I was shocked. Was she really saying that Germany intended to invade Britain? Had she overheard something and given the game away? Or had she just been taken in by idle chatter? Xanthe was as stupid as ever and could have easily misunderstood von Klausen and his friends. But, at the same time, I knew that von Klausen wasn’t stupid, he was just vile and he was dominating my sister. I had to try again to persuade her to come home.
‘Are you happy here, Xanthe?’ I asked. ‘In this silly little house with these dreadful clothes? Don’t you miss London? Tea at the Ritz and dancing at the Café de Paris?’
For a moment, I thought I saw a faraway glint in her eye, as she remembered the fun she used to have, but then there was a rap at the door and Wolf walked in.
‘Ready, ladies?’
The picnic was held in a clearing on the edge of the Grünewald Forest, a twenty-minute drive from Xanthe’s house. Von Klausen had dismissed his driver for the day and had taken the wheel of the big Mercedes himself. I was invited to sit beside him on the way there, with Xanthe relegated to the back seat.
‘I understand you had an adventure in Spain,’ he said. He drove very fast and I watched the road ahead in some trepidation. ‘I saw an account, last year.’
‘Spain?’ said Xanthe. ‘Did you go to Spain? How lovely. Although it’s not as smart as Monte, people tell me there are some very nice places.’
‘Be quiet, Xanthe.’ Von Klausen frowned at her in the driving mirror.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered and I turned my head to look at her. She had curled up in the corner of the back seat and refused to meet my eye.
‘Yes,’ von Klausen continued. ‘You and Mr Bradford had some narrow escapes, it would seem.’
‘We did,’ I agreed. ‘Charlie was wounded and then he got malaria. It was bad for a while.’
‘But you had help, I believe. Mr Bradford mentioned “another” in his article. I would very much like to know who helped you.’
I laughed. ‘I’m a journalist, Major. We don’t disclose our sources, or those who might be put in danger. So, I can’t tell you.’
‘Would he be in danger?’
‘He?’ I wanted to spread some confusion. ‘Did I say it was a man?’ I could feel von Klausen’s body twitching. He wasn’t used to having a request refused; especially, I guessed, by a woman. But he barked a laugh.
‘Still as independent as ever, eh, Fräulein Seffy?’
‘I hope so,’ I said, and smiled.
The picnic was in full swing when we arrived. The setting was perfect, a cleared area beside the lake, with beech trees and dense green conifers as a background. I could see an open cooking area to one side, where puffs of white steam rose from large pans into the bright summer sky. The smell of smoked sausage accompanied the steam, and looking around, I saw people at trestle tables tucking in to platefuls of those same sausages with lashings of mustard and chunks of bread.
A stage had been erected in the middle of the clearing and when we got out of the car, eight couples, the girls in outfits not dissimilar to Xanthe’s and the men in leather shorts, climbed on to the stage and started to do a folk dance. Their dance included a lot of foot-stamping and the male dancers rhythmically slapping their naked thighs. I was fascinated and stopped to watch them. The music, which was blared around the area by loudspeakers, was provided by a band sitting under a canvas gazebo. The conductor kept looking over his shoulder to see who was walking across the clearing. Spotting von Klausen, he gave him a polite bow.
All around, people were sitting on the grass or at the trestles and there were smaller tables with parasols. ‘We will sit here’ – von Klausen indicated a small, empty table – ‘and we will have drinks. Beer, yes?’
‘I don’t like beer,’ Xanthe protested. ‘Isn’t there something else?’
‘No. You drink beer.’ Von Klausen nodded to a waitress, who went off and returned moments later with three large glasses of sparkling lager.
‘Prost!’ Von Klausen held up his glass and Xanthe and I did too.
‘Cheers!’ I said and took a sip. It was not unpleasant and even Xanthe took a small mouthful.
I had my camera in my bag and got it out. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ I said to von Klausen. ‘Photographs will make a brilliant accompaniment to my article.’
He frowned and for a few seconds I thought he would make some sort of objection, but then he nodded. ‘Yes, take photographs.’ I stood up and snapped the dancers and the people milling about. Beside the lake, pretty, well-washed children were standing in a group, listening to a man in a brown uniform. He seemed to be telling them about his organisation, because he kept pointing to the badges on his shirt. I didn’t think he was a Scout leader.
