About the Author

TESSA HARRIS read History at Oxford University and has been a journalist, writing for several national newspapers and magazines for more than thirty years. She is the author of nine published historical novels. Her debut, The Anatomist’s Apprentice, won the Romantic Times First Best Mystery Award 2012 in the US. She lectures in creative writing at Hawkwood College, Stroud and is married with two children. She lives in the Cotswolds.

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Beneath a Starless Sky
TESSA HARRIS

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Tessa Harris 2020

Tessa Harris asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008400378

E-book Edition © December 2020 ISBN: 9780008400361

Version: 2020-11-18

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue: Munich, Germany 1940

Ten years earlier

Chapter 1: Munich, Germany 1930

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23: New York, America 1933

Chapter 24: Côte d’Azur, France 1934

Chapter 25

Chapter 26: Munich, Germany

Chapter 27: London, England

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30: Hollywood, America

Chapter 31: Henley-on-Thames, England 1935

Chapter 32: Hollywood, America

Chapter 33: Henley-on-Thames, England

Chapter 34: London, England

Chapter 35: Henley-on-Thames, England

Chapter 36: Fort Belvedere, Windsor Great Park

Chapter 37: London, England

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40: London, England

Chapter 41: 1936

Chapter 42

Chapter 43: 1937

Chapter 44: Munich, Germany

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50: The Berghof, Austria

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53: London, England

Chapter 54: 1938

Chapter 55

Chapter 56: 1939

Chapter 57: 1940

Chapter 58: Paris, France

Chapter 59: Munich, Germany

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64: Lisbon, Portugal

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Forty years later

Chapter 68: Petworth, England

Chapter 69

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Catherine, with thanks and love

‘… Only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.’

Martin Luther King Jr.

Prologue
Munich, Germany
1940

Tilting her silver head towards the gramophone player, the old woman listened to the shellac seventy-eight crackle into life. As the needle scoured out the music, Fred Astaire’s voice rose, crooning from the grooves. Dancing in the dark, dah dah dah dah dah …

A smile twitched her lips. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t understand the foreign lyrics. Fred Astaire, in his white tie and tails, would scoop her up in his arms and whirl away all her thoughts of despair.

Outside, the city slept under curfew. The only distant sound came from armoured trucks and lorries that rumbled relentlessly along the main highway, taking men and machines to war. Inside, in her dark and damp apartment, its windows blacked out, the old woman was left rocking in her one remaining chair. All the others had been burned in the kachelofen, the huge, green tiled stove in the corner.

Dancing in the dark, dah dah … The song was a welcome distraction from contemplating her own mortality. It made her think of her daughter. Of happier times. Lilli had given her reason to hope; slipping out of Munich unremarked by the authorities just two days before, she’d left behind the travel papers for her and her granddaughter. The plan was to escape to Switzerland with the little girl, asleep now in the next room. They would both be safe there – safer – until Lilli returned. But nothing seemed to go to plan in war.

When the music’s blue notes made the melancholy return, the old woman stroked the black cat on her knee. It was better fed than her.

Starvation could be the possible cause of her death, and if not starvation the cold – if she made it to winter. Or, of course, she might even catch diphtheria from her little granddaughter. That was the most likely cause at the moment. The child had been suffering for several days, although her fever had broken a while back and there were signs of improvement, she still remained weak. Now, however, the old woman herself was feeling a little flushed, her throat was sore and her old bones ached even more than usual.

There was, of course, another way she could meet her end, although she constantly tried to push it out of her mind. They could come for her. Some of her friends had already gone and she doubted she would ever see them again. When faced with the thought of either starvation or hypothermia, diphtheria seemed much more preferable. Dying in a camp would be the worst, but however death came, she prayed it would be quick.

As it happened the old woman was spared the indignities of nearby Dachau and at least her end, when it came, was swift, if rather brutal. She was fortunate, too, in that she was alerted to her executioners’ approach before she actually saw them.

When they came that evening, their heavy tread echoing up the stairwell and their thick voices bouncing off the walls, she would not have heard them over Astaire’s serenade at first. But the cat did. It heeded them all right and leapt off her knee. In the few seconds between being alerted to her killers’ advance and their knock, the old woman knew exactly what she had to do.

Scrambling into the bedroom as fast as her creaking legs would carry her, she lifted the child from the bed where she slept. In the bathroom there was a small chest where towels and sheets were kept. She laid the little girl on one then covered her loosely with the rest.

The pounding fists and the shouts that followed a second later were momentarily silenced as, nervously, the old woman opened the door. When she saw the four of them – an army officer and his three soldiers – standing there, smelling of leather and gun metal, she tried to swallow down her fear, but it caught hold of her throat and snagged her voice.

‘Yes, sir? How can I help you?’ she asked, feigning innocence, as if she had no idea what could possibly have brought these men to her door.

The officer was short and stocky with a long, raised scar on his face, as if someone had drawn a line in pencil from his left cheekbone to his jaw. Another smaller one marked his chin. His eyes were obscured by the peak of his cap when he spoke.

‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’

‘You know who, you old Jew. Search the apartment,’ he ordered.

His men stormed in. They split up: each stomping into a room. The old woman could hear wardrobe doors opening and slamming, drawers flung to the floor, china smashing on the tiles. As if my daughter will be hiding in a vase, she thought to herself.

While his men were wreaking havoc in the other rooms, the officer’s eye was caught by the gramophone player. The disc was crackling incessantly as it pirouetted on the turntable. Stalking over to it, he lifted the stylus and grabbed the record to read the label. The old woman remained still, watching the fury march across his face. Suddenly he jack-knifed his leg and cracked the disc in two across his knee, cursing loudly.

‘Fred Astaire!’ he cried, flinging the shards to the floor. ‘Records are verboten!’

One by one the soldiers returned from their forays shaking their heads. Again, the officer narrowed his eyes. ‘You have one more chance. Where is she?’

The old woman also shook her head. ‘I don’t know who you mean,’ she replied.

Without a word, the officer reached into his holster and pulled out his Luger. An image of the old woman’s daughter filled his vision. He’d always wanted to possess Lilli Sternberg ever since he’d first set eyes on her all those years ago. There’d been something maddeningly mesmerising about her. She’d driven him frantic with desire, yet whenever he’d come within reach of her, she’d slipped his grasp. Once again, the intelligence had come through too late. She’d be in Lisbon by now. With the former King of England and his American wife. If he couldn’t have what he wanted, her mother must pay. Even before the old woman had time to react, he pulled the trigger. An ear-splitting crack filled the space between them. His victim clutched her chest, made an odd gurgling sound and fell. Death did, indeed, come swiftly for her, as she had hoped.

The silence that followed the shot didn’t last long. It was pricked by a needle of a cry coming from one of the rooms.

‘What was that?’ growled the officer.

His men froze, their heads switching involuntarily towards the thread of high-pitched sound. Without warning the door from the bathroom was opened by some unseen force. Hands were clamped around rifles on high alert until, from out of the room, dashed a black cat. It leapt over the crumpled body that lay on the threshold without stopping to sniff the pooling blood, and darted straight past the soldiers and down the stairs.

The officer cleared his throat, re-inserted his Luger into its holster and tugged at his jacket. As he worked his jaw in silent rage, he cast a final glance around the room. What the old woman had said was true. Her daughter wasn’t there. His bird had already flown. In his gut he had known it before he came to the apartment looking for her and shot her mother instead. Lilli Sternberg was long gone.

Ten years earlier

Chapter 1
Munich, Germany
1930

Smoke. Not just the smoke from a stove. It tingled in her nostrils. This smoke smelled different. Acrid. Harsh. Lilli Sternberg’s quickening heart sounded an alarm as she rounded the corner into Untere Grasstrasse. When she lifted her gaze to the rooftops, she saw the sparks of a thousand fireworks join the stars to fill the black sky.

Fire. Suddenly cries cut through the cold air and a man careered past her at high speed. Before she could move out of the way, he clipped her shoulder and sent her spinning. She staggered back against a wall. Shaking the shock from her head she heard someone nearby shout a warning and she looked up just in time to see a blazing beam hurtling towards her. There was no time to react. It crashed to the ground just a few metres away. She screamed. And then she saw more flames.

‘Get back! Get back!’ yelled a fireman.

‘My father. The tailor’s shop! Is it …?’ But her cries were lost in the confusion.

At least two shops along the street were alight, tongues of orange flame licking clean the bones of the bunched-up buildings lining the narrow street. There may have been more ablaze, but the firemen were keeping onlookers well back. Just before her way was barred, Lilli thought she could make out a few men forming a human chain along the street. They were passing buckets from the water hydrant at the end of the row.

The heat was starting to sting her hands and face. She decided to retreat, narrowly avoiding the shower of molten sparks exploding across the cobbles. The roar of the blaze filled her ears and the thick smoke seemed to suck the breath from her lungs, making her cough.

The flames had already risen to the upper floors. Shattered glass from windows carpeted the narrow road below. A fire engine blocked the street and a solitary jet of water arced up through panes, dampening down the blaze and making it hiss in protest. Lilli could tell some of the adjoining shops were beyond saving. Was her father’s workshop one of them?

Lilli felt her legs melt beneath her. Already exhausted from hours of rehearsals with Madame Eva at the Académie de Danse, her feet were badly blistered, too. But she knew she needed to return home as fast as she could. She was worried about her father. What if he was inside his shop when the fire started?

An icy blast whipped around her legs and ripped through her lungs like a knife as she ran. Despite her pain, she struggled through the back streets of Geising, stopping now and again to catch her breath and swallow down the agony in her feet.

Past the old doors plastered in posters and the boarded-up shops she went until she came to the run-down apartment block she called home. The stairs up to the fourth floor seemed even steeper than usual. The shock of what she’d just seen weighed her down. She felt sick with worry with each step that she took. What if her father had been stitching with the sewing machine? He wouldn’t have heard the crackling flames. He had a cold, too. It would have taken him longer to smell the smoke. For the first time in ages she found herself praying to a god she didn’t believe existed. Please, let him be safe.

As she reached the first landing something darted out in front of her. She veered to avoid it, only to realise it was Felix, the block’s black cat.

Just then a child’s voice called down. ‘Well, if it isn’t the movie star!’ A small face squeezed between the spindles of the staircase. ‘Did you know your vati’s shop is on fire?’

It was Anna Kepler, the dentist’s daughter, an eight-year-old who often spied on people on the stairs. Her teeth were held back by steel braces. Lilli only wished her tongue could be. Angrily, she powered up the last remaining flights of steps, barging past the girl, cursing under her breath to burst into the apartment, gulping for air.

‘Vati! Is he here?’

Her mother, Golda, was sitting hunched on the threadbare sofa. Wrapped in a shawl, she was cradling a cup of coffee in both hands.

‘Oh Lilli!’ cried Golda. ‘Praise be!’ A plump hand reached out to grasp her daughter’s. Lilli rushed to take it, the room filling with the stench of acrid smoke in her wake.

Their neighbour, Frau Grundig, the one Lilli called the Ram because she wore her braids coiled around her ears, was by her mother’s side.

‘At last!’ cried the Ram. ‘It was a good of you to turn up,’ she mumbled sarcastically. She disapproved of Lilli, suspecting her of fooling with boys when she told her parents she was at the academy.

‘I’m sorry, Mutti, rehearsals ran late and Madame Eva …’

‘Madame Eva! Madame Eva!’ mimicked the Ram.

Ignoring Frau Grundig’s taunts, Lilli turned to her mother. ‘Vati! The fire! Where’s Vati?’ she croaked.

‘He’s safe, praise be,’ replied Golda, raising her eyes heavenwards. ‘The Almighty took care of him.’

Golda was a heavy woman, with large, dark features. Like a sturdy piece of mahogany furniture, her frame was thick and serviceable. She moved in a cloud of resignation. Fire, flood or famine: because she believed they were God’s will, she accepted them all without complaint. Her daughter did not.

‘I came as soon as I could but …’ The words still struggled to escape Lilli’s gritty throat. She was careful to avoid the Ram’s gaze as she spoke. It was true that she’d been kept late rehearsing Giselle. She’d been chosen to dance the leading role in this year’s gala performance. But if her parents ever found out she also worked as an usherette at the cinema after classes some evenings, she’d be in deep trouble.

‘Where is he?’ Lilli asked, her dark eyes searching the room.

‘Seeing what the Almighty will let him save,’ replied Golda with a shrug.

Leon, Lilli’s younger brother, sat by the kachelofen in the corner, feeding logs to the hungry giant stove. He was four years younger than her, but he had the mind of an adult. He said little, but thought a lot, preferring to bury his dark head in books rather than play sport. Up until then he had been content to watch events unfold, but he suddenly broke his silence.

‘You put too much faith in the Almighty, Mutti,’ he told his mother, finally prising himself away from the big stove.

‘Leon!’ Frau Grundig took it upon herself to scold him, too. ‘If he were my son …’ she began, but she was childless and everyone else’s child, it seemed to her, behaved badly.

Golda lurched forward in her chair. ‘Leon! Wash your mouth out with soap and water!’ she cried.

Leon skulked across the room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his eyes cast down. Golda slumped back into her seat, shaking her head as she watched her son leave.

‘He’s angry,’ she muttered on a long sigh.

Lilli agreed. She looked on politics as something that happened to other people, like being run over by a bus. Leon, on the other hand, thought all his family’s problems were caused by politicians, who stirred up hatred against them. Her brother would not act. Not now at any rate, but Lilli feared that the day would soon come when he and his synagogue friends would do something foolish.

‘The people who did this …’ Golda carried on, staring into her coffee.

