Paving the New Road

by Sulari Gentill

  Eva smiled. “I would love to, Herr Negus. You are staying on Schellingstrasse, are you not? Perhaps I could walk up after work? I finish at four today.”

  “That would do very well, I think,” Rowland replied, pulling his notebook from his jacket and jotting down the address, which he tore out for Eva. “I would like to finish it for you.”

  Eva clapped her hands excitedly. “I cannot wait to see it finished…and it will be so nice to spend time with my Australian friends again.”

  With apologies, they took their leave of her to catch a motor cab into the centre of Munich. There they stopped at the Deutsche Bank and Rowland used the letter that Wilfred had given him before they left Sydney to extract a large amount of German currency, as well as pounds sterling. If they needed to leave in a hurry, they would also no longer be able to rely on the line of credit established for their aliases. He didn’t expect they’d have time to stop at the bank, either.

  “What are we going to tell Alois, if we have to go?” Edna asked quietly, staring at the small fortune stuffed into her handbag, which luckily was, by the dictates of fashion, large. It all seemed a little alarming now.

  “This is only a precaution, Ed,” Rowland replied. “Hopefully we won’t need to use it. I’m sorry about Richter…he has been rather sporting. We’ll leave him a note that we’ve been called away, and write once we’re out of the country.”

  Edna sighed. “At least you’ll be able to finish Eva’s portrait.”

  Rowland nodded. As trivial as it seemed, he did want to finish the portrait. He had promised Eva that he would. “Just hope she isn’t silly enough to give it to this Wolf chap.”

  “Don’t make her too recognisable, in case she does,” Edna advised. “You don’t want poor Mrs. Wolf to walk into Hoffman’s one day and recognise the naked girl on her bedroom wall.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  NAZIS PUNISHED FOR

  VISITING LONDON

  Strict disciplinary action has been taken against the two German Nazis who recently visited London in uniform, and who returned to Berlin by air, says a London newspaper.

  The party tickets and the uniforms of the two men—Kurt Nitschke and Herbert Wessel—have been taken away from them, and they will be tried by a special disciplinary court of their organisation, the formidable S.S.—Hitler’s bodyguard—for violating the party rule that members must on no account wear uniforms abroad. The young men were met in London on their arrival by officials of their organisation, who informed them of their fate. It is probable that they will be expelled from the party.

  —The Mail, 1934

  “Quick, in here!” Clyde’s head appeared briefly through the crack in the door and disappeared again.

  Rowland looked at Edna. She shrugged. They had arrived back at Richter’s mansion to find that everybody appeared to have stepped out. And so they’d wandered up the stairs to the bedrooms to find a place to stash the money Rowland had withdrawn.

  Rowland opened the door to the guestroom and then followed Edna in.

  “Close the door,” Clyde said, the moment Rowland entered the room.

  Edna clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Rowland stared.

  Milton stood before them, his hands on his hips. He turned to show the black jodhpurs and knee-high boots to effect. “Well, what do you think?”

  “That you’ve lost your mind.” Rowland folded his arms, mystified as to why Milton would be in an SS uniform.

  “Rowly, Rowly, Rowly…” Milton said sadly. “You’re not really cut out for spying, are you, old chap?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Clyde and I have figured out how we’re going to stop Campbell.”

  “Indeed.” Rowland leaned back against the door. “Go on.”

  “I’m going to walk straight up to him and tell him to go back to his hotel.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  Milton smiled. “Yes, I have. While you and Ed were out doing God knows what, Clyde and I had a few drinks with old Richter.” He directed Rowland and Edna to sit on the bed and took the club chair beside it. Clyde stayed by the closed door.

  “You may recall that our host had been complaining about a certain black uniform that he would prefer to make a little less grim.”

