Robert Craven - Get Lenin

Despite her protests, Diana wanted to buy Eva a shimmering silver evening dress as a gift, arguing the party they were going to was one of the biggest ever held in Germany.

Eva looked at her reflection in the dressing room. The gown was cut deep at the back, just stopping above her hips. The front wasn’t cut as deep, but flattered the shape of her cleavage. The gloves had a matt silver look to them and Eva stopped Diana buying her accompanying jewellery, insisting she had complimentary accessories.

Eva had inherited a small fortune after her parents had been killed which she had transferred out of Poland to London on Chainbridge’s advice. She insisted on paying for the dress and gloves. After a lot of persuasion, she accepted a clutch bag as a gift. Eva put her hair up and looked at her profile. The gown was exquisite, flattering her figure. She stepped out of the dressing room for the girls. They gasped and applauded with warm smiles and tilted champagne glasses.

‘Why, dear, you could have your pick of the men if you wanted,’ observed Unity, curious that Eva was enthralled with a much older blind man, albeit a handsome one, who was clearly much less enamoured of the Fascist cause than Eva was. In Unity’s free hand dangled a pair of silver strap-up shoes with a modest heel. They complemented the dress perfectly.

Driving back through London where the chauffeur was going to bring her home, they asked Eva had she travelled much. She replied her work took her all around Europe, mostly freelance articles focusing on the rich and famous and their lifestyle. She then told them about her recent personal meeting with General Franco.

They offered to arrange an interview with Hitler for her magazine. He was very agreeable around pretty girls, Diana said, nudging Unity with a grin.

Diana spoke at length about the ‘Strength through Joy’ cruise she had taken last year with Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress. It was a pet project of Hitler, and Diana and Oswald had been privileged to have been invited on the maiden voyage along with high ranking members of the Nazi party

They had sailed around the Norwegian fjords, meeting their Aryan brothers and sisters. On board, the Propaganda Ministry had recorded the scenes in colour film to show across the cinemas of Germany, representing the Nordic countries as mountainous Aryan paradises.

The voyage had been a propaganda success and there was another voyage being planned. Eva was invited to join the sisters as their special guest and perhaps run a feature in one of the magazines she worked for.

Now they were descending through the clouds into the city that had driven her out five years ago, a city run by a maniac and his henchmen. The night before they had departed, she had dreamed of Jonas, not uncommon, but this time more realistic.

She was in the morgue again, looking for him. She could hear him calling out to her from beneath the shrouds and she was pulling the sheets off to find him. Beneath every sheet removed was someone she knew; Papa, Mamma, Grampy and Aga, then Theo, Dariusz, De Witte — which disturbed her — and eventually she uncovered Jonas.

He was, as she remembered; dead, bloodied and broken, still on the gurney, but now dressed in a German Army uniform. Then suddenly his eyes opened wide, staring right at her, through her, his ruined mouth trying to talk.

She woke in a sweat, screaming.

The residue of the dream haunted her thoughts for the flight, putting her in a different world from the sisters who were chatting excitedly about the visit. Composing herself with a deep breath, she joined in and feigned joy at travelling around the most modern city in Europe.

Templehof Airport was busy as she descended the steps of the aircraft. Eva and the Mitfords watched the lines of international flights arriving and departing. Luftwaffe escort fighters taxied idly in lines, their pilots and crews lounging and standing in knots.

In the main terminal, she could hear British accents, French accents, and Swiss High German and Eastern European voices through the bustling arrivals area. Security was tight, with SS and Gestapo working alongside the police, everyone departing or arriving being subjected to questioning and identity checks. Once through the checks, they were greeted by a plain clothes party member who saluted them.

Mosley swept past him with barely a recognition; leaving it to Diana to make the introductions. His name was Otto Gottlieb and he had the careworn, nervous manner of an underling. Outside, a sleek plush Mercedes waited, with Nazi party flags flapping from the mudguards.

Mosley and the women sat in the back, the others following in a taxi behind. Eva’s eyes glanced around the city. Humbolt University where Jonas had been thrown off a balcony swept past. It brought a sudden unexpected stab to her heart. Within minutes they were at the Chancellery.

They were ushered into Hitler’s private chambers. He was regrettably unable to meet Herr Mosley, they were informed by his secretary, as he had an urgent matter to attend to. From beyond the door, there heard a man yelling, extolling and screaming out words, the door muffling what was being shouted.

‘The Fuhrer’s practising for his speech tomorrow. He’s spent hours rehearsing,’ she explained with a cold but effective smile.

Mosley, momentarily wrong-footed, spun on his heel and barked over his shoulder as he strode from the room, ‘I’ll talk to him tonight!’

The door opened and a tall, grey-haired man of about sixty, dressed in Donegal tweed and knee-high brown boots, appeared. He looked flushed as if he had been doing all the shouting.

‘You! Yeah you, miss. Get me tea, tea understand? — t-e-a with lots of honey. There’s a honey!’ He laughed at this.

The secretary turned, her face anxious.

‘Quickly, doll! Adolf thinks he’s losing his voice!’

She stepped back to her desk and phoned for tea to be delivered to the chambers. Eva held the man’s gaze as he stared at her. ‘Hello, Donald, we meet again. You don't remember me?’ she made her smile very enticing and Donald T Kincaid returned the smile, ''fraid not, doll.' He clapped his hands louder. 'Schnell, schnell. Christ what's keeping you guys!'

Unity enquired gently, 'Is everything alright with Adolf?'

‘Voice coaching. Giving him a little razzamatazz!’

‘Gosh,’ breathed Unity as Kincaid clapped his hands at the seething secretary. ‘Schnell! Schnel, doll!’

As quickly as he appeared, he disappeared back into the room slamming the door.

Hitler's bodyguards glanced at one another then ushered the party out into the hall.

That night Eva struck up a longer conversation with Kincaid, enticing him away from their table to the bar. Hitler had cried off, complaining of laryngitis, sending his apologies for not attending, trying to save his voice. Eva Braun and her sister Gretl took the roles of hostess, a role they took to with relish.

Mosley’s fury knew no bounds at being jilted a second time. His relationship with Hitler was strained at best. Hitler didn’t speak English; Mosley didn’t speak German. He sat at the table getting progressively more and more drunk and sullen. Diana, doing her best to lift his mood, was glancing mournfully at the churning dance floor.

Mosley’s former right-hand man William Joyce joined them, a livid scar running from his lip to his ear, giving his smile an unnatural sneer, resplendent in full SS regalia. His American — Irish accent roared out to Kincaid who acknowledged him with a wave. Joyce was already drunk, sliding off his seat from time to time and rising up onto the table, clutching it like a drowning man, ordering another whiskey from any passing waiter.

The party was to celebrate the annexation of Austria, welcoming a lost people back into the fold, Hitler’s kith and kin reunited with the German people. The room was festooned with Nazi flags and the flag of the Austrian Eagle. An orchestra was playing a number of up-beat polkas and waltzes beneath them.