Free The Winter Garden (2014) by Jane Thynne Page B

Unity humourlessly. ‘Guests wanting souvenirs from the Berghof are a frightful problem for him, poor Führer, but he
can hardly say anything. His spoons get stolen by everyone. Even the brushes and nail files from the bathroom. Just because they’re engraved with his initials.’
    ‘Perhaps he should be more careful with his guests then,’ concluded Diana brightly. ‘I must say, some of those women at dinner the other night seemed of doubtful origin. And
not much to look at either. I don’t know how the darling Führer can stand to look at them. Figures like the Hindenburg, didn’t you think?’
    Diana’s body by comparison was as fine and delicate as a whippet’s. In profile her face had a freakish perfection, like a Greek goddess. Beside her Magda Goebbels, in a white dress
and striped cardigan, an ashy film of powder on her face, looked stout, her ankles swollen. The sisters began talking to Hoffmann’s daughter Henny, a vivacious girl who they knew from Munich,
as her father took another photograph. Henny spoke in a low, gossipy whisper.
    ‘You were lucky to be sitting with the Führer at the Berghof. I was stuck next to Herr Bormann. He was boring on about his grand plans for matrimony in the Reich. He wants to
institute mass weddings with fifty couples getting married at the same time. Can you imagine anything worse?’
    ‘I think it would be rather a hoot,’ said Diana. ‘Just think of all the brides’ mothers, competing in pastels.’
    Clara wondered if Archie Dyson was right in his assessment of the Mitford sisters as a busted flush. They seemed to her to occupy an extraordinary place in the Nazi hierarchy. They were
respected guests of Hitler, privy to intimate conversations among the top brass at his Bavarian retreat. They listened first-hand to the Führer’s plans for Europe’s future and in
turn fed him a vision of England that was eccentric in the extreme. Contemplating this, she sensed Diana’s clever eyes travel over her, as if reading her thoughts.
    ‘Clara! How lovely to find you here. I haven’t seen you for too long. How’s your divine sister Angela?’
    Diana knew Angela, but was closer to Angela’s new husband Gerald, a stolid barrister who had political ambitions and, in Clara’s eyes, absolutely no redeeming features. Gerald had
flirted with joining Mosley’s British Union of Fascists, though in the end he had opted for the Conservative Party as a safer bet.
    ‘Angela’s very well, thank you. She’s coming over soon.’
    ‘Frightfully good fun, your sister is. It’s a shame she couldn’t have come in time for the rally. It was terrifically impressive. Did you make it down to Nuremberg?’
    ‘Not this year, I’m afraid.’
    So far, Clara had managed to avoid attending any of the Party rallies, though she guessed sooner or later she might have to accept an invitation. The talking point of that year’s Party
congress in Nuremberg had been the ‘Cathedral of Light’ designed by Albert Speer, in which a hundred and fifty searchlights reached up into the night sky, like the pillars of a holy
building.
    ‘It was awfully naughty of you to miss it, Clara,’ butted in Unity. ‘It was just the best Parteitag ever. The Führer was thrilled with it. I can’t believe
you’ve never been. All the rallies and the marches are absolute heaven and the Hitler Youth boys look like angels.’
    Clara laughed lightly. ‘There are plenty of marches in Berlin to be going on with.’
    ‘Maybe. But I think it’s a crime to miss it. You’ve never seen so many people all in one place. It culminates in the procession of the Blood Flag – that’s the flag
held by the young Nazi struck down in the Putsch – and all the other flags are consecrated by touching the Blood Flag. It’s the most sacred moment. You can’t really describe it.
You have to see it for yourself. It’s monumental.’
    ‘Not as monumental as the Herr Doktor’s speech,’ teased Diana. ‘Fifty pages on