Free The Winter Garden (2014) by Jane Thynne

They exited the other end of the hall and crossed the lot to a redbrick reception office where a robust figure in his early forties stood, wearing
a slate-grey Luftwaffe uniform which emphasized his dazzling blue eyes.
    ‘Herr Generaloberst, may I introduce Clara Vine?’
    Udet had a smile hovering around his lips as though engaged in an elaborate practical joke. He clicked his heels and kissed Clara’s hand with old-fashioned courtesy.
    ‘My sweetheart. On film at least. And, may I say, an excellent choice.’
    ‘We’re delighted you could make time for this, Herr Generaloberst,’ said Albert, obsequiously.
    ‘I’m delighted too, let me tell you,’ he said, winking at Clara. ‘I nearly didn’t make it. I had an accident the other day. The plane was a complete shit crate. I
escaped, but another inch and I’d have been singing soprano.’
    Behind Udet Clara saw a pair of secretaries stop and signal to each other, covering their mouths and giggling. Those girls saw famous actors every day of the week, so if they went weak at the
knees over Udet, he had to be a big star. Everything Clara had heard about Udet’s charisma and the easy-going jollity that prompted people to besiege him in the street seemed true. She warmed
to him instantly.
    ‘Ever done any flying?’ he asked Clara.
    ‘I’m afraid not. But I saw your Olympics display last year.’
    Like everything he had a hand in, Hermann Goering’s Olympics gala for seven hundred guests at his Leipziger Platz home could not be called understated. A swimming pool had been built in
the garden, complete with swans. There was a miniature French village, a carnival, shooting galleries and a merry-go-round. An entire
corps de ballet
was brought in to dance on the moonlit
grass, while above them Udet’s plane had performed a series of gliding acrobatics, swooping and circling in the sky.
    Udet beamed. ‘You enjoyed that, did you?’
    ‘It was the most amazing stunt I’ve ever seen.’ It was the truth. The sight of the plane curving down in the night sky, twisting through beams of light with balletic swoops,
had transfixed her.
    ‘I’ll arrange a flight for you, if you like.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’
    ‘You’ll love it! It’ll help you get into character. Isn’t that what you actresses say?’
    ‘In that case, it’s very kind of you.’
    ‘Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.’
    Albert gestured to the pile of promotional material he was carrying.
    ‘We were wondering, Herr Generaloberst,’ he said unctuously, ‘if you could spare the time, whether you could come to my office and sign some of these?’
    ‘And,’ Clara intervened, ‘may I ask you for an autograph for a young admirer? He’s a friend of mine called Erich. He’s seen you fly and he wants to join the
Luftwaffe when he’s old enough.’
    Udet peeled off a postcard from the top of Albert’s stack. It was a shot of himself standing next to a Ju 87 Stuka dive bomber, wearing his cap at a jaunty angle. With a flourish he
scrawled on the back,
    ‘To Erich! Best wishes, Ernst Udet!’
    Then he took another postcard, wrote on it, and handed it to Clara with a mock bow. She read:
    ‘
Fräulein Clara Vine is invited to a party at Pommerschestrasse 4, Berlin-Wilmersdorf. 18th October, 8 p.m.
’
    ‘I hope you can come and meet some of my friends. We should get to know each other, considering you are going to be my bride. Bring Herr Lindemann with you. But be warned, I make a pretty
formidable cocktail.’

Chapter Six
    A sharp breeze corrugated the surface of the Wannsee, setting the water dancing and nudging the boats against their moorings. Until a few years ago these boats had names like
Edda or Ute or Gretel on their bows, but these names had now been painted over and replaced with grander, National Socialist aspirations like Courage or Victory or Endurance. Clara turned away from
the view and shivered. It might have been the chill breeze blowing through the