The flame threw shadows on the walls which danced over the ceiling
and the stairway ahead of her. Just as well she was a modern
girl and didn’t believe in ghosts.
Halfway
up the staircase she stepped on a creaking board and nearly
jumped from the loud and unexpected noise. Leaning on the wall
she took a deep calming breath and continued, her hand sweaty
on the handle of her overnight case.
At first
she thought the sound her imagination. She stopped again and
listened. A soft laugh floated down the stairs.
Oh God!
Was he already here? No, he couldn’t be. He wasn’t
due to arrive until eight at the earliest. It was just on six
now.
There it
was again. She heard a creaking sound too, as if someone kept
stepping on a lose floor board. Could it be his housekeeper?
That was it. She was probably using Reggie’s telephone.
That would explain the giggling.
Avoiding the middle of the steps which might creak, she kept
to the left, hugging the wall. She’d keep the upper hand
if she came upon the housekeeper by surprise.
Sophie froze
at the top of the staircase. There were two voices now, both
male. She pressed into the wall, listening, biting her lip.
Her heart thundered so loud for a moment it drowned out the
moans. And the creaking. The hand holding the candle shook so
violently it nearly doused the flame. Placing her case on the
floor she walked toward the sounds. Shadows melded, drew apart,
melded again . . .
CHAPTER
ONE
1 September 1939
"My
God! He’’s done it. He’’s really done it!"
Sophie closed the door to her aunt’’s sitting room
behind her with trembling hands and looked at Inge, staring
wide eyed at the small, grainy black and white images on the
tiny television screen.
"It’’s
only file footage, Inge." Sophie nodded at the German soldiers
performing a perfect goose step across the screen. "I imagine
the scene in Poland is a bit more violent." She headed
to the drinks cabinet and leaned on it with both hands, facing
the wall. This wouldn’t do. Seizing the nearest bottle
of schnapps, she poured two fingers and downed it.
It
slid down her throat, fiery, sharp, and 100 proof. The Germans
showed a refinement the British lacked in making spirits. While
the Brits distilled grains, the Germans did so with fruit.
She
was reaching for the bottle a second time when Inge spoke again.
"Celebrating
alone, dear? Don’t even think of it! Bring that schnapps
over here." She flicked a hand at the other end of the
sixty foot art deco drawing room. "The party seems to be
happening over there, but as I am just arrived and in complete
ignorance of the Fuhrer’’s victory I’’ll
stay here for a bit. Soak up the facts." Very few of the
guests occupied the overstuffed velvet covered chairs and settees.
Most clustered on the dark red thick Persian rug, an air of
electricity sparking about them.
Sophie
glanced at the group of a dozen jocular SS and regular army
officers. Their female escorts seemed to float in and out of
the crowd in their gaily colored chiffon afternoon gowns. She
whirled back to face the wall, the geometric carvings in the
paneling blurred. She fisted her hands and fought down the tears.
How could Aunt Augusta do this to her? Throws a party, pleads
her health and announces Sophie the hostess.
And asks the
impossible. For God’’s sake if Britain hadn’t declared war, it
soon would.
"Sophie?
Are you nipping at the schnapps again?"
Sophie
turned around with the bottle and glasses on a tray, blinking her eyes.
Inge
took the tray from her, placing it on the low table in front of the settee, and
frowned. "Is the Baroness very ill?"
"My
aunt has another migraine." Sophie didn’t look at her friend.
Inge
poured them both a generous portion of the raspberry schnapps. "I don’’t
doubt it. Chamberlain likely will hand the Fuhrer an ultimatum at any hour. I
shouldn’t be surprised if she worries about how you and she will be treated
once war breaks out."
"Don’’t
be silly, Inge! We shall be treated with the utmost respect. Before his death,
Uncle Horst was a high ranking party member. And the Fuhrer himself has approved
of me."
But
how long before the Gestapo picks me up once they learn what Aunt Augusta has
asked of me?
Sophie
gulped her drink and waved to her aunt’’s butler, who just then broke
out of the throng at the other end of the room. "Klaus, champagne please.
For everyone."
Inge
took her abalone compact out of her handbag and applied more lipstick. "I’’ve
never seen you drink like this, dear. This is dangerous company to become tiddly
in."
Sophie
smiled at her closest friend. "I just want to catch up. A war will soon be
on and I’’m tired of being the only sober, responsible party goer. It’’s
time to live a little."
Inge
glanced at the door, then gave her friend a sideways look. "You’’ll
end up with one of those gorgeous SS officers in your bed. Whether you like it
or not. It’’s only because you remain sober it hasn’t happened
before now." She glanced at the door again.
"My
reputation as a cold wench will stay me through I’’m sure. It’’s
only because they can’’t have me that they think they want me. Once
I get wobbly they will lose interest." Inge looked at the door yet again.
"Are you expecting Rainer?"
Inge patted her shoulder length golden
brown curls and adjusted the skirt of flower print silk frock. "He’’s
late." Her voice was tight.
Klaus
arrived with a bottle Tattinger and jammed it in a bucket of ice. Several of his
dark suited assistants placed several buckets of ice around the room and were
threading through the jostle pouring the late Baron’’s best champagne.
She motioned Klaus to leave and poured the wine herself.
"To
the Fuhrer!" announced one of the officers standing beside a glass curio
case filled with crystal and Meissen china.
"Hear,
hear!", both girls chorused, standing for the toast.