I wandered over and took some pictures of the children and then, turning round, took one of Xanthe and von Klausen sitting together.
‘You must send me a copy of that,’ Xanthe said happily. ‘I haven’t got any pictures of Wolfie and me.’
‘I can arrange to have them developed, if you give me the film,’ offered von Klausen. ‘No cost to you, of course.’
‘Well, not yet,’ I said. ‘I have more shots to take in Berlin. I have another few days here.’
A soldier appeared and, saluting Wolf, spoke to him in German. There was a short conversation and then von Klausen stood up. ‘Chief of Police Heydrich is arriving. I must go and greet him. If there is opportunity I will bring him over. You will behave correctly.’
Both Xanthe and I raised our eyebrows at that last remark and it was the first time I’d seen von Klausen even slightly embarrassed. He’d overstepped a mark and knew it.
‘But of course you will,’ he said, smiling. ‘You will excuse me.’
We watched him walk across the field nodding to people who half-bowed to him. I looked back at Xanthe, who was gazing at him, almost hypnotised.
‘What on earth do you see in him?’ I asked, genuinely puzzled. ‘He’s . . . scary.’
‘Oh, Seff,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t be so silly.’
I reached over and touched her hand. ‘Look, Xanthe, I want you to come home, now. It’s going to be dangerous for you to stay here and if you don’t come home you’ll be considered a traitor in England.’
She turned and stared at me. ‘By whom?’ she asked. ‘Communists, revolutionaries?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘By everyone except for those few halfwits you used to party with – and most of them have gone to America now. There was an article about you in the newspaper. And it wasn’t flattering.’
I thought I’d got through to her, because she looked genuinely concerned, but then she said, ‘I can’t go home,’ and looked down at her barely tasted beer. ‘Not yet, anyway. Wolf won’t let me.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I’m pregnant.’
‘What?’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she repeated. ‘And don’t you look at me like that, Seffy Blake. It’s only about a couple of years ago that you were too.’
I sat back and gaped at her. How the hell did she know? No one knew.
‘Bella Duncan told me,’ Xanthe said defensively. ‘The doctor at the hospital where you went is a friend of hers. He told her and she told me. So your little secret is out. Mine won’t be a secret. My child will be a proud son of the Fatherland. That’s what Wolf says.’
‘But he’s married,’ I snapped, furious with her and especially with the doctor at the private hospital. He would find a letter from my solicitor on his desk in the near future.
Xanthe scowled but I raged on. ‘He’s got a wife and children. You’re just a mistress and nobody will accept your child. No one, that is, in the society you mix in either here or at home.’
‘Wolf has daughters, he wants a son.’ Xanthe looked across the clearing to where von Klausen was standing with a group of other officers. ‘He’s going to divorce his wife, because he doesn’t need her money now.’
When I raised my eyebrows, taking in that last bit of information, she had
the grace to blush. ‘Christ!’ I exploded. ‘He’s got yours, hasn’t he?’
She shrugged while I simmered with rage. The bastard, the absolute bastard, I thought, and could barely contain my temper when he walked towards us with his group of officers.
‘Xanthe, Fräulein Seffy, may I present SS-Brigadeführer Heydrich.’
We stood up as a tall, severe-looking man stepped forward. He took off his cap and gallantly kissed Xanthe’s hand. I was astonished to see her curtsey and determined not to be so girlish when he took my hand. All I did was nod and say, ‘How d’you do?’
‘Fräulein Seffy is a journalist, sir,’ von Klausen murmured. ‘A foreign correspondent.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of you, Miss Blake,’ Heydrich said. ‘Von Klausen has pointed out your articles to me before. You are Mr Charles Bradford’s assistant, I believe.’
‘I am,’ I agreed.
‘And you two ladies are sisters.’ He looked from one to the other of us and his stiff white face relaxed into the semblance of a smile. ‘Not very alike in looks, but perhaps in convictions?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I was being foolishly bold. ‘I’m very proud to be British.’
