Hugo had washed and shaved in ice-cold water. He looked around in disgust at the small room he rented in a dilapidated boarding house in Pfister Street. Gazing at himself in the cracked sliver of mirror, he noticed how thin he had become, but starvation had merely accentuated his strong features.
He sauntered out into the street, wondering where to go, what to do and how to get a meal, or even a crust of bread. At the corner, he was caught up in a crowd pushing their way towards the stadium, and for the first time he heard the voice of Adolf Hitler. Hugo stood around and listened only because he had nothing better to do. He was drawn to the man. Here was masterly oration; here was genius. More to the point, here were words he wanted to hear.
‘We want to make a fresh beginning based on truths,’ the man screamed. ‘The first truth is this: our future lies only in our own strength and our courage.’
As Hitler spoke, he punched the air, bunched his fists, writhed and shook with passion, his intensity affecting everyone in the crowd. There was nothing imposing about his face or his physique, but Hugo sensed the fanatical power that flowed out of this shabby-looking man.
‘We are the Master Race. All other races must be subservient to us . . . and we have sworn to destroy all that is decadent in our society.’
Hugo stood there entranced for more than an hour. He knew instinctively that he was listening to a man who would lead Germany to a great destiny.
‘. . . the concept of nationality is meaningless. Race transcends national boundaries. We shall unite the German folk, scattered and abandoned throughout Europe. United, we shall conquer the world.’
Hugo walked home in a daze, Hitler’s words whirling in his head. Now he knew what he had always suspected, his stepfather, Count Frederick, had sinned by marrying a Czech, princess or not. Marietta had tainted blood and was not a fit custodian for all that wealth. Only true Aryans should control such vast resources. Hugo realised that his future was in his own hands. Hitler’s New Order would give him the power to take what he wanted. The thought was like a revelation. His skin tingled, and he felt his blood surging with triumph.
Feeling heady with power, Hugo went back to his room and began to jot down his own ideas on a series of laws which could ensure that Germany’s resources remained in the hands of true Germans. He wrote day and night; when he delivered it to headquarters, he joined the Party.
A week later Hugo was called to the Nazis’ headquarters to meet the local bosses. They had a legal problem, but Hugo soon found a solution. Before long, the Nazi Party were consulting Hugo regularly. He was their young lion: a genius at finding solutions to tricky problems, a tireless worker, and a fanatical Nazi. From then on, while Hitler plotted to seize absolute power, Hugo worked tirelessly, together with Himmler and Heydrich, planning how best to institute Gleichschaltung, the laws which would pave the way for securing the Nazi State and brainwashing all Germans, as soon as the Nazis gained control. He was involved in the creation of the Nuremberg Laws which, step-by-step, would deprive Slavs, Jews, Gypsies or anyone with one-sixth ‘mixed’ blood in their veins from official positions, from the professions, and eventually from any participation in economic life. Then on January 13, 1933, their Führer was proclaimed Chancellor of a coalition government of Germany. The time had come to put all their plans into practice.
That night Hugo was intoxicated with success. From his window, he heard the jackboots vibrating on the cobblestones, saw the torches held high in traditional German manner. As he stood at the window watching the stormtroopers below, he knew that a new world was dawning – a world where he would hold all the aces.
*
He was still reliving those early days when a guard saluted and led him to Heydrich’s office. The room was austere, but the furniture was antique. Hugo knew from which Jewish banker’s office it had been confiscated. There were two old Masters hanging on the walls, a Bruegel and a Vermeer. If he remembered rightly, they had both come from the same bank. Heydrich was wearing his black dress uniform, which set off his pale skin and blond hair. He walked towards Hugo and patted his shoulder.
‘I have good news for you, von Hesse,’ Heydrich said, as he poured them both a brandy. ‘Hermann Göring has suggested that you are his choice for creating and enlarging Reichswerke Hermann Göring Corporation.’
Hugo tried not to show his elation. This organisation currently controlled Germany’s steel production and industries.
‘Göring wants to establish an empire that will eventually bring all essential industries under State control. You must have heard of this. What are your views?’
