‘This is the sort of thing we discuss in private, Taube. The subject is closed.’
*
Taube was furious with her father and the following morning, she determined to force him to face reality. ‘Father, you must come to terms with the truth. Our situation is pitiful here. We must leave.’
The family were sitting at the table. Since the delicatessen owner had been arrested, their traditional breakfast of chopped herring and hard boiled eggs had been replaced by toast and coffee.
‘I’d be robbed if I tried to sell the shop now. You know that.’ He stared at her reproachfully over the rim of his cup.
‘But you are forced to sell. We’ve been notified. Had you forgotten?’
Anton went pale. He stood up, knocking over his chair and walked out of the room.
The two women stared at each other for a few minutes. ‘Lately, he’s putting things out of his mind,’ Odette said sadly. ‘He can’t cope with this hell, so he simply ignores it.’
‘We were talking about leaving Germany,’ Taube said fiercely, then realised her mother was in tears. She crouched beside her. ‘Don’t cry, Mother,’ she said. ‘We must accept Bill’s offer and we must accept it very quickly.’
‘It would kill Anton to live on charity. He’s never borrowed, never depended on bank loans, everything in the shop is paid for, it always has been. This young man doesn’t deserve to be saddled with us. We hardly know him. It would be different if he and you . . . well, you know . . . But still . . .’ she dabbed her eyes. ‘We have no other choice.’
‘Chile,’ Taube muttered. ‘I know we stand a chance there. I’m seeing the consul soon. Mother, listen!’ Taube put her arms around her mother and rocked her backwards and forwards. ‘You must speak to Father. He must agree to Bill’s offer. It is charity, I agree, but Bill is very rich and he doesn’t mind.’
‘They’re not arresting ordinary people,’ Odette said looking childlike. ‘Just the misfits, those with criminal records and antisocial tendencies, particularly the Communists.’
‘Stop lying to yourself, Mother.’ Taube shouted. ‘Don’t be like Father. You must face up to reality. You must make Father face up to it, too. Promise you’ll try.’
‘All right, I’ll do my best.’
Chapter Nine
Munich had still to feel the winter. The air was pleasantly warm on Friday afternoon when Marietta emerged from classes at two-thirty, to find Bill standing under a tree. She saw him, before he saw her. His brooding blue eyes were solemn, almost sad and he looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept. His hair was growing into tight curls and she guessed that was why he usually kept it cut so short. His face spelled out strength and stability, but there was a sensuousness about him. Then he saw her and his eyes lit up while his lips curled into a soft smile. It was an intimate smile, as if they had shared secrets. He ambled towards her and put one arm around her shoulders. Stooping, he planted a kiss on her cheek.
Her heart seemed to leap into her mouth and something stirred in the pit of her stomach. Warmth was shining out of his eyes as clearly as a beacon on a dark night. He was holding a silly bunch of drooping flowers in his hands. He held them up, but their heads fell over like drunks after an orgy.
‘They seemed okay when . . .’
‘They need water . . .’
They had both spoken at once. Now they smiled at each other. ‘There’s so much useful information you can send via a smile,’ she thought. ‘So much simpler than talking.’
‘Well . . . Hi . . .’ Bill said. ‘Hope you don’t mind me waylaying you unexpectedly. One of the girls arrested with you told me I’d find you here if I tried hard enough. It’s a lovely day for a walk,’ he said. ‘Are you free?’ He put his arm around her waist and she shyly pushed hers around his and there they were, side by side, their steps in perfect unison as they set off to explore the old town, the cobbles echoing underfoot.
They window-shopped and lingered a long time over coffee and cakes in a quaint old restaurant they discovered. It was dusk when they reached the park. They sat on a bench by the edge of the lake and watched the mist drifting across the water and talked about the books they had read, and the music they liked as they searched for common territory. When she shivered, Bill wrapped his arm around her and hugged her close against him. The touch of his thigh against hers and the warmth of his body was spellbinding. He was so strong and he smelled deliciously of tweed and wool and soap and something else, masculine and inviting. She couldn’t help noticing his long suntanned fingers with thick dark hairs along his knuckles and wrists, and the curly black hairs on his chest where the collar of his shirt lay open.
