The Pursuit of Pearls

by Jane Thynne

“Because Hugh had the most lethal of all qualities. Charm. Charm deflects inquiry. We’re taught about those types in training. They’re dominant. They imagine they can calculate risks and manage them better than anyone else.”

  “You knew him at Oxford, didn’t you?”

  “I liked him a lot actually, though we were intellectual rivals. We had some of the same friends, but we lost touch afterwards. Hugh lived a peripatetic existence. After Christ Church he traveled to Vienna, then went back to England and took up a job as a journalist. At the same time he began working for the Intelligence Services.”

  “Like you.”

  “Only, in Hugh’s case, it was a cover for his work for the Soviet Union. He’d formed Marxist sympathies in Austria and began to spy for the NKVD. They managed to infiltrate him into D Section, and that gave him knowledge of our entire European network. Hugh knew I was in Vienna, and he let the police know too. I disappeared just in time.”

  Leo pulled Clara to him, resting his chin on her head and kissing her hair.

  “There was a day, when I was on the run, that I slipped into a cinema and saw a film of yours, and I felt you were right there, in my arms. It was so real, I could almost taste your skin and smell that perfume you wear. It was like…a vision. I knew I’d been wrong to enforce that vow of silence on you. I had a plan, Clara. I thought I knew best. But things don’t always turn out the way you plan them. All I know now is that I want you with me in England. Safe. There’s no telling when war could break out.”

  “There is. Von Ribbentrop is flying to Moscow imminently to finalize a nonaggression pact. The Soviet Union will stand by when Hitler invades Poland. I’ve seen the memorandum. It’s code-named Operation White. And they’ve set a date. September first.”

  “Have you told anyone this?”

  “Only you.”

  It was darker now, the surroundings becoming monochrome. They had emerged at the spot where the elegant gray-green steel arches of the Glienicker bridge spanned the Havel. To the north the land rose up in densely wooded slopes to the landscaped park and fairy-tale turrets of the Schloss Babelsberg. To the east, a few fragile points of light signaled the outlying streets of Potsdam. Leo gestured to a car parked on the far end of the bridge, its engine idling.

  “There was a man I knew in the German Foreign Office. I’d met him years ago in London, and I thought he might be sympathetic to us. He was unwilling to cooperate, though I sensed that he was not an ardent Nazi. So I took a chance and called him earlier today. He agreed to drive me across the border tonight.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  “No. You are. If we try to leave together, we risk attracting attention. You will take my place in the car. I’ll follow.”

  “How can you follow? You’re on a Gestapo watch list. How long could you evade them?”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “You don’t have a hope of escaping them, Leo. This is your best chance.”

  He squared his shoulders, wrapped his arms round her waist, and looked at her. The movement of his body against hers aroused the old, familiar feelings, the urgency of desire, the recognition that loving each other had become a part of them—the best part perhaps—and that what they possessed was solid and incorruptible. Clara yearned to stay suspended in that moment, for the earth to halt in its orbit and the stars above them to slow.

  He said, “I’ve spent so much of my life in the shadows. Pretending. Deceiving people. That’s the job, I know, but I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want the most important part of my life to be open, public, dull even. I used to crave excitement and novelty, but now I want my life to be normal, or as normal as it could be alongside the loveliest woman in the world. I want a row of children with your eyes. As many as you like. I want to be able to say ‘Look, everyone, this is Clara Vine, who is not only the most beautiful woman you have met, but is also my wife.’ ”

  She glanced away, down to the river below, remembering her pact with the deity, that she would do whatever Leo wanted if only he was alive. That she would be the woman he wanted her to be.

  “What good would it do if you were dead? How could we marry then?”

  He carried on, almost as if she had not spoken. “There’s a poem, by Martial, a Roman poet. He says we should not ‘miss the rich life within our reach.’ You’re my rich life. Take my place, Clara.”

  He looked at her, as if trying to compress a lifetime’s conversation into a single glance. As though his life depended on her answer.

