Milton grinned. “Would have been too dark to paint, Rowly.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“It’s a bit of a distance from the lakehouse.” Rowland glanced at his watch. It had taken them twenty minutes to drive there. “Bothwell was on foot…It would have taken him rather more than an hour to walk. There’re plenty of places near the house…Why would he come here?”
“The boy scouts, or whatever they were, who found him…” Milton started casting his eyes about for a walking track. “Where exactly did they see him?”
“The Hitler Youth. I’m not sure. The statements say they were hiking around the lake and they came across a man’s body floating face-down somewhere here.”
Milton shook his head. “Poor little blighters…probably scared them senseless.”
“To be honest,” said Rowland, recalling the witness statements from the children, “they seemed to find it more exciting than anything else. They assumed the corpse had been with the Gemeinschaft der Eigenen. They were less than sympathetic, to tell you the truth.”
“The Gemein-what?”
Rowland shifted uncomfortably. “Gemeinschaft der Eigenen. It’s a men’s movement—rather popular in the twenties, though not so much now. They like to think they’re Spartan warriors.”
“And what does that entail, exactly?”
“Well, as far as I can tell, they’re rather keen on each other, and they run around the mountains naked, singing songs and being men.”
“Sounds cold.”
“Yes…very.”
“Poor Bothwell. Kind of an ignoble end.”
Rowland nodded. It was. He wondered if Bothwell’s wife and boys would ever see the police report. If nothing else, that was a reason to find out what really happened.
“You! What is your business here?” The shout was in Bavarian but both Rowland and Milton turned towards it. At first they saw only one large man striding over from where they’d parked the car. And then five others joined him. They wore the brown-shirted uniforms of Nazi Stormtroopers—the SA.
Rowland was wary. It appeared they had been followed from Berg. The SA were brutish thugs, swelled with a sense of their own importance into bloated, volatile bullies.
“We are enjoying a view of the Starnberger See, mein Herr,” he said calmly.
The Stormtroopers stood before them now. Their leader looked hard at Milton, lower jaw thrust out so that his chin protruded just a little from the fleshy flaps of his jowls. “Who are you?”
“Mr. Greenway is an Australian,” Rowland said quickly. “He does not speak German. I am Robert Negus, also from Australia.”
“Australia…never heard of it!” The Stormtroopers seemed to think that was funny.
Rowland said nothing, though he was becoming irritated.
“What is your business here?” The question was sharper now, a threat.
“We are taking in the view,” Rowland repeated evenly.
“We do not like the look of you.”
“We don’t think you’re very pretty either.”
One of the Brownshirts laughed. The troop leader pushed Rowland backwards.
“Hey!” Milton flared, lunging for the man. The Brownshirt reacted quickly, pulling a truncheon from his belt and clouting Milton across the head. The poet stumbled, dazed.
“Stop!” Rowland reached out and grabbed the upraised arm before the truncheon could fall again. The other Brownshirts had now also pulled out their truncheons. “Would you like to see our papers, gentlemen?” Rowland forced deference. The Stormtroopers were spoiling for a fight and he and Milton were grossly outnumbered.
The Brownshirt pulled back. He smiled faintly. “Yes.”
Rowland reached inside his jacket.
The truncheon came down on his shoulder, so hard that he fell to his knees.
“Rowly!” Milton forgot himself.
“Albert,” Rowland said pointedly, through gritted teeth. “I’m all right.”
The SA leader took the papers clutched in his hand and glanced at them. “I’m sorry, Herr Negus,” he sneered, tossing them onto the ground before Rowland. “I thought you were reaching for a weapon.”
The Stormtroopers circled them. Still on his knees, Rowland cursed quietly in English. “Entirely understandable, mein Herr.” His voice was furious though his words spoke of retreat.
For a while there was nothing but smirking silence and then the Brownshirt leader laughed. His comrades followed suit. “Enjoy your view, then, Herr Negus.” He clicked his heels and raised his arm in the fascist salute. “Heil Hitler!” He looked at them expectantly.
“I’m afraid I can’t raise my arm,” Rowland said tightly.
The man rolled the truncheon slowly in his hands.
Milton raised his arm. “Heil Hitler!” he said loudly.
The Stormtroopers waited tensely for their leader’s cue. Rowland braced for another attack and Milton’s dark eyes glittered murderously as he held the Nazi salute.
The fat Brownshirt smiled slowly and turned away, stepping on Rowland’s papers as he went.
The household was at breakfast when they returned, the table laden with pancakes and sausages and the dining room warm with the smell of fried potatoes and baking. Frau Engels, by the absence of her horse, seemed to have cooked and run.
“Oh, my God, what happened?” Edna gasped, jumping up from her seat on sight of them.
Despite the bloody gash above his right ear, Milton had managed to drive them back. Rowland was still not sure whether his shoulder was broken. Lowering himself gingerly into a chair, Milton told Edna and Clyde what had happened, while Rowland gave Eva an edited version in German.
Breakfast was forgotten. Clyde rummaged through the kitchen for some kind of first-aid kit. Among boxes of soap flakes and a bottle of kerosene, he found a basket containing iodine, various ointments, and gauze bandages.