When the cold forced them to leave the park, they found a nearby restaurant where the waiter persuaded them to order the restaurant’s speciality, Wotan Lustbissen, which, he said, was slices of beef fillet cooked with mushrooms, ham, sweet peppers and served with a tangy cream sauce and rice. He brought them Bavarian beer and lit the candles. When the waiter had left, Bill reached across the table and took her hand in his. As they gazed into each other’s eyes it seemed to Marietta that all her lifeforce was flooding into him.
‘Funny isn’t it . . .?’ she said awkwardly.
‘This feeling that we belong?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s what I meant. Us being so close . . . I mean, like this, yet we are strangers.’
He laughed. ‘No, we’re not. I know all I need to know about you.’
‘You don’t even know where I live,’ she laughed.
‘You’re beautiful, resourceful, wise, hard-working, brave, compassionate . . . I can go on all night. Anything else would be inconsequential.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘What?’
‘Getting to know someone. Do you always judge by first appearances?’
‘Yes. Don’t you?’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t really know. I haven’t had much practice. You see, this is the first time . . . well, to be more precise, this is the first time I’ve dined out without a chaperone.’
‘Honestly?’ Bill laughed aloud. ‘Then we’re going to celebrate.’ He called the waiter. Ignoring her pleading he ordered champagne.
‘Well, I don’t have the same advantages as you,’ she teased as she sipped her champagne. ‘I only know that you’re good at tracking down girls you want to date. You’re a flirt,’ she said, feeling strangely light-headed. ‘I suppose you think that all this flattery will impress me.’ She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Suddenly she hiccupped and flushed with embarrassment.
They both laughed. ‘I also know that you can’t hold your liquor and that I can’t take you anywhere,’ he added.
‘Shh! You don’t know any of those things. Not true. You’re trying to make me drunk, so that I forget to ask about you. I want to know about your life. I want to catch up on everything I’ve missed. I want to know you.’
Suddenly she realised that she was being too serious. She flushed even deeper and pulled her hand away.
‘Don’t. Please don’t,’ he said, snatching it back. ‘It belongs here. Can’t you feel it’s made to fit?’ He pressed it tightly between his two palms.
She gasped slightly, a soft ‘oh’ which told him that she felt as he did.
‘You’re the most sensual girl I’ve ever seen.’
‘Oh, but now you’re really being foolish. Why, I haven’t even been kissed. Not ever.’
‘Tonight’s the night for all these “firsts”,’ he said. ‘I’ll call the waiter again.’
She giggled. ‘Not him. Have you seen his moustache? His wife must hate it.’
‘Aha, so you noticed and you thought about kissing the waiter. I’m hurt. And you’re very red. Caught out, huh? I am getting to know you rather well. Don’t you think so?’ At that moment the waiter arrived and leaned over the table. ‘Is everything all right, Sir?’
She looked up at his handlebar moustache and bit her lip to hold back her laughter.
&nbs
p; ‘There is one thing,’ Bill said, staring hard at her. ‘The lady here would like . . . a glass of water.’
‘Ouch!’ he said. ‘You pinched me. That hurt.’
‘Serves you right. Now we are going to be serious. You have teased me too much. Why do you speak German so fluently?’ She asked the question out of the blue to try to move them back to serious topics. ‘Where is your home? Tell me about your brothers and sisters.’
He sighed. ‘I suppose I might as well get it over with.’ For a few moments he toyed with his food, looking grave and frowning slightly. ‘My family manufacture armaments. I used to hate that. In fact, I hounded my family about it. They said I was a rebel, but I think I just felt guilty. Uncle sent me to a German school so I’d be useful in the marketing team.’
She laughed. ‘And now you’re a journalist.’
‘It’s a temporary reprieve,’ he said shortly.
Marietta felt jolted by the similarity of their situations. It’s as if I’ve known you forever, she thought, gazing dreamily into his eyes, but we were separated by some accident of birth, and here we are together again.