  “I’ll come as fast as I can. But I can’t leave Germany without saying goodbye to Erich.”

  “Erich will understand.” The light in his eyes pierced as sharply as the first time she had met him. That same level gaze, whose intensity almost made her shiver.

  “There are three surveillance teams looking for you. No one’s looking for me. I can take the first train out of Berlin. I can leave Germany tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “When war comes Erich will be called up, and I might never see him again. I have to see him before I leave. You must trust me, Leo. You do trust me, don’t you? There’s no point in anything if you don’t.”

  He cupped her face. Although his face remained controlled, a tremor in his hands betrayed the depth of his emotion.

  “I do.”

  “And you believe I’m capable?”

  “That’s one thing about you that I have never doubted.”

  She linked her fingers into his, as tightly as if they had been parachute jumpers, planning to launch themselves together into the cold unknown.

  “Go then.”

  He walked along the bridge. She could see the soft glow of the car’s gauges and the gleam of the leather inside. But whether Conrad Adler saw her, as the door opened and Leo got inside, it was impossible to tell. She stood watching, until the car’s lights dimmed into the distance and finally faded from sight.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  No event was more central to the outbreak of World War II than the Nazi-Soviet Nonaggression Pact. Signed on August 23, 1939, it was an enormous coup for Hitler, turning Germany’s greatest foe into an ally overnight and avoiding the danger of a war along the eastern borders of the Reich. Leni Riefenstahl records how she was present at the film evening at the Chancellery when Hitler’s remarks about Stalin gave the first inkling of his intentions.

  —

  The Sonderfahndungsliste G.B., The Gestapo Handbook for the Invasion of Britain—was designed to be given to every soldier. It was a who’s who of the British establishment, listing more than two thousand people, complete with photographs, home addresses, and private hobbies. It also probed every facet of British life, from political parties, police forces, and secret services to newspapers, radio stations, and trade unions.

  —

  The Rote Kapelle, the Red Orchestra, was a network of seven resistance groups with more than 150 members, including the fortune-teller Annie Krauss. They sheltered Jews and Communists and provided forged papers for those attempting to flee. More than 120 members of the Berlin group were arrested in 1942 and sentenced to death.

  —

  Alois, the half brother of Adolf Hitler, ran a restaurant at 3 Wittenbergplatz for many years. He was approached anonymously by the Rote Kapelle with an invitation to join them and circulate a typed flyer denouncing the Nazis’ culture of lies. Instead he handed the note over to the Gestapo, and the leaders were ultimately arrested and executed.

  —

  Albert Goering, brother of Hermann Goering, took a different approach. The SS kept a file on him, and he was declared a “Public Enemy of the Reich,” but Hermann rescinded the arrest warrant. When he was arrested at the end of the war, Albert secured a speedy release by producing a list of thirty-four key figures who would testify to the numerous people he had helped. He refused to change his name after the war and died impoverished.

  —

  Magda Goebbels’s affair with Karl Hanke came to an end when he volunteered
for military service. The Journey to Tilsit was launched in November 1939 in Berlin. Magda Goebbels ostentatiously walked out of the premiere.

  —

  A large amount of the “Degenerate art” seized by the Nazis went missing. A celebrated haul was discovered in 2012 in the Munich flat of Cornelius Gurlitt, whose father, Hildebrand Gurlitt, had amassed 1,406 works by painters including Matisse, Chagall, Beckmann, Nolde, and Picasso while working for the Nazis.

  —

  Elsa Neuländer-Simon, also known as Yva, was a celebrated fashion photographer in Berlin and gave Helmut Newton his first apprenticeship. She and her husband were deported to the Majdanek concentration camp and murdered in 1942.

  —

  Leni Riefenstahl abandoned her film Germania on the outbreak of war.

  For John Carey

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It takes so many people to make a book, and there have been some particularly brilliant people who have contributed their talents to this one. I am grateful for the editing expertise and generous enthusiasm of the legendary Kate Miciak, as well as the support of Julia Maguire, Christine Mykityshyn, and all those on the Ballantine team. Huge thanks to Nina Pronovost, and to Zoe Maslow, Adria Iwasutiak, and everyone at Penguin Random House Canada.

