Madam Weissburg arrived the following morning. She was accompanied by a small entourage of helpers, each carrying a bag bursting with beauty products. Frau Hermann greeted her friend appreciatively and showed them upstairs to Gabi’s room. Gabi had only just risen and was in her nightgown when they poured through the door.
“Good morning, dear. I am Madam Weissburg.”
Gabi tightened and secured the cord of her nightgown, a bewildered gaze following this strange woman that flittered about her.
Dressed in black as if in mourning, Madam Weissburg cut a striking figure. Tall and slender, her hair was streaked ebony and grey like a silver fox. Her neck was long and wrinkled like a tortoise’s, and her hands were bony and slightly crippled from arthritis. But her eyes contradicted all these features, for they were a youthful, sparkling blue that brought life to her face.
“Well, no time like the present. Shall we get started then?” She studied Gabi as though she were some curiosity, touching her hair and inspecting her nails and ears, her lively eyes scanning the young woman, her excitement building as the challenge emerged. “I love a blank canvas!”
They washed Gabi’s hair, trimming the split ends and brushing her mane so intensely that it shone like polished brass. Madam Weissburg drew it back into a tight ponytail, not a hair out of place, exposing Gabi’s classical features, her high brow and cheekbones and square jaw-line. This was not the fashion of the day, but Madam Weissburg cared less about fashion; style and elegance always came first with her.
“You like it, dear?”
Gabi winced; her ugly scar was more visible than ever. She dropped her eyes, avoiding Madam Weissburg’s inquiring brow. “My scar really stands out.”
“You should not feel ashamed of your scar. It is part of you and shows people that you have experienced life. Now, what will you be wearing?”
Gabi gestured towards the wardrobe where a freshly cleaned and pressed uniform hung.
“You’re with the Luftwaffe?”
“Yes, I’m a pilot.”
“Well, I never.” She eyed the tailored uniform and hummed her approval. “Your makeup must be understated. I’ll not have you disgrace a uniform of the Reich by looking like a cheap showgirl.”
She began by plucking Gabi’s eyebrows. Gabi flinched as Madam Weissburg ripped at each follicle. She squirmed uncomfortably as the lightest trace of rouge was brushed onto her cheekbones and eyeliner and mascara meticulously applied to her eyes.
“Now, for a bit of colour.” She opened a large case containing an assortment of lipsticks and nail varnishes and carefully selected one of each in bright red—a fashionable colour that Gabi thought gaudy at the very least. As if reading her thoughts, Madam Weissburg explained her selection.
“The beauty and individuality of a woman’s lips and hands should not be underestimated; they have their own unique allure and must, therefore, be accentuated.”
Madam Weissburg stood back to admire her work. “Just perfect. Get dressed, dear. You’ll be leaving soon.”
Gabi removed her uniform from its hanger, shrugging on the stiffly-pressed shirt that she tucked scruffily into her trousers. Casting a critical eye, Madam Weissburg launched herself at Gabi in a frenzy of tugs and tucks, carefully adjusting the collar, shoulders and belt.
“There, that’s better. Now go, look at yourself in the mirror.”
Gabi stood before a form, both foreign and appealing and marvelled at herself. “Oh, Madam Weissburg, you’re a miracle worker. Thank you. Thank you all so much.”
“It has been our pleasure. Here, take this makeup and promise me that you will apply it exactly as you see now. No heavier.”
The general stood by the front door, adjusting his belt and tunic. “Gabi, are you coming?” he called up in a tone that hinted at a poor night’s sleep. Gabi appeared at the top of the staircase, and his mood rose with each descending step that she took.
“And who have we here? This couldn’t possibly be my little soldier. Why she’s grown into a stunning officer.” The general took Gabi’s hand and led her down the final steps. “You grow more and more like your mother.”
Gabi kissed her father on the cheek. She squeezed his hand softly before pulling away to wipe the mark left on his cheek. The general removed his handkerchief and rubbed aggressively to be sure that no lipstick remained and Gabi wondered how many women had left such a mark on her father.
“Gabi, come here. I want to take a good look at you.” Tante Helga examined her niece, shaking her head and grimacing in her usual state of bewilderment. “Yes, my dear, you look lovely but why the military uniform? Don’t you own a pretty floral dress?”
Gabi tittered inwardly at the thought of her receiving the Knights Cross medal wearing a summer frock. “No, Tante Helga, my uniform is more appropriate,” she replied and winked at her father.
The fertile landscape whizzed passed in a haze of green and gold. It was on the cusp of summer and the changing season was turning Gabi’s pensive mood to thoughts of love. They would arrive in Berlin soon and Hans would be there—alone perhaps, but most likely with Eva. She winced at the thought of them together, intimate, holding hands and laughing, gazing into each other’s eyes. She blinked to clear the image, instead, looking at her reflection in the car window, pleased with what she saw. But did she look woman enough to catch herself a man?
Eva had set the benchmark, and Gabi knew that she could not compete. Besides, Hans had never shown any romantic interest in her, and as her commander, she should not expect otherwise. But maybe things would change someday. She grinned and allowed herself a dream, blissful in arms that held her close, his lips pressing into hers, his manly eyes looking at her with desire.
The general studied his daughter’s contemplative grin and sublime gaze. “Gabi, we’ve arrived but you look like you’re somewhere else.”
She smiled demurely.
They climbed out of the vehicle and made their way into the main hall, a large crowd of military personnel and invited guests blocking their entry, but the throng soon parted, allowing them passage into the main foyer where refreshments were served. There would be no crumb cake on offer today.
She scanned the room for Hans, dragging her father across the hall, oblivious to the attention she was receiving from the crowd—especially the young officers.
A man stepped out, blocking their charge.
“Max—so good to see you again.” It was Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler. His interest shifted to Gabi. “Ah, this must be your lovely daughter. You have made an amazing recovery, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, indeed, Reichsführer. I was in the best of hands.”
“I must say, that Luftwaffe uniform is most becoming on a woman.” Himmler’s mouth contorted into what Gabi took as a smile, and she shuddered. There was something about this man that left her cold.
She spied a familiar face across the hall, seizing the opportunity to make her escape. “Please, excuse me,” she said, saluting and moving away in a brisk motion that left a scowl on Himmler’s face.
The general coughed his embarrassment at his daughter’s sudden departure, quickly taking up the conversation and guiding Himmler to the bar.
Meanwhile, Hans was entrenched in a lively discussion with a fellow group commander. They spoke of fighter tactics with animated hands and faces, exaggerated gestures of cunning and skill, bursting with bravado mixed in with good humour. The other officer’s eyes locked on to Gabi as she approached. He whistled under his breath.
“I’ve just seen an angel,” he whispered. “Look, over there.”
Hans glanced across at the angel and his jaw fell.