by Julie Thomas
Erik was watching them and something caused him to frown. Levi wondered momentarily about the Hauptmann’s sexuality.
‘Harro has the most amazing wife, her name is Libertas and her mother is the daughter of a Prussian prince. They live in Charlottenburg,’ Erik said, his enthusiasm for this couple plain to see.
Harro nodded. ‘You must come over for tea one night and bring Hauptmann Schneider. My wife works in film and we have a wonderful group who party with us regularly. You’d both be most welcome.’
Levi spent the rest of the day thinking about Hauptmann Harro Schulze-Boysen. He wasn’t sure why, but for the first time something had triggered his inbuilt sense of someone who shared his real feelings. There was something about the way the man made the salute, as if he detested doing it, something about his bearing. Could he be a potential ally? Could he be turned for the English? He was from an aristocratic family, Prussian, military, as was his wife, and Levi knew that many of them were less than happy with the Nazi regime and its hideous policies. But how to approach the matter? How to get him really talking about the war and gauge what his feelings were? He would press Erik, he decided, and express his eagerness to take up the offer of dinner at their Charlottenburg home.
‘Tell me about Schulze-Boysen,’ Levi said. Erik stirred and turned over to look at him. They were lying in Eric’s rumpled bed in his apartment.
‘What do you want to know?’ Eric asked.
‘How long have you known him?’
‘About a year. We were introduced by my cousin, Fredrick, he also works in that office, for Goering.’
‘He’s very smart.’
Erik nodded and smiled. ‘If you fancy him, you’re out of luck, he’s a ladies man.’
Levi looked at his lover and smiled back. There was something about the clear blue eyes and the blond hair. ‘Why would I fancy him? He’s too old for me.’
Erik laughed. ‘But he interests you. Why?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, maybe because he’s so smart. But I would like to take him up on that invitation, go over one night for tea.’
‘They have wonderful parties, drinking, dancing, and discussing politics. I’ll tell him we want to come.’
Levi nodded. ‘That would be excellent. Maybe I could play the piano for them and people could dance.’
Erik shook his head, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t know what to do with you, Werner, the things you do to avoid dancing.’
It had started out as a convenience, a way to information. He learned interesting insights into what Himmler was planning from Erik and passed them on to his handlers. He was using the young man for his own ends. But it warmed him to the core to be held by another on cold nights, to feel another’s heart beat and steady breathing. And the more time he spent in Erik’s company the more emotion he felt, in spite of himself. He knew passion was dangerous and could compromise his situation, so he did his best to supress it, deny it, ignore it. But still, the idea of taking Erik home and introducing him to his parents, to Simon and the twins, to the life they could have after the war, crept in at the corners of his mind when he wasn’t concentrating. It was a confusing image and one that led to treacherous thoughts. So he had to reprimand himself, remind himself it wasn’t real. He wasn’t a German officer, he wasn’t Werner. This was the fantasy and it wouldn’t last after the war. He was a Jew. His race was an anathema to Erik, and had he known the truth he would have drawn his pistol and shot Levi between the eyes. That was the cold, hard truth.
His reverie was broken by the arrival of Brunhilde with a message. ‘Reich Minister Goebbels requires your presence in his office, immediately,’ she said.
As always the sliver of fear, of panic, of impending danger flickered in his stomach and crawled its way up his spine. ‘Of course,’ he said, standing and following her.
‘Heil Hitler, Reich Minister,’ he said.
‘Heil Hitler, Hauptmann. Come in and close the door.’
Goebbels pointed to a chair across from his large desk.
‘Tell me, what do you know about the Berghof?’ he asked.
Levi frowned. He should feign ignorance, it was always safer.
‘Nothing, Reich Minister.’
‘It is the Führer’s vacation home, in the Bavarian alps, near Berchtesgaden. He entertains there, and it has occurred to him that he would like you to play the piano for his guests. You are to leave tomorrow by air. There is a landing strip close to the house, and you will stay until the Führer orders your return to Berlin. Is that understood?’ Goebbels gave him a rare smile. ‘This is a particular honour, Hauptmann, and I know you will appreciate that the Führer is displaying his trust in you.’