Edna helped Rowland remove his jacket while Clyde dealt with Milton’s head, using warm water and iodine.
“I don’t understand,” Eva lamented. “Why would the SA take issue with you and Herr Greenway?”
“They might have been put out that we ploughed through them in Berg,” Rowland said, first in German and then English. “Perhaps they followed us.”
Edna unbuttoned Rowland’s shirt and gently slid it down so that they could have a look at his shoulder. It was already badly bruised, but the skin was not broken.
“We should call a doctor,” she said, touching the area tenderly.
“Let’s not.” Rowland bit his lip and moved his arm. It was painful but not impossible and he could move his fingers now. “I don’t think it’s broken—just bruised.”
“Shouldn’t we at least call the police?”
“To make a complaint about the SA? I don’t think it would be a particularly good idea…”
“I’ll fetch some ice for your shoulder,” Edna sighed. “There’s an ice box on the back porch.”
“I’d rather you put it in a drink.”
“I’ll second that,” Milton said, pulling away from Clyde’s ministrations.
Eva came closer as Edna left to find ice, staring at Rowland’s shoulder in a way that made him feel quite naked. She put her hand to the scar on his upper arm. “What is that symbol, Herr Negus?” she asked. “The cat’s eye…is it some fraternity?”
She seemed almost frightened now.
Rowland was bewildered. He translated for Clyde and Milton in the hope they could work out what she was talking about, and, grimacing, shifted his arm to look at the scar.
Clyde laughed suddenly. “It does look like an eye.”
Rowland smiled and tried to explain to Eva that it wasn’t some bizarre brand. He ran his finger around the shape that Eva thought was an eye. “I’m afraid that
’s the impression left by Fräulein Greenway’s teeth.”
Apparently, though he was speaking German, Clyde and Milton could guess what he was saying. They were both laughing loudly now.
“Why would she bite you?” Eva asked horrified.
“She was trying to help.” Rowland repeated the statement in English in the hope Clyde and Milton would stop laughing. Edna was still very sensitive about the incident which had occurred a world away from Munich and the excesses of the SA.
“Like when she shot you?” Clyde grinned.
“I don’t think you’ll survive much more of her help,” Milton added.
Rowland elected not to translate, as Eva was clearly alarmed. Indeed, when Edna did return with the ice and an ice-pick still in her hand, the poor girl stepped hastily out of reach. Milton hooted gleefully, and Edna demanded to know what the matter was.
It was into this that Frau Engels walked with the boxes of groceries for which she had gone into Berg. The housekeeper added her voice to the mêlée of laughter and teasing and explanation and it was some minutes before there was any coherence at all in the room.
Finally, somehow, Rowland managed to convince Eva that Edna was not dangerous, and explain to Frau Engels what had happened to injure him and Milton. She had seen the SA in Berg and had much of her own to add on the subject.
Edna remembered then to tell them that Richter had called and that he would be joining them for luncheon, which was why Frau Engels had gone to Berg for supplies.
Frau Engels gave Rowland the same message in Bavarian, with an announcement of the menu which she would serve for luncheon as well as a description of how she would prepare it. All this as she fussed over their injuries and called on the good Lord to do something about the SA, who, it seemed, were throwing their weight about in Berg.
Eventually, Rowland decided that he’d best change, so that Richter didn’t think he’d opened his house to street brawlers.
Edna’s brow furrowed with concern, as he stood to go with a cloth packed with ice still pressed to his shoulder. “Do you need any help?”
That was too much for Milton.
Chapter Fifteen
CHALLENGE
TO PARIS
As World Fashion Centre
GERMAN HOPE
LONDON
One of the most interesting manifestations of the present Nazi regime in Germany is the formation of an official fashion bureau under the personal direction of the wife of the Minister of Propaganda.
Under her direction, Germany will make an organised attempt to capture world fashion supremacy, and usurp the position of France as the present dictator of women’s modes.
—The Australian Women’s Weekly, 1933
Alois Richter arrived just after midday in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. He was dressed in a light pinstriped suit, complete with spats, and had swapped his fez for a green Austrian felt hat with a large red ostrich plume in its band. Stasi was, as usual, in the tailor’s arms.
“Miss Greenway,” he said, craning his neck to kiss Edna on both cheeks over the top of his dog, “you look truly enchanting, my dear. My little country house suits you, I think.”
“It is lovely, Mr. Richter.” Edna took Stasi, who, according to Richer, was very excited to see her. “We are so very grateful for your hospitality.”
“How good to see you again, Mr. Negus.” Richter took Rowland’s hand in both of his and shook it, warmly and vigorously. Rowland winced. “What is the matter Mr. Negus?” Richter asked, still shaking. “Are you unwell?”
“Not at all, Mr. Richter,” Rowland replied, forcing himself not to pull his hand away. “I’ve injured my shoulder slightly.”
Richter released Rowland. “Eha, my dear Mr. Negus. How terrible. What have you been doing? Have you seen a physician?”
