The Women in His Life. Barbara Taylor Bradford

pulled her to him, put his arm around her, brought his lips to her cheek. They had known each other all of their lives, and their parents had always hoped they would marry; when they had, two elite German families had been united. But it had not been an arranged union. Theirs was a true love story. They had fallen in love as children and they had never wanted anyone but each other. It was a perfect match.

      Sigmund broke their embrace, held her away from him and looked down into her face. ‘You are very beautiful tonight, Ursula.’

      A faint smile touched her lips and her eyes signalled her deep love for him, but she made no response, merely inclined her head graciously.

      He put his arm around her, walked her back towards the foyer. ‘I was going to have a glass of champagne with you before we left, but I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. I think we must leave. I promised Irina we would meet her at the reception, and I don’t want to keep her waiting since she’s going there alone.’

      Ursula nodded. ‘Of course, I understand.’

      Her voice was so low it was barely audible and Sigmund came to a standstill, glanced at her swiftly, then tilted her face to his. He frowned when he saw the worry in her eyes and the gravity which had suddenly settled on her face. ‘What’s wrong? What is it?’

      ‘I wish we didn’t have to go, Sigmund.’

      ‘But you were enthusiastic when the invitation came. Why this change of heart at the last minute?’ He sounded puzzled.

      ‘I was never that enthusiastic,’ she replied. ‘Not really.’

      ‘It’s important that we make an appearance, you know. The Ambassador is expecting us.’

      For a moment she did not speak, and then she said slowly, ‘There will be Nazis there.’

      ‘That’s true, yes. But then there are Nazis everywhere these days. You mustn’t let it concern you.’

      Again she was briefly silent before saying, more vehemently than was usual for her, ‘But it does concern me, Sigi. We’re Jews.’

      ‘And Germans, Ursula. Real Germans, just as our forefathers were for centuries before we were born. Remember, we are both from great and ancient families, and furthermore, as an investment banker, I am extremely important and useful to the Government and State, as I have so often pointed out to you. You know they need me to help them build the economy, and for my foreign connections, the bankers and industrialists I’m acquainted with, and also for the foreign currency and gold the bank deals in.’ He put his arm around her again, held her close to him, finished confidently, in a reassuring voice, ‘We are not at risk, Ursula, please believe that.’

      She leaned away from him, looked up into his face, gave him a penetrating stare. ‘The Nazis fill me with dread. I detest being anywhere near them, or having to even breathe the same air.’

      ‘I know, I know. But, Ursula, many of our good friends will be present this evening, and you’ll be with them. Renata and Reinhard, Kurt and Arabella von Wittingen, and Irina …’ His voice trailed off. He was not sure how to make her feel better at this moment.

      ‘Yes, many of our friends will be there, Sigi,’ she concurred softly, ‘including those who are now members of the Nazi Party. I’m uncomfortable with them, too, these days.’

      His swift nod indicated that he acknowledged the truth of her comments, and he grimaced, then cleared his throat. ‘But I’m afraid we can’t possibly cancel at this hour, and we really must leave. Now, darling. Quite aside from not wishing to keep Irina waiting, I don’t want to offend Sir Nevile Henderson by being late.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she said at once, forcing a smile, putting on a bright face, instantly trying to change her demeanour. There was nothing to be gained by upsetting him further. ‘I’ll be fine, Sigi, please don’t worry about me.’

      Looking relieved, he smiled into her eyes, took her arm, squeezed it, and together they hurried out of the music room into the foyer, where Sigmund picked up her wrap. He was placing it around her shoulders when Walter, the butler, came through from the servants’ quarters at the back of the house. When he saw his employers, to whom he was devoted, he inclined his head respectfully, went immediately to the clothes cupboard, took out Sigmund’s overcoat and brought it to him.

      ‘Thank you, Walter, but I think I’ll carry it,’ Sigmund said.

      The butler nodded, carefully folded the coat, handed it to him, then ushered them out.

       Chapter Seven

      The car was waiting in front of the house.

      Karl, the chauffeur, greeted them cordially, held the door open for them, and helped them inside. Sigmund told him they were going to the British Embassy, and a second later Karl pulled away from the kerb and headed along the Tiergartenstrasse in the direction of the Hofjägeralle.

      Ursula glanced out of the window as the car sped past the Tiergarten, the lovely public park which had once been the private hunting forest of the Brandenburg princes several hundred years ago. How forbidding it looks tonight, she thought, bringing her face closer to the glass. The trees were stark, bereft of leaves, skeletal black images silhouetted against the cold and fading sky of early evening. She felt suddenly chilled and nestled deeper into her velvet wrap.

      And then in her mind’s eye she pictured the park as it was in the summer months. At that time of year the Tiergarten was breathtaking in its beauty, the rolling expanses of grass, the abundant weeping willows, the limes and the horse chestnut trees lushly green, the planted beds bordering the paths bursting with flowers of every hue, the flowering bushes in full bloom. The lilacs were her favourites, dripping their plump May blossoms of pink and white and mauve, filling the air with a delicate, evocative fragrance.

      Laid out in the manner of a natural English park, landscaped in parts, and scattered with artificial ponds and flowing streams, the Tiergarten had majesty and serenity; it was a place of happy memories for her. She had gone riding through it as a child and a young girl, still rode there when the weather was good, and she had always been partial to walking along its winding paths beneath the panoply of cool and shady trees. In the past it had been with Sigmund; now she went there with Maxim and his nurse; occasionally she would stroll through this gentle green enclave by herself, when she wanted to be alone or to think. It was, for her, still a place of peace and safety amidst the turbulence of life in Berlin today, always a refuge. And the beauty and simplicity of nature soothed her, were a balm to her troubled spirit.

      Sigmund made a remark to her about his mother, and she turned to him at once, searched his face in the dimness of the car, put a hand on his arm lovingly, knowing how concerned he was about her. For a few seconds they discussed the senior Frau Westheim, who had been in precarious health since her husband’s death two years before. They went on to talk about his sisters Hedy and Sigrid and their relationship with their mother, and chatted briefly about the happenings of the day, before lapsing into silence again.

      For a short while they were caught up in the intricate webs of their own private thoughts.

      Ursula, who adored Sigmund, and respected him, wanted desperately to believe that he was correct in his assertions about their situation, as far as the Nazi regime was concerned. On the other hand, her intelligence and her woman’s intuition were at odds with his assurances. They were saying entirely different things to her, were alerting her to trouble. Her deepest instincts told her that something horrendous was coming, although what this was, what form it would take, she could not say. She sat up straighter in the corner of the car, stiffening slightly. Was it this awful foreboding that was at the root of her anxiety and apprehension? She was convinced it was. She felt an overwhelming sense of anticipatory despair and her blood ran cold. She sank down into herself and her gaze turned inward.

      For his part, Sigmund’s thoughts were also somewhat troubled. It was perfectly true that he felt reasonably secure in Berlin, despite the climate of the times, for although measures