‘Yes, Reich Minister.’
‘It is so obvious that you must never repeat anything you hear that I have never felt the need to emphasise that to you.’
Levi gave a small nod. ‘Thank you, Reich Minister. Sometimes the Führer will make a comment about the war when I play for him and I am aware of the need for discretion.’
‘Indeed. Your promotion and your talent reflect well on me, and I hope your remuneration demonstrates that.’
‘Indeed it does, Reich Minister. I am, as always, very grateful for the opportunity.’
Goebbels gave the customary wave of his hand. ‘Very good. You may go home and make your preparations. I am told the car will call for you at 10.30 am tomorrow morning and the plane leaves at midday. I will see you there in a week’s time.’
He barely had time to send Erik a note, to let him know what was happening, and to make a hurried visit to the club to inform his handlers that they would hear nothing more from him until he returned to Berlin. Was this a good thing? It felt like another adventure. Another opportunity. But if he was uncovered there would no chance of escape, no option but the bullet.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Berghof
September 1942
The chalet was surrounded by a large terrace, which sported big canvas umbrellas, giving the place a ‘holiday home’ atmosphere. The Führer himself had decorated the interior. The dining room was panelled in cumbria pine and held a table that seated sixteen people, with an ornate light fitting that ran its length. Levi’s favourite room was what the Führer referred to as the ‘Great Hall’. At one end was a massive marble fireplace with a heavy mantel. At the other was the piano. Its most extraordinary feature was a picture window which could be lowered into the wall to give an open-air view of the Alps. It was a beautiful and restful place, full of antique furniture and art, and lovingly looked after by an army of housekeepers, gardeners, cooks and domestic servants.
One of the bathrooms had a wall of red tiles, each bearing a black swastika in a white circle. Most of the rooms held caged canaries, which would whistle on command for Levi. His bedroom featured a window with a lovely mountain vista, an enormous and comfortable bed and two watercolour sketches by the Führer on the walls.
Nearby were the airstrip and other houses that had been built by the Nazi elite. Field Marshall Goering and Reichsführer Himmler both had homes there. Like Hitler, they spent most of their time in Berlin, but accompanied him to the Berghof when the Führer decided to decamp to his retreat. A barracks adjacent to the Führer’s home on the mountain housed a contingent of his private guard, the SS-Leibstansarte Adolf Hitler. They patrolled the grounds with dogs on chains and rifles at the ready, and every time they encountered Levi they saluted him. His knowledge of their ignorance made him smile as he offered a salute back.
His days revolved around the requirement for him to play the piano when guests requested it. Otherwise he read what few books the censors allowed, walked the trails that led up into the mountains, wrote to Erik and talked to the staff.
It was his first encounter with Hitler’s companion, Eva Braun, and her sister, Gretl. Eva was an interesting woman. An archetypical Aryan with her bright sapphire eyes and bouncy fair curls, she wasn’t a conventional beauty, but there was some
thing about her face when she smiled that stopped Levi in his tracks. He liked to play with her two Scottish terrier dogs, Negus and Stasi, and she often joined him on the terrace to throw balls for the dogs. When the Führer was away, Levi exercised his German Shepherd, Blondi. Eva’s younger sister, Gretl, was a smoker and a flirt. Her hair was darker, almost auburn, and her animated face seemed never far from laughter.
On a gorgeous day in early September, Levi was practising a Beethoven piece that he wanted to surprise the Führer with when he returned from Berlin. The door was flung wide and Eva came storming in. She was obviously angry.
‘Damn it, Werner! Where is the loyalty? He has given everything for this country and people still betray him.’
Levi stood up. ‘What has happened?’ he asked cautiously. Her emotions alarmed him, it wasn’t like her to be this roused.
‘I’ve just spoken with Fritz and he tells me there has been a major resistance cell uncovered in Berlin. People Adolf knew and trusted.’