“No, sir. It’s just a bruise, really. Shall we go in? Mrs. Engels has prepared a veritable feast in your honour.”
“Naturally, naturally.”
They escorted Richter into the house, where Clyde and Milton waited with Eva. The tailor was delighted by the addition to their party and welcomed Eva in German. Noting the blackening bruise on Milton’s face, he frowned. “You, too, are injured, Mr. Greenway. What have you and Mr. Negus been doing?”
“We had a rather unpleasant encounter with the SA,” Milton said, as he poured drinks.
Richter sat down, sighing heavily. “I wish I could say that it shocks me,” he said. “But it does not. You are not the first to have been innocent victims of those thugs. They wander the streets like schoolyard bullies. My good friend Franz was waylaid once because they didn’t like his hat!”
Rowland couldn’t help glancing at Richter’s rather elaborate headgear. “They were here promoting some sort of book-burning in Munich.”
Richter nodded. “I have seen the invitations. Please God, it will rain! But if not, they will burn the books.”
“Which books, Mr. Richter?” asked Edna. “What could possibly be so frightening about a book that one would need to burn it?”
“Books are powerful items, Miss Greenway,” Richter replied. “But this is more to do with public performance…the Nazis know how to put on a show.”
Eva leaned over to Rowland. “What are they saying, Herr Negus?”
Reminded suddenly that Eva could not understand English, Rowland started to explain. “It’s politics really—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eva interrupted. “Should I leave?”
“Leave?” Rowland looked at her, perplexed. “Of course not.”
“I cannot understand what they are saying,” she assured him.
“Which is why I was trying to translate,” said Rowland.
Eva shook her head. “It has nothing to do with me,” she said. “It is not becoming for a woman to interfere in the affairs of men.” She stood before he could say anymore and, addressing them all, took her leave. “Entschuldigung sie mir, bitte. I shall see if Frau Engels would like help.”
Rowland stared after her, a little stunned. It was a bizarrely archaic attitude to be held so determinedly by someone as young and otherwise uninhibited as Eva.
Richter was describing the pageantry of the rallies the Nazi Party held in the town of Nuremberg and had the complete attention of Edna and Milton. It was Clyde who noticed the abruptness of Eva’s exit and the expression on Rowland’s face.
“What’s wrong with Eva?” he asked quietly.
Rowland shook his head. “She seems to think it’s unladylike to discuss politics.”
Clyde smiled. “Is that all?”
“Rather old-fashioned, don’t you think?”
“Some would say well bred.”
“I’d say it’s a bit daft.”
“That’s just the company you’ve been keeping, mate.” Clyde glanced at Edna. “You’re beginning to believe it’s the normal state of affairs.” He paused. “Have you ever heard your brother’s wife discussing politics?”
Rowland had to admit that Clyde had a point. Kate Sinclair’s only political utterances were to concur with her husband’s, and even that was done with softly spoken deference. On the other hand, he didn’t think Kate Sinclair would sunbathe naked, either. Eva was intriguingly contradictory.
Richter had now moved back to their encounter with the SA, asking for details of the incident. Milton answered but he was vague in some respects. Rowland suspected that being forced to use the Nazi salute was more deeply humiliating to the poet than he had let on. He flexed the fingers of his right hand tentatively, aware that things might have become a great deal worse had Milton not submitted.
“You cannot intend to return to the Vier Jahreszeiten,” Richter exclaimed. “It is crawling with Stormtroopers…in their ugly, badly styled brown shirts. No!” He slapped his thigh to emphasise the point. “You must all stay with me…you tell your business as
sociates to find you in Schellingstrasse.”
“We couldn’t—” Rowland began.
Richter’s face softened. “I would like the company. It would be my last gift to Peter to have you, his relative, in my home.”
Rowland groaned inwardly, reluctant to accept the hospitality of a man they were deceiving.
Edna interjected. “Of course we’ll stay with you, Mr. Richter. Robbie can let his business colleagues know where he may be reached.” She leaned forward and rubbed his hand warmly. “It’s lovely of you to extend such a kind invitation again.”
In his joy, Richter lapsed into German. “Das ist wunderbar, wunderbar!”
Clyde turned to Rowland with a silent question.
Rowland shrugged, resigned. “The lady has spoken.”
Following a luncheon of several courses, they drank coffee in the parlour, while Richter told them of King Ludwig of Bavaria, who had also drowned in the lake. Rowland did his best to bring Eva into the English conversation, translating everything and encouraging her to talk, but she remained quiet and reserved.
“I’m going to take a walk,” he said standing. “Would you care to come, Fräulein Eva?” Perhaps a conversation in German would lift her spirits.
Richter smiled knowingly, and winked at Rowland.
The others did not react unduly. They, too, had noticed that the girl had become withdrawn. It was probably time Rowland paid her some attention. He had, after all, invited her.
Eva put on her hat hurriedly and accompanied him out. They took a path lined with wildflowers towards the lake’s edge. The late afternoon sun was warm and mellow. Rowland offered Eva his left arm as any movement of his right was still painful.
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