, I grew up in England. I’m currently employed at the Reichskreditbank.”
“In what position?”
“Assistant manager.”
“I see. A fine position. Do you anticipate advancement at the bank?”
Willy smiled. “I do, as the current manager will be. . . retiring soon.”
Otto paused and leaned back. “I know Herr
Bronstein. He is in his forties, yet he is retiring?”
Willy glanced nervously at Ursula before responding. “That’s my understanding, Herr Becker. He is a . . . he is . . .”
Otto nodded and slowly leaned forward in his chair, carefully placing his large palms on the table. “Son, you’re clearly taken with my Ursula. But, more importantly to me, she is taken with you. So, I could sit with you all evening and converse, but I really need to know only one thing.”
Willy’s gaze intensified to match Otto’s. “Yes?”
Ursula knew that her father would choose his next words carefully. Having already lived through one war, he understood that he must be perceived as loyal to the current president, or risk losing everything.
“I, of course, support our Führer’s decisions. Do you support his regime as well?”
By using the word “regime,” Otto was implying a dictatorship without stating it outright. Willy immediately recognized the verbiage that Otto had employed and responded in kind.
“I, too, support the Führer’s . . . reign and wish him only the best. I recognize that my advancement at the bank will be due to another’s loss, and I feel genuine sadness at that. However, I’m also a practical person and understand that if I intend to support a wife and family, I must use the advantages that are presented to me.”
He held Otto’s gaze as he spoke. Ursula understood that Willy would be leaving soon, either with her on his arm or alone.
She glanced nervously from one man to the other and watched Otto consider Willy’s words. After an interminable length of time, she pursed her lips and cleared her throat.
“Papa, may we leave now?”
Otto squinted at Willy for another moment before responding, “Yes. You may.” Relief melted the tension in her shoulders. “I believe you’ve found a fine young man here, my dear.”
Ursula glanced at Willy and then at the ground, knowing what was still to come. But maybe, just maybe, we can exit the apartment before Papa remembers to ask Willy about—
“I haven’t asked you your full name, young man. I know you only as Willy.”
Otto stood and shook Willy’s hand as they crossed to the door. Willy nodded once and met Otto’s eyes.
“It’s Hitler, Herr Becker. My full name is William Patrick Hitler.”
Otto paused and glanced at Ursula, whose heart hammered in her chest. Otto’s eyebrows drew together, and he inhaled deeply. Ursula steeled herself for the angry bellow she was certain would emerge. To her complete astonishment, Otto guffawed and slapped Willy on the back. “I see that you have found a man with a good sense of humor! Yes, you are Willy Hitler, and I am Franz von Papen!” Otto roared with laughter as he ushered the young couple out of the apartment and closed the door.
Stunned, Willy and Ursula stood outside the apartment door listening to Otto’s laughter fade. Ursula’s wide eyes searched Willy’s face, for what she didn’t know.
“Should we go back inside and tell him?” Willy asked.
Ursula shook her head. “You did tell him.”
“Yes, but he thinks I’m joking.”
Ursula thought a moment, torn between loyalty to her father and her desire to spend time with Willy. The last words Otto had spoken prior to Willy’s arrival rushed back to her. “I just want to ensure your safety and security, whatever it takes.” She genuinely hoped that he meant it.
“I think we should have an enjoyable evening and deal with Papa afterwards. Or, better yet, another day.”
Willy raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”
6
Willy and Ursula walked along Wilmersdorfer Strasse until they came upon the Kurpfalz-Weinstuben, a restaurant that had recently debuted to stupendous reviews from the Berlin elite. One needed to have either a lot of money or a lot of clout to secure a table, so Ursula was surprised when Willy stopped in front of the entrance.
“I thought only high-ranking officers and the inner circle to the Führer dined here.”
“It’s true,” Willy agreed.
“In which of those two categories do you fall, Herr Hitler?”
He shook his head. “Neither.”
“So how is it that you obtained a reservation?”
Willy smiled. “You’ll see. After you, please.”
Ursula entered the courtyard and was quickly approached by a fawning maitre’d. “Fräulein Becker, when your companion called to say that you would like to dine here this evening, I was simply overcome. Overcome, I tell you!”
Ursula offered him a tentative smile. “Why were you overcome?”
