Philip Kerr - The Lady from Zagreb

Goebbels nodded. “You put it very well. Most of the policemen I’ve met have been blunt instruments. But I see you have a subtler side. I like that. The fact is, I am in love. This is not an unusual situation for me. I like women. Always have. And they seem to like me. I’m married, of course, with several children. Sometimes I forget how many. But, before the war, there was another actress. Her name was Lída Baarová. You’ve probably heard of her, too.”

I nodded and finally lit the cigarette in my fingers. It’s not every day that the Reich Minister of Propaganda opens up to you about his love life, and I wanted to give this my full concentration.

“I wanted to leave my wife and live with her but the leader wouldn’t hear of it. Lída is a Slav, you see, and considered to be racially inferior. So is Dalia Dresner.” He nodded. “For Dalia’s sake, I have tried not to become too involved with her. Himmler and Kaltenbrunner would dearly love to cause trouble for me by being able to tell the leader that I’m involved with another Slavic woman. And of course he’d be furious. The leader takes a very dim view of anything but total monogamy. So I’ve tried to keep a distance. But I am in love with her. And the plain fact of the matter is that she very much reminds me of Lída.”

“Now you come to mention it, there is a certain similarity.”

“Exactly. I’ve even tried to sell her as the German Garbo just to make Hitler forget about that. The similarity between her and Baarová, I mean. Just to deflect any hint of suspicion that this is why I’m advancing Dalia’s career.”

“And are you? Is that the reason you’re building her up into a star?”

“Perhaps a little, yes. You see, when I’m with Dalia I find that I don’t really need a holiday. And right now all I want to do is to make her happy.”

“I can understand something like that.”

“Good. Because you should also understand that I would take a very dim view of anything that happened to embarrass her, or me.”

“I can keep my mouth shut, if that’s what you mean, Herr Doctor.”

“It is. I want this case handled as quietly as possible.”

“That’s just the way I was planning to handle it.”

“So then. What I want you to do is meet with her, find out what the problem is, and put a smile back on her face. I need that smile. And the picture needs it, too. We need it so that we can start production on this picture before the summer is over. I’ve got Veit Harlan and Werner Krauss under contract and it’s costing the studio a fortune. Not only that but this good weather is perfect for us, only we can’t shoot a damn thing until she’s got what she wants.”

I shook my head. “There’s still something you’re not telling me. Which really doesn’t surprise me.”

Goebbels laughed. “My God, but you’re an impudent fellow.”

“I expect that’s in my file, too. So why act so surprised about it? Like you said yourself, if I was a good national socialist I’d have already made something of myself in the RSHA and then I’d be no good to you.”

Goebbels nodded patiently. I’d pushed him just about as far as I could go and then a bit further. That’s the one thing I know about people with power and money; when you’ve got something they want, they’ll take almost anything in the ear in order to make sure they get it.

“You’re right. But I’d rather she told you herself. So, will you please go and see her? At least listen to what she’s got to say?”

I picked up his money off the table. It seemed the least I could do was see his girl. Like I said, it’s not every day the Reich Minister of Propaganda opens his heart and, more importantly, his wallet to you. And it’s not every day you get a chance to meet a film star.

“All right. Where can I find her?”

“In Potsdam. On Griebnitzsee, close to the film studios. There’s a house that’s recently come into my possession on Kaiser-Strasse. My secretary will give you all of the details. Address, telephone number, everything. When shall I tell her that you’re coming?”

I shrugged and glanced at my watch. “This afternoon? I don’t know. Is there an S-Bahn station near there? I don’t know Potsdam all that well.”

“Neu-Babelsberg,” said Goebbels. “I believe it’s quite a hike from the station. But you could go now and be there before lunch if you were to borrow my car.”

“Sure.”

He tossed me a set of keys. “One thing about the car,” he added, as if he already regretted letting me borrow it. “The supercharger whines a bit on start-up. And you have to let the oil heat up before you let out the clutch.”

I walked toward the door. “I’m trusting you with the two things I love most in this life. My car. And my leading lady. I hope that’s clear enough.”

“Crystal clear, Herr Doctor. Crystal clear.”

I ought to have been in a better mood. I was driving a bright red Mercedes-Benz 540K Special Roadster, the one with the streamlined body and the boot-mounted spare wheel. I had the top down, the wind in my hair, and my foot hard on the gas. I liked driving — especially on the AVUS speedway — and I should have been smiling from one earlobe to the other, but until Goebbels had asked me the question in his office, I hadn’t realized that I wasn’t in love with Kirsten, and wasn’t likely to be, either. Which made me wonder if I was doing the right thing in going out with her at all. Even a car as beautiful as the 540K wasn’t enough to compensate for that kind of feeling. After all, love is rare, and to find that you aren’t in love is almost as upsetting to the human mind as finding that you are.

I’d started seeing her regularly on my return from Smolensk after she’d spoken sharply to me in the line for bread, because of the uniform I was wearing. She’d accused me of jumping the line, which wasn’t true. Later on the same day, I saw her at the swimming baths on Schlacht-Strasse and she’d apologized. She explained that she was upset because the SD had come to her school asking questions in an effort to find out why none of the children in her school had chosen to be evacuated from Berlin to a KLV camp, because of the bombing. She’d told the SD that everyone in Berlin knew the poor reputation of these camps — that parents didn’t want their daughters taken advantage of by the Hitler Youth boys who were also at these camps. Kirsten was worried she’d said too much, and in truth she probably had, but I advised her not to worry and that, if she found herself in trouble, then I’d speak up for her, although in truth that would hardly have helped her cause.

I realized that when I was through with whatever service it was that Goebbels and Dalia Dresner wanted me to do for them, I was going to have to have a quiet word with Kirsten and tell her the bad news. It was only bad news for me, of course; she was an attractive girl and it wasn’t going to be hard for her to find another man, perhaps even one nearer her own age, assuming that after the war was over there would be any of those still left.

I came off the AVUS and slowed down to drive through Wannsee. A few people turned and stared at the red car; they must have thought I was Tazio Nuvolari. I know I did.

Until the 540K arrived there, Potsdam was a quiet town of about eighty-five thousand just thirty miles southwest of Berlin, although it might as well have been located on Rome’s Palatine Hill. Most of Prussia’s kings had made the place their summer residence, which is a bit like saying that Louis XIII used to own a hunting lodge at Versailles. With several beautiful parks and palaces, and surrounded by the Havel and its lakes, Potsdam is now home to some of the richest people in Germany. Of these the richest probably live on the edge by the Griebnitzsee in the so-called villa colony on Kaiser-Strasse, where the houses are a little smaller than the average palace, but rather more private, which is what real money buys these days. That and twenty-five rooms and entranceways like the Parthenon and enough garden to park a squadron of Dorniers.