‘People?’ butted in the Ram. ‘You think the fire was started deliberately?’ Frau Grundig leaned forward, her ample bosom bulging over the top of her old-fashioned dirndl. A scandalised look puffed out her face. ‘How do you know?’

Golda shot a savvy glance at Lilli before she replied. ‘We can’t say for sure but …’

‘I’m afraid we can,’ came a voice from the doorway. Jacob Sternberg stood bowed on the threshold, covered in soot. For an instant he reminded Lilli of the actor in the new American talkie The Jazz Singer, whose face was painted black. Her father gave a resigned shrug.

‘A star with the word “Juden” was daubed on my shop door the other day,’ he told them.

‘Oh!’ Frau Grundig’s hands flew up to her face in an exaggerated show of empathy. ‘Who could do such a thing?’ she asked disingenuously. She knew as well as her neighbour about the recent spate of arson attacks on Jewish premises.

Golda stemmed her tears. Lilli could tell her mother wanted to cry, but, as ever, her pride ensured she did not. ‘The usual thugs, with nothing better to do, I suppose,’ was all she would say.

‘The fire service was already there when I arrived,’ Jacob told his small audience. ‘They did their best, but …’ His voice trailed off in defeat.

‘They have their work cut out tonight,’ butted in Herr Kepler. He was the dentist from the third floor. He stepped into the apartment uninvited, an unlit pipe clenched between his uneven teeth.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Jacob, wiping the soot from his spectacles with a handkerchief.

‘The synagogue is ablaze, too.’

‘How can this be?’ asked the diminutive Frau Kepler. She’d followed behind her husband, making the sign of the cross as she spoke.

An annoyed Frau Reuter piled in, too, with one of her four small children on her hip. All the commotion had apparently woken her little ones.

Despite the difficult circumstances, Golda suddenly remembered her duty to her visitors. ‘You will take coffee?’ she asked the Keplers and Frau Reuter.

‘My children have been woken up,’ Frau Reuter replied testily, jiggling her infant on her hip, as if it was patently obvious she did not have time for a coffee.

Before the others could answer, however, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing up the stairwell brought a halt to the conversation. Lilli was only relieved that Leon was out of the room when the door was flung wide. Herr Backe, in his brown storm trooper’s uniform, a swastika band on his left arm, paused on the threshold to survey the gathering. For a moment there was an uneasy silence. None of the residents liked the lodger who shared the Sternbergs’ apartment.

‘Sieg heil!’ he barked suddenly, raising his right arm in an abrupt salute. An arc of spittle went flying through the air.

A few months ago, the gesture had made Lilli giggle. Now she and her mother swapped uneasy glances. He was as a cuckoo in the nest and a buffoon, but, as her father pointed out, he was the one whose rent money was putting much-needed bread on their table. They were wary of him and his ways, but they put up with him. Only Herr Kepler responded with a half-hearted salute that was more of an embarrassed wave. The others bobbed their heads in reply.

‘Herr Backe,’ acknowledged Jacob.

By day Hans Backe was a bank clerk, but by night, after attending one of his weekly National Socialist Party meetings, he seemed to transform into someone quite loathsome.

‘Frau Sternberg. Herr Sternberg.’ The lodger returned the greeting before pivoting on his heels towards his room. His uniform made him look bigger than his cheap clerk’s suit did, thought Lilli. She hated him.

Everyone waited for the sound of the door to click shut, but the damage was done. The unwelcome interruption seemed to bring the gathering to an early close, as if a shadow had just passed over the room. No one knew what to say – not safely – so the Keplers, Frau Grundig and Frau Reuter just smiled politely, and did what any good German citizen would do. They bid the Sternbergs ‘Guten Nacht’ and left.

Chapter 2

Later that night, in the corner of the small, high-ceilinged room she shared with Leon, Lilli washed the soot from her face and hands in a bowl. A poster of Greta Garbo, curled at the edges, hid a damp patch on the wall.

The evening’s events had cloaked the agony she’d felt in her swollen feet. Now, however, she moved over to the bed and, sitting down, held her breath as she slid off her shoes. Leon watched transfixed as he saw that the blood from her toes had seeped through her woollen stockings. Gently Lilli peeled them off to reveal feet as purple as plums. At the sight her brother winced.

‘Why do you do that to yourself?’ he asked, as he watched his sister wipe the dried blood from her toes with a damp cloth.

‘Dance through the pain,’ she replied. It was what Madame Eva, the academy’s principal, always said. She would often pinch her pupils, too, if she felt they were slacking. Lilli lifted the corners of her mouth in a shallow little smile, as if to signify her wounds were no great hardship. ‘Some things are worth suffering for,’ she added wistfully.

Reaching for a towel, Lilli suddenly thought of the ten-metre high billboard at the road junction on her route to the cinema where she worked. It was advertising a new American film called Lights of New York. A beautiful actress looked wan in the arms of a handsome man. Amid the flaking plasterwork and shabby warrens of streets of her home city, the new talking films from America beguiled her in a way that ballet, and great ballerinas like Pavlova and Alicia Markova, could not.

‘That’ll be you, someday,’ Oskar, the broom boy at the cinema, had told her. Poor Oskar was in love with her, she knew that, because he often paid her sweet compliments. A lot of men did.

‘What things?’ Leon, his dark brows knitted in a frown, snapped back. He was testing her, she could tell.

Gently she towelled her feet. ‘I would put up with anything to get out of this place. I know you would, too,’ she told him, trying to keep her voice as low as her frustration would allow.

Leon snorted and folded his arms. His sister had dreams, he knew. He nodded in agreement, even though he had no inkling about her plans for a new life in America. Nor of her earnings from the cinema. While he was ranting and railing against his parents, the government and the world, Lilli was filling her shoe box under the floorboards with banknotes. It was where she hid her money – the money for her ticket to Hollywood.

‘But this is your home, Lilli,’ he told her. ‘What about Mutti and Vati?’

Lilli shook her head. ‘I don’t intend to be spat at in the street for the rest of my life.’ She turned towards the mantelpiece. ‘No, I intend to escape.’

A large white gilt-edged card took pride of place above the empty fireplace. It was an invitation to the eighteenth birthday ball of one of the students at the academy. She reached for it.

‘And this,’ she told Leon, waving the invitation gleefully in the air, ‘could be my passport to a better life.’

Lilli had never regarded Comtesse Helene Von Urbach as a close friend. If she was being truthful, she didn’t even consider her a good dancer. She may have had flaxen hair and large blue eyes, but her legs were on the thick side and her movement was at best contrived and at worst downright wooden. The fact remained, however, that she was having a ball at her father’s schloss just outside the city and Lilli was invited. She had decided to accept. Surely it would be rude not to? Helene’s widowed father was not only a count with his very own castle but a high-ranking officer in the Reichswehr, the German Army, and commander of the Seventh Division. Some unkind pupils – Lilli wasn’t among them, of course – believed if it wasn’t for his money, Helene would have failed the academy’s entrance exams. As it was, Madame Eva had found a place for her in the chorus of Giselle, to dance the part of an ethereal Willi, a sort of spirit. Lilli thought she suited the part. She’d always found her rather aloof – the way she hung around in her shadow, staring at her, but saying little. Nonetheless, Helene had invited Lilli to her ball, and she had decided it would be foolish to turn down an opportunity to mix in such circles.

Lilli took a deep breath as she pictured herself being whirled around the general’s ballroom in the arms of a dashing young officer to the strains of Strauss. Her face broke into a wide smile at the image of chandeliers and Champagne. The embossed script gave the date in December, just four days after the performance of Giselle. She held the invitation to her breast for a moment and sighed at the thought of all that romantic glamour.

Leon rolled his eyes at his big sister. ‘Your head is full of silly dreams,’ he told her.

‘No, Leon,’ Lilli corrected him, pointing to her temple. ‘My head is full of plans. Big plans. There is a difference.’

Chapter 3

Captain Marco Zeiller sucked abruptly through his teeth as he watched the razor-sharp blade slash through the other officer’s flesh. Captain Kurt Von Stockmar, however, did not flinch. He stood his ground and, less than a second later, the blood began to flow; a curtain of crimson falling down his left cheek.

Marco was there at Von Stockmar’s invitation, although at the time of acceptance he wasn’t entirely convinced he really wanted to witness the strange ritual. A group of officers from his regiment had left their battalion’s barracks in the northern suburbs of Munich to drive out to a small gymnasium a few kilometres away. Marco had no plans, so, largely out of curiosity he’d been persuaded to join them. Now he was very much regretting his decision.

Von Stockmar and his opponent had been fencing at arm’s length, standing more or less in one place. Around thirty other men were clustered around them in a ring. Marco had kept his distance, choosing instead to watch from one of the raised seats at the back of the hall. The aim, he knew, was to hit the unprotected areas of your opponent’s face and head. Flinching or dodging were forbidden, but enduring the resulting injury stoically was applauded.

At the sight of the cascading blood, the rest of the men leapt to their feet, cheering, like hounds baying at a kill. Marco, however, remained seated. There was something rather disturbing, he found, about the whole spectacle. It reminded him of stags locking horns in rutting season, fighting it out to the bitter end. Of course, he’d heard about these fencing matches before. They were more were like duels. It was a tradition – a noble one, apparently – perpetuated by the sons of aristocratic Germans and dating back almost a century. Supposedly, the practice taught men to endure pain without wincing, cowering or recoiling. And now Captain Kurt Von Stockmar was on the receiving end of a particularly unpleasant encounter. His wound continued to bleed profusely.

Marco’s instinct was to go to his fellow officer’s aid, or at the very least offer him a towel so that he could mop up the blood. But no. He knew he must be happy for him. Von Stockmar had just won another ‘bragging scar’ and he would wear his disfigurement with pride. It would heal into a badge of honour – a visible scar that proved his resilience and endurance.

The other men surged forward, not to help, but to congratulate their injured brother. This latest slash wasn’t Von Stockmar’s first – there was already a much less spectacular, horizontal one on his chin – and he’d clearly stated he hoped it wouldn’t be his last, either. But from the colour of his face, or rather lack of it, it seemed to Marco that Von Stockmar himself might well be horizontal very shortly. He was clearly on the verge of fainting. Yet losing consciousness was also the ultimate sign of weakness.

Marco didn’t care for the squat, cocky officer; he didn’t even admire him. Yet he found himself willing him to remain standing at the very least. That was when he suddenly remembered he had brought his hip flask with him. Reaching for his belt, he heard the schnapps slosh around inside.

‘Von Stockmar!’ Marco stepped forward into the melee, brandishing his flask. ‘Prost!’

He took a swig himself then handed it to the wounded man, whose wan face lit up for a second before taking up the offer. Tilting back his head, Von Stockmar downed the liquor as if it were water. He staggered a little then coughed loudly, choking on the fiery liquid. His friends laughed and patted him on the back again. They’d been in his fraternity at university in Berlin. They were all bound by blood.

Just why Von Stockmar had invited Marco to witness this ritual scarring – because that was what it was: a bizarre way of proving one’s masculinity and bravery, like a rite of passage in an African tribe – he was not entirely sure. He supposed, however, it might have something to do with rumours of his own recent promotion.

Von Stockmar was jealous of him and had been since cadet school, when it soon emerged that Marco was better than him at everything: shooting, mathematics and communicating with his men. The rivalry turned to jealousy and had been left to fester like an ulcerous sore ever since.

There was also the matter of Marco’s parentage. He was not what Von Stockmar and his friends might call of wholly acceptable stock. His mother was Italian. Not only had he inherited her brown eyes, olive skin and good looks, but her Roman Catholic religion, too.

Von Stockmar handed back the flask to Marco. The schnapps had certainly revived him. So much so, that he began to pose enthusiastically for photographs, surrounded by the rest of his noisy fraternity. The blood that had poured down his left cheek had since dried, but the caked-on rivulets created an interesting dark fretwork on his skin. The photographer’s shots would no doubt provide a much-prized souvenir of the day’s events. Marco turned away.

‘So, was it all too gory for you?’ Von Stockmar quizzed as he sat opposite Marco a little later.

They were in the bierkeller next to the gymnasium. A huge, celebratory tankard, overflowing with foam, presented itself to the newly wounded officer. A few of the other fencers crowded round on the benches by them. Each of their faces bore their own scars of various lengths and jaggedness.

‘Gory?’ Marco repeated. His unblemished face broke into a smile. He knew Von Stockmar was playing a game with him, trying to make him appear weak in front of his friends. ‘No. I’d say it was curious, more than anything.’

He took a gulp of beer from his own tankard then licked the froth from his upper lip. Cruelty and blood were no strangers to him. As a boy, he’d witnessed a convoy of half-starved refugees fleeing their homes during the Great War. He would never forget seeing their broken bodies and their haunted faces from the window of his mother’s limousine as they sped to safety after the Battle of Caporetto. Since then he had grown up despising violence for violence’s sake.

Von Stockmar, his left cheek now showing signs of swelling and inflammation, tried to contort his lips into a smile, but found himself defeated by the growing pain. He pointed to the wound. ‘This blood is pure German,’ he said. ‘You would not understand. After all, your mother came from a nation of ice-cream sellers and opera singers.’ He searched the faces of his friends for appreciation and garnered a few laughs and several nods.

Instinctively Marco shrugged. He’d been told it was a very Italian gesture – true Germans never shrugged – but there were many traits he was proud to have inherited from his mother. Tolerance was one of them. He was used to such insults and would not rise to the bait.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ he replied calmly. ‘I need to fight for a cause, not for needless scars.’

Von Stockmar snorted a laugh and shifted on his bench. Looking around for support he said: ‘You want a cause, then we will show you one, won’t we brothers?’

A few chorused their approval. Another clenched his fist and banged it on the table, before letting out a belly laugh.

