Paving the New Road (37 page)

“There is something else,” Rowland started, a little embarrassed to be asking so much.

“Go on then, you’d best spit it out,” she said, regarding him curiously.

Rowland took a deep breath. This would take some explaining. “We’d like to encourage Colonel Campbell to return to Australia,” he began. Nancy listened carefully as he outlined the plan to plant in Campbell’s mind the idea that his army was disintegrating in his absence, that his second-in-command was on the brink of succeeding him. “If you were to tell him all this in the course of an interview, he would not doubt it,” Rowland said, watching the young journalist’s face carefully. “He would assume the information was coming through your contacts in the press …”

Nancy grabbed his hands and squeezed them excitedly. “Why, that’s marvellous! What a wonderful plan!” She laughed delightedly.

“Then, you’ll …”

“Of course! It’s a fabulous caper. We don’t need Hitler’s nonsense getting back home. I say, I have a friend with a printing press … I may be able to mock up some articles to show him.” She raised her glass. “To subterfuge, Rowly-Robbie Sinclair-Negus.”

Rowland amended the toast. “To you, Nancy. I will be in your debt for many years, I suspect.”

The fiddlers picked up their tempo and she stood with his hand still in hers. “I think we’d better dance, don’t you?”

Rowland yawned. He had got in at dawn, which had left him just two hours to sleep. Immediately after breakfast, Alois Richter had stormed off to threaten Himmler in his indignation over the SA surveillance.

With the exception of the domestic staff, they were alone. Once the housekeeper retreated to attend to her duties, Rowland told his friends of his meeting with Nancy Wake.

“So she’ll do it?” Milton asked.

“She’s rather keen.”

Clyde chuckled. “She’s forgiven you for the liberties you took, then?”

Rowland smiled. “I believe she has.”

Milton studied him. “Miss Wake is a bloody good sport.”

Rowland rubbed his neck drowsily. “I think she’s splendid.”

For a moment, Edna looked at him strangely. “Nancy’s very beautiful,” she said wistfully.

Rowland glanced up, a little surprised.

Edna folded her arms. She smiled now, her eyes teasing again. “Alois won’t be back for a couple of hours, Rowly. You should get some sleep while he’s not here to wonder why you’re so tired.”

“No, I’m fine,” he replied, sitting up.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes, however, before he drifted off in the chair. His companions let him be, passing the time playing cards. At some point Edna slipped a cushion between his head and the wing of the chair, but otherwise they left him undisturbed.

It was past eleven when he stirred. Groggily, Rowland checked his watch.

“Damn it,” he groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Clyde asked, discarding a pair of cards.

“I promised to try running into Unity Mitford again to keep Blanshard happy. If Hitler doesn’t arrive at the restaurant by twelve, I presume she won’t wait.” He stood and straightened his tie. “I’d better chuff off.”

Milton folded his hand. “I might go with you.”

“What?”

“It’ll look suspicious if she encounters you on your own again. She’ll assume you’re madly in love with her … following her around. It could get awkward.”

“And it’ll be less awkward if I bring you?” Rowland said sceptically, his eyes rising from the poet’s emerald green cravat to the burgundy beret he wore on his head.

“What’s more natural than two old friends having a spot of lunch? You can tell her I’m an old school chum. Pip, pip, smashing wot!”

Rowland sighed. He could tell Milton was, for some reason, eager to meet Unity Mitford. Having met her once, he couldn’t fathom why, but the poet had always had an acute sense of the perverse. “Very well, then … but for God’s sake don’t speak like that!” He grimaced. “Bear in mind that you cannot tell her what a vapid lunatic she is.”

Milton looked affronted. “Why would I do that?”

“Believe me, mate, you’ll want to … but it might make things difficult.”

Milton smiled. “Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart thoughts all too deep for words.”

“Coleridge.” Rowland shook his head. “There are words … they’re just not very polite.”

29

MR. ERIC CAMPBELL

Denies Persecution of Jews

SAYS FASCISM IS DEMOCRATIC

Mr. Eric Campbell expressed the opinion, however, that the New Guard movement could learn a number of things from the European movements. He said that he had found that his position as leader of the New Guard was a passport throughout Europe and Great Britain. In Rome, although he did not meet Signor Mussolini, he met other leaders of the Fascist movement. He found the Nazi and Fascist movements more democratic than any Labour Government ever was. In Germany, he had made it his business to investigate the alleged persecution of Jews, and, from his personal observation, he would say that there was definitely no persecution. Jews had lost their position only where they were Communists.

The Sydney Morning Herald, 1933

T
hey reached the Osteria Bavaria just as Unity Mitford was leaving.

“Miss Mitford!” Rowland called out as they approached.

She recognised him. Her arm shot into the air and she shouted, “Heil Hitler!”

“Quite,” Rowland muttered, conscious of the curious eyes of passers-by. Even in Munich, women rarely used the Nazi greeting
socially, and never so loudly. Unity Mitford had a way of drawing attention to herself. She maintained the fascist salute until it became painfully clear that neither Rowland nor Milton were inclined to return it. For his part, Rowland dealt with the discomfiture by introducing Albert Greenway, an old friend from his school days, as if this were a perfectly normal and casual meeting.

“I say, have you and your chum come for lunch?” Unity said, finally dropping her arm.

Rowland nodded. “I enjoyed such a pleasant meal here the other day that I thought I might come again,” he lied. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join us?”