The maitre’d drew his left hand to his chest. “Darling, your Elsa was impeccable! Exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. How anyone cannot love Wagner’s Lohengrin is simply beyond me, but you, my dear, you brought Elsa to life as never before! Where are my manners? Please sit. I offer you our best table, outside under the linden tree.” He pulled out her chair. “I’ve prepared our best meal for your arrival, the chef’s Pfalz Platt, a trio of spicy stuffed pig’s stomach, liver dumplings, and bratwurst served with roasted potatoes and red cabbage. In addition, our sommelier has paired your meal with a succulent Alsatian pinot noir. Light and fruity. I do hope that it will be to your liking!”
With a rousing hand flourish, he was gone. Confused, Ursula faced Willy, who gazed at her evenly. She looked away and then back again. “You secured a reservation here by using my name?”
Willy smiled. “I don’t think you understand the depth of feeling you produce in your audience when you sing. You have many, many fans.”
She tilted her head. “Yet, you are not among them.”
Willy reached across the table and took her slender fingers in his. “Perhaps I have not been clear, Fräulein Becker. I’m a great fan of you, just not of your singing.”
Ursula withdrew her hand. “You are quite a talker, Herr Hitler, but you need to understand that when you are an artist, it is not what you do, but rather who you are. My art comes from the inside, like a painter or a poet. Therefore, when you disparage my art, you are, by default, disparaging me and who I am.” They locked eyes over the gauntlet that Ursula had thrown.
Willy inhaled deeply. “Then I suppose I love the opera.”
Ursula smirked, wary of his newfound enthusiasm. “We shall see, Herr Hitler. Perhaps you might attend the opening of Die Walküre this Friday evening?”
“Nothing would give me greater joy.”
Ursula laughed. “In addition to being quite dashing, you are an able liar. I’ll need to remember that. But I do appreciate that you’re making an effort.”
The sommelier approached and poured each of them a generous portion of wine. Ursula looked at Willy, who wore a sly grin. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because you think I’m dashing.”
Ursula sat back in her chair and shook her head. “You are incorrigible.”
“I am not. I am very corrigible, actually.”
Their meals arrived and, true to the maitre’d’s word, they were impeccably plated and incredibly flavorful. At home, she and Anna prepared simple meals, not only because of their budget, but because neither enjoyed cooking. Ursula finished her entire platter of food and then commented on the variety of flavors.
Willy smiled. “Do you not prepare meals such as this at home?”
She thought he was joking and then realized he wasn’t. “Do you eat like this at your home?”
Willy paused.
“Of course. You are lodged with your uncle, who eats only the finest foods prepared by skilled hands, I’m sure.”
Willy touched his napkin to his mouth. “My uncle eats vegetables, Ursula. No meats. He does like spicy foods, although they do not agree with his . . . delicate intestinal nature.”
“That’s unfortunate for him.”
“Fo
r all of us.” He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, silently asking if she understood his implication.
Fork still in hand, Ursula covered her mouth and laughed loudly. She leaned forward and whispered, “That is something I believe most Germans don’t know about their president,” before breaking into giggles once more.
They ordered dessert, and Willy said, “I do need to ask you about my uncle, Ursula.”
“What of him?”
“He didn’t seem pleased that you and I were dining together this evening. I think he would have preferred it were him sitting here instead of me.”
Ursula stared at Willy. After refusing Dr. Brandt’s medical visit several years ago, the Führer had extended at least four dinner invitations that she had declined. Her reasons were always valid—an upcoming performance, an illness, a prior engagement—and she’d hoped that the Führer would forget about her. She thought her plan was succeeding. But several months ago, she’d been asked to attend an event for generous opera donors. When she’d entered the reception hall there was a table set for two, and Adolf Hitler stood to greet her. Seeing no reasonable way out of the awkward situation, she had dined with him. He was attentive and polite, if not a little too intimate with his gestures and speech. After an hour, she thanked him and excused herself. She hadn’t told her father of the encounter and silently vowed she would avoid future interactions. Since the dinner, she’d heard nothing from him. She hoped that he had moved on from his obvious infatuation. And perhaps he might have, if Willy hadn’t entered her life.
“Ursula?” She met his eyes and he smiled. “The Führer thinks very highly of you.”
Ursula dropped her gaze to the pavement and examined an ant making its way across the cobblestones with a large crumb in its pincers. Her hands wrung the cloth napkin that lay across her lap. “That is kind.”
“It might be a good idea for your career if you were to spend some time with him.”
Swan Song Page 4