He spoke of Captain Göring. Like some favoured bull at a cattle show, the German preened himself before a woman he evidently found attractive. ‘What a stunner, eh?’ said Morgan, nudging me. ‘I bet she’s an actress.’
I turned to look. As I did so an intense and complex emotion suffused my entire body. The ‘stunner’ was the woman I knew better than any other still alive. My wife! My eternal! My soulmate!
‘She is indeed an actress, Tom,’ I confirmed quietly, putting down my drink and adjusting my uniform. ‘She is an exceptionally fine one. She is my greatest leading lady. Miss Gloria Cornish.’
Everything else forgotten, I hurried across the room to greet my guardian angel. She was, of course, the wonderfully beautiful and voluptuous Mrs Cornelius.
She sensed my presence. A platinum radiance in pink and silver, a cloud of beaming Guerlain, she turned.
I began to approach. For a heartbeat she paused, then she recognised me. “Ello, Ivan!’ Her genial voice was more lusciously sensual than ever. ‘Wot’s wiv ther face fungus?’ Her enormous blue eyes took in my uniform, my orders. ‘Turned out nice again, I see.’ The tip of her pink tongue wet her ruby lips. She winked, one old survivor to another.
Mio angelo! Mia amante! Mia sposa! My life!
FOURTEEN
Of course she had not changed. She was still my angel. Only Mussolini gave off that same almost supernatural wave of animal magnetism. My eyes as full as my heart, I kissed her hand. ‘My dear Mrs Cornelius.’
‘Smarmy as ever, aincher, Ivan?’ She was her familiar amiable self. ‘Still, I got ter admit it’s good ter see a face I know. Found yerself somefink official an’ steady, eh? Workin’ fer th’ corporation. Can’t say I blame yer. I’m done for in ther English talkies. It’s me accent. So when I got ter Berlin I took up with little Baron ‘Uggy Bear over there.’ She indicated a short, dapper German with a huge Kaiser Wilhelm moustache and twinkling blue eyes, whose grey haircut looked as if a hard brush had been glued to his head. He wore formal evening dress and chatted to Count Ciardi, whom he seemed to know well. ‘Pappy’s not reely a baron. That just what a corl ‘im ‘cause someone said ‘e was a Press Baron and I wasn’t sure wot that was. I corl ‘im “Baron ‘Uggy Bear”. ‘E was good enough ter ‘elp me back on me feet, but I’m thinkin’ of goin’ inter cabaret, maybe in Berlin. Pappy’s ‘ot ter get me goin’ in ther local talkies, but I’m a bit chary o’ that world, if yer know wot I mean. Still, it’s orl wide open fer English artistes. They love us out there. An’ ‘e sez some other girl can do me ther German. Wot d’yer fink? Oh, ‘ello! ‘Ave yer met —’ She turned to address the enormous beaming German, an infatuated Zeppelin, who was clearly entranced by her.
“Ermann, is it?’
He bowed, clicked his heels and shook hands again. He did not recollect me. I supposed we all looked the same to him in our black uniforms. Although not quite as tall as he appeared from his photographs, Herman Göring was considerably wider. He spoke now in confident, but inexpert English. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Professor Peters. We have heard much of your achievements in Germany.’
I was surprised. I began to realise how much I had attracted the attention of various foreign governments. The newspaper pictures had done exactly what Mussolini had anticipated; they had whetted the curiosity of the other powers. Slipping easily into German, I made small talk with Captain Göring. Grateful to be speaking his own language, he admired my vocabulary. I told him how I had worked with Germans in the Ukraine during the Civil War when we were all trying to get rid of the Reds. This interested him. He had assumed I was an American. ‘Naturalised,’ I explained to him. ‘Before then I had direct experience of the Bolshevik terror.’
‘You must meet a friend of mine,’ he said. ‘He’s here tonight. His company’s making this film about the Russian Civil War. They are hiring genuine veterans. Real Russians. You could be of great help. Did you come up against the Red Cavalry, for instance?’