  “Yes, the SS uniform…”

  “Well, not exactly.” Milton sat back and played with the twirled points of his moustache. “The uniform that Richter was hoping to modify belongs to a special unit of the SS…the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler. Apparently they’re the Chancellor’s personal guard.” Milton stood. “You will notice that my uniform is missing the red swastika armband.” He bent forward so that they could more clearly see his collar. “See these little lightning bolt things? They’re the insignia of the Leibstandarte.”

  “Where did you get this uniform?” Rowland asked.

  “Richter has the contract to make them…He’d been hoping to convince some bloke called Dietrich—who’s managed to wrest the unit from Himmler’s control—to brighten up the uniform a bit…but he hasn’t got very far. Anyway, there’s a storeroom in the basement full of them, ready for shipping to Berlin. He showed us.”

  Edna nodded. “Alois showed me the other day…but what exactly are you planning to do, dressed like that?”

  “Well, I’m not going fox-hunting.”

  Rowland was beginning to suspect where Milton was going.

  “Campbell’s never met Milt,” Clyde said.

  “Just what are you proposing?” Rowland looked from Clyde to Milton.

  “According to Richter, this guard unit has only recently been formed and they’re based in Berlin, separate from the ordinary SS. I figure the only way the blokes over here would be able to recognise a member of the Leibstandarte is by this uniform.”

  Clyde rolled his eyes and decided to cut to the point. “Milt plans to intercept Campbell as he gets to the Königsplatz and tell him that Hitler’s in town.”

  Milton explained more clearly before Rowland could react. “The Leibstandarte is Hitler’s personal guard. I’ll speak to Campbell as an emissary of the Chancellor himself, who has decided that he wishes to meet the famous Australian fascist, Eric Campbell…but of course for security reasons it must be done secretly. I’ll tell Campbell to go back to his hotel immediately and wait for Hitler to pop by.”

  “You’re insane!” Rowland said incredulously. “Clyde, I can’t believe you’re going along with this!”

  Clyde shrugged. “It’s a better plan than trying to kidnap him, Rowly, which is our only other option.”

  Rowland shook his head. “Not even Campbell’s going to believe a lone man, no matter what he’s wearing, and the SA is hardly going to stand back and just let you take their guest speaker. Milt doesn’t even speak German, for pity’s sake!”

  Milton was not deterred. “I’ve got that sorted out. You and Clyde come with me…hang back. You talk to the SA while I talk to Campbell. It’ll be late and dark. If you don’t get too close, he won’t recognise you, and in this Leibstandarte uniform, the SA won’t give us any trouble.”

  Rowland stared at him. “You’re serious.”

  “I lifted three uniforms,” Milton said. “We can return them tomorrow—Richter will never know.”

  “It’s risky, Milt.”

  Milton grinned. “But you can see it, can’t you, Rowly? You can see how it just may work.”

  Rowland said nothing for a moment. The ploy had its merits, but could they possibly get away with something so outrageous?

  Edna stared at the three of them in alarm. “What if you get caught?”

  “We’ll say it’s a lark,” Milton said. “Some kind of elaborate joke…”

  “Yes, I’m sure they’ll be laughing when they shoot us,” Clyde muttered. But it seemed that he, too, was in favour of Milton’s plan.
>
  Edna took a deep breath. “Don’t you think Colonel Campbell will think it a bit odd that he’s approached by a Nazi officer with an Australian accent?”

  “I can have a German accent.” Milton stood and recited the Lord’s Prayer while maintaining the fascist salute.

  Rowland grimaced. “You sound Irish.”

  Milton grinned. “Close enough.” He sat down again. “Come on, Rowly, you managed to convince Campbell that you were a young fascist-in-the-making for months. I only have to pull off being German for ten minutes. He’ll go back to his hotel to receive the Chancellor, we’ll take off these ridiculous outfits and have a tale to dine out on for years.”

  Despite himself, Rowland smiled. “I’m not sure we’ll be permitted to tell anybody, Milt.”

  Edna looked hard at Rowland. “You’re going to do this, aren’t you?” she accused.

