Paving the New Road (35 page)

“Understand this, Mr. Negus,” he growled, as they stood under umbrellas, staring into the lion cage at the Munich Zoo. “You do not
summon me. I am not here to solve
your
problems. You are here on the off-chance you can be of use to me.” Of course, this was all said while he was smiling and nodding as if recounting some hilarious anecdote.

Having become accustomed to the agent’s contrary gestures as well as his ill-humour, Rowland ignored him and repeated his question. “How long is Campbell planning to stay?”

“He’s determined to remain until he meets the Chancellor, until he has some tangible proof of Hitler’s esteem and endorsement to take back to the New Guard … and since the entire purpose of your presence and mine is to prevent such an eventuality, you’d better buckle down, Negus.” He fumbled in his jacket for a cigarette case. “I knew you wouldn’t stay the distance … I told those fools—”

“I assure you, Mr. Blanshard, we will not leave till Campbell does,” Rowland said tightly. “I would just like to explore the possibility of encouraging him to leave.”

“Well, unless you believe you can impersonate Hitler, Mr. Negus, I don’t expect there is anything you can do.”

Rowland gazed sullenly at the caged felines.

Blanshard pulled a cigarette from the case and lit it, drawing on it a couple of times before speaking again.

“Unity Mitford asked me if I knew anything about Campbell’s family.”

“Oh yes, Miss Mitford.” Rowland muttered resentfully. “You might have mentioned that she was crackers.”

Blanshard grunted. “Why is she asking about Colonel Campbell’s family?”

“I may have implied that he was Jewish.”

“I see. That explains it, I suppose.”

“It’s worked then?”

“She’s certainly curious about Campbell’s connections, though I don’t know that she’s entirely convinced. Perhaps after your next rendezvous …”

Rowland stiffened. “Next … Surely that’s unnecessary?”

“You want Campbell to go home, Mr. Negus? Well, how about you do what you were sent here to do?”

“Very well.” Rowland tried to keep from flaring. Blanshard was insufferable. “I will try to run into Miss Mitford again in the next day or two.” He turned to face Blanshard. “But there must be a way to give Campbell a nudge home.”

Blanshard’s teeth were clenched into an alarming smile. “There isn’t! If Campbell gets the slightest whiff that anyone is trying to sabotage his tour, he will use it to his advantage both over here and back home. You, Mr. Negus, need to pull your head in or you may just find that someone knocks it off!”

The beer garden was small and, but for three Australian men who drank together, deserted. Perhaps it was the steady drizzle, or the fact that the bar was in a less salubrious part of Munich.

Still, the paved courtyard was clean, even if the chairs were rickety and the table linen patched repeatedly. The proprietor had attempted to compensate for the general shabbiness with a small vase of dandelions placed at the centre of each table.

Clyde sighed. “Ed’s got a point … We’ve had a couple of close shaves already. If things go wrong it could get very ugly for Richter.”

“Won’t be particularly pretty for us either, mate,” Milton muttered.

Rowland sipped his beer. “Hopefully Campbell will give up soon.”

Milton studied the froth which floated atop the amber fluid in his own glass. “Perhaps impersonating Hitler’s not such a bad idea,” he said.

Clyde grunted. “It’s a very bad idea … Don’t even think about it.”

“We’ve managed it once,” Milton said, rubbing his lip. “We could …”

Rowland smiled. “You’ll need more than a bad German accent to pass as the Chancellor, Milt.” He stared out at nothing in particular.

“What are you thinking, Rowly?” Clyde asked cautiously.

Rowland leaned back, glancing casually around the beer garden to ensure it was still empty. “We’ve managed somehow to keep Campbell from meeting anyone of consequence to date. Ironically, it’s that which is keeping him here. Our best chance is to figure out what would make Campbell abandon his plan to meet Hitler?”

Clyde frowned. “I suppose it’s too much to hope he’ll come to his senses?”

“Yes, probably.”

“Perhaps we’re looking at this all wrong,” Milton said, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be trying to push Campbell out of Germany … Perhaps we simply need to lure him back to Sydney.”

“How do you mean?” Clyde asked.

“Give him a reason to go home that’s more important than hobnobbing with the fascists over here.”

Rowland looked sharply at the poet. “You’re right.”

Milton smiled. “I tend to be. What about a family illness?”

Rowland shook his head. “Too easy to verify, I should think.” His eyes glinted. “But what if Campbell were to receive word that there was trouble in the New Guard … in-fighting, that sort of thing?”

“Yes!” Milton slapped the table enthusiastically. “A
coup d’ é tat
within his beloved militia! Even before he left, there were rumours
of dissension in the ranks … Guardsmen who thought Campbell was becoming too fascist.”

Rowland smiled. “That might just work.”

“Of course it’ll work,” Milton replied. “We’re brilliant!”

“Steady on,” Clyde cautioned. “Before you jokers get carried away with your own genius, how on earth do you propose to convince Campbell of this supposed coup?”

“Easy.” Milton would not be dissuaded. “We’ll get Blanshard to tell him.”

Rowland frowned. “I don’t know that Blanshard will be in it. In fact, I don’t think we can rely on any help from the Old Guard. I doubt very much that they’re going to let us take the lead.”

“We could telegram Campbell,” Milton persisted.

Rowland groaned. “No, it wouldn’t work. He’d be able to see that the telegram was sent from within Germany … He’s not a stupid man.”

Milton topped up his beer glass from the jug on the table. “There’s got to be some way to—”

“What if we enlist Miss Wake?” Rowland interrupted.

