A War of Flowers (2014) (42 page)

‘A visitor, Fräulein Braun.’

Eva Braun loved to dress in bold colours, and the patterned tea dress in vivid yellow and blue she wore that morning was no exception, but it was the only lively thing about her. Her face,
beneath freshly bleached hair, was pale and her eyes puffy, as though she had been recently crying. She looked hardly any better than the last time Clara had seen her, slumped in her Munich sitting
room with half a bottle of Vanodorm sleeping tablets inside her.

The guard clicked his heels. Eva nodded listlessly and closed the door behind Clara.

‘Well. This is a surprise.’

Clara smiled warmly and took her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Eva. I should probably have telephoned first. But I wanted to see how you were . . . after the other day.’

‘Then I suppose I should thank you.’

Eva led the way into her quarters.

‘See what I mean about this place?’

It was easy to see how this room might have suited the former president of Germany, the octogenarian Hindenburg, who had occupied it until five years ago. Everything in the décor, from
the heavy, gilded oil paintings and dull curtains to the massive furniture, was eighty years out of date. It was an old man’s domain, painted in heavy cream, and dominated by a giant portrait
of the man himself, with baggy poached-egg eyes, handlebar moustache and chest groaning with medals. Eva’s make-up and hairbrushes, scattered untidily across the Biedermeier dressing table,
looked like a doll’s things, and her clothes were a colourful jumble inside Hindenburg’s vast wardrobe. Even her perfume smelt sweetly incongruous in that gloomy air. The bed, its
clammy sheets topped with a canopy of tassled emerald damask, looked about as inviting as a funeral bier. The only thing not out of the nineteenth century was the light dance music issuing from the
wireless.

Eva went over to the dresser, clicked off the wireless and took up a packet of cigarettes, pausing to light one and offering it to Clara.

She pulled a wry face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. Actually I’m terribly glad to have a visitor. You’ve no idea how awful it’s been since we
arrived.’

She curled up in an armchair, tucked her feet beneath her, and motioned Clara to sit in the chair beside her.

‘I hate it here. He wouldn’t let me bring my friend Herta, so I’m all alone. It’s bad enough being in this horrible room and never seeing Wolf, but I can’t even go
out when I please. He says it’s a difficult time and I need to be invisible. Imagine that – I can’t even walk out of the door.’ She pouted mutinously. ‘He got his aide
to tell me I had to stay in my room all day today. Cooped up all day! Because there was important political business going on. Anyone would think I was a schoolgirl sent to her bedroom. I feel like
Rapunzel in the tower. I wouldn’t be surprised if I died here. I tell you, I used to go to boarding school – it was a horrible Catholic place outside Munich and I loathed it – but
this is far worse.’

‘Perhaps you should have stayed in Munich.’

‘He insisted I came. I don’t know why. Because when I get here it’s always the same story. I sit here waiting while my whole life slips by.’ She ran her fingers through
her hair defiantly.

‘I’ve a good mind to march downstairs and start playing the piano in front of the lot of them. That would show them.’

Clara knew she would do no such thing. The fires of rebellion burned weakly in Eva, and any act of mutiny would most probably be visited on herself. No doubt that was why Hitler had brought her
here – to keep an eye on her. Just in case she was tempted to have another episode with the sleeping pills.

‘I worried about you, Eva. After the other day.’

‘Thank you for that. I was silly. I shouldn’t have. It was just that I felt so wretched.’

Cautiously, Clara probed further. ‘You said you’d done something terrible. That no one would forgive you?’

Eva picked at the hem of her skirt and did not reply.

‘I wonder,’ said Clara. ‘I mean, I think I’ve guessed what the problem is.’

Eva looked up, startled. ‘You guessed?’

‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’

For a second a jolt of horror crossed Eva Braun’s features, then she laughed, a wild, hysterical laugh, which eventually caught in her throat and made her choke.

‘I’m sorry . . .’ She wiped her eyes as she recovered herself. ‘You don’t know how funny that is. Except it’s not funny at all.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s something you don’t know about me.’ She took a deep drag of her cigarette, exhaled sideways and fixed Clara intently, calculating if she could be trusted.

‘I have Mayer-Rokitansky syndrome. It means I have no womb. I was born without one. So I couldn’t get pregnant if I tried.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I can never have
children.’

‘Oh Eva, I’m so sorry.’

She sniffed and blinked away the glitter in her eyes.

