A War of Flowers (2014) (33 page)

‘So . . . you live in Paris now?’

‘Yes. Though I keep an apartment in Charlottenburg. Clausewitzstrasse, just off the Ku’damm, for when I’m in Berlin. It’s been in the family for generations. It fell
empty after my grandmother died. It was strange, at first, being apart from Gisela, and being back in a place I associated with childhood, but in another way, it has helped clarify my ideas of who
I am and what I believe.’

‘What do you believe?’

‘I have a sense, how to describe it? It’s like what they call in the Bible “The end of days”. And if it is the end of days, then perhaps we should, as the Romans say, as
I said once before,
carpe diem
.’

‘Seize the day?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How gloomy you sound.’

‘You’re right!’ His voice had a way of shifting from melancholy to humour in the space of a single sentence. ‘What kind of man darkens a dinner with a beautiful woman
with talk of his ex-wife and the end of days? That’s the kind of thing I should reserve for my psychiatrist.’

‘Do you have one?’

‘I did once. I fired him.’

‘Why?’

‘He talked too much.’

‘What do you mean when you say it’s like the end of days?’

‘I suppose I mean it may be the end of one era and the beginning of the next.’

‘You mean war?’

‘Perhaps. At times like these everything is changed, isn’t it?’

He was staring at her intently, and to break the spell Clara got up and went over to the tray to refill her glass. Brandt came up behind her and very gently lifted the hair from the nape of her
neck, leaned forward and kissed her there. She felt his breath burn her skin, moving across her hair, and she turned to face him. His eyes were serious and tender and his thumb moved roughly across
her face like the harsh caress of a cat’s lick.

He fed her another piece of peach and her mouth drowned in sweetness. There was a slow deliberation about him, as though he was prepared to enjoy everything, every sensation and every smell,
like a man who might be living his final day.

He cupped her face in his hands and looked at her seriously.

‘Let’s not talk about the past. Nothing’s predestined. We all have the power to affect our own destiny and make our own choices, don’t you agree?’

Clara felt herself melting. Why should she not respond to him? Sexual allure was a weapon, but it was also real for her. At that moment she saw both of them with a sudden vividness as if from
above, everything in minute detail, the food on the tray beside them, the shards in his eyes, the delicate powder on the inside petal of the lily. Her situation, and the choice she faced, was cast
in intense clarity.

Max was right to say people should make their choices, but Clara had made hers. What was she thinking of, letting her guard down and giving in to the urge for a moment’s pleasure? She
moved across the room.

‘Something’s the matter,’ he stated, baldly.

‘Of course it is. You’re not what I think you are, Max.’

He crossed his arms.

‘Is that so? What am I then?’

‘You’re in the SS for a start. That doesn’t happen by chance. It takes something to be in the SS.’

‘Certainly it does. Aryan heritage going back to 1750, at least twenty-three years in age and five foot six and a half inches in height. Oh, and at some point I’ll need to get my
blood type tattooed onto my arm. At least that’s what it said in the booklet. I didn’t read the small print.’

‘You know that’s not what I mean.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It takes a certain kind of person. Someone who’s working for Heydrich.’

For a second he stared in amazement. Then he burst out laughing. After a minute he recovered himself and wiped a hand across his eyes.

‘I shouldn’t laugh. It’s no laughing matter. But what the hell makes you think that?’

‘The rank. The uniform.’

‘I explained the uniform.’

‘It’s more than that. I have an instinct about you. You’ve not been honest with me. You’re concealing something.’

There was a moment of silence. She could see his face calculating, his mind turning before he spoke. He moved slowly across and poured himself a shot of brandy and soda, and when he turned back
to face her, his eyes had lost their humorous gleam.

‘You’re right. I’ve not been entirely honest. But then, my dear Clara, neither have you. You, too, are not what you seem. I’ve known that for some time. Since the first
evening I met you, in fact.’

There was a moment of stillness in the room and time seemed to expand, as if the two of them were poised on the threshold of some deeper understanding.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t you? I think you do. I knew there was something about you in Chanel’s salon. You confirmed it for me when I followed you back to your hotel. You told me that
you’re a British agent.’