‘Oh?’ Marco would let them play their games. He knew their sort.

Von Stockmar’s eyes were smiling as he nodded. ‘We are off to the Brown House tonight, to hear Herr Hitler speak. You should join us.’

The officer sitting next to Marco slapped him playfully on the arm. ‘Ja! Join us,’ he echoed.

Marco suddenly pictured the Brown House. It was the grand mansion in the centre of Munich that had recently been refurbished. It now served as the new headquarters of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party. And of course, everyone had heard of this Herr Hitler, too: an unpleasant little politician with a big ego. There’d been much talk of him – most of it unfavourable – over dinner in the officers’ mess, and how he’d had managed to gather his own personal army of storm troopers around him. In their brown shirts and big boots, they were little better than hooligans who fancied themselves as soldiers.

Marco shook his head. ‘I do not care for the man, or his politics,’ he replied bluntly, while still managing to raise a polite smile.

Von Stockmar swapped glances with his friends. ‘But he promises to rip up Versailles – the treaty that has brought our great nation to its knees!’ he protested.

‘But surely he also threatens us, the army?’ countered Marco, making certain his voice remained measured. He had little appetite for political debate. ‘He would take power from our hands. You know the generals are uneasy.’

Von Stockmar’s eyes flashed and a large vein pulsed in his forehead.

‘He will make Germany great again,’ he replied, his pale skin starting to flush.

‘Ja! Ja,’ exclaimed several men in unison.

In Germany, Marco knew that Germans always put their country first.

In Italy, it was family.

Buoyed by such enthusiasm, Von Stockmar straightened his back and issued a rallying cry. His arm flew up. ‘It’s time to rise up and be the masters of our own destiny once more!’

The other officers cheered, but Marco merely sipped the beer from his tankard. His failure to respond was meant to diffuse the situation, but instead it seemed to antagonise it. Fury spread across Von Stockmar’s already inflamed face and his jaw shot out defiantly as he rose from the bench. He delivered his parting shot as he glowered at Marco from above.

‘My dear fellow,’ he snarled, ‘that pretty face of yours is a sign of cowardice and the time is coming when such weakness will not be tolerated.’

And with those words Von Stockmar stormed out of the building, followed by his own small army of narrow-minded men. Marco remained silent but unsettled. This new breed of politics troubled him.

Chapter 4

‘Nein. Nein. Lilli! Giselle is dying of a broken heart, remember!?’ Madame Eva Schwarzkopf shook her head vigorously, clapped her hands impatiently and clicked her tongue. The reprimand echoed around the walls of the Académie de Danse and made Lilli slide to an abrupt halt. She’d already caught her teacher’s frustrated expression reflected in the floor-to-ceiling studio mirror. As she sashayed forward, she braced herself for one of Madame’s famous pinches.

‘I need more emotion from you,’ cried her teacher. ‘Your lover has deceived you.’

The pinch didn’t come. Even so, Lilli wanted to protest. No one would shed tears over pimply, gangly Jens, who partnered her as Duke Albrecht. Besides, how could she act like her heart had been broken when it hadn’t? Not yet. It was difficult for her to imagine what it must be like to love and lose the light of your life. After all, she was only eighteen. Her heart had ached at the sight of Josef, the rabbi’s son, and it had yearned for a better life for her parents, far from the regular slurs and attacks they suffered, but so far it had remained intact.

November was always a busy month at the academy. Rehearsals for the annual Christmas performance at the prestigious Cuvilliés Theatre in the city centre were well underway. The production had become a highlight of the Bavarian social calendar, attracting those with power as well as privilege. It also served to enhance the academy’s reputation for excellence. In the demanding lead role, Lilli was required to give so much more of herself than she ever had before. She knew she must rise to the challenge. The rewards could be great. The lead dancer in Swan Lake a few years back landed a permanent position with a professional ballet company.

Taking a deep breath to steady her body Lilli stared at the floor as Madame Eva repeated her demand for ‘more emotion’. Madame was right, of course. She wasn’t dancing her best. The attack on her father’s shop had unsettled her and hunger was making her stomach growl. Was it any wonder that after eight hours of rehearsals her whole body was exhausted and racked with pain? She longed the day to be over. Yet she still regarded it as an honour to be singled out to stay behind after classes had finished for the day. The great Pavlova wouldn’t complain, and Markova never winced. Nor would she. Each pirouette, each plié had to be faultless. Dance through the pain, she reiterated Madame Eva’s mantra. Dance through it. She placed her feet in the first position, tilted her head, lifted her chin and held out her arms in a gentle arc.

Mademoiselle Schultz, the pianist, a big woman with a frizz of orange hair, lifted her large hands over the keys as Lilli imagined how Giselle might have felt after her betrayal by the lying Duke Albrecht. She adopted an appropriately melancholy expression as, once more, Madame Eva clapped her hands and ordered: ‘Again!’

Chapter 5

At long last the day of the performance of Giselle arrived – the day when every movement Lilli had rehearsed a thousand times over had to be exactly perfect. She’d felt the pressure mount even more last week when Madame Eva delivered the exciting news that an American talent scout would be in the audience. He was always on the lookout for exceptional dancers, she’d said.

‘And you can be exceptional, if you put your heart into it,’ her teacher had told her in one of her more generous moments.

Lilli Sternberg would be exceptional.

On arrival at the Cuvilliés Theatre, Madame Eva showed all the principal dancers onto the stage. Lilli thought her legs might buckle beneath her when she saw the sheer scale and beauty of the auditorium, its golden rococo tiers rising like some giant wedding cake into the roof.

Later in the dressing room, Lilli sat on a plush-topped stool, staring unblinking into the mirror. Thick black eyeliner accentuated her dark eyes and crimson lipstick slashed across her pale face. Her black hair was slicked back and her high cheekbones were rouged. She was no longer Lilli Sternberg. She was Giselle.

Around her all the other girls were chattering nervously, tightening waistbands, adjusting bodices, ribbons and headdresses. Most of them, including Helene, were Willis – the ghosts of maidens who’d been betrayed by their lovers. They were swathed in white, their skirts made of delectate diaphanous material that reflected the light. Nerves were frayed as they elbowed each other, checking their make-up, dusting their faces, sending powder flying through the air. The smell of grease paint melded with lavender spray and every now and then a disconsolate wail would rise when one of them found a mark on their costume or a ladder in their tights.

The atmosphere was hectic, feverish, just how it should be, just how Lilli loved it. Suddenly she felt Madame Eva’s hand on her arm. Her instinct was to pull away, but instead of pinching it, her teacher gave her a gentle squeeze.

‘Remember there is a special guest in the audience tonight,’ she said. ‘The talent scout I mentioned – he has just arrived.’ Madame was as close to excited as Lilli had ever seen her. ‘I know that you will be a wonderful Giselle,’ she added, looking into her pupil’s eyes.

‘I will try and make you proud,’ Lilli said, even though a thousand butterflies of self-doubt were fluttering in her stomach.

So many people were depending on her to make the night a success. But her thoughts were centred on just one man in that vast auditorium, the man who had the power to change her life forever. It wasn’t just the academy she was dancing for; it was her own future. Most of all, she couldn’t let herself down.

Captain Marco Zeiller arrived at the Cuvilliés Theatre to find that all Munich’s highest society was gathering at the venue. This production of Giselle, General Von Urbach had explained to his officers, was under his patronage. All proceeds were to be donated to a military benevolent fund. They were therefore encouraged to attend. Marco, however, had not needed any such encouragement. He enjoyed the ballet and had heard great things about the academy’s version.

Daimlers and Mercedes were queueing outside the theatre, disgorging the great and the good. Puffed-up majors and colonels from other regiments rubbed shoulders with politicians and city burghers, while their womenfolk eyed each other with the jealous zeal of beauty pageant contestants.

Marco made his way up the steps and inside the grand foyer. A young man in red and gold livery handed him a programme. He opened it and scanned the names. The general’s daughter, Helene Von Urbach, was at the top of the list of the chorus. He pictured the young woman who so often accompanied her father on official engagements and wondered if his commanding officer had insisted her name be first, or if the principal of the ballet school had just thought it politically expedient.

His reservation was in the third row of the stalls. It was a good seat near the central aisle, where he had a passable view of the audience as they flowed in a steady stream to take their places. As the orchestra tuned up in the pit, more elegantly dressed people took their seats. Marco would swear there were more metres of velvet in the gowns of the ladies than in the stage drapes. The atmosphere was electric. It reminded him of when his mother first took him to the opera house in Venice. He must have been no more than twelve. They’d watched a performance of La Bohème and, ever since, he’d fallen under the spell of opera. He found the power and the passion of the music and drama far more exhilarating than Von Stockmar’s sadistic duelling. And, as the lights dipped and a hush dropped like a veil over the audience, he was glad to be reminded of that same surge of anticipation he’d experienced as a child. Then the magic began.

Chapter 6

Lilli waited until the chorus had all left the room before she stood to do her breathing exercises. As she filled her lungs inhaling deeply, a thrill of excitement rippled through her. No longer was she posing in front of the bathroom mirror or being teased for having dreams by Leon. This was real and the feeling elated and terrified her in equal measure.

If she danced well, she might be spotted by the talent scout from America. A new world of opportunities would beckon. Buoyed up by the prospect, she was just about to head for the door when something in the corner caught her eye. Someone was lurking in the shadows.

‘Helene!’ she cried, her pulse made to race even faster. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

The count’s daughter, dressed in her costume, was standing timidly in an alcove. Her eyes were lit up as she stared at Lilli in admiration.

‘You look like a real star!’ she said softly, mesmerised like a child in a sweet shop. Even though they rarely spoke to each other, Lilli imagined the only reason she’d been invited to Helene’s ball was because she was the production’s prima ballerina. Their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different and yet the general’s daughter seemed to admire her as a dancer.

Lilli, still recovering from her shock, managed a smile. ‘How kind of you to say so,’ she replied. ‘I don’t mind admitting I’m a little nervous.’ That was an understatement. Her nerves were as taut as violin strings.

‘You will be magnificent,’ replied Helene.

From the doorway, a voice was heard to call: ‘Five minutes.’

Simultaneously, both girls looked at each other.

It was almost time.

From the moment she stepped out on stage, Lilli’s Giselle was mesmerising. Watching her dance, the audience seemed to hold its breath in a sort of sacred silence. She captivated their emotions, causing them to soar and fall with her as the tragic love story unfolded.

Marco was immediately entranced. He had never seen such grace and emotion in a dancer. The way the ballerina portrayed Giselle’s vulnerable innocence made him immediately want to protect her from all the evils that lay in wait. He already knew the story, but still he was angry when Giselle’s guileless heart was stolen by the charming young Duke Albrecht. When the nobleman betrayed her, Marco, like most of the rest of the audience, it seemed, also felt slighted on her behalf.

When it was time for revenge, the sinister Willis wreaked havoc. The corps de ballet was suitably terrorising, and Marco dutifully trained his eyes on his commander’s daughter, Helene. But it was Giselle that had cast her spell over him. So much so that even when she wasn’t on stage, he was thinking about her, wanting her to return to see her dazzle and enchant once more.

Giselle’s duet with the repentant Albrecht was so sublimely realistic that Marco even felt a pang of jealousy as the young duke held her in his arms. He wished it could be him instead. But it was the death scene that brought tears to his eyes and when he looked around, he could see that he wasn’t the only one to be profoundly moved by the performance of the prima ballerina.

As the final curtain fell, the applause was deafening. People leapt to their feet, their hands clapping high in the air.

‘Bravo! Bellisima!’ The calls of adulation rang around the theatre. Orchids and single roses landed at Giselle’s feet. Marco wished he had brought a rose to throw, too. His eyes flitted to the programme, scanning the pages for the name of the lead dancer … Lilli Sternberg.

‘Lilli Sternberg,’ he said to himself as he stood to applaud her along with everyone else in the theatre. Lilli Sternberg had captured his heart, dazzled him and mesmerised him with her grace and her beauty. From that moment on, he belonged to her.

Marco looked on, while Lilli curtsied, trying to compose herself, her eyes ablaze with the adulation she was receiving. Moving with grace as though she was still part of the dance, she gestured to the other dancers and to the orchestra, who also received great applause.

A moment later a huge roar erupted from the crowd as a small, elegant woman, whom Marco realised must be the principal of the dance academy, took to the stage. Helene handed her an enormous bouquet which she cradled in her arms as the audience fell silent once more. Holding her back straight and with her eyes twinkling above the footlights, Madame Eva thanked the performers for their hard work and the audience for their support.

‘But most of all,’ she continued, ‘I must thank our patron, without whom none of this would have been possible.’ She paused, shielding her eyes to search the grand boxes of the tiers high above her. ‘I am talking, of course, of General Count Von Urbach,’ she declared, gesturing to the tall, broad man with a hooked nose and hooded eyelids, who stood to acknowledge the audience below.

Marco turned to watch his commanding officer wave majestically, drinking in the thanks and admiration. Seeing him perched high up in his box, brought to mind a large bird of prey, surveying its helpless quarry. Marco joined in the applause. It was only polite. But for him, there really was only one star of the show and that evening, he made up his mind to meet her.

Chapter 7

It was like being carried on the wings of angels. As the applause rang in her ears and the love and appreciation of the audience permeated the auditorium and soared high into the air, Lilli felt herself suspended. It was as if her body was lifted from the stage, hovering ecstatically in mid-air.

The moment the curtain rose she’d transformed herself. Gone was any self-doubt that had troubled her before. She’d shut the door on all her negative thoughts. For those three hours she was Giselle. She lived her, breathed her, died her. She danced on air with a grace and fluidity that cast a spell on the audience. Her solos were sublime and her death scene left many in tears. Even Jens danced his best, while the chorus, dressed in their lavish, layered costumes, barely put a collective foot wrong.