She squeezed his hand with both of hers, feeling daring and wicked as she savoured little thrills of pleasure from his touch.
‘Please, carry on . . .’
‘It’s a long, boring story.’
‘No, not for me.’
So she learned of his childhood in France. How his father had run away from the tedious life of American industry to become a painter and married a Parisian interior decorator. They had both been killed in a car crash when he was seven and shortly afterwards his uncle had flown over to take him home to Baltimore. He tried to explain the fear of being left alone, how the police had taken him to the orphanage, and then his relief at finding relatives he never knew he had. He’d never told anyone this before and he was surprised how much it affected him and how he wanted to convey the precise and factual feelings he had experienced. He paused, remembering . . . Uncle Henry had looked so much like his father, it had been easy to confuse the one with the other and eventually they had merged in his mind. He’d been a father to Bill in every sense of the word and Bill loved him. Aunt Lorna had been as good as any mother, and he’d do anything for her. Then there was Irwin, his cousin, and the two of them were as close as brothers could be, except that they were complete opposites. Irwin would never settle down to run Roths. He hated the plant.
He tried to paint the picture vividly, so that she could she could see their factories, and their home and the ranch in the mountains, which was Aunt Lorna’s passion, and his horse, whom he missed so much.
‘I guess it all worked out okay,’ he said gruffly much later. ‘They’re great people.’
He broke off as the waiter brought them two laden plates of Black Forest gateaux, sprinkled with Kirsch and served with a bitter cherry compote and whipped cream.
‘I won’t be able to stand up,’ Bill groaned.
Then he told her what he was trying to do with his life now. Bill was a serious young man with a firm awareness of family responsibilities. He had come to Europe to prove he could make it on his own, without the help of his wealthy family, and he’d begun to make his name as a foreign correspondent, but his future was with the plant. He felt he was not an inspired writer, but he had an instinct for finding the truth and he was painstaking and concise, with a flair for research. He’d been self-supporting for some time, but lately he’d begun to understand exactly what the Nazis intended to do with the people and the countries in Europe and this had frightened him, so now his self-imposed mission was to warn the West. He worked all hours, interviewing by day, writing most evenings, filing stories by the score, never letting up.
Around eleven, he grinned and squeezed her hand. ‘So there you have it . . . my life story. One of these days I have to go home and run the plants. Meantime I have a few years of freedom.’
Like me, she thought, but said nothing, and Bill, who had noticed that she was strangely reticent about her home, decided not to press her.
They took a cab back because Bill had left his car at the University. He asked the driver to wait while he said goodbye. It had turned cold and the wind was strengthening. He folded her in his jacket and they stood close together in the doorway, obsessed with the nearness of each other, hands clasped, legs touching. She felt his hands pressing against her back, pulling her hard against him. Suddenly his lips were on hers. Desire surged through her blood and tenderness fled as she succumbed to passion. Her fingers gripped the back of his neck as she pressed her lips hard against his.
‘Hey wait a minute,’ he said, drawing back. ‘Lesson time. Open your mouth, just a little, like this, make your lips soft, relax.’ When his tongue touched her lips she almost passed out with the force of longing surging through her. ‘Oh, oh,’ she gasped. ‘So this is kissing. What have I been missing? Oh Bill.’
‘Not bad for a beginner,’ he said, holding her back. ‘I said you were the most sensual girl I’d ever seen. It’s stronger, because it’s underground. All this hidden passion waiting for Mr Right. You’re really something special, Marietta. Oh heck, what a mouthful. Can’t I call you Marie?’
‘Yes, you can,’ she whispered. ‘If you kiss me again.’
‘No. Not this time. I’m not a eunuch.’ Bill ran his fingers through her hair. ‘You’re a lovely girl,’ he said. ‘I want to see much more of you. How about if I drive down overnight Fridays and spend some weekends in Munich? Would you be free some of the time?’
She nodded, too breathless to speak.
After Bill had gone, Marietta went inside in a daze, filled with strange longings and needs.
