your right foot off the accelerator, left foot down on the clutch again. Keep the clutch pressed down. Now put the car into second gear the way we practised on the dummy model. No, don't look down. Look forward, the way you're going. Good, that's right. Left foot off the clutch, right foot down on the gas. Drive straight ahead. Now, the third and last gear. Clutch, change gear, accelerator.'
An architect called Speer had knocked a breach through the sea of buildings in West Berlin to lay out a street from the Brandenburg Gate to Adolf Hitler-Platz. It was wide enough for marches, parades and thousands of spectators. This was the street where the driving instructor had chosen to practise. Karin rounded the Victory Column and made for the Brandenburg Gate. As long as she could concentrate on steering without the distractions of letting in the clutch and changing gear, she was all right.
'Well done,' said her fellow-pupil from the back seat. 'I'm Isabel Jordan: she told Karin after the driving lesson. She was a slender, dark-blonde woman with grey eyes, taller than Karin and a few years older.
And I'm Karin Rembach.'
'Your first lesson, wasn't it? I've had five already. My husband insists. He says he's tired of driving me to my dressmaker. But really he'd like me to drive him about so that he can study his files on the way to court. He's a lawyer, you see.' Isabel Jordan went on chatting cheerfully. 'What do you do, Fraulein Rembach?'
'I'm a movie actress. I've just ordered my first car.'
'Congratulations. My husband has lots of you movie people among his clients. There he is. Come on, we'll drive you home. Darling, this is Karin Rembach. She's an actress.'
'Verena van Bergen, surely?' Dr Rainer Jordan kissed Karin's hand. 'Conrad Jung's Queen Louise. You're the talk of Babelsberg.'
'It's my stage name,' Karin explained to her new acquaintance.
'So you're a real film star! When does work on the movie start?'
'Next week. Shooting will take almost a year.'
'If the Great Powers don't come to some agreement on Poland we'll be in the middle of a war by then,' Dr Jordan prophesied.
'Don't listen to him. He's a professional pessimist. You must come and have dinner with us some evening soon. I'll call you.'
A guttural voice with an accent that could have belonged to a suburban Viennese pimp issued from the radio set in the dressing room. 'There have been exchanges of fire since 5.45.' It was Friday, 1 September 1939. The German Army had marched into Poland.
'So now we're in the shit and no mistake.' Grethe Weiser turned off the radio. The director had given the popular actress the part of Countess Thann, a lady in waiting who told the young queen home truths in a downto-earth Berlin accent. Karin liked her colleague. She didn't mince her words outside her role either.
'But after all the Poles have done to us ... I mean, even his patience was bound to crack sometime.' Karin spoke in defence of the ruler of the Greater German Reich. Like most people in the country, she knew nothing about the SS men wearing Polish uniforms who had been ordered to attack the Reich transmitter at Gleiwitz near the Polish border, thus manufacturing the final pretext for a war that was inevitable anyway. Plus she was concentrating on her part far too hard to stop and think of such things. 'We'll have peace again in a few weeks' time.'
'That's what you think, sweetie. Once a guy like him gets a taste for something he's in no hurry to stop eating.' Grethe Weiser waved her powder puff, sending powder flying. 'Never mind that now. You and me, we're making a little movie like the good little Reich film folk we are. And I tell you something, sweetie, I don't mind spending a couple of months with you, I don't mind that one bit.'
'So this is our Queen Louise.' Karin noted the Rhineland accent, the admiring look in the intelligent brown eyes, the smooth dark hair, the high, slightly receding forehead, the charming smile that had been tested out on countless women. An
An architect called Speer had knocked a breach through the sea of buildings in West Berlin to lay out a street from the Brandenburg Gate to Adolf Hitler-Platz. It was wide enough for marches, parades and thousands of spectators. This was the street where the driving instructor had chosen to practise. Karin rounded the Victory Column and made for the Brandenburg Gate. As long as she could concentrate on steering without the distractions of letting in the clutch and changing gear, she was all right.
'Well done,' said her fellow-pupil from the back seat. 'I'm Isabel Jordan: she told Karin after the driving lesson. She was a slender, dark-blonde woman with grey eyes, taller than Karin and a few years older.
And I'm Karin Rembach.'
'Your first lesson, wasn't it? I've had five already. My husband insists. He says he's tired of driving me to my dressmaker. But really he'd like me to drive him about so that he can study his files on the way to court. He's a lawyer, you see.' Isabel Jordan went on chatting cheerfully. 'What do you do, Fraulein Rembach?'
'I'm a movie actress. I've just ordered my first car.'
'Congratulations. My husband has lots of you movie people among his clients. There he is. Come on, we'll drive you home. Darling, this is Karin Rembach. She's an actress.'
'Verena van Bergen, surely?' Dr Rainer Jordan kissed Karin's hand. 'Conrad Jung's Queen Louise. You're the talk of Babelsberg.'
'It's my stage name,' Karin explained to her new acquaintance.
'So you're a real film star! When does work on the movie start?'
'Next week. Shooting will take almost a year.'
'If the Great Powers don't come to some agreement on Poland we'll be in the middle of a war by then,' Dr Jordan prophesied.
'Don't listen to him. He's a professional pessimist. You must come and have dinner with us some evening soon. I'll call you.'
A guttural voice with an accent that could have belonged to a suburban Viennese pimp issued from the radio set in the dressing room. 'There have been exchanges of fire since 5.45.' It was Friday, 1 September 1939. The German Army had marched into Poland.
'So now we're in the shit and no mistake.' Grethe Weiser turned off the radio. The director had given the popular actress the part of Countess Thann, a lady in waiting who told the young queen home truths in a downto-earth Berlin accent. Karin liked her colleague. She didn't mince her words outside her role either.
'But after all the Poles have done to us ... I mean, even his patience was bound to crack sometime.' Karin spoke in defence of the ruler of the Greater German Reich. Like most people in the country, she knew nothing about the SS men wearing Polish uniforms who had been ordered to attack the Reich transmitter at Gleiwitz near the Polish border, thus manufacturing the final pretext for a war that was inevitable anyway. Plus she was concentrating on her part far too hard to stop and think of such things. 'We'll have peace again in a few weeks' time.'
'That's what you think, sweetie. Once a guy like him gets a taste for something he's in no hurry to stop eating.' Grethe Weiser waved her powder puff, sending powder flying. 'Never mind that now. You and me, we're making a little movie like the good little Reich film folk we are. And I tell you something, sweetie, I don't mind spending a couple of months with you, I don't mind that one bit.'
'So this is our Queen Louise.' Karin noted the Rhineland accent, the admiring look in the intelligent brown eyes, the smooth dark hair, the high, slightly receding forehead, the charming smile that had been tested out on countless women. An
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