“Your Grace, we started without you,” one rather tipsy senior officer said.
“My apologies, Herr General. I was detained at the exhibition.” The count nodded at Aubrey. “This young American woman has enthralled me with her stories of derring-do.” He clapped his hands for attention. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the world-famous aviatrix, Miss Aubrey Endeavours.”
The crowd turned to her as one, and Aubrey saw glances of surprise and interest passing amongst many of the party-goers.
Helmut said, “Please, Aubrey, make yourself at home.” A waiter in tails came by with a tray of white wine and the count took one and handed it to her.
So much for soda, she thought. There was a bar in one corner. Several officers in grey uniforms, red stripes down their pant legs, were holding it up. They all had gold braid at their epaulettes, medals on their chests, and braided gold ropes under their arms. It looked like the entire senior command of Germany was here.
The wine was ice cold and very dry.
“From my vineyard in southern Germany,” the count said, noting her look of approval.
“This is dangerous stuff.”
The count took Aubrey around and introduced her to several of the key men in attendance; she was the only woman there. She couldn’t remember all their names, and inwardly scolded herself: this was information she knew Hewitt might be interested in. She had somehow managed to work her way into the heart of Germany’s military command social circles. Or maybe he had known this would happen.
Several of the Germans turned their noses up at the rather simply dressed and unglamorous American flyer. Some of them turned on the lasciviousness charm, but they only went so far. Maybe they sensed the count had his eyes set on Aubrey, something she was becoming aware of herself.
She decided she would use it to her advantage, but would stop it before it went too far. At least that was what she told herself. She found herself becoming more and more attracted to him. He was striking, handsome, well mannered, and had the gift of the gab as he worked the room with her by his side.
Suddenly, she saw someone she recognized, and fear gripped her stomach. It was the young Nazi captain who had examined her press credentials that morning and found them inadequate. He was standing alone in a corner, sipping a glass of clear liquid, observing. Their eyes met. He set his glass down, strode across to meet them and threw up a knife-handed Nazi salute. Aubrey wasn’t sure who he was saluting. The count seemed a little dismayed and only nodded his head in return. A look of shock came over the young captain’s face but then quickly disappeared as he turned his attention to Aubrey.
“Miss Endeavours. It is pleasant to see you again so soon.”
“Why thank you, Herr…”
“Schmidt. Hauptsturmführer Schmidt. I am attached to Herr Reichsmarschall Goering.”
“Is he here?” the count asked.
“The Reichsmarschall is delayed, Your Grace. He will be here momentarily.”
“The man likes to make an entrance,” Helmut said.
There it was again: that look of shock on the SS officer’s face. He was no doubt taking it all in, every little transgression against his masters by this civilian—a titled, noble civilian, but a civilian nonetheless.
Without any further updates and with a total lack of small talk, the SS man went away to speak to some of his comrades. Aubrey caught all of them looking over at her and the count; they were clearly speaking about the two of them. They did not look away quickly when she did catch them; they were the masters here, not her. Not even the count was in charge. She should be the one afraid. And that she was, indeed. The sight of those sinister black uniforms standing before her, speaking to her, speaking about her, shook her to her core. They had a much more devastating effect in person. That was by design, she realized.
“What is your connection to all this?” Aubrey asked the count when they had a brief moment to themselves.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you were in the air force during the war. That reporter, Fuchs, told me.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“You were an ace, decorated. Why aren’t you still in uniform?”
“I was wounded in the war. I am not a hundred percent, and I do not want to pretend that I am still worthy of wearing a uniform of the Reich. It doesn’t seem right. My medals are locked away upstairs. My uniform, too. It’s in the past.”
“But these men defer to you like you were a general. That one certainly does.” She nodded at the SS man.
“I have been afforded an honorary rank of colonel, and I have certain pull. My companies are very well known in Germany and I have contributed in my own way to the rebuilding of my country. I have the Führer’s blessing, if you will.”
“So you weren’t lying this morning? You could have spoken to him about me?”
“Yes, if necessary, I would have called him at his estate in Berchtesgaden if I had to, but I knew that was not necessary. That youngster there was just strutting his stuff for show.”
“He scares me.”
“I’m no great fan of the SS, Aubrey, but the Führer has brought our country back from the brink. No one can deny that.”
“I need a drink.” So much for the club soda.
The noise of the soiree was growing in intensity. Several more officers arrived and there was a round of “Heil Hitler,” and then finally a long entourage of vehicles pulled up to the house. It had grown dark, and their headlights lit up the candlelit room.
Aubrey was feeling no pain by now. She scolded herself internally for not slowing down. There was food, delicious hors d’oeuvres, and she did her best to
