Gabi wore a blue high-collared gown that swathed her slim figure. Long, satin gloves, sapphire and diamond earrings, a French roll and makeup applied with understated elegance—Madam Weissburg would have been proud.
She danced as one does at a ball, handed from one partner to the next, all the while her eyes scanning the compound for Kurt, inquisitive to see if he had brought along a lady friend. A flash exploded, blinding her momentarily.
“Captain Richter, what a vision you are.”
More flashes. “Make sure you get plenty of shots.”
The photographers intensified their photo frenzy.
“Please, Dr Göbbels, call off your hounds,” Gabi said, forcing a smile.
“My exquisite lady, you are the belle of the ball. We must capture this moment for posterity. Come, dance with me.”
Gabi accepted the doctor’s hand, wondering how this would play out. It was an interesting coupling that bordered on comical; Gabi was almost a head taller than her dance partner, who, to his credit, seemed unperturbed to take to the dance floor in spite of his handicap. They swayed awkwardly to the music.
“How do you like flying the Me-262?”
“Oh, it’s like nothing else. Swallow has such power, such speed…”
“Swallow? You call it Swallow?”
“Yes, I’ve called all my planes Swallow but the 262 flies more like a true swallow than any other.”
“Interesting,” the doctor said, and he tightened his hold around her waist.
“Excuse me, Dr Göbbels… Major Dorfmann.” Kurt tilted his head and clicked his soles. “Do you mind if I cut in?”
Dr Göbbels glared at Kurt with weasel-like eyes, twitching his agitation. “Well, actually I do. This song hasn’t finished yet and—”
“I’ve been waiting patiently for some time now, and I really would like to dance with my fiancé before the night is over.”
Gabi held her tongue. She gave the doctor a sweet but artificial smile, then turned and cast a ferocious glare at the peacock. Kurt winked back roguishly.
“Oh, I didn’t know that you were engaged. Congratulations to you both. Of course, Major Dorfmann. Be my guest.” Dr Göbbels bowed courteously and retreated.
Gabi waited until the weasel was well out of ear-shot and even then, she spoke through gritted teeth. “What are you talking about? You could get us both in trouble.”
“Ah, no one else will find out. Bet you’re glad I came along though. What an ugly man.”
Gabi shook her head. “Cocky as always.”
“Listen, they’re playing our song.”
“What song? We don’t have a song. I don’t even know this song. You’re deranged!”
Kurt took her hand and swung his arm behind her waist in one elegant stroke, and they glided gracefully onto the dance floor and into the melody.
Meanwhile, Gabi’s father and Onkel Albert exchanged banter as they watched the entertainment from the back of the shelter.
“They make a handsome couple, don’t you think? Good Aryan breeding stock,” Kesselring goaded.
“She wouldn’t have anything to do with that peacock if I had my way,” General Richter replied.
“Well then, Gabi’s sure to be involved with him already.”
General Richter raised a brow. “She can do better.”
“Dorfmann’s actually a fine officer and brilliant pilot—one of the best… a bit of a hard taskmaster from what I can remember,” Kesselring continued.
“That may be so. I just wish she’d move on from these pilots—nothing but grief.”
Dr Göbbels approached the two senior officers. “Good evening, gentlemen. Max, I must congratulate you on the engagement of your daughter to Major Dorfmann.”
Champagne sprayed across the floor, followed by a fit of coughs and splutter. An amused Kesselring patted the general firmly on his back.
“Well, Max, how does it feel to have a peacock for a son-in-law?”
Before leaving the ball, the general confronted his wayward daughter.
“Papa, it was only a joke. You know Kurt has a strange sense of humour.”
“Humour? Is he mad? Joseph Göbbels will not take kindly to being made a fool of,” he said.
“I’m sure nothing will come of it. Dr Göbbels has far more news-worthy matters to report on.”
She bid her father and Onkel Albert a good night, making a hurried exit into the street where a taxi waited on the curb.
“Quick, get in. Is everything all right?” Kurt took Gabi’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
“I think so, but Papa really has a problem with you.”
“Can’t think why. Your father and I have so much in common.”
They arrived at the hotel, Kurt leading Gabi into his hotel room, a dim light silhouetting a bottle of champagne in a bed of ice, two chilled flutes resting comfortably alongside.
Gabi inspected the champagne, her warm hand clasping the perspiring bottle. “Veuve-Clicqout—Vintage 1918. Impressive. Did you win it in a card game?”
“I never divulge my sources.”
Gabi handed Kurt the bottle. “How did you know I would come back with you to the hotel?”
“I didn’t, but I figured it’d either be you or some other lucky lady,” Kurt said, opening the bottle and sending the cork flying like a missile that rebounded off the ceiling. Gabi ducked and shook her head, recalling the time many years ago when her father did exactly the same and was almost blinded.
Kurt poured the champagne, a creamy mousse cascading over the glass and down onto the rug.
“That’s what I admire about you, Kurt. You’re such an optimist.”
Kurt saluted his glass before gulping a mouthful. He pulled a photo from his pocket and held it at arm’s length, a cheeky smirk imprinted on his face.
“Where did you get that?” she snapped, making a grab for the photo.
Kurt pulled back and slipped it into his jacket. “You left it in your locker. I guess you forgot to post it.” He grinned slyly. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“You know, the bit about love?”
Kurt’s eyes widened like that of an expectant child at Christmas, his face an expression of innocence that Gabi had seen only once before when they had walked for hours one crisp evening in Cologne a lifetime ago. Her riled features softened and she moved closer, stroking his cheek and drawing the back of her hand across his lips.
“Yes.”
Kurt’s eyes dilated. He placed his hands behind her neck, running his fingers through her hair and pulling the pins to free her locks. Hair unfurled over Gabi’s shoulders and down her back, and she quivered. He gazed into her eyes with an intensity that Gabi found unnerving. He drew her closer, pressing his lips against hers before moving his hands lightly down her back, tracing the grooves of her burn scar softly with one hand and skilfully unfastening her dress with the other. It fell to the floor and in her near-nakedness, she stood paralysed, unsure if she wanted to proceed.
He draped her body over the bed and Gabi watched him remove his clothing and lower his body over her. He smothered the scar on her forehead with kisses, working his way down her face and neck, kneading her breasts, gorging his way down, his tongue savouring the salt of her skin.
He spread her thighs, his lips caressing the softness of her folds and his eyes widened, taking a moment to study a faint mark. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’ve got a scar down here.”
Gabi tilted her head and in her eyes, he could see the years of shame and fear that she had suffered.
“I won’t hurt you.” He stroked her thigh with one hand, and with the other, lightly ran his finger along her scar. Like a tickle, it evoked an uncontrollable urge and Gabi squirmed, releasing a sensual groan. He strummed her scar, soft like a melody, and when her body quivered, he ceased his caress.