She was disappointed to find Andrea asleep. She had so much wanted to talk about her evening. She slept restlessly and dreamed of Bill, waking repeatedly, murmuring his name, her body hot with longing. She felt dizzy with happiness. Bill cared for her. He was coming most weekends, he’d said. The future stretched forward invitingly. There was only one flaw in her happiness and that was the knowledge that she and Bill could never be together in the long-term. One day they would both have to return to their individual responsibilities. But right now, four years seemed like forever.
Chapter Ten
Midnight in the Kurfurstendamm. The moon rose and hung like a golden orb above the roofs, newly-washed by an evening shower. Around the buildings the shadows lay like dark pools of unknown and treacherous depths.
Hugo was leaning against a wall in the deepest shadow. His uniform, his gloves, boots, hat and eyes were black. Only his olive skin showed dimly and the whites of his eyes glittered as he gazed around. The night enfolded him in its gentle bosom and caressed him.
He breathed in deeply, then glanced left and right. He badly wanted a cigarette. The seconds passed slowly. A cat picked its way delicately along the top of the wall and rubbed itself against him. He stroked it absent-mindedly while studying his watch.
Twelve-thirty. As if on cue, he heard the rasp of heavy locks. On the other side of the street, doors swung open. Hugo stepped forward and gave the signal, a brief flash of his torch. A block away from Fasanenstrasse, he heard engines starting up. Two half-tracks and three lorries emerged, concealing a squad of stormtroopers. Across the road, in the synagogue, a rabbi from South Africa had supposedly been lecturing on Maimonides. Hugo knew that the real purpose of his visit was to hand out South African visas to over a hundred skilled workers who were under thirty-five, together with their families. The door of the synagogue opened a cautious crack. Twelve men slipped out and passed quickly along the pavement, keeping to the shadows.
Good. They were staying together, so it would be easier to round them up. The Jews were out of sight, but shortly afterwards he saw his lieutenant’s torch flash and heard the engine of the first lorry move off into the night. So far so good.
Hugo called the next squad. His troops moved into position, but too fast and too soon. One of the Jews called a warning and, as if pre-planned, they scattered in
every direction. There were shouts, gun shots and a howl of anguish. Every man was yelling and struggling as they were forced into the waiting lorries. The women’s shrill screams echoed in the night and mingled with gunshots. Hugo could smell blood and sweat mingled with the jasmine. He strolled towards the synagogue. There was blood on the sidewalks. Those damned Jews should have gone quietly. It was the rabbi’s fault. He had given them hope; something to fight for. Foolish of them to try to escape. The Third Reich needed their labour and their skills. Their accumulated wealth, their businesses and all their possessions would help to fill the coffers of the Nazi Party.
*
When Hugo returned to headquarters there was a message for him to see SS Security Chief, Reinhardt Heydrich. It was almost midnight, but Hugo knew he might have to wait until dawn, because Heydrich often worked all night. Hugo could not stifle the painful twinges of unease that ripped through his stomach periodically. He knew that was foolish. Heydrich had always helped him, even on their first fateful meeting. When was it? July, 1932, Hugo remembered, for he had recently gained his first degree. His results were outstanding, but his triumph was soured because he could not gain a position as a legal clerk. After tramping the streets of Munich for a month, Hugo went to the Party’s headquarters. Eventually, Hugo found himself face-to-face with Reinhardt Heydrich, chief of Reich Security, a momentous meeting for him.
Within days, Hugo was working for the Nazi party’s firm of lawyers. Since then his rise through the ranks had been meteoric.
But it had all begun much earlier. To be precise on New Year’s Day, 1932. How cold and hungry he had been as he lay awake in the early hours of the morning. His stiff and swollen member had brought back memories of Ingrid and for a few minutes he’d allowed himself the excitement of remembering how she had been. Thinking of the von Burgheims living in luxury, gorging themselves nightly in their ornate dining-room at Plechy Palace, made him feel murderous. It was fourteen months since Father had turned him out, but he was just as bitter as on the day he had left. His paltry income from the count went nowhere in Munich, so he was alternately starving or working himself to exhaustion at any odd job he could find, while studying at University all day.
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