Paving the New Road (16 page)

The Sydney Morning Herald, 1933

E
dna drew her legs up onto the couch, wrapping her arms about her shins and resting her chin on her knees. “I’d best come with you.”

“You’d what?” Rowland looked up, startled.

The sculptress had knocked on his door that morning at some ungodly hour. He’d still been asleep. She had called down for tea and coffee and pastries, while he’d showered and dressed, and for a while they’d shared breakfast without speaking of what he was about to do.

She knew, of course. Milton had told her when she’d eventually returned after dining with Von Eidelsohn.

“I’d better come with you … when you call on Herr Göring.”

“Absolutely not!”

She held up the information that Blanshard had secreted in the copy of
Der Stürmer
. “It says here that the Görings are aristocrats of sorts … or that they think they are.”

“Yes, but …”

She smiled knowingly at him. “Men, particularly gentlemen, are more likely to act heroically in the presence of a lady, Rowly.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

“You’re just proving my point.”

“You will not talk me into this, Ed.”

She reached out and grabbed his hand. “Rowly, darling, I am in no less danger waiting for you than with you. Take me. I can help you convince him.”

For a fleeting moment Rowland wavered, because her hand felt so natural in his and he found it hard to refuse her anything. “No … I’ve already put you in harm’s way. It’s not—”

“Take her, Rowly.” Clyde walked in, in his robe and slippers. “She could be right … We all know Ed can get you to do just about anything she wants. Perhaps she’ll be able to do the same to poor Albert.”

“You can’t be serious!” Rowland said, aghast that cautious Clyde would side with Edna on this.

“He’s not going to attack her, Rowly. You’ll be there, for one thing.”

“And if he decides to call the police?”

“If he does, then we’re all in a bit of bother anyway, regardless of whether Ed is with you or not. We’re hardly going to leave you here, are we?” Clyde yawned and rubbed his head. “The moment you walk out of there, we all have to disappear for a while anyway. If you think Göring would prefer to talk to you alone, then speak German … but Ed makes sense. Let her remind him to be heroic.”

The private hotel in Ludwigstrasse was small, but clearly catered for men of consequence and wealth. Surrounded by a hedge of pine trees, it spoke of elegance and discretion. The staff were present but unobtrusive and the appointments tastefully lavish. It was here that Albert Göring stayed when he was in Munich.

Rowland had decided that the easiest way to gain a private audience with Göring was to simply check into the hotel, and take whatever opportunity arose. Edna’s presence allowed them to pose as young newlyweds honeymooning in Munich. They checked in as M. and Mme. Marcel of Paris. Once again taking her role to heart, Edna decided to speak exclusively in French. She told the impressively multilingual hotel manager all about her wedding as Rowland requested a room on the uppermost floor where, according to Blanshard’s information, Göring also had his suite.

“The honeymoon suite is situated on the ground floor, Monsieur Marcel. It has an exquisite private courtyard attached. The rooms on the top floor are also very comfortable but—”

“My wife has a preference for views from a height,” Rowland interrupted. “I like to give her whatever she wants.”

“Oh darling, you are sweet,” Edna crooned, reaching up to kiss his cheek, allowing her lips to linger and sliding her hand under his jacket in a manner that left the manager in no doubt as to why Rowland was happy to indulge her.

“Well, if Madame insists.” He moved quickly to assign the room they requested and promptly remove them from the foyer before the scandalous display was repeated.

A bottle of champagne was delivered immediately to the suite, with the manager’s compliments.

The moment they were alone, Edna fell into the chair, giggling. Rowland smiled. “You’re incorrigible, Ed. I thought he was going to ask us to leave.”

“We’re married, Rowly … not to mention French.”

“That much was clear.”

Edna removed her gloves. “He was a bit stuffy, wasn’t he? Didn’t seem the least bit interested in my wedding.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Rowland sat down beside her. “Are you ready?”

“Do you suppose he’s in?”

“Only one way to find out. I believe his suite’s at the end of the hallway.”

Edna took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

The man who opened the door to the suite at the hall’s end was dark-featured. What hair remained in the fringe encircling his head
was black. He was smartly dressed, his suit the latest double-breasted cut, and his moustache was waxed to two pert points.

“Herr Göring?” Rowland asked, extending his hand.

“The same,” Göring replied, accepting the handshake cautiously. “Do I know you?”

“Rowland Sinclair, Herr Göring.”

Edna glanced at him sharply, startled by his use of his real name. He took her hand reassuringly and continued. “This is Fräulein Edna Higgins. We haven’t met before, but I was hoping we might talk.”

Göring stared at them for a moment, and then he stood back. “You, I might turn away, but Fräulein Higgins is a rare find. Come in, come in.”

He invited them to sit and spoke to Edna, as he inserted a cigarette into a short Bakelite cigarette-holder. “You are an actress. You would like to be a star.”

Of course, as he was speaking German, Edna had no idea what he was saying. She told him so in French.

Göring smiled and repeated himself in fluent French.

