Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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in the years before World War Two?’
‘You can,’ Victor said.
Christian nodded, took a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to bore you with a long dissertation about the rise of Adolf Hitler, but to understand my father’s story, you must also understand what was happening in Germany in those days. In the middle of the nineteen twenties the Weimar Republic, which had been created in 1919, was extremely shaky. By 1928 Hitler had re-established his leadership of the Nazi Party, membership in the Party had reached sixty thousand, and the Nazis got two point six per cent of the vote in the Reichstag elections that particular year. In 1933 Hitler was appointed Chancellor by President Hindenburg, and between the burning of the Reichstag a month later, in February, and the elections in March, Hitler had become virtual dictator of Germany. His rise to power had horrified and frightened liberals, my father amongst them. As I told you yesterday, Father was an anti-Fascist who had dedicated his fortune, his energy and his time to fighting Fascism – actively but secretly. There was no way he could come out into the open without exposing himself and the family to extreme danger and arrest. However, for years he had been a leading member of an underground movement in Germany, helping Jews, Catholics, Protestants and so-called “political offenders” of all types who sought to flee Germany.’ Christian took a swallow of his cognac, and asked, ‘Did you ever read a book by Baroness Orczy called The Scarlet Pimpernel, Victor?’
‘No. But I saw the movie starring Leslie Howard.’
‘Good. Then I know you’ll understand what I mean when I say my father was, in many ways, a modern-day Scarlet Pimpernel. Oddly enough, his code name was Blue Gentian, after the alpine flower. You see it was absolutely necessary that my father’s identity be kept a secret from the Nazis, from everyone actually, and according to my mother it was Dieter Mueller, another leader in the underground, who invented the name. Dieter was a professor in literature, and I suppose he thought the name suited my father admirably. After all, Father was an aristocrat, a member of a socially prominent family, and seemingly beyond reproach, who had nothing but time and money on his hands to lead a life of leisure and gaiety in elegant circles. Yet at the same time he was actually a clandestine operator risking his life to save the lives of others.’
‘But wasn’t that kind of pointing a finger at your father?’ Victor asked swiftly.
‘You mean because of the parallels between the Scarlet Pimpernel and my father, the same use of flowers as code names, of course? But no, not at all. I doubt anyone would have thought of making the analogy, and besides Prince Kurt von Wittingen was above suspicion. Not only that, all the men in the underground movement were known by the names of flowers. Dieter’s idea again, who himself had the code name of Edelweiss. But to continue. In the middle of the nineteen twenties my father became a senior consultant to Krupp, the German armaments king. He was travelling all over Europe, handling top-level negotiations, entertaining foreign dignitaries, acting as a kind of roving ambassador, in fact. It was the perfect cover for him. It enabled him to come and go almost as he wished, gave him easy access to all manner of important people, and thus fantastic sources of privileged information. In the spring of 1939, fully aware that the situation in Germany was worsening, Father sent my mother, Diana and me to England, to stay with Uncle David at Langley Castle, ostensibly on a prolonged vacation but really for safety’s sake. By June of that year my mother, like most well-informed people, knew that war between England and Germany was inevitable, and, wanting to be with Father, she decided to return to Berlin. He would not hear of it, and rented a small house in Zurich for us, since it was relatively easy for him to visit Switzerland. He was with us from time to time, even after 1939, but generally he was either travelling or in Berlin.’
After another sip of his drink, Christian continued, ‘We didn’t see him much in 1941, not at all during 1942, but he was with us in Zurich in the early part of 1943, en route from Oslo to Berlin. It seems Mother was growing increasingly fearful that Father’s clandestine activities would be discovered, and she desperately wanted him to remain with us in Switzerland. He would not. He felt he was needed by the movement, also he was worried about his mother. Father’s two sisters, Ursula and Sigrid, had both been killed in Allied air raids over Berlin, and Grandmother was entirely alone, having been widowed years before. So he went back. A disastrous decision, I’m afraid.’ Christian’s face tightened sharply, and he took a cigarette and lit it.
Victor had been listening closely. He shivered and his hands tightened around the glass. ‘And you never saw your father again,’ he asserted, his eyes glued on the young prince.
‘I did. Mother and Diana were not so fortunate. However, I’m jumping ahead of my story. Over the years my mother had always received messages from Father in various ways, but when he returned to Berlin in 1943 it was as if he suddenly dropped off the face of the earth. Months went by without any word from him. I was almost eighteen, and finally old enough to become my mother’s confidant. She told me of her worries, and against her wishes I followed my father to Berlin …’
‘How the hell did you manage that?’ Victor cried.
‘With my family’s connections I had access to a lot of people. They all helped. Also, the times were confusing and erratic, so it wasn’t too difficult to arrange. Mind you, it was very risky in more ways than one, I must admit. I got to our house in Berlin eventually, where I spent twenty-four hours with Grandmother. She told me that she had seen Father a few months earlier, but only briefly. Like us, she had received no word from him since. She had simply assumed he was travelling for the Krupp organization. The next day I was picked up by the Gestapo. Either by deduction, or through traitorous information, they had at last ear-marked my father as one of the leaders of the underground movement. He was on the top of their most wanted list, and they had obviously been watching the house for weeks. I was the guest of those gentlemen –’ Christian snapped off the end of his sentence and a grim smile flicked onto his mouth. ‘In any event, the Gestapo kept me for over six months, working on me day and night, before they finally released me.’ His eyes darkened. He lowered them and looked down at his legs. ‘I’ve not been able to walk properly since then.’
Victor felt a trembling inside, and his hands shook slightly as he lifted the brandy balloon to his mouth and took a long swallow of his drink, which he badly needed. Christian’s words, unadorned and spoken gently, were all the more deadly because of their quietness and simplicity. Oh God, oh God, Victor thought, how easily we forget. And yet it’s only a handful of years ago that the Nazis were committing all manner of unspeakable atrocities and brutalities, that this young man talking to me so calmly was turned into a permanent cripple by them. When he was only a boy. And who knew what torture had been inflicted on him. Jesus Christ!
No one spoke nor moved, and the only sound was the faint hissing of the logs in the fireplace, the distant ticking of a clock somewhere in the room.
Christian met Victor’s gaze with grave eyes, and his voice was controlled and steady as he went on, ‘I didn’t break, Victor. Still, I have never considered that a great act of courage on my part. You see, I knew so very little of my father’s activities, it was simple for me to keep repeating the same thing over and over again. After the Gestapo finally discarded me, Grandmother managed to nurse me back to partial health, though God only knows how, conditions and shortages being what they were then. In 1944, Dieter Mueller got a message to me … the blue gentians are in full bloom. Since my mother had told me Father’s code name, in case I needed to use it after I’d returned to Berlin, I knew immediately what the message meant. Father was safe. It was enough to bolster my courage and keep me going. Then, in the early summer of 1945, not very long before Berlin fell to the Allies, Father miraculously arrived at the house in Berlin. He did not explain where he had been and I knew better than to ask.’
Now Christian sat back in the wheelchair looking drained and exhausted. He finished sombrely, ‘Father was with us for two weeks. One morning he left the house, saying he would return later that day. But he didn’t come back … Grandmother and I never saw him again.’ Turning to Diana, Christian said, ‘Maybe you can finish the story, darling.’
‘Yes, of course I will. But are you all right, Christian?’ she asked.
‘Yes,