A Woman of War. Mandy Robotham

went on. ‘But since she is in such good health, and does not need your services daily, I wonder if we might borrow you for a few days?’

      What was I expected to say – ‘Let me think about it’? I said what they wanted to hear. ‘If Fräulein Braun is agreeable, then I will go where I can be most helpful.’

      This time Magda Goebbels smiled fully, stubbing out her cigarette. She turned her attention on me, as if delivering orders.

      ‘A cousin of mine is preparing to have her baby. She has reached her due date and beyond, but she is being … well … in all honesty, I think she is being rather difficult, and refusing to leave the house to go into hospital. However, I am not her mother, and therefore the only influence I can bring upon her is to offer what help I can.’

      I found it odd that she had thought of me, but I was equally irritated at being the hired help. From somewhere inside, a small chink of courage rose out of the annoyance.

      ‘Frau Goebbels, with all due respect, I am happy to help any woman, but I am not the type of midwife to force anyone into treatment they don’t want or need.’

      Her wide eyes were on mine in seconds, fixed and fiery. Then, the familiar break away.

      ‘No, no obviously,’ she acquiesced. ‘We simply wanted an experienced midwife to attend her at home. I’m hoping a week at the most. Is that reasonable, Eva?’ She swivelled towards her host. It was obvious this had not been sanctioned by the Reich, and was a favour on Eva’s part.

      ‘Of course, perfectly fine,’ she nodded like an obedient puppy.

      The house was an hour away, and I was to leave early the next morning. Standing there, I calculated my current worth to Frau Goebbels had created a little bargaining power.

      ‘I will need someone with me to assist at the birth,’ I said. ‘Someone I can rely on.’

      ‘I daresay there will be a willing housemaid, or reliable servant,’ Frau Goebbels said dismissively, turning her gaze away.

      ‘I would like Christa to come with me,’ I said with conviction. ‘She’s very resourceful, and I feel she won’t panic.’

      ‘Christa? My Christa? But you hardly know her,’ Frau Goebbels reasoned.

      ‘But I trust her to help me when I ask,’ I said.

      Perhaps she was bored with any potential confrontation, because Magda Goebbels agreed to my request – she would release Christa. Maybe she didn’t view it as a concession, a small triumph on my part, but I did. I went back to my room, relieved that I had been released from this house of war games, and that I would meet up again with the only person within miles I might one day call a friend. Or indeed, an ally.

      I arranged to meet Fräulein Braun later that afternoon for an ante-natal check, given I might not see her for a week. Part of me also wanted to gauge her mood at this strange, unsettling time – we hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since the Fuhrer had come to the Berghof. In the house there had been low whispers on the fierce words coming from the Fuhrer’s apartment – his and Eva’s. I pretended to be absorbed but my ears were fixed on the maid’s tittle-tattle of tears and pleadings seeping from Eva’s room.

      ‘Lord forgive me, but what he called her was cruel,’ the maid said. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes, not even to be mistress of this place.’ The details were lost as they turned and walked away, but the meaning was clear. In their own domestic war, Eva’s baby had made her weaker instead of stronger.

      That afternoon, Eva’s door was ajar and she was at her dressing table, grimacing at her own reflection. She looked weary. There were muddy puddles under her eyes, and her normally fair, vibrant skin seemed dry and rough. No wonder she was disapproving of what she saw.

      ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Fräulein Braun, you look tired. Is the baby keeping you awake?’

      ‘A little,’ she said. ‘An aunt of mine always said babies come alive at night, and this one seems to be no exception. Is that right?’

      ‘Yes, they don’t have any conception of day and night for a long while. Perhaps once you lie still the baby remembers it needs to move. Are you managing to nap during the day?’

      ‘Not right now, not while …’ she hesitated and chose her words ‘… not while the house is so busy.’

      Still, we hadn’t managed to move beyond the spectre of Adolf Hitler. It was clear they were intimately involved – she was the only female who consistently had a virtual free rein at the Berghof, aside from Magda Goebbels – and Frau Goebbels’ barely suppressed jealousy was enough to signal the affair between Eva and Adolf. She was pregnant, and yet she couldn’t quite acknowledge out loud that he was the father. From what I had seen, the SS hierarchy barely acknowledged her worth, and yet she seemed glued to the place that was his creation, that contained a piece of his heart. Always supposing he had one.

      We went through the motions of a check, and I listened to the fast rump, tump of her baby’s heart. This was when Eva’s face softened and became girl-like again. I was conscious of my face screwing up in concentration as I began, but I could feel it relax as the sounds came into my own ear, and her face too would spread in joy as I nodded that all was well.

      ‘I won’t be too far away, and if the baby hasn’t arrived within a week, I’ll request the chauffeur brings me back up, at least for a check,’ I told her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, with genuine gratitude. ‘That’s kind of you to think ahead. But I will be fine.’

      In truth, I did feel sorry for her – she seemed so alone. Even her sister, Gretl, hadn’t appeared for this mountain war summit. The response that such a feeling stirred within me was hard to process. Eva Braun consorted with Adolf Hitler, willingly. She appeared to love him. How much sympathy was she worthy of – and how much was she making a very dangerous bed to lie on? In between all of this was the baby, a new life with a heart that was – for now – empty of all sin.