Edna returned his smile warmly. “Yes, I am an actress … Well, I have been, but I’m not a star, by any means.”

“Not yet, my dear, but with the right part you shall be.” He placed a finger under her chin and turned her face to profile. “Why, you are exquisite from every angle!”

“
Merci beaucoup
, Monsieur Göring,” Edna said, a little confused. “Are you an actor?”

“I’m a filmmaker,
ma chère
, but you know that … it is why you are here.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t,” Rowland interrupted, now also speaking French.

Göring’s eyes narrowed. “Who exactly are you? Why have you come here?”

“I am given to understand, Monsieur Göring that you have been outspoken in your opposition to the Reich and to Chancellor Hitler?” Rowland kept his gaze on Göring’s.

Göring stiffened. “Are you a Nazi? Has that obnoxious idiot Röhm sent you to intimidate me? I assure you, it will not work.”

“No, sir, we are not Nazis. The contrary, in fact. We are trying to prevent the spread of the Nazi regime.”

“What do you want, Monsieur Sinclair?”

“I want you to persuade your brother to cancel a meeting.”

“A meeting? What meeting?”

“Tomorrow your brother Hermann has an appointment with Colonel Eric Campbell from Australia. He must
not
meet him.”

“Why? Is this man dangerous?”

“Not to your brother, Monsieur Göring, but to Australia he could be very dangerous.”

Göring pulled back. “What has this got to do with Hermann?”

“Colonel Campbell is a great admirer of Adolf Hitler,” Rowland replied, watching the man intently. “He is here to learn from the Reich … to bring its ideals back to Australia.”

“And you think he will stop just because he does not meet with Hermann?” Göring snorted.

“Probably not. But if he does not have the chance to make an ally of your brother, perhaps he will not take the same road.”

Göring studied Rowland thoughtfully, absently twirling the end of his moustache. “Tell me about this Campbell. What kind of man is he?”

Evenly, and as fairly as he was able, Rowland recounted what he knew of the New Guard Commander, the radical right-wing
organisation that Campbell led and what they had already tried to do. Edna interrupted when she thought that Rowland was being too fair, with an invective about the lengths to which Campbell was willing to go. She told Göring of Australia’s Fascist Legion, and of how they operated as cloaked and hooded thugs to silence the enemies of the New Guard with violence.

Once Edna began it was difficult to pull her back and Göring was a close and quiet audience. Her voice became strained and tearful as she spoke of how the Legion had branded Milton with the word “Red” and then nearly beaten Rowland to death.

Rowland let her go. He had not realised how angry she still was over what the New Guard’s henchmen had done.

“And the Jews?” Göring asked when she had finished. “What is this Monsieur Campbell’s stance on the Jews?”

“I don’t know,” Rowland admitted. “I have never heard him utter anything anti-Semitic.”

Göring rubbed his chin. “My brother, Hermann, was not anti-Semitic either until he got involved with Hitler.” He sighed. “All that we have, all that we are, we owe to Hermann’s Jewish godfather. Without his generosity we would not have known a roof over our heads as children!” Albert Göring shook his head. “But you are asking me to deceive my brother … to betray him.”

Rowland said nothing. It was what he was asking.

“Do you have a brother, Monsieur Sinclair?”

“Yes.”

“Are you friends, your brother and you?”

“Not always.”

“Would you undermine your own brother like this?”

Rowland shrugged. “Often Wil has accused me of doing just that, Monsieur … I do what I must, as does he, I suppose. Sometimes
we stand together; at other times we are opposed. On the issue of Campbell, we are together.”

For a while Göring smoked wordlessly.

Rowland broke the silence. “You are opposed to your brother’s involvement with the Nazis, Monsieur, that is no secret. At the moment Eric Campbell’s putsch for power has stalled. All I want to do is ensure that he and his supporters do not regain momentum.”

“How do I know you are telling me the truth? You are asking me to trust the word of a stranger. How do I know that you are not working with Röhm or Himmler to discredit Hermann through me?”

Rowland hesitated, flustered. “I don’t know how you would know that, but I am not.”

Göring smiled. “Did you hope to persuade me with a heartfelt plea?”

“Yes … I suppose I did.”

Göring laughed. “Naivety in a spy. I like it. But it might get you killed.” He looked hard at Rowland. “This is what we are going to do, Monsieur. I will call upon this man Campbell and I will talk to him. If he is the man you say, with the ambitions you speak of, then I will speak with my brother. If he is not, you should probably expect a visit from the police tomorrow.”

Rowland exhaled slowly. “I cannot ask more.”

“But I can ask more.” Göring leaned forward. “And I do. If I find myself doing as you ask, then I will expect something in return.”

“What exactly?”

“I do not know yet. I, too, am trying to save my homeland from the Nazis. I fear that one day just protecting our own countries will not be enough. There may come a time when I will need something from you.”

Rowland met Göring’s eyes. It seemed fair. “You have my word, Monsieur Göring.”

Rowland shut the door. Edna was already pouring the champagne. She handed him a glass.