Faith and Beauty Read Online Free PDF

had been half in love with Rupert Allingham, the aristocratic head of the
Daily Chronicle
’s Berlin bureau. Eventually his increasing frustration with the regime, combined with his increasing drinking, had the predictable results and when his friends gathered at the Lehrter Station to wave him off, they agreed that however much they were going to miss him, Rupert’s expulsion from Germany had been an accident waiting to happen.
    ‘You have big shoes to fill,’ she told Hugh.
    ‘Big beer glasses too,’ he replied lightly.
    ‘Rupert’s well out of it,’ Charles Cavendish remarked. ‘There won’t be any war. I’ve heard Chamberlain is having a nervous breakdown. Whenever people try to talk to him, he just stands feeding pigeons through the Downing Street window.’
    ‘You wonder how the Nazis would even have the time for war,’ added Bill Shirer. ‘They’re so busy being at war with each other. Von Ribbentrop and Goering aren’t even on speaking terms, I hear, and Goebbels can’t stand either of them.’
    ‘I’ll be able to update you on that,’ said Mary. ‘I’ve been granted an interview with Goering tomorrow. My new minder just told me.’
    ‘Your minder?’ said Clara.
    ‘Sure. Over there.’ Mary jerked her Martini glass to indicate a group of officials towering over Goebbels’ five foot six frame. They were vigorous, hard-faced men, mostly in uniform, and those in civilian dress wore the Party emblem in their buttonhole.
    ‘We have one each. Mine’s the one with the face like Babe Ruth and the charm of Al Capone. They’ve been appointed to keep an eye on us.’
    ‘Don’t they have enough spies?’ complained Shirer.
    Every newspaper office in Berlin had its quota of government informers, from the translators to the secretaries, following them like wasps at a picnic and keeping a watch on their contacts.
    ‘Goebbels says Germany’s message needs to be better controlled than ever. The minders have to note every word we write and every place we go. Mine’s going to be spending a lot of time at the Adlon bar.’
    ‘Mine too,’ laughed Hugh.
    Clara glanced again at the group of men clustered around Goebbels and as she looked, one man caught her gaze and returned it. He was a haughty figure in a closely pressed uniform, with a hawkish nose and cheekbones as sharp as an SS dagger. Even from across the room she felt his eye travel over the contours of her silk cocktail dress, down her body then up again to her face. As their eyes met a brief smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He nodded and raised his glass very slightly in her direction.
    ‘Did you see all those presents being taken into the Chancellery this morning?’ said Cavendish. ‘Weren’t we always told it was frightfully spoiling to have too many presents? What’s wrong with cake and champagne?’
    ‘You can forget the champagne,’ said Mary. ‘I asked. The Propaganda Ministry informed me that the birthday dinner consisted of asparagus tips and artichoke hearts in cream sauce. And the only alcohol on offer was beer at one per cent proof. I’d love to see the guests’ faces when that was served up.’
    ‘I heard our host gave Hitler a hundred and twenty feature films,’ said Hugh Lindsey. ‘But then what do you give the man who has everything?’
    ‘Poland, probably,’ said Mary.
    Clara glanced again at the tall figure who had caught her eye. In her time she had evolved many tricks for remembering faces, and one of them was to think of which animal she was reminded of. This man would be a large, powerful creature, a panther perhaps, with his dark colouring, black livery and sleek, muscular demeanour. There was an impatience about the flare of his nostrils and the brief glance he cast towards the door which said that as far as he was concerned, the party couldn’t end soon enough. As she looked their eyes met again and he gave a smile that suggested amusement at some private joke only they shared. Immediately she looked