This was what Lilli had worked so hard for; this was why her muscles ached and her feet bled. This was what her happiness, now and in the future, depended upon. And then she remembered what might, or might not happen in a few moments’ time, and she came down to earth. Bending low to pick up more stems that had landed at her feet, Lilli dared to look out onto the audience again. But beyond the glaring foot lights, and the sparkle of jewels as they glinted, she could see very little. So she prayed that somewhere among the blur of faces, and the mayhem and the noise, there would be the talent scout Madame Eva spoke about.

‘You were wonderful!’ Helene called out. She was waiting for Lilli in the wings when she finally came off stage.

The lights had momentarily blinded her and she squinted into the gloom as someone handed her a towel. She wiped the sweat from her brow then slung it around her neck as she headed back to the dressing room.

Madame Eva was there to praise her performance again. Marsha, a Silesian girl in the troupe, followed behind her in the low-lit passage. She was laden with an armful of flowers.

Lilli ran the gamut of congratulations from the dancers in the corps once more as she passed through a tangled landscape of net skirts and discarded stockings. The excited squeals and intermittent wails had subsided to a low hum, like worker bees going about their usual business. It was then she heard a familiar voice.

‘Here she is: our wonderful ballerina!’ It was Golda. She and Jacob and Leon crowded round.

‘We are so proud of you,’ her father told her, kissing the top of her head.

Golda took both her hands in hers. ‘You have made us so happy,’ she said, tears streaming down her plump cheeks.

Even Leon came forward and hugged her. ‘You were very good,’ he managed. He handed her a bouquet of flowers that Lilli knew the family could ill afford.

‘Yes, you were,’ echoed an unfamiliar voice.

Lilli turned to see Madame Eva with an uncharacteristically wide smile on her face. She was accompanied by a gentleman.

‘Lilli, this is Monsieur Raymond. He’s from the American talent agency I mentioned.’

Monsieur Raymond was not at all how Lilli had pictured a talent scout from an American agency to look. For a start he wasn’t American, but French. And all agents smoked cigars, didn’t they? With his perfectly-fitting tailcoat, he looked more like a foreign ambassador than one of those sharks she’d seen in films, who always cheated their – mainly female – clients. She also knew that to get anywhere in a stage career, you needed one.

Lilli’s pulse had barely slowed, before it shot up again. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ she said, dipping a curtsey.

For some reason Monsieur Raymond seemed amused. He chuckled. ‘Charming,’ he said with a smile.

Lilli wasn’t sure if she liked being described that way. He made her feel like a puppy or a kitten.

‘You danced well, mademoiselle,’ he went on. ‘Very well,’ he added. Lilli tried to steady her breath as she waited to hear more. There had to be more, surely? But it was to Madame Eva that Monsieur Raymond turned next. ‘I will call you,’ he told her, adding coldly, ‘if I think there might be a place for her.’

He emphasised the word if and Lilli suddenly realised it was the biggest word in the world. In her mind, she’d already been on a ship bound for America, sailing off to stardom. The heart that she’d held so tight in her chest only moments before, the one that had pounded with excitement and leapt for joy, suddenly fell to the floor, and with it went her hopes and dreams. All Lilli Sternberg wanted to do now was cry.

Chapter 8

After the performance Marco stood in the foyer of the theatre, watching the audience file past him as he listened to snatches of their conversation. Even though he’d never met Lilli Sternberg, he felt a certain affinity with her and took a vicarious pleasure in hearing people praise her.

‘Giselle was superb!’ said one woman, a tiara in her white hair.

‘Light as a feather!’ remarked her companion.

‘She’ll go far,’ said another.

‘Who was she? Von Urbach’s daughter?’ asked a crusty old military man.

‘Good lord, no. Some Jewish girl, I believe,’ replied his friend.

Marco frowned. Giselle was not ‘some Jewish girl.’ Her name was Lilli Sternberg. She should not be dismissed so disdainfully; as if she didn’t matter, as if her hard work and her talent could be written off in a single, callous phrase. He fought the urge to step in and defend the woman whose grace and beauty had won his admiration. He said nothing, but continued, instead, to look out for his commanding officer. He thought it only polite he should congratulate him on the evening’s undoubted success.

General Von Urbach appeared a little later, towering above the well-wishers who surrounded him, lapping up praise for the ‘marvellous’ performance, even though he had put no effort into it himself.

Almost half an hour had passed since the curtain fell when, finally, some of the dancers started to emerge from backstage to be reunited with their proud families. Many of them still wore their stage make-up and the girls kept their hair knotted in neat buns. Helene was one of them. Marco watched as she approached her father. Von Urbach kissed her on both cheeks and lifted his mouth into a mirthless smile; his eyes remained cold.

As there appeared to be no sign of Lilli, Marco decided now was a good time to make the general aware of his presence.

‘May I offer my congratulations on an excellent evening, sir?’ Marco said with a bow. He turned to Helene immediately and bowed. ‘Comtesse Helene.’

‘Ah Captain Zeiller,’ greeted Von Urbach. ‘I’m glad you could come. You have met my daughter?’

Helene flashed a coy smile and held out a hand to be kissed.

‘I don’t believe I’ve had that pleasure, sir,’ Marco replied courteously, taking her hand.

Instead of smoothing the introduction, however, the general seemed rather preoccupied. His hooded eyes were fixed on the other side of the foyer. Marco followed his gaze. This time, Madame Eva appeared to be in his sights. A few metres away from her, Lilli Sternberg suddenly appeared.

‘Excuse me, my dear. I shall leave you in Captain Zeiller’s capable hands,’ he told his daughter. And with that, Marco watched his commanding officer fly off in the dance principal’s direction. He only wished he could take off with him and land nearer to Lilli.

‘You like ballet, Captain Zeiller?’ Helene asked, emerging tentatively from her shell. Marco turned around to see her piercing blue eyes were trained on him.

He nodded. ‘I do and I very much enjoyed tonight,’ he told her. But sensing more was expected of him he added: ‘Congratulations on your splendid performance.’ He knew he must sound stilted and his words rather hollow. They didn’t come from his heart.

‘You are very kind,’ she said, her eyelashes fluttering. ‘Thank you.’

Glancing behind her, Marco could still see Lilli. She’d moved slightly further away from Madame Eva and was being congratulated by a succession of admirers. He dearly wanted to join the queue, but Helene was clearly keen to engage him in conversation. It would be rude not to humour her.

‘Giselle was very good, wasn’t she?’ he remarked, forcing himself to focus his straying eyes on her.

‘Yes. Yes, she was,’ she agreed.

Realising he sounded a little too keen to praise another dancer, he added quickly: ‘But, as I said, so were you, Comtesse.’

Helene lifted her shoulder coquettishly. ‘It was a shame I could only accept a part in the chorus,’ she began. ‘I’ve been so busy, organising things,’ she told him, suddenly sounding bolder, ‘I simply couldn’t take on a more demanding role.’

‘Really?’ replied Marco, trying to sound interested. ‘What have you been organising, may I ask?’

Absent-mindedly, he’d walked into her trap. ‘My eighteenth birthday ball next week,’ she volunteered, then seemingly hurt, she pouted. ‘I thought it would be the talk of your officers’ mess.’ An image of a child bragging in the playground suddenly sprang to Marco’s mind. He was unsure how he should reply. It was clear the general’s daughter was trying to impress him in her own, juvenile way. A slightly uncomfortable silence hung between them for a moment as he wondered how he might extricate himself from this young noblewoman’s clutches. Undeterred, however, she resumed her ramblings about her party, either unaware or unmoved that Marco’s attention was now occupied by General Von Urbach, who was just about to pounce on his prey. While the young officer’s eyes returned to Helene, his ears did not.

‘Ah, my dear Eva,’ said the general. ‘An excellent evening.’

Madame Eva inclined her head as she allowed her patron to peck her hand with his lips. ‘I am glad you enjoyed it, General.’

She knew from the tone of his voice to wait for a barb.

‘And I must congratulate you on your bold choice of the lead role.’

‘Bold?’ she queried. ‘How so?’

The general shrugged before showing his talons. Planting a smile on his face so that passers-by did not suspect his intention, he went in for the kill. ‘We’d have got bigger donations, if you’d chosen Baron Von Klaus’s daughter or La Comtesse de Veille’s,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I thought it would’ve been evident.’

Marco found himself bristling indignantly. What was the general suggesting? He was aware that buying your way into enviable government positions was the way of the German republic these days, but had bribery reached the ballet, too? Madame Eva, he could tell, was caught off guard by his comment.. She switched back her head. ‘Or your own, General?’ she retorted, waving at a former student who was passing. ‘It’s obvious Fraulein Sternberg is exceptionally talented. She is simply my best.’

Von Urbach curled his lips in a smirk. ‘I agree she is good, but she is also a Jew,’ he hissed between clenched teeth. Marco noted the way the general’s hooded eyes kept sliding towards Lilli. ‘And the Jews are running this city, this country,’ he told her, his expression suddenly switching to a smile to acknowledge an old acquaintance.

Madame Eva’s lips also twitched. It was clear to Marco she knew how to handle him. ‘And a good job, too. Who would tailor your suits, dear General?’ she teased, lightly brushing the lapel of his tailcoat. With her riposte deftly delivered, she glided on.

Yet again Marco had heard vicious slights levelled at Fraulein Sternberg simply because she was Jewish. He cast her a longing glance as the more broad-minded members of the audience continued to offer their congratulations. She remained smiling graciously and offering her hand to the many gentlemen who wished to kiss it.

‘And so you see, Captain Zeiller, it will be a wonderful evening,’ Helene said. For the past few moments, she had been droning on about her imminent birthday ball, although the details had been lost on Marco.

‘Fascinating,’ he said, suddenly aware that he had no idea what the young woman had been telling him.

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Helene was delighted by his reaction.

‘Indeed,’ he replied absent-mindedly, his attention having been otherwise engaged by Madame Eva and now by Lilli Sternberg. There was something about her. The way she moved; the way she held her head. Her smile, too. It wasn’t wide, more reserved, as if she was holding something back. Suddenly he wanted to be the person to make her smile, broadly, wholeheartedly, to make her let go of whatever troubled her. Even make her laugh.

‘Well, then you must come,’ cried Helene.

Marco’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Come? Where?’ he replied abruptly, forcing himself to engage with the general’s daughter once more.

‘To my ball, of course!’ She was virtually squealing with delight. ‘I shall see that an invitation is sent to your quarters immediately.’

Marco felt a twinge of panic, realising too late he’d fallen, yet again, into this young woman’s trap.

‘How very kind of you,’ he replied, trying to muster what little enthusiasm he could. The prospect of an evening in the comtesse’s company filled him with alarm. He imagined himself sinking into deep mud, ensnared by her childish wiles. He had to break free. Lifting his head, he directed his gaze beyond her. This time, however, he found the object of his desire was gone. He scanned the thicket of bodies. The crowd had thinned, but of Lilli Sternberg, there was no sign.

‘We shall meet again very soon, Captain,’ said Helene, reminding Marco of her presence, fluttering her eyelashes wildly at him.

‘We shall, indeed,’ he replied with a shallow bow. Reluctantly, he kissed her outstretched hand and then retreated from her clutches as quickly as was seemly. He wanted to continue his search for Fraulein Sternberg.

Marco’s eyes swept around the foyer, just to satisfy himself Lilli wasn’t there. Defeat was rarely an option for him, so he began wondering how he might engineer a meeting even as he was collecting his greatcoat and cap from the cloakroom.

The night was cold. Cold enough to snow. Several limousines were waiting outside the theatre, all with their engines running and Marco scanned the cars for his own. Liveried chauffeurs were helping their passengers embark, and as he made his way a little further down the street, he spotted his driver standing by his car, smoking a cigarette.

‘Linz,’ he called.

The cigarette was hurriedly stubbed out as Linz opened wide the car door with one hand, while saluting with the other. Safely inside, the captain settled onto the back seat for the homeward journey.

The ballet had been wonderful, and the evening only slightly marred at the end by the general’s persistent daughter, but what made it most memorable, of course, was Lilli Sternberg. It irked him that he hadn’t managed to congratulate Giselle in person – that he’d let her get away without telling her how amazing he thought she was. As he journeyed back to barracks, he relived the evening’s magic in his mind and filled his head with thoughts of the beautiful dancer on stage.

In fact, he was so busy thinking about her that when he noticed, among a straggle of workers wearily tramping home on foot that night, a young woman in a thin coat, carrying a cloth bag, he’d looked twice. With her lean body braced against the bitter wind, she was trudging along the side of the highway with an elderly couple arm in arm and a gangling youth in tow. They were headed towards the poorer area of the city. There was something about her that made him wonder if she could be … but no. He was deluding himself. The beautiful dancer, who had so enraptured her Munich audience, the girl who had just stolen his own heart, would never be allowed to walk home on a night such as this. She could not be his Giselle. His driver drove on.

Chapter 9

Lilli was forced to put on a brave face. She had to act as if she wasn’t frustrated and disappointed at being ignored by the talent scout. After all, acting was what she did. The only concession Madame Eva made to last night’s performance was that lessons began an hour later, so back at her desk in a dingy academy classroom, the following day, once again, Lilli wore her mask.

‘Oh, Lilli, you were superb!’ exclaimed Leisl, a petite girl with a kind face.

‘Yes,’ agreed her friend, Ursula, clapping her hands. ‘Bravo!’

Even the pianist with the orange hair, Mademoiselle Schwartz, congratulated Lilli on her way into class.