‘I’ve hardly told anyone. I take . . . you know . . . precautions like any other woman and I swore my mother to secrecy. But I love children. I adore playing with all the kids of the
top men when we’re up at the Berghof, which makes it so much worse.’

‘Does the Führer mind?’

‘He doesn’t know.’

‘So if he doesn’t know . . .’

‘Goebbels found out,’ she said flatly.

‘You told the Herr Doktor?’

‘Are you mad? I wouldn’t tell Goebbels the time of day! I’ve no idea how he discovered. I think perhaps Dr Morell told him. I made the mistake of consulting Dr Morell once in
Munich. Odious man. Not about this – it was something else – but doctors can detect things, I suppose. Though he never manages to detect what’s wrong with Wolf. Anyhow, when
Goebbels found out he was utterly hateful about it.’

‘What business is it of his?’

‘He says every aspect of the Führer’s life and image is his business. And I’m part of that.’

That sounded like Goebbels. Eva dragged a handkerchief from her sleeve and sniffed.

‘Now I’m terrified that he’ll tell Himmler.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘It might be that Himmler has a secret on him, and he gives Himmler my secret in return.’

‘Would that really matter?’

Tears gleamed on her pallid cheek like rain on wet stone.

‘It would be the end of me.’

Though Clara’s nerves were straining for sounds of activity in the building below, she found herself transfixed by Eva Braun’s predicament. Marooned in her private misery, the
Führer’s girlfriend seemed entirely impervious to the world around her.

‘Himmler despises any form of physical imperfection. He would tell Wolf that I was unsuitable to be the wife of the leader of the Reich. Wolf is always talking about what women are for.
And what they’re not for. Women are not for politics, they’re not for talking at the table. They are for looking pretty and doing their best to appeal to their men. But the main thing
women are for is having babies, and that’s the one thing I can’t do. Himmler says childbearing is the only purpose of women. That’s what he tells his SS men. Women are about
safeguarding racial purity and providing the next generation. The other day at the Berghof he told me his latest idea is that women who can’t bear children should never be allowed to marry.
And men who are married to barren women should be permitted to divorce them immediately. What would that mean for me and Wolf?’

Gently, Clara said, ‘But you’re not married to the Führer.’

‘Not now. But Wolf has said he will marry me. I finally got him to promise and he said he would after . . . well after . . .’ She tailed off.

‘After what?’

She shrugged. ‘After some time has passed.’

Clara checked her watch. Ten forty. Her entire body was tensed for sounds of action. Very soon she was going to have to persuade the unhappy girl in front of her to hand over the key to the
private entrance. Suddenly she couldn’t stop herself getting up, pulling aside the heavy damask curtain and glancing out of the window down to the Wilhelmstrasse below. Just yards from here,
in a string of secret apartments and houses, men were preparing to launch an audacious coup. Soldiers were mustering, waiting for the signal to strike. Officers were readying weapons and grenades.
Colonel Oster, Ulrich Welzer and Max Brandt were bracing themselves in their uniforms, gathering the surge of courage they needed to make their move.

She scanned the windows, looking for evidence of telescopes trained on the Reich Chancellery, and then looked up and down the street, searching for signs of approaching men, but there was
nothing to see.

Eva sprang up skittishly, and squeezed Clara’s arm.

‘Sorry I was a bit off earlier. I’m so glad you’re here. It’s wonderful to have company.’

‘Does anyone else visit?’

‘Hardly. Wolf suggested I read, but there’s nothing to read here except great tomes about . . . I don’t know, Bismarck and people. And no one ever visits me here except the
girl from Ludwig Scherk’s. I had her come over a few months ago because I wanted a fragrance for Wolf and I needed her to bring some samples, and we got quite friendly. She told me some
fascinating things about perfume. But even she hasn’t been for a while.’

The chime of the clock outside cut into Clara’s thoughts. Fifteen minutes to go. Beneath them, cars were still drawing up at the Chancellery entrance, delivering more participants to the
mêlée below. The distinctive figure of the French ambassador, François-Poncet, in homburg and spotted bow tie, hurried from his car.

Eva followed her gaze as they looked down on the traffic of grey uniforms and peaked caps.

‘It’s busy today.’

‘It seems so.’

‘It’s something to do with the Czech crisis. That’s why he’s put me in Schutzhaft.’ She meant it ironically.
Schutzhaft
, ‘protective custody’,
was the term the Gestapo used for brutal detention without trial.

