“I’ve no doubt,” said Maisie.
Berger pointed out various elements of note as they walked together. To Maisie, the Residenz seemed to be touched by Midas himself, so abundant was gold everywhere one gazed. It was without doubt a place of beauty and magnificence, an opulent palace demonstrating untold privilege and wealth. Yet as she walked on, and as Hans Berger pointed out a painting, a mural, an embellishment of design, Maisie could not prevent her mind from returning to the fact that the Führer had come to power on a tide of public emotion based upon want and fear, and his promises to give the people their due. Once again she considered her deep sense of being surrounded by doubt when she passed people on the street—a vibration so subtle it was like a faint scent carried on the air, or the few drops of rain that fall before a shower. Why did so many people take the detour along the alley, avoiding the Nazi salute? And why did so many look aside or step into a shop if they saw soldiers in the brown uniforms coming their way? She suspected they were a people with a profound sense of honor torn between loyalty to their country and a feeling that something was deeply amiss. Maurice had taught her of the balance between opposites: that when thirsty, people might drink too much, and that when starved of love, they may bestow affection with no discrimination. Look at the child who clings if he doubts his mother’s adoration, who feigns illness or pain if it brings his mother’s arms about him.
“Shall we walk into the gardens? It is not too cold, and they are particularly lovely, I think, when fewer people are here.”
Maisie smiled. “Perhaps for a short while. I would like to return to my hotel to rest before I venture out again today.”
Berger led the way to the Hofgarten, again giving Maisie what amounted to a history lesson on the way. But as they entered the garden, his tone changed. “Miss Donat, you have been busy while in Munich.”
Though she felt anxiety grip her stomach, Maisie revealed no sign of alarm. She wondered what information Berger had been given of her movements, but she replied with honesty, imagining her father in Leon Donat’s place. “There has been a lot of waiting. I am very anxious to see my father, and to take him home. He is not a young man, and being in prison will have had a poor effect on his health.” She paused, looking straight into Berger’s eyes. “Prisons are not designed to enhance well-being.”
Berger stopped, pointing out another aspect of the garden to which Maisie should pay attention. Then he returned her direct gaze.
“You have visited Schwabing, Fr?ulein Donat?”
Maisie shrugged. “I had time on my hands, and I heard it was an interesting area, full of artists in their studios.”
“Yet you did not visit an artist or a studio. You visited a woman of poor morals.”
Maisie continued to look straight at Berger as she answered, though in truth, she was unsettled. “I visited the daughter of friends of my father. They are people of influence who are worried about the young woman, and they want her to come home. I was asked to intercede on their behalf—women of her age are not always disposed to follow the dictates of their parents. Frankly, I had little faith in my ability to influence her to return to England—she likes it here. But I promised I would try.” She took a breath. “And if you are about to ask how the parents knew I was leaving for Munich, when I have told no one and wanted only to come here to be reunited with my beloved father, then I can only tell you that the father of the girl is a powerful man who is very good at procuring information.”
After what felt like a long delay, Berger responded, “Yes, I understand.” Then he walked on, once more assuming the role of tour guide, an officer in a black uniform who knew so much about the wealth of past aristocracy, yet was acting upon orders from a man who claimed to represent the ordinary people. Maisie wondered what Maurice might make of the imbalance.
Berger accompanied Maisie on her return to the hotel, giving his signature short bow as he bid her good-bye.
“I did not specify a time for your appointment tomorrow morning, Fr?ulein Donat. I will ensure your consulate is informed that I expect to see you again at noon. As it transpires, I am not making the journey that was originally planned; I am needed here in Munich. You will have plenty of time to present your papers to the Kommandant at Dachau, to be reunited with your father, and to proceed with him to the station for the train to Paris. You must of course leave Munich as soon as possible following your father’s release.”
“I am looking forward to it, Major. Very much.”