Their praise meant a lot, it really did, but not as much as a message from Monsieur Raymond. Had he thought her performance so outstanding that he could offer her a contract? Had she performed well enough to be a contender for his agency? If he had, surely he would have engaged her on the spot, for fear she might be snapped up by one of his rivals. Or was she just confusing real life with the plots from the Hollywood movies that continually filled her head?

When Madame Eva finally arrived in the classroom to give a full assessment of the production, she didn’t look at her star pupil at first. Lilli took it as a bad sign and her stomach clenched with nerves.

The principal’s post-performance reports were always like military debriefs; she made copious notes on every scene, commenting on every sloppy jeté or shoddy pirouette. True to form, most of the points she made about her pupils were negative. Claudette missed her cue, Jens’s Duke of Albrecht was too heavy and Ursula – well, words failed her. Yet her many and varied criticisms were occasionally tempered with positive ones. Leisl was light on her feet and Helene, well Helene did herself proud. Most of her praise was, however, saved for Lilli.

‘Fraulein Sternberg was an example to you all,’ she told the class. ‘Her hard work and dedication paid off.’

All eyes turned to Lilli, as she felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She thrived on praise, like a flower in sunshine, yet she needed more. Madame’s generous words were all very well, but Lilli wanted to be certain that it was leading somewhere. Had Monsieur Raymond been in touch? Was this what Madame Eva meant when she said her dedication had paid off? Lilli stared blankly ahead of her, her back remaining rigid, her eyes to the front, like a combatant awaiting to be awarded the highest military honour and trying not to burst with excitement. She sat still as her teacher continued to heap on praise, but at the end of her speech came … nothing. There was no mention of Monsieur Raymond or his agency in America.

‘Madame.’ Lilli waited until the end of the class when all the other pupils had left before asking her teacher outright. ‘Madame, did Monsieur Raymond …?’ She broke off, knowing she need say no more.

Madame Eva smiled – something she didn’t do very often – then she shook her head. ‘He told me he enjoyed the performance, but that was all.’ Her voice was measured and Lilli could take no hope from it. It was impossible for her to hide her disappointment.

‘There will be plenty more opportunities,’ added Madame, seeing the despondent look on her pupil’s face. Lilli wasn’t so sure.

Weighed down by disappointment, she traipsed to the cloakroom at the end of the day to collect her coat and hat. Laughter was coming from around the corner. She recognised it as the sound of what she called ‘the gaggle’ – a group of giggling rich girls who stuck together like geese. They were students whose fathers didn’t have to scrimp and save to pay the ballet school’s tuition fees. Lilli sometimes envied them with their designer shoes and bags and the way their chauffeurs always drove them to the academy for lessons. She couldn’t even afford the tram.

Helene wasn’t usually included in the group, but her forthcoming ball seemed to have made her the centre of attention all of a sudden. She stopped dead when she saw Lilli and smiled.

‘Ah, Lilli, everyone is talking about what they will be wearing for my ball.’ She looked around her, as if making a show of her newfound sisters who surrounded her. ‘Have you chosen your gown yet?’

Lilli smiled back, but only with her eyes. After the Cuvilliés, the day had been such an anti-climax. Her dreams of a Hollywood contract had come to nothing. It had been ridiculous to harbour such a fantasy, she knew that now, but still she felt deflated and so wrapped up in herself, that she’d completely forgotten about the party.

‘Yes, I have,’ she replied enigmatically, not wishing to elaborate because she knew she could never compete with the other girls’ sequins and lace. Their ballgowns were probably made in Paris and their beautiful shoes in Milan. Some might even own tiaras. Her choice was limited to one, but at least she did have a gown, one made by her father. Jacob had stitched it from two different fabrics in complimentary shades of blue. No one would ever guess they were remnants from commissions he’d undertaken last year. He’d saved the leftover material to create something special for his daughter, ‘should the day ever come’, he’d told her with a gleam in his eye. So now that day had come and, as luck would have it, the gown was saved from the ravages of the workshop fire.

Helene tilted her head and nodded. ‘I can’t wait to see it,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it will be …’ She searched for the right word. ‘Interesting.’ And with that she and her little coterie walked away, talking excitedly as they went.

Lilli sighed as she reached for her coat. Perhaps she was being churlish, she told herself. Helene had been kind enough to ask her to her party and she had accepted the invitation. She’d suffered a massive disappointment, but she would just have to pick herself up and train even harder. She would dance through the pain, as Madame Eva would say, again and again, until someone with Hollywood contacts took notice of her. And in the meantime, there was this glittering ball. She thought of the music and the lights, the glitz and the glamour, and suddenly felt fortunate to be going. It would be a welcome diversion for her; take her out of herself, allow her to escape into a different, fabulous world, if only for one night. Helene’s schloss would be like the set of one of those Hollywood films that thrilled her so much. The thought suddenly cheered her and for the first time that day, there was a spring in her step.

Chapter 10

The arrival of a black Mercedes at the down-at-heel block in Geising set the neighbourhood into a frenzy. Shutters creaked. Faces appeared at windows. The matchmaker, Frau Weber, the aged widow from the top floor, and Frau Kepler both emerged from their respective apartments like figures from a Bavarian clock. The Ram soon joined them, followed by Frau Reuter, a listless child on her hip. They stood on the landing, waiting for Lilli to leave for the ball.

Inside the Sternbergs’ apartment, Jacob’s chest swelled with pride to see his only daughter looking so beautiful in the creation he’d lovingly made for her. It may not have been an extravagant gown with huge skirts made from reams of damask and organza, but his design was more modern and understated. The fabric was moulded to Lilli’s elegant figure and fell in soft drapes to the floor. The midnight-blue bodice set off her colouring and the sequinned headband he had stitched made her eyes twinkle.

Lilli had piled her dark hair up on top and Golda had presented her with a pearl pin to hold it in place. It, along with a pair of pearl droplet earrings, had once belonged to her grandmother.

‘Thank you so much, Vati,’ said Lilli, standing in front of a full-length mirror in her parents’ bedroom, smoothing the dress.

Jacob chuckled as he tugged at a strap and stood back to admire her once more. ‘You shall go to the ball, my Cinderella!’ he announced.

Golda, standing close by, clapped her hands in glee then lunged forward and cupped them round Lilli’s face.

‘My grown-up daughter,’ she cried, as if it was only yesterday that she was feeding her with a spoon.

Leon stood back from the excitement, but even he had a half-smile on his face. He was happy for his sister. ‘Beautiful,’ was all he said, but his sister knew the compliment was meant. She gave him a peck on the cheek.

At just before eight o’clock Lilli emerged onto the landing to a waiting huddle of women, all eager to see their very own princess.

‘Oh! She looks heavenly!’ gasped the Ram.

‘So elegant,’ agreed Frau Kepler, standing next to her.

‘She will make some Jewish man a good wife,’ agreed Frau Weber, shouting down from the top floor where she was propping herself up on the stair railings.

Lilli looked up to acknowledge their presence and gave them a wave, before hugging her mother.

‘And remember, Cinderella, home before midnight,’ teased Jacob, escorting his daughter down the stairs.

A beaming Herr Grunfeld opened the main entrance door for Lilli and bowed as he gestured her outside. Glancing up into the darkness, she could see the silhouettes of a few people pressed against their windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘Herr Sternberg’s daughter, the ballerina’. For a moment, that same elation she had experienced just after Giselle charged through her chest. Once again, she was the centre of attention. Once again, she was about to perform.

The limousine pulled away from the apartment block just as the first flakes of winter snow began to fall. Lilli was driven out of the city and into the wooded outskirts where Schloss Urbach rose from among the dark pines at the end of a long driveway.

The snow fell thickly as the car sped through high gates, framed by two side wings, and over a bridge to the main castle beyond. Lilli knew it had been in Helene’s family for generations and was even more imposing than she’d imagined. With its turrets and gargoyles, it would not be out of place amid the pages of a Grimm story book.

The chauffeur helped Lilli from the limousine. A red carpet had been rolled out on the steps and she joined a long line of guests, mainly couples, who were filing through a magnificent studded door into a vast hallway beyond.

Gothic grandeur was all around her. It was the stuff of little girls’ dreams – and nightmares. Once more, a thousand butterflies were dancing in her stomach. This was how she’d felt before she went on stage before Giselle. Why did she always feel she was on show? This would be another performance and she felt she must dazzle. She knew she didn’t belong in Helene’s world of castles and candelabra. Her father had been joking when he’d called her Cinderella, but tonight that was who she really was: a poor girl in sophisticated, aristocratic company.

The oak-panelled walls of the cavernous space were decked with silver suits of armour, shields and swords, as well as huge portraits, but pride of place went to an enormous Christmas tree. Lilli guessed it was the height of three men and its branches sparkled with tiny candles and silver and gold ribbons.

Beyond the hall she caught a glimpse of the ballroom and heard snatches of an orchestra playing a waltz. The women reminded her of the ones she had seen in the audience at the Cuvilliés. Many of them were prim and haughty, with feathers in their hair and jewels round their wrinkling necks. They seemed to be accompanying younger women – Lilli presumed their daughters, – acting as chaperones. Lilli soon realised why when she cast her eyes about the reception and saw that there were plenty of young male guests entering the party. She assumed that they were all officers from Count Von Urbach’s division, whose barracks were nearby. Wearing the grey dress uniform of the Reichswehr, they could not fail to look at the very least, smart, and, at their very best, dashing.

As Lilli progressed towards the ballroom, marvelling at her glittering surroundings, a servant at her side cleared his throat. She was standing at the top of a short flight of shallow steps. Before her lay the ballroom; men were whirling ladies round the dance floor, while clusters of guests huddled together talking and smiling politely.

‘Your calling card, Fraulein,’ he asked, holding out a silver salver.

Lilli shot him a puzzled look. His request suddenly reminded her, once again, that she was out of place – that she neither belonged among these people, nor amid this splendour. She was the daughter of a tailor. Of course she didn’t have a calling card. Even the gown she was wearing was homemade, yet still she refused to be intimidated. Reminding herself that she, too, could put on airs and graces when necessary, she decided to prove that a Jewish girl from Geising could be every inch a lady, too. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she simply told the servant her name. He raised a brow but a second later she heard ‘Fraulein Lilli Sternberg’ repeated in a baritone voice.

This was it. She had been announced. There was no going back now. Lifting her skirt slightly Lilli began her descent to she knew not where; she was launching herself off a cliff in the hope that someone might catch her. Fortunately, Helene was there at the bottom of the shallow steps leading down to the ballroom when she landed. The general’s daughter had obviously been looking out for Lilli and from somewhere amid the silk and taffeta confections on the dance floor she suddenly appeared. Wearing a pale pink beaded dress, with a diamond and pearl tiara on her flaxen head, Lilli was shocked by her transformation.

‘Helene, you look lovely!’ It was as if someone had waved a wand at the awkward and uncoordinated pupil of the academy and magicked her into an elegant young woman, the perfect match for a dashing young officer who would, no doubt, be promoted in double-quick time. Lilli almost envied her. Not because of her looks, but because of the way her future was mapped out clearly before her. Her journey would be comfortable and, above all, predictable. She would want for nothing in life, except, perhaps her freedom.

‘So do you,’ replied Helene, smiling serenely. ‘And your dress is very …’ She searched for a word to describe the unconventional gown. She settled on ‘different.’ And in a well-placed stroke, she succeeded in making Lilli feel inadequate. All the other women were dripping in jewels, while their gowns were incredible creations, elaborate and shimmering with huge skirts that touched the sides of doors when they walked into rooms. Her father had done his best for her, but her dress was very plain by comparison. Nevertheless, she shot back.

‘I prefer to call it fashionable,’ said Lilli, her head held high.

Helene twitched a smile and, offering Lilli her arm, she said: ‘Come, let me introduce you to some of my friends.’

The ballroom was bigger than the entire studio at the academy. Three glass chandeliers twinkled like clusters of stars from the ceiling and portraits of austere warriors adorned the walls. The same straight-backed Bavarian officers were to be found on the dance floor, too, as if they had just stepped out of the elaborate gilt frames for the evening. Some wore monocles, others regimental swords. Some both. The older men were weighed down by medals; the younger ones – it seemed to Lilli – were buoyed up by their own self-belief, or was it arrogance?

General Von Urbach was Commander-in-Chief of the Reichwehr’s Seventh Division. His father and his father before him had also been in the army in the days before the Great War. It therefore followed that his only child – his daughter – was duty-bound to marry one of his own officers to continue the long and noble tradition. Naturally only the most promising and highest-born young men were invited to the comtesse’s birthday ball. And, true to her word, Helene introduced Lilli to someone – her cousin, Captain Kurt Von Stockmar.

He was a short, broad man, who wore his fair hair shaved just above his ears to accentuate his angular jaw and made a long, fresh scar on his face even more noticeable. He clicked his heels noisily before kissing Lilli’s hand.

‘Kurt, you must meet my friend,’ she said. ‘Lilli danced the role of Giselle the other night.’

Von Stockmar raised a brow. ‘Ah, yes, Fraulein …’

‘Sternberg,’ Helene told him.

‘Sternberg,’ he repeated, narrowing his eyes. He was still smiling, an odd, slanted smile, but Lilli suspected, especially when he repeated her name once more as though it stuck in his gullet, that he balked at her Jewishness. Her heritage made her enemies wherever she went these days.

‘She is a wonderful dancer,’ continued Helene, as if Lilli were not by her side.

‘Quite so,’ Von Stockmar conceded with a nod. A fellow officer had persuaded him to watch the production. ‘A fine performance,’ he added grudgingly.