There was a quick intake of breath from von Klausen and the little colour that he had dropped from his face, but Heydrich wasn’t fazed. He looked over his shoulder to the officers who had accompanied him and von Klausen. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘this lady is a nationalist. You, Ullmann, doubted that the English had this sentiment.’ The young officer to whom he’d spoken went pink and looked down at his gleaming boots. Heydrich turned back to me.
‘Quite right, Fräulein Blake. Love of one’s country is indeed something to be proud of. Even though that country is heading along a dangerous path.’
‘I think we must disagree on that subject, General,’ I said. My heart was thumping, but I was not going to show him that I was scared.
‘Of course.’ He turned to von Klausen. ‘If all the English are like Fräulein Blake our negotiations are going to be difficult. I think the word to describe her and perhaps her government is . . . stubborn?’
Von Klausen gave a strained laugh. ‘Yes, General.’ He started to steer Heydrich away but the general stopped and turned to look at me again. ‘You are perhaps related to the industrialist Blake?’
I nodded. ‘Sir Farnworth Blake is our father.’
‘And I believe that he has increased production at his mills recently. Is that not true?’
I shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know, General. I have no involvement in the family businesses. But, of course, all factories are increasing production. Both at home and here in Germany. I’ve seen many reports about your steel industry.’
Heydrich nodded slowly. ‘We have hard workers, dedicated to their party and their country.’
‘It’s a wonder,’ I said, ‘that you don’t run out of ore.’
‘Oh, we’re importing it from Sweden.’ Ullmann regretted those words almost before they were out of his mouth, as first von Klausen and then Heydrich gave him a horrified stare. The other officers slowly moved away from the unfortunate young man, who looked as if he wanted the earth to open and take him in.
‘Sweden?’ I smiled. ‘How very interesting.’
‘General,’ von Klausen turned to his superior officer. ‘The mayor would like to meet you.’
And as Heydrich turned away, von Klausen shot a poisonous look in my direction. He was furious and I was glad.
Xanthe sat down again while I took more photographs of Heydrich doing the rounds of the picnickers. Many people gave him the Nazi salute, civilians as well as military. Even the bandmaster, who paused the music to acknowledge the presence of this important man, stood straight and snapped out a stiff arm. To my eyes it looked almost like a joke, but I knew they were all deadly serious. ‘I’ve never met Heydrich before,’ said Xanthe, vaguely, watching as the dancers saluted. ‘I think he’s quite important.’
‘He is,’ I nodded. ‘Very.’
I kept my eyes on the general’s progress while Xanthe chattered inconsequentially in the background. At one point he was welcomed by three men who had just arrived. I knew one of them. He was a member of the House of Lords, and I swung my camera in that direction and took several snaps. Lowering it from my face I saw von Klausen looking directly at me.
I knew now that we had a short time left before Wolf returned and in those remaining minutes I sat down and begged Xanthe again to let me take her home. ‘Please, come back to London with me,’ I said. ‘You’ll be so much happier there. Even with a baby. I can help you.’
Xanthe gave a cruel little laugh. ‘What on earth d’you know about babies, Seff? You lost yours. I’ve kept mine.’
I turned my face away. How could I tell her about Marisol? I didn’t even want to think about my beautiful daughter in this dreadful place.
‘See,’ said Xanthe. ‘You have no answer.’
‘It might not be a boy. What will you do then?’
‘It will be,’ she laughed. ‘Wolf has said so.’
Von Klausen drove us back to the Hotel Adlon. ‘Come into the bar and have a drink with me,’ I suggested, desperate to have another go at Xanthe.
‘Oh, please let’s, Wolf,’ she begged. ‘I haven’t been here for ages.’
I knew he was going to refuse. He was clearly determined to keep her away from her old friends and I could see his head beginning to shake in refusal, so I acted quickly. I got out of my seat, went round to the rear door, opened it and grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, sis.’
Von Klausen had no choice but to accompany us, and he was clearly furious. My journalist friends were in the bar and they waved to me. The older man, who had written about Xanthe and the other English women in Germany, gave her a long, calculating stare and frowned at me. Wilf Cutler bounded over to greet us. ‘Seffy Blake,’ he boomed. ‘Now, who are these charming people that you have brought to entertain us this evening?’
