Black Roses by Jane Thynne

complicated.’ Leo took a draught of his beer and wondered how far Rupert could be trusted. Then he gave a mental shrug. If he couldn’t trust his oldest friend, what had things come to?
    ‘It’s about certain English visitors to Germany. I’ve been asked to keep an eye on them. Anyone who fraternizes with the Nazi élite. Young men who come to learn the language. Girls who’ve been packed off to finishing school or music classes. They might take all sorts of ideas back home, and the worry is that favourable reports about the new regime will only encourage elements in England who want to disarm.’
    Rupert’s habitual warm laugh rolled out of his mouth. ‘And they pay you for that?’
    ‘It’s not frivolous, Rupert. These people, our compatriots, they’re coming over here to look at the Nazi regime as though it were the Chelsea Flower Show or the Lord Mayor’s Show. It’s a spectacle to them. They see all the marching and speeches as the sign of some tough, hard-line discipline, rather than a militaristic display designed to rehabilitate Germany in the eyes of the world.’
    ‘We’re not all taken in, you know.’
    ‘Of course not. It’s just . . . at first glance it looks so normal here. Everyone going about their business, visiting the cinema, the cabarets, the parks, the dance halls. They’re like sleepwalkers. People under anaesthetic!’
    ‘And what kind of operation do you think the doctor has in store for them?’
    ‘War. Within ten years. Perhaps even five or six.’
    ‘What a doom-monger you are!’ Rupert laughed. He possessed the kind of optimism, whether of birth or disposition, that no amount of experience could entirely erase. It provoked in Leo a little wave of bitterness, a ripple of class consciousness, that made him momentarily angry at his friend and he said more sharply than necessary, ‘Hitler’s bound to re-introduce conscription. Haven’t you read
Mein Kampf?
You’ll need to if you want to do this job properly. It’s a blueprint.’
    ‘I’ll do my homework.’
    ‘Good. Or listen to Goebbels on the subject. Goebbels is intelligent. He proves even intelligent people can fall under Hitler’s spell.’
    ‘I’ve yet to meet the cripple. What happened with his foot, by the way?’
    ‘He had a botched operation as a child. Though he prefers people to think he got it in the war.’
    ‘The surgeon who did that has a lot to answer for.’
    ‘He likes the limp apparently. He thinks it makes him look distinctive.’
    A ripple of laughter at Werner Finck caused them to look round. Leo studied the patrons, their faces relaxed in laughter. How long could all this go on for? Surely it was only a matter of time before Hitler and his crew shut these places down. Laughing at themselves was not on the prescribed list of National Socialist pastimes.
    ‘Anyhow, Rupert, about this other thing. All I’m asking is, keep in touch. Let me know if you see anyone coming through that I might like to know about.’
    ‘Well-born young English girls, you mean? I can’t promise that, but there’s a rather sweet American girl just turned up in the press corps. Perhaps she’ll fall for your strong and silent routine. I’m meeting up with her tomorrow night. At the Romanisches Café. Why not come along?’

Chapter Ten
    Ten long-stemmed roses stood in a cut-glass vase. Pearls of dew clung to the deep cleavage of the petals and the colour seemed to throb through the air around them. They looked so expensive, they might as well have had a price tag attached, instead of a note. Frau Lehmann was eyeing them with approval, evidently relieved that her lodger had turned out to have the right connections after all.
    ‘A gentleman delivered them.’
    Clara’s heart sank. One look at the note that accompanied them confirmed it. Sturmhauptführer Müller would not, it seemed, be easily shaken off.
    At that moment the telephone rang. Frau Lehmann answered it, then turned to Clara, proffering the receiver as