Despite the champagne – it was Lilli’s first taste of it and the bubbles made her nose tingle – the conversation remained as stiff as the captain’s army dress collar. At least Giselle formed common ground between them, she thought.

‘Fraulein Sternberg is a star of the future,’ Helene continued.

Lilli could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment and lowered her gaze to the floor.

Von Stockmar nodded, although it was clear he lacked conviction. ‘I am sure.’

An awkward pause allowed Lilli’s eyes to meander over the sea of uniforms and gowns. It was then that she saw General Von Urbach himself approaching. He was not alone. A handsome young officer was at his side.

‘My dear,’ he addressed his daughter playfully. ‘I believe I have found one of your adoring fans – Captain Marco Zeiller.’

The soldier stood, a little sheepishly, it seemed to Lilli, at his commanding officer’s side. She’d seen him swooped upon by the general almost as soon as he’d set foot in the ballroom. Now she realised why. Helene seemed extremely eager to see the young man. From her manner it appeared they were old acquaintances.

‘Captain Zeiller,’ Helene’s whole face lit up. She held out a gloved hand. The young officer dispensed with the ubiquitous heel clicking. Instead he simply bowed, took Helene’s hand and kissed it.

Lilli looked on. There was something different about this officer, she thought. For a start he stood at least half a head taller than most of the men in the room and his dark hair, although slicked back with oil, betrayed a natural wave. His skin had a sort of golden glow to it, while all the other men’s seemed more like strudel pastry. His large eyes were brown, not blue or green like most Germans. But it was his smile that Lilli found so captivating and, judging by the blush on Helene’s normally pale face, she felt the same way.

‘At your service, Comtesse,’ he declared.

Helene, still flustered by the officer’s attentions, turned to Lilli. ‘Captain Zeiller is an admirer of the ballet,’ she explained.

It was then that the officer’s gaze locked on to Lilli. His brown eyes suddenly flared, and Lilli couldn’t help but wonder if the glint in them was because he recognised her from the ballet. His intense look sent a shock through her body.

‘Fraulein Sternberg,’ he murmured, cutting through the heat of the moment. Even the way he said her name sounded intimate.

Von Stockmar flexed his nostrils. ‘You two know each other?’

‘I don’t think …’ Lilli began. She would surely have remembered if she had been introduced to the Captain before.

‘Giselle,’ Marco said simultaneously.

‘You were at the Cuvilliés?’ she asked.

‘Your dancing was exquisite, Fraulein Sternberg.’

‘How …?’ Lilli frowned. She suddenly felt quite light-headed.

‘Your name was in the programme.’

‘A detective as well as a soldier, eh?’ remarked Von Stockmar snidely.

Captain Zeiller shrugged at the other officer’s remark and turned his attention back to Lilli, ‘But you must have been exhausted after such a demanding performance,’ he said earnestly.

‘Madame Eva, our teacher, tells us we must dance through the pain,’ Lilli replied, looking at Helene.

‘She always wants her pound of flesh,’ she agreed.

Just at that moment, a portly, older officer with bushy whiskers appeared at Helene’s side.

‘May I have this dance, dear Comtesse?’ he asked.

Lilli saw Helene’s face fall for a second before she recovered and drew her lips into a smile. ‘General Von Schwaab.’ A refusal to dance with her godfather would be taken badly, yet an expression of despair gathered on her face as her eyes flitted first to the captain then back to the elderly man. Lilli understood. It was as if Helene was sensing that in her absence, she might lose her debonair escort. Captain Zeiller was her prize and she wanted to hold onto him or face ruining her own party. She hesitated, her gaze flitting from one man to the other.

‘Come, my dear,’ Von Urbach suddenly intervened, hovering above the huddle. ‘You wouldn’t want to disappoint your godfather, surely?’

Helene forced her lips into an unnatural smile. ‘Of course not, Father,’ she replied.

‘Comtesse,’ the captain replied with a gracious bow. ‘I must surrender you, I fear.’

From Helene’s barely-disguised expression, it was obvious her parting from the young officer was agony. The look she flashed Lilli was a warning shot. It told her to stay away from him until her return, but it was in vain. The fight for Captain Zeiller’s attention was over before it had ever begun.

Lilli watched Helene take the old general’s arm and throw another anguished look back at her gallant soldier. When Lilli turned again, she saw Captain Zeiller’s focus was already on her. She threw him a nervous smile, which he returned. He was looking at her very differently from how he had regarded Helene. His presence seemed to fill a vacuum that their hostess had created. Lilli turned her head, not knowing how to react, but there was something exciting about him that drew her to him. It was as if he understood just how she was feeling. Yet, instead of being unsettling, his gaze seemed to stir something inside her. She looked back and in that moment a connection was made. Given oxygen to breathe, the smouldering spark would most surely flare into life.

Chapter 11

Now there were the three of them – Lilli, Marco and Von Stockmar – on the edge of the ballroom floor. All around, guests were making idle chatter, sipping champagne, enjoying each other’s company. Before Captain Zeiller’s arrival, it had seemed as if Lilli had landed on some distant shore and been told to leave immediately by its inhabitants. Now, however, in his presence, she felt different. Yet still she felt something wasn’t right. A charged silence had suddenly settled between the two men, as if they were both poised to say something.

Von Stockmar broke first, firing a comment at his fellow officer that came with the anger of an accusation.

‘You never mentioned you knew my cousin.’

Marco, unruffled, replied: ‘I didn’t. We were introduced at Giselle.’

‘Then you obviously made quite an impression on her.’ He was watching Helene dance stiffly with her godfather, throwing anxious glances back their way at every turn.

Marco smiled and shrugged. ‘I feel very fortunate to be invited to the comtesse’s ball.’ As he spoke, he caught Lilli’s eye, making plain the reason he thought his fortune had changed – for the better.

Von Stockmar also caught his fellow officer’s expression.

‘I’m clearly making this a crowd,’ he announced, shooting a baleful look at Marco.

Lilli felt the colour bloom in her neck. She found the remark awkward, but Marco reacted decisively.

‘We can’t have you feeling out of place,’ he said to Von Stockmar, slapping his fellow officer lightly on the back. ‘We shall leave you in peace,’ he continued and, turning to Lilli, he offered her his arm. ‘Would you do me the honour, Miss Sternberg?’

Von Stockmar’s eyes now narrowed as Lilli tilted her head and silently took Marco’s arm, her stomach fluttering at his touch.

‘Excuse us,’ said the captain confidently, but just as he passed, Von Stockmar grabbed his other arm and leaned towards his ear.

‘You do know she’s Jewish,’ he whispered from the side of his mouth.

Marco leaned back and forced a smile. ‘Thank you, my friend. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, too,’ he replied, a guileless expression on his face.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Lilli, aware that words had passed between the two men.

‘Everything is just wonderful,’ Marco reassured her as he escorted her onto the ballroom floor, leaving Von Stockmar quietly seething on the side lines.

Strauss played and they danced three waltzes in succession. There was little chance to talk above the music so they simply smiled at each other as they whirled around the ballroom floor. At the end of the third dance another officer asked Lilli to mark her card for him. But she didn’t have a card and Marco told him that she was fully engaged for the whole evening. She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. She felt comfortable with him and suddenly found herself reluctant to dance with anyone else.

Marco was light on his feet and whisked her effortlessly around the ballroom floor. To her delight, he was particularly good at the polka and she heard herself laughing at being spun around like a top. Afterwards they stood to one side, recovering their composure as a liveried servant offered them Champagne.

‘You dance well, Captain,’ Lilli said, taking a tentative sip from her glass, the bubbles still tickling her nose.

‘I was partnered by the best,’ he replied. ‘Ballroom as well as ballet. Is there no end to your dancing talent?’ he added playfully, raising his glass to her in a toast. ‘To Giselle.’

‘Giselle,’ she said.

As they stood surveying the rest of the dancers, Lilli caught sight of Helene, still playing the bountiful hostess, conversing with an elderly couple. She almost felt guilty that Marco had chosen her over the general’s daughter. Almost.

‘So what do you plan to perform next?’ he asked her, drawing her back to him.

Lilli gave a little shrug. After Giselle she’d been so hopeful of being scooped up by the talent scout and making a new life in America that she hadn’t given any thought to her future in Munich.

‘I shall remain at the academy as long as I can,’ she heard herself saying, even though the notion depressed her. The idea of working even more hours at the cinema to pay the fees was doubly disheartening.

‘So, you plan to dance professionally?’

‘Yes,’ replied Lilli. ‘But not ballet.’

‘Oh?’

The Champagne was emboldening her. ‘I want to dance in musicals. In the movies.’

Marco’s eyebrows lifted. ‘The movies? Of course, yes. That’s what they call films in America, isn’t it? They have sound now, too, don’t they?

‘Yes. Talkies,’ she said and they both laughed simultaneously.

‘I said you were a star. You could be a talking movie star!’ He was beaming broadly.

Lilli laughed again. She had never met someone who had such an effect on her before. Or was it the Champagne? ‘That is my dream,’ she told him, feeling as if anything were possible in his company.

Suddenly Marco was serious again. ‘Dreams can come true,’ he told her. ‘But you have to be willing to pay the price to make them happen.’

Lilli knew he was right, even though she detected a slight bitterness behind his comment, as if he, too, had once had dreams that remained unfulfilled. Unsaid words suddenly crowded into her chest. The unexpected delight of finding someone who understood her, was even more intoxicating than the Champagne.

Now and again as they stood talking a guest would approach, wanting to engage Marco in conversation. Whenever they were interrupted, he showed himself to be good at small talk.

‘A pleasure to see you, Frau Rath.’ ‘I trust your children are well, Comtesse Von Schell.’ He made the right polite enquiries about sons and daughters, or postings in the case of his younger friends. He was charming and courteous, introducing Lilli to everyone as a prima ballerina, which although true in part, was certainly not the whole truth.

‘I am a ballet student,’ she reprimanded him gently when they had a minute to themselves.

He shook his head and smiled. ‘You are a star,’ he told her, then added: ‘In my eyes, anyway.’

She tapped him playfully on the arm. Her first glass of Champagne had gone straight to her head and she suddenly realised that perhaps she was being too forward. She’d heard of men like this captain before: charming and debonair, yet devious. They would declare undying love, take advantage of a girl then discard her like a plaything. And yet, something was telling her that Marco wasn’t like that. True, there was bravado in his smile, and his flirting was outrageous, but behind the façade lay something else, something deeper, and it was drawing her further into his orbit.

When more officers came to ask Lilli for a dance, she decided she really should, if only for appearances’ sake. She’d noticed conversations going on behind extended fans. Old dowagers were frowning at her and Marco, so she agreed to dance with two others; one a retired major and the other a subaltern with bad breath and clammy hands.

Marco was waiting for her when the subaltern took his leave.

‘Shall we find somewhere a little quieter?’ he suggested and together they seated themselves on a chaise longue at the far end of the ballroom.

‘So what about you, Captain Zeiller?’ asked Lilli, sipping more Champagne. ‘You know a lot about me. Now it’s your turn.’

His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug and he lowered his gaze in thought. ‘I have taken an oath to serve the Fatherland and, if necessary, to sacrifice my life for Germany,’ he told her, seemingly without conviction. ‘My future lies in the army.’

Lilli frowned. ‘You sound as though you are not happy being a soldier,’ she said, then immediately regretted being so candid. The Champagne had loosened her tongue, making her speak out of turn. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t …’

He gave her a tight smile. ‘It’s my duty. I don’t have a say in the matter,’ he replied curtly. It was clear he wanted to change the subject and Lilli worried she’d broken the mood.

‘Why don’t we get some air?’ he suggested, rising and holding out his hand to her. ‘I don’t care to be starred at,’ he added, catching an old harridan’s glare as she hobbled past.

However, she was not the only one to signal her disapproval of the couple’s courtship. General Von Urbach had also been watching the pair for a while and didn’t like what he saw, either. The mutual attraction between one of his most promising officers and a Jewish dancer was not to his liking. It was time, he thought, to begin flexing his Bavarian talons to nip this mutual attraction in the bud.

‘Zeiller seems to be enjoying himself tonight,’ he commented to Von Stockmar as they watched the pair converse animatedly.

‘The Jewish girl?’ sneered his nephew, cradling a squat glass of schnapps. ‘Yes. Quite nauseating,’ he mumbled, allowing his jealousy to show in an unguarded moment.

The general’s hawkish eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t want her here, but Helene insisted. She gets obsessed by certain people. Perhaps now that the little Jewish bitch seems to have stolen Zeiller’s affections from her, my daughter may have regrets.’

Von Stockmar gulped his schnapps. ‘Perhaps,’ he replied tentatively, although he wasn’t entirely sure what to read into the general’s comments.

Von Urbach’s gaze remained trained on Lilli. ‘The wretched Jews are everywhere, like vermin. And now there is one in my castle!’ He barked out a false laugh.

‘Quite, sir.’ Von Stockmar nodded.

‘And as for Zeiller …’ said the general, wistfully. ‘He’s marked for promotion soon. I would’ve thought better of him.’

Von Stockmar smirked, realising that merely by showing an interest in a Jewish girl, his rival had put his career in jeopardy.

‘Would you like me to have a word, sir?’ he asked, suddenly feeling the power shifting into his corner. He fingered the scar on his cheek as he watched Lilli and Marco rise and head towards the terrace.

‘I think you better had,’ mused Von Urbach. A deep furrow appeared on his brow as he observed the impromptu love scene play out before him. ‘I would hate to have to lose Zeiller.’

A cold blast hit Lilli and Marco as they left the stuffy, smoke-filled ballroom and ventured outside. The terrace was already covered in a thin veil of snow as they walked out into the night. Lilli, feeling flushed and light-headed, welcomed the fresh air, although she shivered as the cold pricked her naked arms.