I introduced Xanthe and von Klausen and they were immediately surrounded by eager hacks. It wasn’t often that they got to speak to a Nazi officer who was so close to the centre of power. I thought it would only increase his anger, and that notion pleased me, but I was wrong. He turned on the charm and seemed to enjoy sparring with the reporters.
Xanthe was more animated than I’d seen her all day. With a vodka cocktail in her hand, she fluttered her eyelashes and laughed happily in the middle of the crush of reporters. ‘She’s stunning,’ bellowed Wilf. ‘How have I missed this filly?’
I laughed. ‘Don’t think you’ve much chance there,’ I murmured. ‘She’s obsessed by von Klausen.’
‘Silly girl,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to get her out.’
‘I know,’ I answered. ‘I am trying.’
I did have another chance to talk to her. Someone knocked the drink she was holding and it spilt down her peasant blouse. ‘Oh,’ she giggled, looking down. ‘You can see right through it.’
‘Come to my room,’ I insisted. ‘I’ll dry you off and give you another shirt.’ Von Klausen was bobbing up and down amongst the reporters, shaking his head at Xanthe, but she had her back to him and followed me to the lift without protest.
‘Here,’ I said, taking a clean silk blouse out of the drawer. ‘Take that ghastly thing off.’ As she stripped to her underwear I was astonished to see a yellowing bruise on her ribs and the evidence of fingermarks on her upper arm. Someone had grabbed her hard, so hard that at one point a small scab showed where fingernails had broken the skin. I knew exactly who it was.
‘Oh, Xanthe,’ I said. ‘What has he done to you?’
‘It was a mistake,’ she said quickly. ‘He was angry because I’d taken a taxi into the city without telling him. He was so nice about it afterwards.’
‘D’you have to ask permission?’
‘No. Well, not really. It’s just that . . .’
‘That you’re scared of what might happen if you don’t.’
She didn’t answer, but looked fo
r make-up on my dressing table. ‘You haven’t got much nice stuff,’ she grumbled. ‘Have you any scent?’
‘Where’s your passport?’ I asked.
She shrugged, dipping her fingers into my pot of cream and rubbing a generous dollop over her little hands. ‘I’m not sure. Wolf’s got it.’
‘Xanthe,’ I demanded. ‘Get it back from him, as soon as you can. It’ll be somewhere in the house. Look for it when he’s out.’
‘He’s going away next week for a few days. He has to organise something that will happen at the end of August. I heard him on the phone talking about somewhere called Gleiwitz.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘I don’t know.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go back downstairs. I want another drink.’
I reached in my bag and took out some money. ‘Here,’ I said, pushing the notes into her hand.
She was delighted. ‘Oh, Seffy. Thank you. It’s ages since I had any money.’ To my amazement she lifted her skirt and pushed the notes into her knickers. ‘Don’t say anything.’ She winked, her cheeks pink. ‘Wolf says I don’t know how to handle money.’
They left soon after, von Klausen bowing smartly to the group and kissing my hand. Xanthe hugged me, ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in my ear, ‘for the money and for talking to me. Come and see me again, please.’
I took a taxi to her house the very next day but she wasn’t there. ‘Fräulein Xanthe gone,’ said the housemaid who answered my knock.
‘Where?’ I demanded.
She shook her head and with a nervous smile shut the door in my face.
Chapter Twenty-One
I SPENT THE rest of the morning back in the city centre, taking photographs. There was evidence everywhere that the German people were preparing for war, just as I’d seen in London. An arrow on the Underground station pointed to the word LUFTSCHUTZBUNKER, an air-raid shelter, and in the park trenches were being dug. No matter what negotiations were taking place, I knew that the Nazi government wanted war.
As I wandered past the Kaiserhof hotel, a policeman held up his arm and I, like the other pedestrians, waited on the pavement while a small fleet of black Mercedes cars discharged groups of young officers at the entrance. They were laughing and joking, even punching each other on the arm, and I guessed that they were there for a party. In a moment another car arrived and from it emerged a bride and groom, she in a white satin dress and he in the black uniform of the SS.
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