Johann stopped trying to read his newspaper and neatly folded it and placed it beside his peaked cap on the empty seat beside him. He had thought it might help to distract him during the journey, but every time he picked it up he found himself unable to concentrate. He gazed out of the carriage window instead and noticed that dusk had begun its inevitable descent, obscuring the buildings on the outskirts of Munich into featureless shapes, darkening the glass to a pale mirror in which he saw the reflection of a young man who seemed to have grown up so fast in recent years that he barely recognised himself. Perhaps it was his officer’s uniform, or the responsibility that came with it.
Soon to join the ranks of the elite Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, which was originally established as Hitler’s personal bodyguard, he wore the field-grey duty uniform of an SS-Untersturmführer, having welcomed the honour of serving with the regiment as a Junior Storm Leader attached to the Reconnaissance Battalion—not least because he knew there were appointments for SS officers that he had no taste for, such as within the ranks of the Security Police—the Sicherheitsdienst, commonly referred to as the SD.
He considered that the only thing about him that remained unchanged was the hairstyle he had first been introduced to in the Hitlerjugend. His hair was just as blonde now as then, and it was tapered down to the skin an inch above his ears and neckline, while the longer crown was slicked back with a pomade hair dressing and combed with a high side parting. He smoothed it back with the palm of his hand and looked down at his newspaper again, catching the headline that informed of Adolf Hitler’s meeting with Benito Mussolini at the Brenner Pass, high in the Alps, where they had talked of an alliance between their nations against Britain and France. He wondered what his father would make of this war, and how different it might be from the last, in which his father had fought. As hard to please as Johann’s father was, it was Johann’s wish to make him proud.
He felt his upper body roll forward as the train slowed down. He checked his watch and noted that it was almost seven thirty. Not long to go now. He had a few days to himself before he had to join his unit and he hoped to spend as much of that time as possible with Ava. They had arranged to meet at eight thirty at the Osteria Bavaria on the corner of Schellingstrasse—a restaurant that Volker, in his usual bullish manner, had insisted they dine at because it was reportedly frequented by Adolf Hitler. In Volker’s last letter to Johann, he had informed him that his young cousin, Trudi Scheffler, was visiting Munich with her aunt that weekend, and so he had invited her along to make up a fourth for dinner.
Johann had seen through his friend’s plan immediately. It was common knowledge to him that Volker’s cousin would marry him if he would have her, but since Volker had made it clear to Johann that he intended to make a play for Ava, Johann could think of no reason why his friend would invite the reputedly beautiful Fr?ulein Scheffler along for any reason other to distract Johann’s attention from the girl whose affections they were both vying for. As the train followed a bend in the railway track, Johann glimpsed the covered train terminal ahead. When the train pulled alongside the concourse, he neatly set his cap into place and considered that it didn’t matter to him how beautiful Volker’s cousin was. To Johann, no woman could outshine Ava Bauer.
The Osteria Bavaria was a small, family-run restaurant on Schellingstrasse, close to the centre of Munich to the north. Johann had arrived in good time, and had decided to take a moment to collect his thoughts before going in. He stood at the cross-junction where the main road intersects Schraudolphstrasse and took in the restaurant sign above the arched doorway that told him he was in the right place. He wondered why he had never been to the Osteria before. Volker clearly thought it somewhere special, no doubt because of its connection with the Führer, and yet Volker had only ever taken him to fancy establishments before now. If he had been showing off his family wealth, then it appeared particularly odd to Johann that Volker would choose to dine at the Osteria when Ava, whom he surely wished to impress, would be there. Unless Volker had tuned in to Ava’s sensibilities enough to know that such lavishness did not impress her.
Unable to keep himself from seeing Ava a moment longer, Johann crossed the street, stepping over the glowing white lines that had been painted alongside the kerb soon after the war began, in an attempt to make the city streets safer in the absence of street lighting. He wondered whether she had arrived yet. Perhaps he was the first. He entered the restaurant and was at once greeted by the smell of wholesome, home-cooked food, which caused his empty stomach to groan.
It was a warm and dimly lit restaurant, already bustling and loud with conversation, the air hazy with cigarette smoke. The general décor appeared to Johann as the epitome of Bavarian charm, with its wood-panelled walls painted with classical scenes, and tightly packed, thin-legged tables adorned with white lace tablecloths. He removed his cap and placed it beneath his arm as he moved further in, trying to catch the attention of the head waiter, but it was Volker’s attention he caught first.
‘Johann!’
His friend was on his feet, a thin cigarette glowing in his hand as he waved him to their table, which was already set with wine.