‘Dangerous. Far too much imbalance of power . . .’ Hugo broke off. Had he gone too far?
‘My thoughts exactly. I knew you were the right person. You and I are mutually concerned with the State’s security. I can relinquish you for this post, just as long as I can be sure of your loyalty to me.’
‘That goes without saying. You launched my career. My allegiance will always be to you.’
‘Good. I’ll recommend you. Leave it to me. By the way,’ Heydrich said, ‘you’ve been promoted. From tonight you’re a major in the SS. My congratulations.’ He refilled Hugo’s glass.
‘There’s one more matter, von Hesse. I’ve heard that you used your power to release the Edelweiss students, one of whom is your step-sister. The Führer feels that they are a subversive influence which must be eradicated. Countess Marietta is particularly dangerous.’
Hugo looked up and smiled softly. ‘The Führer is hoping to annex Austria. Four of these students are Austrian. Imprisoning the daughter of the Minister of Foreign Affairs for giving a speech might cause unpleasant repercussions. We mustn’t forget the Archbishop’s influence either, or overseas publicity. I intend to arrest them on far more serious charges than public speaking . . . put them away for good . . . not yet, but soon.’
Heydrich nodded approvingly and the atmosphere became more relaxed as the two men discussed the gossip of the Nazi hierarchy.
It was nearly dawn when Hugo left Heydrich’s office. Overnight, his personal horizons had become limitless. He had the chance to become one of the most powerful men in the Third Reich, as long as he kept on the right side of Heydrich.
Chapter Eleven
It was the first Friday in December and bitterly cold outside, but warm and cosy inside the girl’s apartment. Marie watched Bill thawing out by the fire after his long drive from Berlin. ‘Did you get your Learner’s Licence?’ he asked.
Bill had been teaching her to drive in country lanes for the past six weekends, but she had not bothered to get her licence and she knew this had annoyed him. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling at his surprise. ‘Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . Happy now?’
He acknowledged her laughter with a chuckle. ‘It’s very quiet here,’ he said.
‘Frau Tross has gone home for the weekend, and Andrea is out with Louis,’ Marietta said, in a rush. Then she flushed a deep scarlet. ‘We’ll have to get our own supper,’ she stammered.
‘We could go out . . .’
‘Oh no! I’ll just warm something up.’
Bill watched her curiously. For the past two months they’d spent most weekends with Andrea and Louis and they’d had fun together. They got on well. Louis and Andrea were obviously in love, and Bill guessed they might want to be alone sometimes, but this evening Marie’s guilty expression made him suspect that she had engineered this evening together. Bill decided not to comment as Marie went into the kitchen.
Lighting the gas stove was frightening. The flame lit in the pipe and roared ominously. She jumped, switched it off and started again. Hearing her fumble around the kitchen, Bill wandered in and perched on the edge of the kitchen table. She felt self-conscious enough to believe that he was laughing at her. She glanced up accusingly, but his expression was neutral. She pushed back her hair and tried to look calm and collected.
‘Sure you know what you’re doing, Marie?’ he asked as she placed mincemeat patties into buttered rol
ls and popped them into the hot fat in the frypan. ‘I’ve never seen it done that way before,’ he said, and smothered a laugh behind his hand.
Flushed and furious, Marietta turned and glowered at him. ‘Please . . . go and open the wine . . . and you’re in charge of the music,’ she snapped.
Smoke rose from the gas stove. ‘Oh, no,’ she wailed. Then the fat spilled over the pan and caught alight.
‘What was that supposed to be?’ Bill asked as he doused the pan in the sink and put out the flames.
‘Hamburgers. Frau Tross said I only had to fry them lightly.’
‘I guess your mother spoiled you,’ Bill said.
‘Uh huh!’ she said. She’d learned that useful, non-committal sound from Bill. ‘There’s plenty more food in the pantry,’ Marietta muttered, trying to change the conversation, ‘but I’m not sure what . . .’
‘Scram, Marie! I’ll prepare something. Just keep out of the kitchen or you’ll burn the whole place down.’