‘Here. Have this,’ said Marco, shedding his tunic. Underneath only a thin, white shirt hugged his broad frame. He draped the jacket around her shoulders. It was warm against her skin and smelled of sandalwood cologne.

They were alone. No one else, it seemed, wanted to brave the snowfall. By now it had dusted the pines in white. Above the silhouettes of the trees a silver moon hung in a deep blue velvet sky embedded with stars.

Marco gestured towards the balustrade and together they walked over to enjoy the view. Away from the music of the orchestra, there was something reassuring to be found in the silence of the mountains – something timeless and unchanging.

It was a relief to leave the stuffy ballroom and finally escape the disapproving glances, the mutterings behind fans and the whispered slurs that had been so obvious to Lilli. She wondered if Marco had been aware of them too.

Taking a breath of fresh mountain air she released it steadily as she gathered her thoughts. ‘People are talking. You know that?’ she said after a moment.

He turned to her and, without warning, looped a stray strand of hair, displaced by their high jinks on the dance floor, behind her ear. She blushed and lowered her gaze, but he crooked his finger under her chin and gazed into her eyes.

‘I do know, but what does it matter?’ he said. He spoke with such seeming sincerity that, for a moment, he almost convinced her it didn’t matter at all what anyone said; that she could rise above the haters and the nay-sayers. She questioned his wisdom, but admired his courage. ‘Whom I choose to spend my time with is no concern of theirs,’ he added.

Marco was choosing to spend his time with her, despite her background, despite her Jewishness, and the thought made her feel special. He made her feel special. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt happier, not even when the audience rose to applaud her after Giselle. Perhaps it was something to do with the Champagne, but this was a different kind of happy. It was Giselle and Hanukkah and her birthday all rolled into one. Soft and gentle, and beautiful, but exhilarating at the same time.

‘I want to be with you, too,’ she told him softly. She knew she was being reckless, but she really didn’t care.

Marco put his arm around her as they watched the snow fall and settle on the branches of the trees that surrounded the schloss. She wondered if he could feel how fast her heart was beating against his chest. She wondered if this was a dream and if she’d soon wake up. ‘It’s magical,’ she said in a half whisper, to herself as much to Marco, looking out onto the vista.

‘It is,’ he replied, suddenly turning his head and lowering it. Her heart leapt as, finding her lips, he kissed her gently.

Chapter 12

Lilli awoke the morning after the ball with a searing headache. Her mouth was dry and she had an unquenchable thirst. Leon, getting dressed as she lay squinting against the light from the electric bulb, was unsympathetic. The details of the previous evening seemed oddly out of reach. To her relief, she remembered it was a Sunday, so there were no classes at the academy.

‘You drank too much,’ her brother told her, buttoning his shirt.

She grunted at first, but when Leon persisted, she denied it, even though she knew he was probably right.

‘I only had one glass of champagne,’ she protested. She’d had at least two.

Leon’s expression grew weary. ‘You came home all giddy, mumbling about ballgowns and dancing and some captain.’

‘A captain,’ she echoed.

Captain Marco Zeiller. A bolt of lightning suddenly sliced through the fog in her brain as she recalled with amazing clarity the handsome officer with whom she’d danced the night away.

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Yes. Captain Zeiller.’ She jerked upright as everything came back to her. And that kiss; the kiss that set off a thousand fireworks in her head.

Slumping back down again onto her pillow, she looked up at the ceiling, recalling the thrill that shot through her entire being when his lips collided with hers. Had he felt the same way? Or had the champagne clouded her judgement and made her behave rashly? But then she remembered that he must’ve felt something because he wanted to meet her again. Or had she dreamt that part? Mortified, she suddenly realised she had.

Propping herself up on both elbows, she thought for a moment then leapt out of bed. Reality had suddenly dawned and come crashing down on her. Her hands flew up to her mouth.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Leon, combing his hair.

She began to prowl the room, hugging herself against the cold. She’d made a fool of herself, hadn’t she? What could she have been thinking, behaving like that? The captain had been witty and charming and a consummate gentleman and she … she had danced and laughed. And then he’d kissed her on the terrace. Or had she kissed him? She blushed as snatches of recollections raced through her brain.

‘Oh, Leon!’ she cried. ‘I’ve been such a fool!’

It was hard to concentrate on lessons at the academy on the Monday. She kept remembering fragments from the evening of the ball. Mademoiselle Schultz, the pianist with the frizzy orange hair, asked her if she was quite all right and at break, instead of mixing with the other students, Lilli sat alone in the gloom the changing rooms, feeling quite wretched. She had deliberately avoided Helene, too, recalling the disappointment in her hostess’s face when she was dragged away from Marco to dance with her elderly godfather. But as she pined in the darkness and the comtesse approached, she knew the moment of reckoning was upon her.

‘There you are,’ Helene said, her voice flat as she loomed. ‘So, you enjoyed yourself at my ball?’

Lilli raised her head to meet her cold stare and forced a smile.

‘Very much, thank you. I meant to say …’ but her voice trailed off half-heartedly.

‘And you will see Captain Zeiller again?’ Helene was being brusque now.

Lilli’s eyes slid away to the floor as she shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose so,’ she replied, trying to sound blasé, but finding it hard to hide the obvious disenchantment in her voice.

‘It’s probably better if you don’t,’ replied Helene. ‘People will talk.’

Lilli’s head shot up. ‘What—?’ But the comtesse didn’t wait to hear the end of the question. Leaving behind her unprovoked barb, she departed. In her wake Lilli felt more wretched than ever.

That evening, as she prepared to leave the academy for home and just when she thought the day could go no worse, Mademoiselle Schultz approached her again as she walked down the corridor.

‘Ah Fraulein Sternberg, Madame Eva would like a word with you in her office,’ she told her, her lips pursed and her orange head held high.

Lilli’s stomach turned a somersault as the ‘what ifs’ tumbled around in her head. What if word had got back to the academy that she’d been drunk? What if the general had reported her for misconduct?

She stood before Madame Eva’s desk quailing at the very thought of being expelled from the academy, but all her principal did was slide over an envelope across the desk, lifting a sly smile as she did so.

‘This came for you today, Lilli,’ she said, intrigue tinging her voice. ‘It is marked personal, so I respected your privacy, but I thought it might be from Monsieur Raymond.’

Lilli’s stomach flipped again as she reached for the envelope with her name, handwritten, on the front. The principal watched eagerly as she opened the flap with trembling hands to read the contents. Her mouth suddenly went dry, but not because she was being offered a contract with the talent agency, but because Captain Marco Zeiller wanted to see her again.

Lilli refolded the note and replaced it in the envelope. ‘It isn’t from Monsieur Raymond, Madame,’ she said, trying to force down her urge to shout her news from the rooftops. It was, instead, a message from the most wonderful, most charming man in all of Munich.

‘Oh?’ Madame arched one of her brows.

‘It is personal,’ replied Lilli. ‘From an old acquaintance, who didn’t have my home address.’ The lie came easily to her.

Madame Eva tented her fingers disapprovingly. ‘Perhaps you could ensure that, in future, all your private correspondence is directed correctly, Fraulein Lilli. Any further communications will be disposed of. You understand?’

‘Yes, Madame.’ Lilli turned to go, then swivelled back to dip a curtsey.

‘Thank you, Madame,’ she said, and she hurried out of the principal’s office with wings on her heels.

Maximillian-ll-Kaserne Barracks,

Munich

Dear Fraulein Sternberg

Forgive me for contacting you via the Académie de Danse, but I could think of no other way of renewing our acquaintance. I very much enjoyed spending the evening of Comtesse Von Urbach’s ball in your company and hope you didn’t think my behaviour too presumptuous. I crave your forgiveness if that is the case and hope you will allow me to explain my actions in person to you.

With that in mind, I wondered if you would do me the honour of meeting me again at a place and time of your choosing.

If you decided that my conduct was unbecoming, then please ignore this letter. If not, I very much look forward to hearing from you at your convenience.

I am, Fraulein Sternberg, your obedient servant

Marco Zeiller

Captain, 21st Infantry (Bavarian) 7th Division, Reichswehr

Lilli re-read Marco’s letter for what must have been a tenth time as she waited to meet him a block away from her apartment in Geising the following Sunday. Ever since she’d first received the note, her anxiety and embarrassment had lifted. She felt different: light-headed, unwilling to eat, unable to concentrate. And yet colours were brighter, smells sweeter. Everything was softer to the touch. Even in winter there was birdsong and there were more smiles on the faces of people she passed in the street. Or was that simply because they were responding to her own smiles that were now bestowed so freely? Her world suddenly seemed a better place. And all because Marco had asked to be in it. A walk to the Englischer Garten, the huge park in the centre of the city, was proposed. She hadn’t told her parents. Not yet. They thought she was meeting Marsha from the academy.

The day before it had snowed heavily again. Lilli had tugged on thick socks under her boots and borrowed her mother’s old fur coat, which was far too big for her around the middle and a little too short to be fashionable, but she hoped it made her look sophisticated. And of course it was much warmer than her thin coat.

As the nearby church clock struck eleven, Captain Marco Zeiller appeared. Away from the heady atmosphere of Helene’s ball and in the harsh light of day, she suddenly worried that things might be awkward between them, that the spark might have died, like a candle flame snuffed out by falling snow.

The captain was wearing a greatcoat over his uniform that made his shoulders look even broader. He seemed taller to Lilli, too. It was the first time she’d seen him in the daylight and, as he drew closer, she was struck by his strong jaw and his aquiline nose. Together they made him appear even more Italian.

‘Fraulein Sternberg,’ he greeted her with a shallow bow. ‘I am so honoured that you agreed to meet me.’

Despite the cold, Lilli felt herself flush. ‘Captain Zeiller.’

‘I was afraid you might think badly of me after …’ He tilted his head a little as he spoke. ‘Well, after …’

Lilli frowned. ‘But I thought you’d think badly of me. I am the one who must apologise. I am not used to champagne and …’

His expression changed. Suddenly he looked very sombre. ‘I understand,’ he said, his shoulders slumping. ‘You made a mistake. I took advantage of you. I am truly sorry. I never …’

‘No! No Captain Zeiller.’ She needed to pull back the moment. ‘You don’t understand. I am so happy that you contacted me.’

‘You are?’ His smile returned.

‘Yes. Yes, of course I am.’

The air was so cold that when either of them spoke great clouds rose from their mouth like smoke. She saw his relief in a sigh.

‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week,’ he said. His eyes were shaded by the peak of his cap but he was smiling broadly as he spoke and his words softened any edge of awkwardness there might have been.

Watching his lips, she recalled his kiss – the kiss that exploded inside her. ‘I’ve been thinking about you, too,’ she said, feeling the tension released from her chest. ‘I was worried that you’d think me just a giddy, foolish girl, who needed – what do they say? – Dutch courage, to help me through the evening.’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘But you were very brave. I admired you’

‘You did?’ Her eyes widened.

‘It can’t have been easy for you.’

She threw him a wary glance. Was he thinking of the sniggers about her gown, or the whispered rumours behind the fans and the sneers from some of the officers?

‘The people, I mean,’ he jumped in quickly, fearing he may have offended her. ‘Those arrogant generals and their haughty wives.’ He pulled a funny face, making Lilli smile. ‘You are much better than they are.’

‘I am?’ She was so glad he felt the same way as she did about the other guests.

‘I know you are,’ he said, fixing her with a look that set off fireworks in her head once more. She laughed out loud.

‘Good, now we are even,’ he agreed with a nod. ‘So, the park. You lead the way.’ He gestured and she thought of the quickest route, down the road that veered left into Untere Grasstrasse, where her father’s tailor’s shop had stood until quite recently. She hesitated for a moment. Should she show him the blackened ruins? She decided she would.

They were less than a few metres down the street when the dark shell of the burned-out buildings came into view. A cordon had been placed around the charred rubble; the surrounding pavements had been swept clear of glass, but the hideous scar remained as an unwelcome reminder of that terrible night.

Lilli stopped on the other side of the street. The shocking sight was something she wanted to share with Marco, as if by seeing it, he might get to know her better; understand her sorrows as well as her joys.

‘That was my father’s workshop,’ she told him, watching for his reaction.

Marco’s eyes widened under his cap then his brows dipped into a frown. ‘What happened?’

‘The Brownshirts set it alight.’

‘Brownshirts,’ he repeated slowly, in a knowing sort of way.

‘They are no better than thugs,’ she muttered, trying to contain her disgust.

‘Have they caught the ones who did this?’ he asked.

Lilli felt her shoulders jolt as a bitter laugh escaped. ‘Of course not. They will never be punished for what they did,’ she told him. ‘We are the ones who suffer.’

‘I’m so sorry, but these people …’ Marco was shaking his head, a pained expression turning down his mouth at the edges. ‘Will your father be able to rebuild?’

Lilli shrugged. ‘He says he will. A friend has lent him somewhere to work for a short time, but …’ Her voice dissolved, knowing that, in truth, any hopes of carrying on the business had gone with the fire.

‘These vandals should not be allowed to get away with this,’ said Marco, still surveying the blackened stumps of wood that stuck out of the debris like rotting teeth. ‘We have laws.’

As they turned to continue their journey, Lilli wanted to tell him that laws seemed only to apply to Jews, these days, but she held her tongue. Perhaps it was a mistake to show him so soon the open wound inflicted on her family. Today should not be about her pain. She should put her troubles aside. From now on there would be no sadness when Marco was with her.

It was a long walk to the park, so Lilli set a fast pace, but the pavements were icy and, almost immediately, she found herself slipping. She’d just begun to slide when she instinctively grabbed hold of Marco to steady herself.