Levi swallowed hard. ‘Who are they?’ he asked.
‘Some Luftwaffe officer on the intelligence desk. His wife worked for Herman and he had championed her! An economist in the Economics Ministry and his wife, who is an American, and lots more. They’re rounding them up and starting the interrogations. Fritz says that they will die, all of them.’
Levi sat down. Perhaps he was closer to danger at this moment than ever before.
‘What have they been doing?’ he asked.
‘Some printing of posters and leaflets, putting posters up around the city. But much worse than that, spying for the Russians! It was some coded radio messages that gave them away, we broke the code of signals sent to Moscow. How could they possibly want to help that dictator, Stalin? He’s such a monster.’
‘Do you remember the name of the Luftwaffe officer?’ he asked.
She turned and stared at him. ‘Why?’ her tone was vaguely suspicious.
‘I think I might have met him once.’
‘No, but it was a double-barrelled name. His mother-in-law is a close friend of Herman’s, and Fritz says that Herman is almost apoplectic with rage. I think he spoke lots of languages, the officer, so Herman brought him into the Luftwaffe HQ. And his wife had worked in film. Does that ring any bells?’
Levi nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure I met him. With a friend of mine, a nephew of Count von Engels who is a Hauptman in the SS. Erik works as an aide for Reichsführer Himmler.’
She shook her head. ‘Well thank goodness he didn’t corrupt you! Adolf will be furious, but so hurt as well. He wants the people working for the Third Reich to share his dream. He has such plans for our nation, and these people, working for the Americans and the Soviets, they are worse than scum. I would send them to the camps but they won’t, they’ll try them and pass down judgment and then hang them or guillotine them. I think that’s too good.’
She flopped down in one of chairs. ‘Play me something, Werner, cheer me up.’
‘What would you like?’ he asked; his heart was pounding in his chest and his palms felt sweaty.
‘Something light — Chopin.’
‘Of course, Fraulein.’
The thought rumbled through Levi’s head like a freight train. It was night and he was lying in bed gazing up at the roof. The Luftwaffe Hauptman had been a spy for the Russians. He’d hated the salute they’d exchanged as much as Levi had.
If it hadn’t been for the decision of the Führer to send him here, he might have gone there for a meal and maybe joined their network. He could be facing arrest and torture and death. Did Erik know, he wondered? He’d be devastated. He was a torchbearer for the Reich and all it stood for. The betrayal by his friend would cut deep, but not as deep as the truth about Levi would cut.
Yet again he wondered what would happen at the end of the war. It was like a loop that tormented him during the long. dark hours and went nowhere. Would he live like this forever? Or would his British handlers allow him to return to London? But what if Germany won the war and London was occupied? Where would he go then?
He let his imagination take him to the prison cell that the Hauptmann now probably inhabited. They would be torturing him to gain more names, hitting him with axe handles and truncheons. Would he stand up to it? Somehow Levi believed he would. And what about his wife? Erik had said she was forever flirting with both friends and Nazi officials and always partying, but he’d also confided that he thought she was quite fragile mentally. They had a maid, half Italian he thought Erik had said, and she’d had a baby and Erik suspected the father was his friend the Hauptmann. No doubt they’d been arrested as well. His heart ached for all of them.
He tried to ring Erik at his desk in Himmler’s office. They didn’t know where he was. So he tried the apartment in the Prenzlauer Berg, but there was no answer. Where was he? At the back of Levi’s brain, he began to worry. Erik was a creature of habit, and if he was out during the day his office always knew where he was going and when he’d be back. Perhaps he’d gone home for a few days. That was a possibility. Levi didn’t have the telephone number for the Munich home of Erik’s parents, so he would just have to decide that’s where Erik was and leave it at that. He’d make contact when he could.
He was sitting under one of the coloured umbrellas on the terrace, reading, when Eva Braun stepped out of the doorway, accompanied by her two dogs. They ran happily to Levi.
‘Hello there,’ he said, as he patted them. They barked enthusiastically.
