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‘It’s very early days…He’s a film producer – not my usual sort at all. I met him at Joe’s…’
‘Joseph Goebbels?’
‘Yes…that’s right.’
‘I didn’t realise you had stayed in touch. He’s quite high up in the Party now, isn’t he?’
Minki nodded. ‘Yes, very.’
‘Are you still…lovers?’
‘No – not for a while now, anyway.’
There was an awkward silence. The mere mention of Goebbels had highlighted the huge division between them.
‘Are you a supporter of the Party?’ Leila asked tentatively. It was a risky question and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
‘No, not at all,’ replied Minki firmly. ‘I remain politically neutral – agnostic – as always. I’m an interested observer, that’s all. And you know me…the inner “hack” inside me is always looking for stories. Joe invited me to dinner the other night and sat me next to Adolf Hitler himself.’
Leila felt her stomach churn. To her, and the rest of her press colleagues, Adolf Hitler was the enemy. To share a dinner table with him was unthinkable.
‘He was very charming,’ Minki continued airily. ‘Quite handsome in an odd sort of way – very powerful, you know, with a very deep voice – rather masculine. He thinks they stand a good chance at the elections.’
‘So I understand.’ Leila wondered if Minki understood how hurtful her comments were. How could she not see the danger of mixing with a man well known for his hatred of Jews who was now on the cusp of taking power? Should she challenge Minki, she wondered. Fearful of damaging their relationship, she decided against saying anything. Instead she stood up, pulling on her gloves. ‘Well, it’s getting late, and I really must go. I’ve got a long day tomorrow.’
‘Shall I see you again while you’re in Berlin?’
‘Perhaps…it depends on the work. We’ll be very busy, and as soon as we finish I’ll be desperate to get back to Munich. I already miss the children, and I’ve only been gone a few hours.’ Leila smiled nervously.
‘Well, if I don’t see you again while you’re here, Leila, take care, won’t you. And give Viktor my love.’
‘I will.’ Leila headed for the door, but turned back to Minki. ‘Darling…you will be careful, won’t you? These people you’re involved with…they are not what they seem. They are dangerous. They have bad intentions.’
Minki hurried across the room and hugged Leila tightly. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m a survivor and I don’t easily get taken in. As I said, I merely watch from the sidelines. It’s what journalists are supposed to do, isn’t it? To be impartial observers.’
Leila nodded, but she wondered if Minki really understood. Sometimes, to be an impartial observer was not possible.
Outside in the street, Leila looked up at Minki’s apartment. She was waving goodbye, her cheery geraniums in the window boxes still glowing in the half-light. Leila waved back, but, walking away across the park, she felt profoundly uneasy. If intelligent people such as Minki could not see the threat that Hitler posed, then the world was about to get very dangerous indeed.
17
BERLIN
November 1930
From the moment Minki and Max had met, theirs had been a whirlwind romance. Max – clearly smitten with the beautiful journalist – had sent Minki flowers and presents; he had squired her around town, taking her to all the best restaurants and introducing her to his wide circle of friends and colleagues. Inevitably, Minki was flattered and excited. It had been a long time since a man had shown her such unbounded affection. Her only other true love had been Peter, the American journalist who had stolen her heart six years earlier and the father of her lost child. After he had gone back to America, she had promised herself she would never let a man get so close to her again. His abandonment had left her broken, and with an unfamiliar sense of failure – she was normally the one who did the ‘leaving’ in any relationship. It had taken her years to recover – years in which she had grown an impermeable outer shell to shield herself from love. She had even denied herself sex in order to avoid getting close to anyone.
But when Max came into her life, it was as if a switch had been turned. She found him irresistible. They spent hours making love, exploring one another’s bodies. He was both experienced and generous. She responded in kind, and he often told her that she was the most exciting lover he had ever had. But was unbridled lust the same as love? Neither had ever declared their love for the other. Curiously, this didn’t bother her. Her love for Peter had been desperate at times, but ultimately ended with a broken heart. Whereas she and Max made no real emotional demands on each other, and the relationship worked all the better for it. Max made her feel good about herself; he was also fun, handsome and rich. But whether she would spend her life with him…that was another matter.
One evening, as they dined at the Romanisches Café – famous among Berlin’s sophisticates – Max reached across the table and took her hand. ‘Minki, do you think you’ll ever marry?’
‘I’d like to think so,’ she replied, laughing. ‘Why…are you asking?’
He smiled – a broad, happy smile – took her hands in his and kissed them. ‘Perhaps…’
It was typical of Max to tease her in this way. And she, being cynical and still nervous of exposing her feelings, found it easier to tease in return. So rather than encourage Max’s proposal, her response was typically flippant. ‘You really are the most irritating man, Max.’ Again, she laughed it off.
Max suddenly became serious. ‘You do realise I’m proposing to you? I’ve been mulling it over for a while now and can’t think of anyone I’d rather marry – you’re perfect, Minki. You must know I love you.’