‘You’re bein’ borin’, boys,’ chided Mrs Cornelius. She smiled up at Hitler’s bulky emissary. Göring’s job was to attempt an understanding between the Nazis and the Pope. It was as well I did not know this at the time or I would have spoken my mind. One of the most disastrous policies Mussolini and Hitler formulated involved accommodation with Catholics who ultimately did as much as anyone to sabotage their efforts. ‘You tol’ me, ‘Ermann, you woz lookin’ fer a party ter go ter afterwards.’
The man was well bred and immediately dropped the subject of politics, saying only to me: ‘We must talk again. In Germany we have a great respect for the scientific tradition.’
Jokingly I said that for my taste there were a few too many Jews running the scientific establishments there. He hesitated at this, doubtless because he was here on a diplomatic mission, then laughed heartily. ‘Very good!’ he said. ‘Very good, Professor! I think you and I will get on well. You must come and see us in Germany once we are in power. Great things are happening. Il Duce’s inspiration, Adolf Hitler’s genius and German practical knowledge will transform the country and in time the entire world.’
Although his expression seemed fixed in a jovial smile, he was evidently not relaxed. Mrs Cornelius nudged him. ‘Wot does it take ter make a Kraut let ‘is ‘air down?’ she asked me, winking. Again he was hugely apologetic. He was here on official business. It was so difficult to move from one mode to the other. ‘Wot abart this party, then?’ She dropped her voice. ’Yo’re just the chap, Ivan. ‘Ermann wants ter know if there’s anywhere they do the ‘okey-cokey rahnd ‘ere,’ and she put a finger to her perfect nose.
I was confused by all these turns of events and pulled my card from my inside pocket. On the blank side I scribbled the address where I hoped to meet Maddy Butter later. ‘I might be there myself,’ I said. ’Mention my name. Gallibasta.’ I winked back. At which point, to my absolute horror, a figure in a uniform which would have seemed garish on the stage of the Vienna Comic Opera, taller than Captain Göring by almost a head but threatening to rival him in corpulence, moving with what I can only describe as a kind of monumental mince, cracked its jackboots together, offered the Fascist salute and regarded me through rheumy, affectionate eyes which failed to hide the signs of a thousand disappointments. He uttered a wide, ghastly grin. ‘Good evening, Herr Captain,’ he said to Göring, whose expression of distaste was undisguised. ‘Maxim, dear. Did I hear somebody talk about a party?’
Mrs Cornelius’s natural generosity betrayed us then. She did not know the newcomer. Maybe she did not wish to travel alone in a taxi with Göring. ‘I’m sure we’re orl welcome,’ she said. ‘Yo’re wiv the German party, too, aren’t yer? We’ll go tergewer! ‘Uggy won’t mind.’
In spite of the horrible embarrassment at meeting Seryozha again, and in such unexpected circumstances, I was curious as to how he had managed to come back to Italy after only a few months - in a uniform of his own design and as part of the unofficial German delegation! When Mrs Cornelius led Captain Göring off to meet an old friend from the British Embassy in Rome, I was left with my slobbering ex-dancer. He, of course, wanted to open his heart to me there and then. His boyfriend had sent him here, he said, to keep an eye on things. ‘Ernst’s a really top-ranking Nazi, you know. A bit of a brute, really, but he has his points. Well, they’re all totally rivalrous, darling. It’s worse than the ballet! Nobody trusts anybody else and Ernst’s afraid what he calls the “eggheads” are going behind his back. They wouldn’t let him come now, so he sent me instead. I’m his aide. His eyes and ears, he said. They had to agree to let me do it. It’s at his expense, anyway. He even paid for my uniform. I met him in Bolivia. It’s all secret, of course. I hear you’re doing well in the government now. There are no private jobs worth having any more, are there? It’s the Crash.’