‘They like you,’ she said. ‘They think you’re going to play with them.’ One of the dogs leapt up onto his knee and he scratched its ears.
‘Tell me, Hauptmann, did you say you had a friend who was the nephew of Count von Engel?’ she asked lightly. She wasn’t looking at him, she was surveying the panorama of the snow-capped mountains. Levi felt a stab of dread.
‘Yes, Erik von Engel. He’s an SS-Hauptsturmführer in Himmler’s office. I met him when I had Christmas with the Count and Countess at their home in Wannsee.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Have you heard from him lately?’ she asked.
‘No, I had a letter about a month ago.’
‘Do you keep his letters?’
It was beginning to sound like an interrogation. He hesitated.
‘I can see in your face that you do,’ she said, turning her bright blue eyes upon him. ‘Take a word of advice from a friend who cares about you, Hauptmann, and burn all your letters from your friend immediately. If anyone else asks you if you know him, deny it. I will say nothing.’
Levi swallowed. ‘May I know why?’ he asked quietly.
‘SS-Hauptsturmführer von Engel was arrested two days ago and is in prison. He will be sent to the camp at Dachau.’
‘Why?’ Levi tried to keep the shock from his voice but he knew he was unsuccessful. ‘He’s a faithful party member, I assure you, and devoted to Himmler and the Führer,’ he added.
‘Very possibly. But he is a degenerate, a homosexual. He was caught in bed with a fellow officer by the Gestapo and arrested immediately.’
This was worse that if she’d told him Erik was a spy. Much worse.
‘Did he display such behaviour in your presence?’ she asked, her voice neutral but her eyes watching him closely.
‘No! He was a friend I went drinking with in a group. He seemed just like the rest of us. This is shocking news indeed.’
Would they torture Erik? Would they try to find out who else he had slept with? Was there a danger he would give up Levi’s cover name under duress? Or would they simply strip him of his rank and send him to the camp? These questions whirled alongside something Levi recognised as grief. His Erik. His beautiful, proud, loyal Erik. If Levi had secretly held a dream of them being together after the war, this was now dashed onto the rocks of reality. He’d heard enough about Dachau to know that Erik’s chances of survival were slim, and that he would suffer. What exactly would he suffer? Levi couldn’t bear the thought of it, so he shut it off. There was nothing
he could do to help, Erik was another casualty of war. For several days he could think of nothing else until he heard, via Eva, that Erik had been shipped south to Dachau and wasn’t expected to be heard from again. It felt as if he could let out his breath for the first time in ages. Yet another close escape. And no one to tell.
The peaceful atmosphere was broken by the arrival of the Führer. The whole household rose into a different gear and the staff moved at an increased pace. Levi could feel the change even before the plane landed, and knew his tranquil and reflective time was over. He’d have to be on guard again, noting every word and action and ever-watchful of his own reactions.
The notes were his friends, and he felt them speaking to him in a language only he understood. When he played, whether by himself or for others, the emotions stored deep inside rose up, burst out and streamed from his fingers onto the keys. But he alone could see them. Sometimes they were black for his grief, or purple for the anger at his situation, or clear like the tears he could not shed. The piano allowed him to express his pain, and that searing agony took his technical ability and elevated it to the level of a spectacular musician.
He was playing the first movement from Bach’s Italian Concerto in F Major, and the group at the other end of the room were listening in rapt silence. The Führer sat facing him, and on either side were Himmler, Goering, Bormann and Eva Braun. It was a delicate piece with some lively runs and his fingers raced over the keys with precision. At its conclusion he went straight into Brahms’ Variations on a Theme of Paganini Opus 35, with even more thrilling trills. Four minutes in he was pounding the notes fiercely and his entire body moved in time to the music. Here he was no one, neither Levi nor Werner, Jew nor Lutheran, prisoner nor gaoler, he was just the pianist, the catalyst between the brilliance of the composer and the superb instrument.
As the music ended he thrust his head back, exhausted but also strangely exhilarated. As always, the group stood and applauded, led by the actions of the Führer. Levi rose, bowed and waited to be excused.