Her entire body became rigid with shock, but she managed a laugh and, to deflect his scrutiny, coolly withdrew a cigarette from her bag.

‘What an extraordinary suggestion. I never told you any such thing.’

He pulled out his lighter and the flame leapt up to touch her cigarette.

‘Oh, not overtly of course. You’re far too skilled for that. Far too clever to make any number of little slip-ups. You’re cautious. I’ve seen you check the street around
you for shadows. I’ve noticed the way you assess a situation before you progress. You have that alert intelligence in your eyes that lets nothing escape you. You’re always listening,
even when you seem to be far away. And you speak several languages. To speak another language fluently is to inhabit an entirely different character, don’t you think? But the fact is, you
told me what you were the instant you mentioned your lover’s name. Sturmbannführer Steinbrecher. I recognized that name at once. I know him actually.’

‘You know him?’

‘Very well.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘I don’t think you do. You see, that’s my name.’

‘Steinbrecher?’

‘Shall we say my codename. The British gave it to me. When I first made contact with them.’

As she stared at him he sank down into the armchair, gazing into the fire, and then leant forward, hands clasped together and elbows on his knees. There was no smile in his eyes any more, just
deadly seriousness.

‘It was about a year ago when I first made contact with members of the British Foreign Office. I volunteered my services and privileged information to a foreign power in what is
effectively treason, or would be, except that I regard it as pure patriotism. You see, Clara, I no longer recognize the Germany I love. I see these brutes strong-arming a small nation like Austria,
and now threatening Czechoslovakia, because they can and no one will stop them. I see them running riot with the rule of law – Germany, whose legal system is the greatest in the world, which
has always stood for justice and right. And when I see this gang of thugs flooding the streets of my beloved country with tides of blood, I feel hatred swelling inside me and I think damn them all,
these savages who are making our country a pariah. Damn these men like Himmler and Heydrich who are sadists of a kind I can hardly bear to imagine. I hate this false Germany, as much as I love the
real Germany. And I intend to do something about it.’

‘What can you do?’

‘I’m part of a conspiracy, a plot to overthrow Hitler. We intend to mount a coup.’

‘A coup?’ The word seemed to ring out in the silence of the room.

‘More an act of self-defence. Defence of Germany against an aggressive madman.’

His face sideways on seemed older, anxiety etched into the lines.

‘I mean it, Clara. Someone needs to tell the truth about Hitler before it’s too late. We’ve been waiting for the opportunity for an overthrow. And now I think the time has
come.’

‘We? Who is we?’

‘I can’t tell you that right now. To be honest, it’s not safe to give you that information. It would compromise you, as much as them. But one thing is certain, Clara. We need
Britain to understand our resolve. If Britain believes there’s serious opposition to Hitler among the German military, she will be empowered to take a stronger stand against him. Then if this
madman proceeds to attack Czechoslovakia, he will face an Anglo-French alliance on one side and a Czech force, perhaps allied with Soviet air power, on the other front.’

Clara tried to control her conflicting emotions. The relief, that Brandt was not the tool of Heydrich she had feared, the growing admiration for his bravery and, underlying both, the potent
attraction she felt for him.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘I wanted to. I couldn’t bear you thinking of me in the same light as them. Some black-shirted gangster who thinks ethics belong in ancient Greece.’

He reached forward and brushed a curl of hair from her forehead.

‘And there’s another reason. There’s something you could do for us, Clara.’

She had a sinking realization that this was the culmination of what he had been planning since the moment he met her.

‘What could I do?’

‘I’m torn. Part of me doesn’t want you to be involved with this in any way. I don’t want to put you in danger, any more than you might be already. I was already thinking
about how you might help us when I met you on the Ku’damm that day . . .’

‘Which wasn’t a coincidence?’

‘No. I went looking for you. Even then, I hadn’t quite decided whether to approach you. But when I discovered you’d met the Führer’s girlfriend, I realized the
opportunity was too good to miss.’

‘So what do you need me to do?’

