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Gunther bowed politely as Minki introduced the couple. ‘Papa, you remember Leila – my best friend from university – and this is her husband Viktor Labowski – he’s a very grand publisher in Munich.’
‘Ah yes, Leila…we met once or twice, I seem to remember.’
‘How are you, Gunther?’ asked Leila.
‘Oh, well enough. Relieved to see this daughter of mine finally settled.’ He turned towards Viktor. ‘So, publishing. How’s business?’
As the two men chatted, Leila looked around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Joseph Goebbels, standing alone in one corner of the drawing room. Much as she loathed the man’s politics, the journalist in her couldn’t resist the opportunity of talking to him.
‘Would you excuse me a minute,’ she said to Viktor. ‘There’s someone I must speak to…’
‘Oh…who?’
‘Joseph Goebbels,’ she replied under her breath.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ murmured Viktor, his eyebrows raised. ‘Your paper has not exactly been his greatest fan.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered into his ear.
She crossed the room, and touched Goebbels’ arm. ‘Excuse me… you probably don’t remember me, do you?’
He looked at her blankly.
‘I’m Leila Labowski…an old friend of Minki’s. My husband Viktor is a publisher in Munich. We met at one of Minki’s parties many years ago. You asked Viktor to read one of your novels…’
Goebbels studied Leila’s face. ‘Ah, yes, I do remember you. He didn’t publish it.’
‘No, but I remember he thought it showed great promise.’
‘Did he? Is he here?’
‘Yes, he’s over there, talking to Minki’s father.’
‘You’re a journalist, aren’t you? Who do you work for – remind me?’
‘TheMunich Post.’
He stared at her contemptuously.
Leila nervously filled the uneasy silence. ‘You must be pleased with the results of the election. To have gained over a hundred seats is pretty impressive.’
‘Yes, we made great headway,’ replied Goebbels coolly. ‘But there is still much to do. I seem to remember your paper was not exactly enthusiastic.’
In spite of herself, Leila flushed with embarrassment. ‘It’s true that we’ve had a combative relationship over the years. But surely it is the role of the journalist to challenge?’
‘Well, despite your best efforts, I expect an even better result at the next election. Your paper will soon be a lone voice crying in the wind.’
Anxious to avoid a pointless political argument, Leila tried to change the subject. ‘Minki looks beautiful, doesn’t she? And so happy.’
‘She does,’ replied Goebbels, glancing over at his old mistress. ‘But then, she has always been beautiful.’
‘I thought once that you and she might marry.’
He snorted. ‘Oh, no, Minki’s far too independent. Will you excuse me – there is someone I need to speak to.’
Goebbels strode away across the room, gathering up an attractive woman on his arm. This must be Magda, Leila realised. Minki had told her all about the man’s latest love affair with the glamorous divorcée, who she had described as Goebbels’ perfect woman – ‘passionate about the National Socialist cause, rich as Croesus and motherly to boot!’
Magically, Viktor appeared at his wife’s side. ‘Are you all right, darling?’