Banished to the sitting-room, Marietta felt swathed in guilt. She had never thought of herself as incapable, yet now she felt as though she’d been exposed as a liar and a cheat. Absurd! Did it matter that she was a countess, an heiress, and never saw the inside of a kitchen from one year to the next?
By the time Bill arrived with a tray of ham sandwiches, pickles, salad and wine, she was feeling wretched.
‘Bill, there’s something I haven’t told you.’ She stared at him anxiously. ‘My family is quite rich. I actually have a title. Archaic, isn’t it?’
‘Lady Marietta. Sounds pretty nice to me,’ he said smiling. ‘Is that what you are?’
‘Actually I don’t want to talk about it. At least, not yet. But I don’t want you to feel that I’m deceiving you. You see, Bill, I’m very fond of you.’
‘Is that all that’s worrying you?’ he said, bending over her, suddenly tender. ‘Don’t worry about it. I love you, Marie.’
‘I love you, too, Bill,’ she said wonderingly.
He put his arm around her. ‘The strange part of it is, we have so much in common,’ he pulled her closer to him and felt her gasp slightly.
They sat in silence, hunched in front of the fire.
Marietta sighed deeply, ‘I got rid of everyone because I wanted to be . . . I thought . . . well, that we could have a romantic evening . . . We never have the chance to be alone.’
‘I’m all for romantic evenings.’ He took her chin in his hand. Lifting her head, he smoothed his hand over her hair. His mouth pressed over hers and she felt his tongue on her lips. Then he moved back.
‘Oh,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t stop.’ She reached out passionately and wound her arms around his neck, which felt taut and sinewy. His mouth was pressed on to hers again. His hand was moving, exploring, caressing. She leaned back on the hearth rug and Bill leaned over her, staring into her eyes; he moved closer and she closed her eyes, totally obsessed with the exquisite feelings that had taken control of her body.
Her desire to touch and be touched was almost unendurable. She felt his fingers at the buttons of her blouse, the back of his hand brushing her breast.
‘Undress me,’ she murmured.
Bill’s hand stopped its fumbling and he drew his head away.
‘You probably think I’m old-fashioned, but I think girls should be married before making love.’
She opened her eyes in surprise at his words. ‘I want to feel you, feel your skin against mine, feel your—’
She stopped abruptly as he gently placed a finger on her lips.
‘You are younger than I sometimes remember. You are lucky I love you enough to be responsible,’ he muttered hoarsely. He gently pushed her shoulders against the sofa, easing her clothes off her taut body with a delicacy he hadn’t known he possessed. In moments his clothes had joined hers in an untidy heap and her skin felt like satin against his, her hair spilling through his fingers like silk.
Marietta yielded to unimaginable pleasure, part physical, part emotional, as if drifting in time and space, as Bill kissed and stroked her. She longed for more, much more of him. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it must be like. This act, which was shrouded in mystery, but for which she longed.
*
The autumn term was drawing to a close. Bill felt that he and Marie were about as close as two people could be without being married. He wanted her for his wife, but was hesitant about proposing. He was disappointed by her decision to return to Bohemia, to spend the Christmas holidays with her family, particularly since she had not invited him. Was she ashamed of him? He’d suggested they go skiing in Switzerland for a month, or even a week . . . anything! Or tour Germany, or France, or any damn country she liked. Then he’d proposed a trip back to the States to meet his folks, but Marietta wanted to go home. She was homesick, she admitted. Besides, the family always spent Christmas in Bohemia.
‘I’m longing to see Ingrid,’ she said. ‘Look, I had a letter from her today. She sent these photographs of herself at a ball. Isn’t she lovely? And so sophisticated. I can’t wait to see her.’
Bill tried not to sulk.
On their last evening together, Louis and Bill were invited to dine with the two girls at their apartment. After dinner, Louis produced two invitation cards, complete with the von Burgheim crest.
‘It’s Marietta’s birthday in January, Bill,’ he said.
Bill nodded. He’d already bought her a bracelet. Now that she could drive, he’d even found a suitable car which he intended to buy as soon as she gained her licence.
‘Father and I have organised a house-party and a birthday ball. We should like you both to come,’ Louis said formally.