  “Campbell’s so keen for an audience with the great man that it could just work.”

  Milton slapped Rowland on the back in triumph.

  Edna frowned. “Well, what am I going to do?” She pointed her finger at Rowland. “I am not staying here.”

  Rowland laughed. Edna did not like to be left out of subterfuge. He’d suspected there was more to her caution than mere concern that they were about to embark on suicide in costume.

  “Ed should come,” Clyde said thoughtfully. “If things go wrong she can alert Wilfred, for what it’s worth.”

  “If things go wrong,” Rowland said, turning to Edna, “you buy a train ticket to Paris and send Wil a telegram from there.”

  They spent the remainder of that afternoon scripting what exactly Milton would say to Campbell. Rowland then coached the poet to ensure he sounded more German than Irish. Fortunately, Richter was away from the house and so their absence from the sitting room was barely noticed.

  They secreted the money Rowland had withdrawn in the trunk of the Mercedes that Richter insisted they retain for their exclusive use. It occurred to Rowland that should they be forced to flee he might have to steal the motor car to aid their escape. He didn’t particularly care for the idea. It seemed a poor way to treat one’s host—particularly one who had been as generous and kind as Richter—but he supposed he could write and set matters to right once they had reached some sort of safety. He hoped it would not come to that.

  Eva arrived promptly at half past four, bright and clearly excited. Strangely, Rowland was quite looking forward to spending a couple of hours painting. There were still several hours till midnight and dwelling on what they were about to attempt would probably not make it seem any less foolhardy.

  Eva went ahead into the room which Richter had set up as a studio, while Rowland poured her a drink.

  Clyde and Milton were passing the time at cards.

  “Where’s Millie?” Rowland asked, noting Edna’s absence.

  “She’s downstairs with Richter,” Clyde replied. “A dress-fitting, I think, for that ball gown he’s making her.” He shook his head. “Poor old bloke is going to be gutted when she goes,” he said quietly.

  Rowland nodded, glancing at the small blurry photo of Richter’s wife and daughter which sat on the mantel. “He has taken rather a shine to her.” The German tailor had all but adopted the sculptress, doting on her like an indulgent father. Edna, who had from the first been moved by the tragedy of his loss, raised no objection, and Rowland suspected that she had become genuinely very fond of him. Whenever it was that they would leave Munich, it would be a sad parting. “She can write, I suppose.”

  Rowland took the glass of sherry into the studio.

  Eva reclined on the chaise already undressed. “I’m ready, Herr Negus. How do you want me?”

  Rowland smiled. “You should really call me Robert, Eva. We’ve probably got past the formalities.”

  Eva rolled over onto her side. “Of course, Robert. This was how I was last time, I think…”

  Rowland adjusted the painting on his easel. “Actually, I’m just painting your face now. You can get dressed if you like.”

  “Oh.” Eva seemed a little nonplussed.

  “I’m sorry, Eva, I should have said something earlier. I’ll just step out so you can get dressed,” he added, knowing even women who were comfortable modelling naked often required privacy for the act of getting dressed.

  She laughed. “No, it’s all right. We are, after all, on a first-name basis now.”

  He prepared his palette while she pulled on her slip and shimmied into a long, figure-hugging skirt.

  “Are you going to the book-burning in Königsplatz this evening, Robert?” she asked casually, as she buttoned her blouse.

  “No, I don’t think so, Eva,” Rowland lied, a little disconcerted by the question. Would they have to make sure they didn’t run into Eva at the Königsplatz, in addition to everything else? “I don’t suppose you’re going?”

  To his relief, she shook her head, beaming, stumbling over her words in the rush to tell him her good news. “I am having dinner with Herr Wolf this evening. He came into the shop not long after I saw you this morning. It was all I could do not to blurt out the surprise we have for him.”

  “The surprise?”

