doing very little, she enjoyed sitting at her desk, greeting visitors and being the only female in the building. She could think of a thousand better ways of spending her weekends than attending Faith and Beauty art classes, but Lotti had set her heart on it.
It was agonizing to think that Lotti had sat in this class only two weeks ago, sketching costumes, her bold, confident lines delineating impossibly glamorous women, their outfits carefully annotated in her flowing handwriting. Hedwig could picture her now, high eyebrows arched above aquamarine eyes, chin jutted forward as if she was born to it. As if, indeed, it was all slightly beneath her.
Hedwig knew Lotti only wanted company, yet where Lotti was concerned she could never say no. Faith and Beauty girls were encouraged to think of themselves as a spiritual sisterhood, but to her Lotti was more like an ordinary sister. As children their two families had sometimes taken holidays in the countryside outside Berlin together and Hedwig and Lotti shared a room. She recalled Lotti’s grave face, reciting German poetry, or expanding on her ambitions for life, requiring only that Hedwig be a devoted listener. And when Hedwig had confided her most precious memory, of the first time a man kissed her, Lotti had burst into peals of mocking, sisterly laughter.
Sister or not, she was dead now, and Hedwig felt an utter desolation.
The murder had sent shockwaves through the Faith and Beauty community, but although no one could talk of anything else, they were forbidden to talk about it at all. That was useless when it was all over the newspapers and a pair of steel-helmeted soldiers were shuffling their feet on permanent guard outside the front gate. A hasty set of new regulations had been formulated for the girls. Shooting was curtailed so long as the killer was at large and replaced with rowing. No girl was permitted to walk alone the short distance from the Griebnitzsee S-Bahn through the forest, though that was quite unnecessary advice because being alone was frowned on. The Party disapproved of solitude on the grounds that faithful citizens would always prefer communal life and privacy in all its forms was strongly proscribed for Faith and Beauty girls.
Hedwig stared out of the window and wondered if her mother would agree to her leaving now. Etta Holz adored the idea of her only daughter being here. Faith and Beauty training gave German girls such an advantage. No going to the Nuremberg rally and getting pregnant by the first Hitler Youth you encountered. Hedwig would be invited to parties with senior Party members. She would be cultivated and polished and pass into the top echelons of society with ease. ‘Once you’ve finished you’ll hold dinner parties for all the top SS men and you’ll be able to talk about . . .’ Here Frau Holz paused, having no idea what top SS men might possibly talk about.
The Merry Widow
, she finished lamely, recalling the Führer’s favourite operetta. ‘It will pay for itself, you’ll see.’
But the real reason that her mother favoured the Faith and Beauty Society was that it meant her daughter would grow out of Jochen Falke.
Jochen did not have the kind of looks deemed handsome among Hedwig’s friends. His high, Slavic cheekbones and skinny frame were far from the muscular athletes modelled by the Führer’s favourite sculptor, Arno Breker. But he had quick, hazel eyes which always seemed to flicker with amusement and a swagger about him that reflected his inner confidence.
He was an artist too – in a way. He worked at an art manufacturing plant in Kreuzberg, a humdrum place that carried out all forms of printing and publishing, as well as commercial artwork, signs and advertising. But the real money-spinner was merchandizing the Führer. Hitler souvenirs were big business. Birthday figurines, postcards, ashtrays, medallions, posters, cocktail forks and bottle stoppers. There was a whole variety of jewellery, and cameo brooches
It was agonizing to think that Lotti had sat in this class only two weeks ago, sketching costumes, her bold, confident lines delineating impossibly glamorous women, their outfits carefully annotated in her flowing handwriting. Hedwig could picture her now, high eyebrows arched above aquamarine eyes, chin jutted forward as if she was born to it. As if, indeed, it was all slightly beneath her.
Hedwig knew Lotti only wanted company, yet where Lotti was concerned she could never say no. Faith and Beauty girls were encouraged to think of themselves as a spiritual sisterhood, but to her Lotti was more like an ordinary sister. As children their two families had sometimes taken holidays in the countryside outside Berlin together and Hedwig and Lotti shared a room. She recalled Lotti’s grave face, reciting German poetry, or expanding on her ambitions for life, requiring only that Hedwig be a devoted listener. And when Hedwig had confided her most precious memory, of the first time a man kissed her, Lotti had burst into peals of mocking, sisterly laughter.
Sister or not, she was dead now, and Hedwig felt an utter desolation.
The murder had sent shockwaves through the Faith and Beauty community, but although no one could talk of anything else, they were forbidden to talk about it at all. That was useless when it was all over the newspapers and a pair of steel-helmeted soldiers were shuffling their feet on permanent guard outside the front gate. A hasty set of new regulations had been formulated for the girls. Shooting was curtailed so long as the killer was at large and replaced with rowing. No girl was permitted to walk alone the short distance from the Griebnitzsee S-Bahn through the forest, though that was quite unnecessary advice because being alone was frowned on. The Party disapproved of solitude on the grounds that faithful citizens would always prefer communal life and privacy in all its forms was strongly proscribed for Faith and Beauty girls.
Hedwig stared out of the window and wondered if her mother would agree to her leaving now. Etta Holz adored the idea of her only daughter being here. Faith and Beauty training gave German girls such an advantage. No going to the Nuremberg rally and getting pregnant by the first Hitler Youth you encountered. Hedwig would be invited to parties with senior Party members. She would be cultivated and polished and pass into the top echelons of society with ease. ‘Once you’ve finished you’ll hold dinner parties for all the top SS men and you’ll be able to talk about . . .’ Here Frau Holz paused, having no idea what top SS men might possibly talk about.
The Merry Widow
, she finished lamely, recalling the Führer’s favourite operetta. ‘It will pay for itself, you’ll see.’
But the real reason that her mother favoured the Faith and Beauty Society was that it meant her daughter would grow out of Jochen Falke.
Jochen did not have the kind of looks deemed handsome among Hedwig’s friends. His high, Slavic cheekbones and skinny frame were far from the muscular athletes modelled by the Führer’s favourite sculptor, Arno Breker. But he had quick, hazel eyes which always seemed to flicker with amusement and a swagger about him that reflected his inner confidence.
He was an artist too – in a way. He worked at an art manufacturing plant in Kreuzberg, a humdrum place that carried out all forms of printing and publishing, as well as commercial artwork, signs and advertising. But the real money-spinner was merchandizing the Führer. Hitler souvenirs were big business. Birthday figurines, postcards, ashtrays, medallions, posters, cocktail forks and bottle stoppers. There was a whole variety of jewellery, and cameo brooches
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