Bill looked at his invitation. The party was for three days. ‘Is this correct?’ he asked, astonished. ‘A three-day party?’
‘It’s very remote. It will take you a day to get there,’ Louis said.
‘Sure I’ll come. Thanks!’
Andrea looked less certain.
‘There’s a music room and a piano, so you can practise as much as you like,’ Marietta said. ‘Please come, Andrea. You can even bring your oboe. Greater love hath no friend.’
Andrea looked towards Louis, a frown hovering.
‘Please come,’ he said quietly.
‘All right. I’ll come. Thank you,’ Andrea said.
Marietta smiled in delight, but it seemed to Bill that she was nervous about his acceptance.
‘Don’t you want me to meet your family? he asked, when they were saying goodnight on the doorstep.
‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘It’s just that . . .’
‘Come on. Tell me what’s bothering you.’
‘When you see how wealthy I am, you’ll think I’m just a spoiled socialite. You won’t want to know me anymore.’
He laughed. ‘Silly goose,’ he said. ‘You’re worrying about nothing. I’m honoured to be invited. I was dreading the weeks without you. Knowing I shall see you in January will get me through Christmas.’
He tried to dispel her anxiety with a passionate kiss, but she remained stiff and tense and remote. Bill went home wondering what had got into her.
Chapter Twelve
Andrea was waiting at the bus station as arranged. It was 10 a.m., but there was no sign of Louis, so she walked over to a kiosk and bought herself a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
She heard Louis’ voice calling before she’d more than glanced at the headlines. ‘Andrea. I’m sorry I’m late.’ He hugged her. ‘You look marvellous,’ he said, examining her red skirt and black jersey under her duffle coat. ‘New?’
She nodded and flushed.
‘I’m so glad you’re here. I hate family gatherings, specially our family, but this time it will be different. I missed you. Did you miss me?’
‘Oh, yes . . .’ She grinned happily as Louis picked up her case. Arms around each other’s waists, they sauntered across the road.
When Andrea saw the car, she gasped. It was a brand new, white Bugatti tou
ring car. A chauffeur, dressed in a bottle green and gold livery, limped forward to open the door.
‘This is Jan, our chauffeur,’ Louis said awkwardly. ‘Jan is driving my car back. I should perhaps explain that Father is a bit old-fashioned. Rather pompous, in fact, maybe because he’s the Austrian Minister of Foreign Affairs.’ Louis tried to ignore Andrea’s shocked expression and plunged on desperately. ‘We don’t let our hair down in front of him, because his subsequent long-winded lecture simply isn’t worth enduring. The right way to address him, just so you know . . .’ he said over-casually, ‘is Count Frederick, not Count von Burgheim. Well, that’s that.’ He let out a low whistle and started the engine. The Bugatti surged forward.
‘So one day you’ll be a count?’ Andrea queried.
‘Actually, I already am,’ Louis mumbled. ‘Like it?’ he asked her, patting the dashboard after a long silence.
‘I’m impressed. Whose car is it?’
‘Marietta’s . . . a birthday present from Father. I took delivery this morning. That’s why I was late, they kept me waiting. Father’s so excited about it.’
Andrea was quiet for a few miles. The reality of Louis’ family was hard to absorb. Then she felt Louis’ hand on hers.
‘You’ll meet my cousin, Princess Ingrid. Please don’t let her intimidate you,’ he said awkwardly, trying to ease her obvious anxiety. ‘She’ll try, I promise you that. She’s beautiful and witty and great fun to be with . . . bitchy, too, and rather superficial to my way of thinking. She’ll try to impress you with her title, but don’t take any notice. She’s just Ingrid, whatever she says.’
‘I feel intimidated already and I haven’t met her yet.’
‘I’m going to tell you a secret,’ Louis said, coming to a quick decision. ‘Please don’t let on that you know, but just so you understand the family a little better.’ He smiled, put his arm around her shoulder and recited, ‘Once upon a time there were two beautiful Hungarian princesses . . . Marianna and Beatrice Szapary. They both had blonde hair like moonlight and blue eyes like the sea, and the palest of pale skins—’
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