“Yes, Herr—Count von Villiez,” the Nazi officer said, and again he clicked his heels.
Aubrey saw that Richard had passed through the turnstile into the exhibition after someone of obvious power had come to her defence. Good thing, too. The SS officer looked ready to explode.
Aubrey extended her hand to her new benefactor, expecting this handsome devil to shake it. He lifted it gently and kissed it.
“Oh my.” She felt her face grow hot.
“Miss Endeavours, I was delighted to learn you would be attending our exhibition. I trust the men I sent to fetch you from your hotel were courteous?”
“You sent them? Yes, they were. But how did you know where I was staying?”
A mischievous grin came across the count’s lips. “I have connections with the government. Your application for press credentials listed the hotel. Do you not remember putting that down?”
Of course she didn’t. She’d never filled them out. John Walton had had someone do it. They had been handed to her as she was boarding the steamer for France.
“Yes, of course. My apologies. I am just a little fatigued from the journey, I guess.”
“When did you land?”
“Three days ago,” Aubrey said. Great, kid, she thought. You just admitted you’ve been in Europe three days.
The count chuckled. “Long voyages affect people in different ways. Regardless, we are most eager to have you here. Your exploits are well known.” He turned back to the young man in the sinister black uniform. “The captain here has made a mistake, and we will overlook this slight incongruity in your paperwork. Isn’t that right, Herr Hauptsturmführer?”
“Ja wohl, Count von Villiez.”
The SS captain shouted at the corporal behind the desk, who in turn stamped the press credentials and handed Aubrey a cardboard placard on a lanyard.
The count shook his head. “You will not need to wear that ugly thing around your neck, Mademoiselle.” He turned to the captain once more. “This woman has my personal pass. Is that clear?” The men nodded almost as one. “Good. Please spread the word to your colleagues in the SS.”
Aubrey watched the young officer’s face; he had taken about as much humiliation as he could endure from this non-uniformed man, no matter how well-connected he might be. He was just regaining himself and straightening his tunic when the count took Aubrey’s arm and personally escorted her into the exhibition.
“I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here. You’re working as a journalist?”
The way the count said it made her think maybe he was hinting that her job as a journalist was just a cover.
“Yes, just started. Freelance. Aviation articles.”
“A young girl like you with your skills, your bravery, should be up there amongst the clouds.”
“That’s the plan. But first I need to make some money writing articles and buy a plane.”
“Wonderful. Maybe you’ll buy a German plane?”
“Maybe a Bf 109.” She grinned at him.
“Why not? We will start exporting them eventually. I can think of no better ambassador in the United States than Aubrey Endeavours, world-famous aviatrix.”
“You are laying it on a bit thick, Count.”
“Please call me Helmut. Yes, I do tend to do that. In my line of work, I do not get to interact very much with pretty ladies. You are reaping the benefits.”
“And what line of work might that be? Forgive me for being rude, but I don’t know who you are.”
His laugh was a pleasant baritone. “Of course, I don’t expect you to know who I am.” He stopped, dropped her arm and bowed quickly. “I am Count Helmut von Villiez, the eighth baron of Upper Bavaria.”
“Royalty?”
He laughed again. “At one time I would have been called an aristocrat. I’m afraid royalty in my country now wears a black uniform.”
“You’re not in the military?”
“No, my family is in aviation. We make many of the components that go into German aircraft production.” He swept his arm around the exhibition. There were a dozen hangars, all of them with various planes poking their propellors out and hundreds of people gathered around all of them. “And as you can see, business is very good these days.”
“I see. You’re an industrialist.”
“An ugly word. I prefer inventor, or perhaps entrepreneur. That’s a French word. Do you know what that means?”
“I speak French.”
“Ahh, yes. I remember reading that.”
“What else have you read?”
“That you are fearless. That you flew and beat most of the men in your country at their own game. We Germans like a strong, resourceful woman. Listen, Miss Endeavours—”
“Please, it’s Aubrey. After what you did for me back there with the captain, we’re practically pals.”
“All right—Aubrey it is. Now, I have to attend to an important business meeting. You have the run of the place, see what you like, but promise me we can resume this conversation later today?”
“I don’t see why not. Where will I find you?”
“Don’t worry, I will find you. Enjoy yourself.”
She watched him walk off, then turned her attention to the exhibition. Richard Fuchs emerged from the crowd of journalists and convention-goers and sidled up to her. He gave her an odd look.
“Just who are you, exactly?”
“Time’s cover girl of the week, March 25th, 1929.” That stopped him in his tracks. She toddled off. He recovered himself and came up next to her again as she headed to a group of static display aircraft.
“No, seriously.”
“I did some flying back home, won some awards. Got some press. I flew in the air rally last year, the Challenge International. I was forced down. Engine trouble.”
“Oh, right—I think I remember that. Your picture was in my paper. I knew I had seen you somewhere before. I wish I had a copy of it; I would get your autograph.”
“Maybe some other time.”
“Look, there are some colleagues of mine clustered over there, pretending they know what they’re looking at. I should