‘If, as I assume, Eva Braun recovers from her little cry for help, she will be returning to Berlin with the Führer. That’s where we’ll need you. I can’t yet tell you
how, or even when, but you’ll get adequate warning.’

‘What sort of warning?’

‘I can’t tell you that either. Not yet.’

He ran a single finger in a line down her cheek.

‘Do you know why I chose the name Steinbrecher? It’s one of our native flowers – a stone breaker. It grows in the Bavarian Alps. It’s nothing much to look at, this little
flower, but it’s vigorous and strong enough to break paving stones apart. It makes its way up through the cracks in the rock and fragments them. It’s a fragile thing, yet it has the
power to tunnel through granite.’

‘It suits you. You’re brave.’

He reached out his arm to her.

‘If I were really brave I would make love to you, as I’ve wanted since the moment I saw you. I would not hesitate because, after all, you came here willingly and a woman who comes
alone to a man’s hotel room must have a pretty good idea of what he would like to do with her. I would pick you up in my arms and carry you through to that bed – it’s what I was
planning from the moment we arrived. I would persuade you that it was the right thing to do, even though I know there’s something holding you back. And I know it can’t be
Sturmbannführer Steinbrecher.’

His hand followed the contours of her body, as his voice wound through her mind.

‘Perhaps you can’t bear to sleep with a Nazi officer. Even if he detests the Party. Is that it?’

‘I’ve done it before.’

‘Then you find me too old, too unattractive?’

‘No.’

‘I’m still married. Is that it?’

She shook her head.

‘There’s someone else?’

‘There’s no one. I think I’m meant to be alone.’

‘If you’re not waiting for someone, then it’s only your past that’s stopping you. And we shouldn’t cling to the past, Clara, we should seize the day. Isn’t
that what we said?’

Something yielded in her. She was lonely, wasn’t she, and what was the point of refusing the most basic human solace? Whatever her thoughts about Nazi officers, Max Brandt was a decent
man. Surely you should cling to the good you found, like a pearl in the harsh rubble of oyster shells? And he was right. It wasn’t as though she was waiting for anyone.

Brandt sensed the give in her and pulled her closer. His hands reached to her shoulders and caressed her arms, before his full, soft lips met hers. His strong fingers loosened the buttons at the
back of her dress and let it fall, and his hand found its way to her stocking tops, plucking at the suspender belt.

‘I’ve taken off my uniform. Why not slip out of yours?’

She arched her body against his chest, and felt the warm circle of his arms around her.

From outside came the sharp screech of car tyres against the road. Brandt cocked his head and put his hand against her mouth.

‘Hush.’

He moved over to the window and lifted a narrow aperture, then let the curtain drop. The lights of cars passing in the street outside reared up, making scissor shapes across the ceiling and
picking out his face in the gloom. Clara came up behind him.

‘What is it?’

‘There’s a particular car in the street down there. I noticed it before.’ He turned.

‘I saw it this morning, in Wasserburgstrasse, when I went to find you. I wonder if it might be you they’re following. Do you have any reason for thinking the Gestapo might be on to
you?’

‘Frau von Ribbentrop told Lina Heydrich she didn’t trust me. She advised Lina Heydrich to tell her husband. But I didn’t think Heydrich would pay attention. Not at a time like
this.’

He contemplated this. ‘It never does to underestimate them. And von Ribbentrop knows his wife is twice as intelligent as him. If the Führer allowed women in his cabinet he would do
well to sack the Foreign Secretary and instate his wife.’

‘Do you think they’d arrest me?’

‘If they saw you go into Eva Braun’s house, almost certainly.’ He began to pace the room. ‘The only thing is . . . if they know you’re here, I would expect them to
come straight in. It’s not like the local Gestapo to wait around.’

He regarded her solemnly.

‘You need to go back to your hotel and pack. You must leave Munich. There’s no alternative.’

‘There certainly is. I’ve a part to learn. I’ve got a film to make. I can’t leave Fritz Gutmann in the lurch.’

A shadow passed over his eyes.

‘I’m afraid Fritz Gutmann is in a worse place than that.’