Berlin: A Novel

'But after all the Poles have done to us… I mean, even his patience was bound to crack sometime.' Karin spoke in defence of the ruler of the Greater German Reich. Like most people in the country, she knew nothing about the SS men wearing Polish uniforms who had been ordered to attack the Reich transmitter at Gleiwitz near the Polish border, thus manufacturing the final pretext for a war that was inevitable anyway. Plus she was concentrating on her part far too hard to stop and think of such things. 'We'll have peace again in a few weeks' time.'

'That's what you think, sweetie. Once a guy like him gets a taste for something he's in no hurry to stop eating.' Grethe Weiser waved her powder puff, sending powder flying. 'Never mind that now. You and me, we're making a little movie like the good little Reich film folk we are. And I tell you something, sweetie, I don't mind spending a couple of months with you, I don't mind that one bit.'

'So this is our Queen Louise.' Karin noted the Rhineland accent, the admiring look in the intelligent brown eyes, the smooth dark hair, the high, slightly receding forehead, the charming smile that had been tested out on countless women. An immaculately cut, double-breasted suit and a touch of Cuir de Russie completed her host's appearance. Reich Minister Dr Joseph Goebbels was shorter than Karin, but in spite of his deformed foot moved quickly and with elegance. He poured champagne himself. This was a small, intimate party at the Minister's private cinema. Conrad Jung had brought his principal actors to see the preview of the movie. Ten months of strenuous shooting lay behind them.

'Thank you, Minister.' Karin accepted her glass.

That admiring look again. A little too appraising, she thought. 'Now, dear lady, come and sit next to me. I suppose you've seen our friend Jung's work already?'

Only the odd scene on the cutting table.'

'Then this is a premiere for you too, and I can sense that your heart is beating faster. I can't wait. Shall we start?'

An adjutant in the brown Party uniform gave the signal. The wall lights went out. The UfA logo appeared on the screen, and the film began. It was a mixture of courtly splendour, impressive crowd scenes and touching episodes from the life of the young queen. Conrad Jung and his cameraman had given Karin the simple, neo-classical beauty of the real Queen Louise. Her scene with Napoleon, when she begged him to have pity on the people of her country, was the climax of the film. The music rose to a crescendo, and the lights came on again.

Karin kept her head bent as she waited in trepidation for the verdict that would make or break her. There was silence all around. No one dared say a word before the Minister had given his opinion. She glanced at her neighbour out of the corner of her eye. Goebbels picked up his glass, turned it thoughtfully back and forth by the stem and took a small sip, clearly enjoying the tension he was creating.

Finally he turned to her, raised his hands and applauded. A wonderful artistic achievement! My congratulations.' Everyone clapped. Karin breathed a sigh of relief. 'Verena van Bergen, I can see you have a great future before you.'

He kissed her hand, careful to meet her eyes. The attention he was paying her made her uncomfortable, but she hid it with a radiant smile. 'Thank you, Minister.'

And let me congratulate you too, Conrad Jung, and everyone else involved. A great movie! We'll send it to the Biennale after the final victory. Now that we're in the second year of the war, and our soldiers are fighting in France, we can't expect them or the German people even to contemplate any idea of a French victory and a Prussian defeat. I'm sure you'll agree that such a thing would be treasonable.'

'Yes, indeed — quite right — how far-sighted…' They never stopped crawling to him.

'What do you think, Frau van Bergen?' There was an ironic twist to Goebbels' mouth.

'I think you should enter the film for Venice next year.'

An uneasy silence fell. Had she ventured to contradict this powerful man?

Goebbels raised his glass to her. 'Your very good health, my dear.' He had understood what she meant at once.

It was draughty in the kitchen. Two window panes had broken during the last air raid, and the cardboard in them was a poor substitute. Karin was grinding coffee. Erik had sent it, along with a pair of silk stockings. He was filming in Paris.

'I don't have any cream. And only one sugar cube,' she called.

'Not surprising now the war's in its fourth year.' Conrad Jung came out of the bathroom, dabbing the last of his shaving foam off his chin. 'Keep the sugar for the horse. You play a brave young estate owner whose husband is fighting at the Eastern Front while she's left at home to deal with Polish and Russian farm labourers, riffraff who sabotage the harvest. The authors wanted you to die a heroic death at the end, but I changed it.'

'Oh, thank you, Conrad. I hate death scenes.'

'Goebbels wants you to play the part. You made a great impression on him as Louise, and he liked your last two films too. He hasn't forgotten you.'

'I'm touched.'

'I'll leave the screenplay with you. He'd like to discuss it with us sometime soon, but he's not expecting me to be able to come. He wants to sleep with you. You've not been added to his collection yet.'

Am I supposed to feel insulted or flattered?' Karin poured coffee.

'It depends what you want.'

'How about you?' She spread a roll with honey for him.

'We haven't seen each other much recently. I'll be at home more often from now on. Lore's expecting our sixth. She's a wonderful wife. And you don't need me any more, you haven't for a long time. Of course we'll still be making movies together.' He went into the bedroom to get dressed. 'Whatever way you decide, it's up to you. Goebbels can do your career a great deal of good — so think about it.'

Nadja Horn was the only person Karin trusted. Nadja would know the right thing to do. Karin parked in Breitenbachplatz and walked the few steps to the S6dwestkorso. The pressure of a bomb blast had knocked the front door of the building off its hinges. She climbed to the first floor and rang the bell. Nadja was in a negligee.

'You must forgive me arriving out of the blue. I need your advice,' said Karin.

'Come on in.' Splinters of glass sparkled on the ivory, matt-lacquered furniture in the drawing room. 'Frieda hasn't cleared up yet,' Nadja apologized. Another window gone. Even cardboard's in short supply. Would you like a sherry?' She always had some little luxury from pre-war days on hand.

'No, thank you. Listen to this.'

'So your lover Conrad Jung is not only leaving you, he's telling you who to sleep with,' Nadja Horn said dryly, summing up what she had just heard. 'Still, that's no reason to feel insulted. Don't forget why you went to bed with him in the first place.'

'You could put it a little more tactfully.'

'Be on your guard with Goebbels. He's short, he's ugly, and he's had a club foot from birth, though he makes out it's a war wound. He compensates for his inferiority complex by making new conquests. And since he's overlord of the movies too, he helps himself lavishly from the cast lists of the UfA, Terra and Tobis studios.'

'Nadja, what should I do?'

'I'd say avoid him, but don't dent his ego in the process. My friend Kurt Hoffmann is shooting a comedy in Prague. You'd be well out of the firing line there.'

A comedy? I don't want to be in some stupid comedy, I want a dramatic, modern role.'

As a blonde Germanic estate owner left to deal with the Eastern scum on her own, shooting down a few of those subhumans in cold blood?' Nadja had read the screenplay. 'The war's lost. You'll have to explain yourself later if you accept a tendentious part like that. Don't be silly. Go to Prague. I'll talk to Hoffmann.'

Karin heard a sound behind her and turned. Erik de Winter was standing in the bedroom doorway. He wore a dressing gown, and looked like one of his own drawing-room comedy characters.