Unity looked back at the restaurant. “You know what, I do believe I might. It’ll be rather fun to speak English for a while. I’ve been here since eleven and I must say I’m famished.”

“You didn’t order?” Milton enquired.

“Oh no … I don’t, generally. If Herr Hitler should invite me to his table I don’t want to be full, you know.”

“Of course.”

And so they took a table in the Osteria.

“I’m returning to take lunch with my friends,” Unity announced to no one in particular, using her arms in wide, almost choreographed gestures. “You know what Australians are like … They simply would not allow me to leave without dining with them.” She laughed loudly.

Milton glanced at Rowland. His brow was slightly furrowed but otherwise his face revealed little.

“I assume the Chancellor did not come in today,” Rowland said, as he studied the menu.

“Not today,” Unity replied. “But you know he’s nodded to me on two previous occasions. He’s noticed me, you see. It’s only a matter of time before he invites me to sit with him.”

“It must be quite an imposition on your time having to lunch here every day, Miss Mitford,” Milton ventured.

“Oh yes, and dreadfully expensive,” Unity said, nodding ferociously. “That’s why I didn’t order before. Farve is already positively explosive about my expenses … but I said to him that I did not wish to be finished in silly old France. I’ve made my debut and now it’s Germany for me! I only wish Cord might have come with me … I’m wretched without her.”

“Well said, old thing!” Milton declared, though Rowland was sure that he’d understood barely a word.

“Is Cord one of your sisters?” Rowland asked.

“Yes, Diana, with whom Oswald Mosley is hopelessly in love. I believe I spoke to you of Cord when we last dined, Mr. Negus.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Mitford. For some reason I thought you spoke of that particular sister as
Nardy
.”

“Oh, we do … and Cord and Bodley and Honks. We gels each have several names. It’s such fun!” She laughed to demonstrate that indeed it was. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you need a name, Mr. Negus. I simply will not call you Robbie—it’s so unbearably pedestrian!”

“I’m afraid Robbie is crushingly boring about such things,” Milton said, leaning back in his chair. “Won’t answer to anything but Robbie … believe me, the chaps and I have tried.”

“And what have you been doing with yourself, Miss Mitford?” Rowland attempted to change the subject. “Are you enjoying Munich?”

“Oh, I’ve been having an entirely splendid time. Those of us travelling under the banner of the British Union of Fascists have been taken on some quite extraordinary tours. Why, just yesterday we were shown around the camp to which they take those Commie vermin for their own protection.”

“And from what exactly are the Nazis protecting the Communists, Miss Mitford?” Milton asked.

“From the people, of course,” she replied. “They hate the beastly Communists over here—see them for the rotten wreckers that they are. I really wish the English were more like the Germans. Oh, if only Mr. Hitler were an Englishman!”

Rowland couldn’t help himself. “So you didn’t see anything disturbing at the Dachau camp?”

“Oh, the horror, yes. The Communists are quite unnerving to look at, even behind barbed wire. Of course, they’re treated perfectly well … The guards are not supposed to harm them physically, though I don’t know how they can resist the occasional swipe to keep the wicked creatures in order. Some of them are rather fat,” she added, puffing up her cheeks to demonstrate. “I’m sure the foreign press will criticise the government for overfeeding them!” She giggled. “We did see something rather fun.” Unity leaned towards them quite conspiratorially. “The inmates were all made to line up on parade for exercises. One of the Kommandants, a particularly handsome chap with very blond hair, ordered them each to raise his right leg, which they all did … and then …”—she paused, sniggering again—“they were ordered to raise the left leg … without putting the right down.” Unity threw her head back, her mirth unrestrained. “It was such sport to see them all come crashing down! Oh, how we laughed!”

“Indeed.” Rowland forced a smile.

Milton’s laugh seemed brittle. He glanced quickly at Rowland as they both checked their growing distaste. “Hitler certainly is a barrel of laughs.”

Unity was now laughing so hard she could only nod her agreement.

Rowland and Milton drank while they waited for her to calm herself. Experience had led Rowland to order spirits rather than beer.

“I say, you may have been right about that chap Campbell and his priggish wife.”

“How so?” Rowland asked cautiously.

“Well, I heard him say he means to meet Herr Hitler and ask him directly what he has against the Jews! Isn’t that preposterous?”

“Quite. Did he say why he would make such an enquiry?”

“He says it’s to address the concerns of the Australian people. Apparently the foreign press has been publishing ridiculous stories about Jews being mistreated. Jewish reporters, no doubt. Still, I think that perhaps there may be something to that secret you shared with me, Mr. Negus.” She winked at Rowland as if they had been party to some deep and valuable confidence.

“About Campbell’s mother?” Milton asked.

“You know?” Unity sat back, surprised.

“Of course. Everybody in Australia knows about Campbell’s mother … One doesn’t really like to talk about it. He can’t help who his mother is, after all.”

Rowland noticed the tiniest hint of challenge in Milton’s tone, but Unity Mitford was oblivious.

“I suppose he can’t, but it does say a great deal about his character. The Jew can only be what he is. Anyhow, your Mr. Campbell will not be meeting Mr. Hitler if there’s anything I can do about it. I’m making it my personal mission to protect the Chancellor from Campbell’s kind. I’ll speak to Putzi Hanfstaengl—he’s a capital fellow, not quite an Oxford man, but he did go to Harvard. Putzi’ll make sure this fellow, Campbell, doesn’t worm his way into the Chancellor’s esteem.”