‘You won’t tell anyone, Clara. About my problem.’

‘I promise I won’t.’ Clara took Eva’s hands in hers. ‘I won’t tell anyone, Eva, on one condition.’

Eva reeled away from her, shock writ large on her face. Could it be true that the woman in whom she had been confiding should now be attempting to strike a bargain? Dismay and fear clouded her
eyes.

‘One condition? What do you mean, Clara? I thought I could trust you!’

‘You can.’

Eva’s face was beginning to contort in a hysterical spasm. ‘You’re one of Goebbels’ spies, aren’t you? One of those actresses he sleeps with? You must be,
you’ve had so many roles. They say all the most successful actresses have to sleep with him. Is that why you made friends with me? Is that why you came to the house when I’d taken the
pills?’

‘Of course not! Don’t be silly.’ Clara was soothing, desperate that Eva’s raised voice might attract the attention of the guards. ‘I’m not Goebbels’
spy. I came to your house that day because I had a feeling.’

‘People don’t have feelings.’

‘Some of us do.’ Clara smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Eva. You’re getting upset about nothing. I’m only asking for a little thing. Just between women. You remember
that Sturmbannführer I was talking about?’

Eva’s face relaxed.

‘Steinbrecher? The one who’s sweet on you?’

‘That’s him. Well, I noticed him in the lobby downstairs. And to be honest, it’s a bit awkward.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I don’t want to encounter him again.
For personal reasons.’ She paused to let the feminine implications sink in. ‘And I remember you saying you use a private entrance to the Reich Chancellery.’

‘That’s right. I have to. In case anyone sees me.’ She pulled a face. ‘In case Magda Goebbels or that bitch Emmy Goering or any of the other wives discover that little
Miss No Private Life is in town.’

‘So would you mind if I borrowed the key?’

Eva frowned.

‘Are you sure? The entrance is rather awkward to find. You have to cross the ballroom and find a door set into the panelling, but I can’t show you the way. I don’t dare. Wolf
has absolutely banned me from leaving this room.’

Clara shook her head, the route to the private entrance seared into her mind.

‘Don’t worry. I can always ask.’

‘No! You mustn’t do that! The private entrance is confidential. Only a very few people know it exists. Hardly anyone has a key. If you said you were going there it would cause all
sorts of fuss. They’d probably arrest you. It’s a security issue.’

‘I’ll be very discreet.’

Eva frowned at her doubtfully, then shrugged.

‘OK. It’s a door set into the panelling exactly two thirds of the way down on the left-hand side of the ballroom. There’s no handle, because that would spoil the line. You have
to know exactly which panel it is and push it. Then it leads out into the garden. You can borrow the key. I’m not going anywhere today. You must drop it back in later though. Mark it for me
and seal the envelope tight and leave it with the guard at reception.’

Clara wondered what the next hour would bring for Eva Braun. Arrest, almost certainly. And terror. Perhaps pain. She felt a stab of guilt at her part in the young woman’s fate, but
reminded herself of Steffi Schaeffer and her daughter Nina, and everyone else who had suffered or was suffering under the regime of Eva’s beloved Wolf.

‘I promise.’

‘Don’t bother to promise. I’ve learned not to believe anyone’s promises.’

Nonetheless, she gave Clara the key and allowed her to slip out of the door.

Clara moved swiftly along the corridor, her footsteps drowned in the deep carpet. The floor plan seared into her mind told her that she needed to pass the library and descend
two floors by the main staircase, then turn left and thread back through the ballroom. The key weighed in her pocket as she forced herself to slow down. By her reckoning she had precisely two
minutes to find the door and open it. Even now, the infantry would be making their way from Potsdam and the Chief of Staff would be escorted from the Bendlerstrasse to arrest Hitler himself.

She descended the first set of stairs and saw, immediately opposite, a sentry guarding a door framed by a pair of caryatids. On the sleeve of his black uniform was embroidered in silver
‘Adolf Hitler’, identifying him as a select
Leibstandarte
bodyguard. As he stiffened she felt fear pushing against the inside of her skin like something alive, but he
didn’t challenge her so she passed quickly along the corridor until she reached the second set of stairs. As she stood at the top of the steps, she became aware of a level of frenetic
activity, like a hive which has been stirred, an angry mixture of adrenaline and excitement that transmitted itself through the air. All around the marble hall were echoing voices, slamming doors,
the sound of telephones ringing in distant rooms.