  “The painting, of course, silly. Oh, Robert, will it be ready today? I could give it to him at dinner.” She jumped a little, like a child anticipating some longed-for treat. “I have been waiting so long for him to have time for me. Are you not happy for me, Robert?”

  He smiled, though he was worried about the girl’s desperate infatuation. He could not see it ending well. “I’m afraid it won’t be dry, Eva.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell, disappointed. Then she cheered a little. “I will tell him I have a magnificent surprise for him and he won’t be able to stay away.”

  Rowland pulled out a chair and placed it just before his easel. “Come and sit here, Eva,” he said, as he dipped his brush in Pthalo blue.

  Edna walked into the studio and gasped as she stopped behind Rowland. He was still working, although Eva had left over two hours before to prepare for her evening with Herr Wolf.

  “What happened?” she demanded.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  Edna scrutinised the portrait of Eva, lightly painted with soft strokes, a startling, gentle likeness. It was a nude but it was to the face of the subject that one was drawn. Her eyes gazed dreamily from the canvas, her fairness almost luminescent against the darkness of the background. There was a tender and romantic quality to the work. “It’s lovely, Rowly, but where’s the one you started by the lake? Didn’t you finish it?”

  Rowland rubbed his head. “Yes…it’s on Clyde’s easel.” Both Clyde’s easel and the canvas on it faced the wall.

  “Then what’s this?” Edna said, glancing back at the new portrait.

  “I think I might have got rather carried away with the other one. I decided I’d better paint another piece for Eva.”

  “Didn’t she like the first one?”

  “She hasn’t actually seen it…I came to my senses before I showed her and just started this one.”

  “Didn’t you like it?”

  “No, I did…I just think Eva is expecting something rather more traditional.”

  Edna couldn’t resist any longer. She turned Clyde’s easel around and stood back to view the canvas. “Oh, Rowly.”

  “What do you think?” Rowland asked tentatively. The painting was an experiment with a style quite outside his usual.

  Edna didn’t say anything for a while, as she studied the finished work. Rowland had rendered Eva’s face in the same eggshell blue as he had painted her naked body. The lines were familiar. The almost reverential portrayal of her form, glorying in every curve, was distinctly Rowland Sinclair. He’d captured the cherubic roundness of her face but he’d washed out her features so they were mere hints of likeness. All but her eyes. In those h
e’d caught a kind of furtive, subjugated vibrancy and an overwhelming sense of desperation and hopelessness. To Edna, it was strange and beautiful and sad.

  “You’ve never painted me this way, Rowly.”

  “I don’t paint anybody the way I paint you,” he replied quietly. He glanced at the canvas and laughed. “Perhaps I’m just trying to keep up with von Eidelsöhn.”

  Edna smiled. “I wouldn’t think you’d need to do that. This looks just like Eva, but you wouldn’t guess it if you didn’t know. It’s so heartbreaking…more like her than any of my photographs.”

  “Still,” Rowland said, absently wiping his hands on his waistcoat, “I think she may prefer the other one.”

  “Perhaps.” Edna turned to observe him critically. The canvas, it seemed, had not received all the paint. “You’d better get cleaned up…It’s getting late.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “German men and women! The age of arrogant Jewish intellectualism is now at an end!... You are doing the right thing at this midnight hour—to consign to the flames the unclean spirit of the past. This is a great, powerful, and symbolic act.

  Out of these ashes the phoenix of a new age will arise... Oh Century! Oh Science! It is a joy to be alive!”

  —Joseph Goebbels,

  Reich Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, speaking at the Berlin book-burning

  May 10, 1933

  The process of getting out of Richter’s house and to the Königsplatz had been carefully planned. They had told Richter that they were attending a party thrown by one of the smaller galleries which exhibited work of interest. Earlier, when Richter had taken an afternoon nap, Clyde and Milton had stashed the uniforms of the Leibstandarte in the back of the Mercedes. At nine o’clock they shared a late supper with their host and at ten they wished him good night.