  To my agent, Caradoc King, for believing in Clara Vine from the time she was just a twenty-six-year-old actress fresh off the train to Berlin, and to fellow writers Elizabeth Buchan, Liz Jensen, Amanda Craig, Kate Saunders, and Anne Sebba for cheering her along.

  My special thanks go the wonderful Joanna Coles, whose gift for friendship has been unrivaled since the day we met on a Fleet Street newspaper diary column. To John Carey, whose encouragement and enthusiasm have been a constant inspiration, and to my children, William, Charlie, and Naomi, who patiently steer conversation away from World War II to the more important topics of social life, travel arrangements, and food in the fridge.

  I never imagined, when Clara Vine first stepped off that train in the Friedrichstrasse station, that I would follow her so far. But her destiny piqued questions in me that demanded answers about how she would come to terms with her past, what war would bring, and what her future might be. It has been wonderful to continue her story, and I hope you enjoy it.

  THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF NAZI GERMANY

  When I first thought of setting a series of novels in prewar Berlin, I knew a few things. I knew that my heroine was going to be Anglo-German and an actress. I decided that she would be a spy who gains a valuable glimpse of the Nazi elite through the women around her. Yet while I understood a fair bit about the men and the politics of the Third Reich, I realized that I knew far less about the lives of the women in that regime. And increasingly, as I delved deep into the lives of women through their letters and journals, I became fascinated by what I came to think of as the Real Housewives of Nazi Germany.

  Under Hitler, every aspect of a woman’s life was tightly controlled, from child-bearing, marriage, and social life, right down to her daily appearance. The ideal woman didn’t pluck her eyebrows, paint her nails, or dye her hair. Nor did she smoke. In the early days of the Reich, bars and restaurants throughout Germany were plastered with signs saying GERMAN WOMEN DON’T SMOKE, and storm troopers who saw a woman smoking in public were advised to dash the cigarette from her lips.

  But the control over women’s appearance didn’t stop at cigarettes and cosmetics. One of the first things Hitler did when he came to power in 1933 was to establish a Reich Fashion Bureau. He realized that fashion carries a potent political message and he knew exactly what image he wanted German women to project to the world. The female look should celebrate tradition, so the Bureau promoted dirndls, bodices, and Tyrolean jackets. Women should only wear clothes made by German designers, with German materials. By “German,” Hitler meant Aryan, which posed an immediate problem because the fashion industry and the textile trade of the time were dominated by Jewish companies. Hitler also frowned on Parisian couture, both because he disliked the French, and also because designers like Coco Chanel encouraged an unnaturally slender silhouette. A nation of women striving for slim hips and boyish bodies was certainly not ideal if Hitler was to achieve one of his major objectives—to encourage prolific child-bearing.

  In one of the many bizarre hypocrisies of the Third Reich, the woman chosen to preside over this Fashion Bureau was Magda Goebbels, the wife of the Propaganda Minister. Like many other aspects of Nazi Germany, Magda Goebbels’s participation was rife with contradictions, and Magda herself was the living, breathing opposite of everything the Bureau promoted. Famed for her love of couture, she changed several times a day, slathered on Elizabeth Arden cosmetics, chain smoked, and wore hand-made Ferragamo shoes. Her favorite fashion designers, Paul Kuhnen, Richard Goetz, Max Becker, and Fritz Grünfeld, were all Jewish.

  Yet there was a far greater contradiction in Magda Goebbels’s life than her fashion sense. Before she married, she had a passionate involvement with a leading Zionist called Victor Arlosoroff, who returned to Berlin in 1933 aghast at his former girlfriend’s choice of husband. To me, the idea that the wife of the arch persecutor of the Jews, Joseph Goebbels, should have had an affair with an important Jewish agitator seemed astonishing. But it was typical of the ironies that reigned in that terrible, turbulent regime.