“Nancy? Enlist her to do what, exactly?”

Rowland spoke quickly now … His eyes narrowed as the plan unfolded in his mind’s eye. “She could interview Campbell … ask him questions about the reported in-fighting within the New Guard … The rumours that the man he left in charge is preparing to stage a coup rather soon. It’s perfectly feasible that she would hear things through her contacts in the press.”

Milton grinned, nodding slowly. “Do you think she’d be willing, Rowly?”

Rowland shrugged. “She seems rather a good sport. It can’t hurt to ask.”

Clyde agreed cautiously. “Are you going to give Blanshard a heads-up?”

“I’m inclined not. I seriously doubt it would be a good idea,” Rowland said, his face darkening. “Apparently we are here to do his bidding and nothing else.” He laughed softly. “The Old Guard is displeased as it is. I’m afraid Mr. Blanshard’s received another telegram, about our appalling lack of frugality, from that chap Munroe.”

“Sounds like a Scot,” Milton said in disgust. “Scots are always unreasonably thrifty … We’re dealing in art, not parsnips—you can’t buy it by the pound.”

“Just wait till Milton’s purchases start arriving in Sydney,” Clyde said, shaking his head. “We’ll be lucky if Hardy doesn’t have our passports revoked.”

“Hopefully we’ll be on a liner home by the time
Backwards Mona Lisa
or the deformed duck painting reach the good Senator.”

Clyde laughed.

Milton studied them sadly. “I’ve always known Clyde was a traditionalist … but you, Rowly? I had hope for you.”

“Get off!” Clyde retorted. “You only bought those pieces because you thought they’d offend Hardy.”

Milton sighed. “I admit that may have been the basis of my initial purchase, but there’s something about handing over a rather large sum of money that makes you recognise a certain merit you might initially have missed.”

Rowland raised his glass. “I’m sure the Graziers’ Association will be immensely grateful for your astute investments on their behalf, old mate.”

They returned to Richter’s mansion in Schellingstrasse that afternoon in good spirits. The plan to have Nancy Wake panic Campbell into leaving had introduced a sense of purpose to their sojourn in Germany, which had otherwise threatened to extend into endless months of simply interfering with the dealings of the New Guard leader.

Munich had its charm but the idea of staying for an indefinite period was beginning to exasperate them more than they realised.

Two artists from whom Milton had purchased paintings the previous week had fled to London. Even Hans von Eidelsohn was contemplating a strategic retreat to Austria, if only Millicent Greenway would consent to go with him. For her part, Edna seemed fond of the melancholy artist, but no more so than any of the other men who had caught her interest for a time.

Richter and Edna were both out that afternoon. They may have been together. Richter’s fondness for the sculptress bothered Rowland a little. He did not think there was anything untoward about it, but he did wonder whether the doting tailor would be too cruelly grieved when they left. Clearly Richter’s regard was tied up with memories of his own daughter, although Edna was being nothing but herself. That alone was enough to enslave most men.

Rowland left a message at the telephone number Nancy Wake had given him, and then returned to his easel. Clyde was already in the makeshift studio, working on a still life. Milton was ensconced in an armchair with a volume of
Ashenden
by William Somerset Maugham which he apparently had found among the books in Richter’s library. Rowland had not yet set out his palette when Mrs. Schuler beckoned to him from the door. When he’d come close enough she whispered that there was a very distraught young woman on the porch who, she supposed, had come to see him.

Not entirely sure if that was some kind of censure, Rowland hastened to the front door.

Though he’d been prepared by the housekeeper, Rowland was nevertheless startled by the sobbing which reached his ears before he stepped out. Eva threw herself into his arms and continued to weep into his chest.

“Good Lord, Eva … Whatever’s the matter?”

She was unable to speak, gulping and crying anew as she tried. He just stood there and let her be for a while. It was perhaps because she took so long to compose herself that Rowland had time to notice the car full of uniform-clad SA officers on the street at the end of Richter’s cobbled driveway.

He wasn’t particularly disconcerted—the Brownshirts seemed to be everywhere these days—but he did note it.

“Fräulein Eva,” he said gently. “Shall we go inside? We can get you a cup of tea and you can tell me precisely what is the matter.”

Eva nodded, wiping uselessly at the sodden patch she’d left on his jacket. He took her into the formal sitting room and asked Mrs. Schuler to bring tea. Clyde stuck his head in but seeing Eva weeping on the settee, disappeared again, presumably to hide in the studio until the drama was over.

When the tea service had been wheeled in and a tray placed upon the parlour table, Rowland stood by the door till Frau Schuler realised he wished her to leave. She did so reluctantly. Rowland closed the door firmly behind the housekeeper and took a seat beside Eva. He poured her a cup of tea, and handed her his handkerchief.

“What has happened, Eva?” he asked gently.

She shook her head and for a moment he thought she might cry again. “Do you think I’m pretty, Herr Negus?”

Rowland’s brow rose, but he said, “Yes, of course.”

“When you are in love with a woman, how would you show it?”

Rowland shifted uncomfortably. “It depends on the woman, I suppose,” he said uncertainly. “Has something happened, Eva?”

She rummaged in her purse and then handed an envelope to Rowland. It contained a thick wad of banknotes—Reichsmarks. “Herr Wolf took me for a picnic today … He said he had something to give me.” She wiped her eyes. “I thought he might present me with a dachshund, or a bracelet—I would have liked a bracelet—or even flowers.” She broke down again. “But instead he hands me this envelope, without a word of kindness. He treats me like some
schlampen
from the street!”