‘Ah! Ha!’ he exclaimed, catching her arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ she told him, laughing as the soles of her boots slipped from under her again before she could right herself.

‘No more apologies,’ he replied, putting his arm over hers and holding it there so that, from then on, they walked arm in arm. It felt so natural, yet so thrilling for Lilli to be touching him as they moved along. Her heart swelled with pride to be seen on the arm of such a handsome man – an officer as well – and secretly she hoped one of the rich girls from the academy might spot them and tell everyone that Lilli Sternberg was walking out with a dashing captain in the Reichswehr.

Despite the cold, it was a bright, crisp day with not a cloud in the sky. The park was teeming with families, trussed up in fur coats, hats and boots, all enjoying a Sunday stroll. Children clambered for rides on the carousel, while the older ones built snowmen or staged snowball fights. Away from the clusters of attractions, dogs ran helter-skelter on the great powdery swards of white and the mood was jolly and relaxed.

Lilli and Marco swapped smiles, as if giving one another permission to join in the fun. They gazed up at the famous Chinese Tower and tapped their feet to the Bavarian folk songs belted out by the little oompah band. They lingered to watch skaters glide and prance across one of the ponds and then stopped at the café at the boathouse for hot chocolate.

‘That’s so good,’ Lilli said as they sat on the terrace, sipping the rich liquid from a tall glass cup.

‘Wait,’ said Marco, holding her gaze and taking off his glove. He reached across the table and traced the top of her lip with his finger. His very touch made her shut her eyes. When she opened them again, she found him chuckling as he held up his finger tip, covered in whipped cream.

‘You had a moustache, Fraulein Sternberg!’ he teased, his voice deep and comical.

Lilli rose to his bait. Flashing him a scandalised look, she suddenly leaned across and snatched his finger to lick away the cream, before leaning into her seat once more. Marco threw back his head to laugh and Lilli laughed, too.

The surface of the large lake was frozen, and they skimmed pebbles across it, making eerie, hollow sounds as if the surface was a giant drum. A dog suddenly darted from nowhere and ran out into the middle. Its owner screamed after it and for a terrible moment Lilli worried the animal might fall through the ice. But it responded to its master’s calls and turned tail to reach safety once more.

‘I had two Schnauzers once,’ Marco said suddenly, smiling with relief to see dog and owner reunited.

Lilli pictured the breed with their humorous faces and bearded muzzles. No one bad could own a Schnauzer. ‘They are so friendly,’ she said.

Marco laughed. Lilli loved it when he did. His whole face lit up. ‘Hansel and Gretel, they were called. I was only young. My mother loved animals.’ As he spoke Lilli noticed a shadow spread suddenly across his face as if the memory of his mother made him sad.

‘Does she no longer keep dogs?’ she asked.

He turned to give her a tight smile. ‘My mother is dead.’

Lilli’s face crumpled. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t …’

His eyes flickered. ‘She died a long time ago.’ He lowered his gaze, then switched back to her, the smile returned. ‘But I know she would have liked you.’

His words touched her deeply, as if he’d just laid his head gently on her soul, but she didn’t know how to reply. Instead she just put her hand in his.

They reached the end of Lilli’s street as the winter light began to fade.

‘It’s been a lovely day,’ she said, standing in the lea of a building, sheltering from the chill wind. The cold was nipping her toes and fingers as the temperature started to plummet again.

Marco nodded. ‘It has been wonderful.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips and the thrill shot through Lilli’s body once more. ‘Next week?’ he asked.

‘Next week,’ agreed Lilli.

Their meeting couldn’t come soon enough for either of them. In fact, they were so focused on each other, that neither of them noticed a lone figure standing in the doorway of one of the apartment blocks opposite. Lilli Sternberg and Marco Zeiller were being watched.

Chapter 13

This time they went sightseeing in the city centre. Arm in arm, Lilli and Marco gazed at the Frauenkirche with its famous domed towers then walked on past the imposing Residenz Museum to the Feldherrnhalle mausoleum, built to honour the Bavarian Army. As they stood admiring the great stone lions, Lilli noticed a dozen red roses, lying like splashes of blood on the cold steps. Marco’s eyes followed hers. They both knew they were left as a tribute to Herr Hitler’s supporters, killed in a failed coup a few years back, but neither of them chose to remark upon them.

Over the next month they saw each other when they could. For their fifth meeting Lilli suggested they went to see a film, but she was careful to avoid the cinema where she worked. She didn’t want the manager, fat, greasy Herr Rubenhold, to spot her. When he wasn’t angry with her for being late for a shift, he’d give her one of his leers. She wasn’t sure which was worse. She pictured herself in her ridiculous candy-striped usherette’s dress, her little pink hat at a jaunty angle, being lectured by him.

‘If you are courting a Reichswehr officer, you no longer need your job,’ he would growl. Worse still, he might find a way of telling her parents. So she suggested another picture house, far away from Geising, where they were showing The Blue Angel. It starred one of her idols – Marlene Dietrich.

They sat in the back row, alongside all the other young lovers, and Marco bought a big carton of pretzels. Just sitting beside him, brushing against his tunic, gave Lilli goose bumps.

The film was every bit as good as she’d hoped. Dietrich was magnificent as the cabaret performer, Lola Lola.

‘I want to be like her someday,’ Lilli whispered, staring up at the siren whose presence filled the screen. As soon as she’d spoken, she thought how childish she must sound.

‘But you are far more beautiful than Dietrich,’ he shot back, offering her a pretzel with a wink.

Biting into the delicious, salty loop of bread she smiled back at him. ‘I bet she doesn’t eat these,’ she said.

Marco leaned over then, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her. ‘Whatever you eat, you are amazing,’ he whispered, his mouth brushing her ear.

They strolled back to Geising, arm in arm. Lilli had told her parents she was going to the cinema with Marsha from the academy. Naturally she felt guilty deceiving them, but she’d wanted to get to know Marco before she introduced him to them. Now, however, it seemed there was no need to hide their feelings for each other. It was time the whole world knew she was in love.

They stopped at the end of her street once more. It was a cold evening and Marco’s body felt warm against hers as he leaned in. Lilli closed her eyes, and her mouth yielded to the press of his soft lips as they kissed long and slow. She could swear her soul left her body and soared above the rooftops. And then he whispered it. Marco actually said the words that she’d longed him to say and that she herself had felt for a while.

‘I love you,’ he whispered on a long breath.

‘I love you, too.’

It was painful drawing away from him to leave him that night, but after they’d agreed to meet again the following week, Lilli ambled back to her apartment block, her whole body feeling as though it could float over the city. So this really was love and Marco had felt it, too: a giddy, mad sensation that sent your head spinning and your heart racing. It was amazing, but she was missing him already.

Herr Grunfeld, the janitor, about to lock up for the night, was at the main entrance to the block.

‘Fraulein Lilli, there you are,’ he said, pointing to the clock on the wall. A big bunch of keys jangled at his waist. ‘You girls,’ he tutted. Her mother had obviously mentioned she was out with Marsha.

‘I’m sorry. I lost track of time,’ replied Lilli, even though she wasn’t sorry at all. Without bothering to offer any further explanation for her lateness she simply said: ‘Goodnight, Herr Grunfeld.’

Yet no sooner had she set foot on the bottom stair than the janitor called her back.

‘There’s something for you,’ he told her, his hand disappearing into one of the wooden pigeonholes behind the front desk.

Lilli turned to see him retrieve an envelope and lay it on the counter. Moving closer, she could see it was a folded piece of paper with her name on it. She reached for it as the janitor’s brow creased in puzzlement.

‘I didn’t see who delivered it,’ he told her, scratching his grizzled head.

Lilli opened the note to read the message, written in a neat, educated hand. It took her a moment to take in the meaning of the words. The letters danced in front of her eyes as she re-read them, and a cold shiver crept through her body.

‘You cannot always have your own way, you Jewish whore,’ was all it said.

She tried to still her trembling hands. Herr Grunfeld mustn’t know what poison the note contained.

‘And you’re sure you … you saw no one?’ she asked, her voice suddenly snagging on her own fear.

‘No.’ The janitor shook his head and frowned. ‘Everything all right, Fraulein Lilli?’

She managed a smile. ‘Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?’ Her answer fired out too quickly to sound true. Only a minute before, she had felt as light as a feather. Now she trudged up the stairs with a new and unwelcome burden on her shoulders. Who could possibly have written such a vile note? Who could be so cruel? Worse still, a thought occurred to her as she opened the door to her apartment: whoever sent the message, must’ve known she was out. Could that mean someone was watching her?

Chapter 14

Lilli made no mention of the despicable note at their next meeting. Marco was taking her to her first opera. He wanted to share his love for it. It was going to be a special evening and nothing, and no one, would be allowed to spoil it.

The Bavarian state opera house was every bit as beautiful as the Cuvilliés and filled with the same sort of people who’d watched Giselle. The women dazzled in their jewels and expensive gowns, while most of the older men, in white ties and tails, reminded Lilli of penguins, as they waddled about.

She was wearing her one and only evening gown, the one she had worn to Helene’s ball – the one she had met Marco in. She’d smuggled it into her bag that morning and changed at the academy. Marco looked distinguished in his dress uniform and she felt so proud that he had chosen her to accompany him.

As they sat in the auditorium, expectation filling the air, he explained the story of La Bohème to her.

‘It’s set in Paris, in the last century and it’s about a poor seamstress and her artist friends.’

‘A seamstress,’ repeated Lilli, thinking of her father’s business and excited that she might be able to better understand the heroine’s trials and tribulations. But she needn’t have worried about feeling distanced from the characters. The whole experience was so intense, so entrancing, that when the diva, Mimi, might have had to surrender herself to a corrupt police chief to save her lover’s life, she gripped Marco’s arm. Would she sacrifice herself for him? She threw him a loving glance. Of course she would.

The music was sublime and when Mimi died, she could no longer hold back the tears. By the time the curtain fell, Lilli was emotionally exhausted.

‘So, you like opera now?’ Marco asked playfully as Lilli dabbed her eyes.

She nodded. ‘It’s almost as wonderful as ballet.’

Marco laughed at her remark. He was relaxed in her company and she in his, but as they ambled out of the auditorium, to return to the foyer, Lilli saw his expression change in an instant. The smile was wiped from his face.

‘Marco, what is it? What’s wrong?’ she asked, scanning the crowd for an answer.

He did not need to reply. Suddenly Kurt Von Stockmar was standing directly ahead of them.

‘Let’s go out another way,’ said Marco. But it was too late.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t Captain Zeiller and the beautiful Giselle,’ mocked Von Stockmar.

It had been obvious to Lilli at Helene’s ball that there was a certain coolness, verging on animosity, between the officers. The two men eyed each other icily.

Marco’s face hardened. ‘Von Stockmar.’

‘Zeiller,’ he replied before pointedly skewering Lilli with a glare. As his face turned, the long, silver scar on his left cheek caught the light from the chandelier. ‘And the beautiful Miss Sternberg.’ He leered at her. ‘I believe your father made a suit for me once.’

Lilli looked at him wide-eyed. She opened her mouth to reply that her father was the finest tailor in Geising, possibly in Munich. She was proud of him, even though, after the arson attack, he would probably never make a suit again. How dare this arrogant Reichswehr officer try to make her feel ashamed of her family? Before she could reply, however, Von Stockmar leaned closer to Marco.

‘You’re playing with fire there,’ she heard him growl, before he stepped back and disappeared into the crowd.

‘I’m afraid your friend doesn’t like me,’ Lilli told Marco as he tried to rein in his obvious anger. She saw his fists flex before he took her hand in hers. ‘Take no notice of him,’ she advised.

Marco shook his head then flashed Lilli a smile. ‘You’re right,’ he replied, tugging at his tunic. ‘Let’s just say he is a small man.’

On the way back to Geising in a taxi, Lilli imagined introducing her handsome officer to her parents. The evening had been so magical, and she and Marco were getting on so well that she thought they might put an end to the subterfuge. She resented sneaking around in the shadows, making excuses, when all she really wanted to do was declare her love for Marco to the world. It was time for him to meet Jacob and Golda.

‘I have a day’s leave next Sunday,’ he told her, as the taxi turned into Lilli’s street.

It was as if he could read her thoughts. ‘Then will you come for a meal?’ blurted Lilli. ‘I’d like to introduce you to my family.’

For a moment his expression froze. Had she spoken out of turn? Was it too soon? But no. Taking her hand in his, he kissed it gently.

‘I’d like that very much, too,’ he replied.

The sound of the wireless wafted through the half-open door of Herr Grunfeld’s flat as Lilli tiptoed into the reception, keen to avoid attracting the janitor’s attention a second time. She was still wearing her evening gown and didn’t want her parents to find out where she had been. Once inside the hallway, a sense of dread suddenly knotted her stomach as she remembered the note from the other night. Leaning over the desk, she checked the post. The pigeonhole marked Sternberg was empty.

‘It’s you, Fraulein!’

Lilli’s heart leapt into her mouth.

Herr Grunfeld, his keys in his hand, put his head round his door.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ His eyes swept over her gown. ‘Been somewhere nice?’

‘Just something at the academy,’ she replied, brushing his remark aside as she started for the stairs, trying to behave as if she didn’t care that he’d caught her out.

‘Fraulein Lilli,’ Herr Grunfeld whispered hoarsely.

She turned to catch him touching the side of his nose.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

She felt herself redden, like a child whose hand had been caught stealing sweets. Could she trust him? She flashed a guilty smile.

At least, she told herself, as she resumed her climb, she needn’t worry about any more spiteful notes. Tonight, at least, she could dream of her beloved Marco.

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