  One question always at the back of my mind while I was researching the lives of Nazi women was the extent to which they themselves had exerted a political influence on their husbands. Did any of them act as the power behind the throne? In some cases, the answer was yes. Annelies von Ribbentrop and Lina Heydrich were both considered more ardent Nazis than their husbands. Yet others, like Emmy Goering, actively interceded with their husbands on an occasional basis to save friends. Henriette, the wife of the Hitler Youth leader Baldur von Schirach, was the only one who actually remonstrated with Hitler when she confronted him over dinner at the Berghof about the treatment of Jews in Holland. She was never invited again.

  Women are so often the untold half of history and their perspectives are frequently ignored. I think it’s impossible to visualize the Nazi leaders as people without getting a glimpse of their private lives and their most important relationships.

  For me, understanding the Real Housewives of Nazi Germany, from the wives of the elite to the ordinary women in the street, was the key to making history and, I hope, my novels come alive.

  QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. Despite their seemingly different political inclinations, Clara visits her sister when she is upset by Grand’s suggestion of Leo’s death. Blood may be thicker than water, but do you believe, as Clara does, that it should be thicker than war?

  2. How does Clara’s status as an English spy change her relationship with Erich?

  3. Clara talks about all the things that have been rationed, such as coffee and meat, or made more difficult, such as easy travel. What do you think is the hardest thing for her to sacrifice? What would be the hardest for you?

  4. What advice would you give to Hedwig about the conflict between Jochen and her parents?

  5. Though Clara narrates the majority of the novel, we occasionally see events from Hedwig’s point of view. In what ways are the two perspectives similar? In what ways are they different?

  6. In part due to Clara’s mixed heritage many of her acquaintances ask where she would eventually like to settle down. Where do you think she should go?

  7. Conrad Adler knows that Clara is part Jewish, but she continues on with her life as always, even seeing Adler again. Do you agree with her decision, or would you have handled the situation differently?

  8. Themes of heritage pervade the book, often bringing into conflict ethnic, religious, cultural, and national identities. What do you think it is that makes you who you are?

  9. What do you think Conrad Adler means when he says that Clara has a look of “fire behind ice”?

  10. In a world of spies, secrets, and war, it is difficult to know who to trust, and Clar
a chooses her confidants carefully. Do you agree with all of her choices? Who in your life would you choose to trust if you were in Clara’s circumstances?

  11. Do you think Conrad Adler is a good man, or do you think he is as bad as the political party for which he works? Would you trust him? Why or why not?

  12. There are quite a few revelations as the final pieces of the book fall into place. What surprised you the most?

  PRELUDE

  BERLIN, OCTOBER 1937

  The flash and dazzle of fireworks, like multicolored shrapnel, studded the night sky. Vivid bursts of phosphorus erupted in the damp air, bloomed into extravagant showers of stars, then fizzled and died against the dark sheet of the Wannsee below. A faint plume of smoke drifted across the lake as the fireworks fell quiet and night closed in again.

  From where she stood, in the deep shadow of the garden, Anna Hansen tried to work out which of the big villas on Schwanenwerder Island had something to celebrate. Fireworks were nothing special here. There were always parties going on in the grand houses. They all had large gardens stretching down to the lake from where, across the water, loomed the inky mass of the Grunewald’s eastern shore. Between the shores the dip and ripple of small boats could be heard, rocking in the wind as the water slapped against their sides.

  Anna shivered in the night air. It was cold standing here, surrounded by softly dripping shrubs. She shuffled her slippered feet and clutched her dressing gown more closely around her. Though it might have been the bangs and whistles that woke her, in truth she had scarcely been able to sleep, despite an exhausting day. But then, it was always an exhausting day at the Schwanenwerder Reich Bride School. It seemed there was so much to learn for women who were about to marry members of the SS. It wasn’t like being an ordinary German bride, though, heaven knows, those girls had their work cut out. But as the Führer said, the women who were to marry the cream of German manhood needed to be something special.