Seating
herself again, Sophie nervously smoothed her aqua silk afternoon dress and deliberately
turned her mind from her aunt. "Inge, will you go to Poland with Rainer if
he is re assigned?"
Inge
placed her sweaty glass on the cocktail table before them with more care than
necessary. "I don’’t know that he would ask me to go with him,"
she answered quietly. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked up with worried
eyes. "Things have been . . . different recently. I-I think he may be taking
part in an SS program. You’’ve heard of Lebensborn?"
"Whispers,
yes, but I’’m not exactly sure what it is."
Inge
sighed and bowed her head. "You’’re aware Himmler has ordered his
SS officers to, well, to procreate?"
"Vaguely."
Sophie sipped her champagne again.
"It
created quite an outcry from the SS wives when he announced that his officers
are expected to procreate both inside and outside of marriage. So he created Lebensborn.
Single women who meet the Aryan criteria live in large houses and are visited
by SS officers with the purpose of creating the master Aryan race. Once the babies
are born they go to good Aryan families to be reared in the proper Nazi fashion."
She finally looked at Sophie. "I think Rainer is visiting these women."
Sophie frowned.
"Is it because he believes it his duty? Is he pressured because you have
not become pregnant?"
"I
always assumed he would marry me." Tears formed in Inge’s eyes. "I
wasn’t brought up to live with a man without benefit of marriage." She
shrugged. "But you know how mores have changed under the Fuhrer’’s
administration. It’’s quite acceptable. And if the couple is Aryan,
all the better. Rainer has asked me for my family history. The rules are becoming
more stringent every minute it seems. An SS officer may suffer no taint of acquaintance
of persons not Aryan."
"Is
there something you are hiding from him?" Sophie whispered with a glance
across the room.
"Of
course not! The thing is - I know nothing about my mother’’s parents.
While alive she refused to talk of them. I’’ve hired detectives to dig
though her past." She shook her head. "That it should come to this!
I feel dirty delving into her secrets. And that I should even have to!"
"Surely
he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t mean to marry you?"
"I
don’’t –– he’’s here, Sophie!" Inge stood,
notching her chin high as two tall, blonde SS officers made their way toward them.
Sophie watched
as Rainer clicked his heels bowed over their hands, lingering with Inge’’s.
Rainer’’s features were pleasant and regular, and his manners never
failed. However, she never found herself quite comfortable in his presence. She
shivered and glanced at the stranger he brought with him.
He
topped the required six feet by several inches. His chest and shoulders were broad,
muscular. So much so, he nearly blocked the rest of the room from her sight. His
waist and hips were trim and his jodhpurs hinted at his rock solid thighs. She
felt crowded and swore she’’d be able to sense his presence even if
she were blind. He smelled of spices. Slowly her eyes traveled up his body and
finally rested on his face. Greek sculptors would have been jealous of his classic,
molded bone structure. Laugh lines danced around his lips and merry dark blue
eyes appraised in turn.
"An
auspicious day to introduce a friend of long standing." Rainer slapped his
companion on the back. "This is Sturmbannfhrer Barron Karl von Richten of
Kiel just in from several years in Spain. Fraulein Inge Huebner and Fraulein Sophia
de Havilland."
Von
Richten clicked his heels and bowed over girls’’ hands lingering longer
than strictly necessary with Sophie. "I am honored to meet such beautiful
Aryan girls, although I think Frauliene de Havilland is perhaps English or American?"
Rainer laughed.
"You’’d love to run into an American wouldn’t you, you old
mongrel! His mother was American," he added in explanation to the girls.
Von
Richten straightened to his full formidable height. "I am German, my friend
- and Aryan. My mother’’s parents came from Prussia." He glared
at Rainer. "I don’’t wish to hear that word again." In the
blink of an eye he grinned and said, "Come, I must meet my fellow officers."
He nodded to Sophie and Inge, but kept his gaze on Sophie. "Frauleins, business
before pleasure I fear."
"You
old dog, you aren’t aware of the meaning of fear," Rainer commented
as they made their way toward the party.
Sophie
watched their progress for several moments before she became cognicent of her
friend’’s steady gaze.
Inge’’s
eye brows rose. "Another conquest. It’’s quite tiresome the way
these handsome officers nearly swoon at your feet." She fished her box of
Cypriennes out of her fashionable yellow leather handbag and lit it with an SS
lighter.
"Don’’t be ridiculous! It’’s merely because
I’’ve made it clear to every one of them I’’m off limits romantically."
Her voice had turned hard and she frowned as her eyes followed von Richten. He
reminded her so much of Reggie acting the ‘‘hail fellow, well met.’’
He even sported the same merry dark blue eyes.
"You’’ve
never told me why you are . . . shy of men." Inge blew out a cloud of smoke
and fixed a speculative gaze on her friend. "I’’d always hoped
you’’d tell me of your own accord."
Sophie
smoothed her long pale blonde hair. "Why, I’’m not shy. I just
don’’t wish to become . . . entangled. Give me one of your fags, dear,
I left my own in Auntie’s room. Now, before we join the madding crowd I’’ll
fill you in on the details of the invasion of Poland."
Handing
Sophie a cigarette, Inge grimaced. "I suppose you should. I’m happiest
when in the utmost ignorance. No head for politics, but," she waved her hand
at the party goers, "I must be able to comment with some degree of knowledge
about the invasion. It wouldn’t do to sound unpatriotic. Mustn’t make
Rainer look bad."
*
* *
Coming
Sept '07
