War a Love Story

Frauline Dietz was inconsolable for days about the fire that had gutted the library, but no look of suspicion settled on Willy Froehlich. The cause was clear, she said. The electrical wiring in the building had not been renewed since it was installed at the turn of the century, and it was just one more reason why it was so important to have everything at Ravenskopf renovated.

With no more of Professor Dietz's notes to write up, Willy was assigned as Celina's personal assistant and secretary and stuffed into a small, bare closet room behind a table littered with papers, files and the Fraulein's unwashed coffee cups. He was given the household accounts to manage and he fretted a good deal about that for a while, because he couldn't make them balance properly. But after some careful investigation the reason became apparent. Fraulein Dietz had been clumsily manipulating the figures for months to try and make her deficits look smaller.

When he eventually presented them to her with honest totals, she scowled and grunted, but said nothing.

Impatiently Willy waited for Eduard Dietz to return to Ravenskopf, but events in the outside world seemed to conspire against that. The war in Poland had been brought to a satisfactory conclusion within a few weeks, but it did not bring an end to hostilities. New dangers reared up when France and Britain declared war on Germany, and the newspapers said that the latest enemy was already massing on the frontier.

His only companionship during that uncertain time came by way of Rosalyn and Loti. They were pretty and flirtatious and they made a lively pair who, despite Fraulein Dietz callous treatment, were always full of playful fun. But Willy had always felt different to them, set apart by his thoughtful ways and his passion for learning. Literature and art meant everything to him and in a perfect world he would happily have spent his life studying such things, or perhaps even teaching others about them.

Nevertheless, when he felt restless he often visited the room they shared for some company, and sometimes when the others found him mooning around like a lovelorn schoolgirl they took him there.

The two transvestites were so beautiful and glamorous that Willy always felt like a mouse in their company, and he hated the way their hair always looked so good. He didn't resent them in any way; he just wished he could look more like they did. Their figures were far more voluptuous than his own, and next to them he felt he always looked like a little girl. And they seemed far wiser in the ways of men too. They talked to them far more often than he did and they relished teasing them and driving them insane.

Willy was more modest both in looks and in character than either of them, and he made comparisons redundant. He always entered a room with a helpless suppliant air, as if seeking a pair of broad shoulders with strong arms to which he could entrust his evident womanliness. This attribute was unpractised and imprecise, but quite devastating to certain types of men, and it always amazed those around him that he didn't make more use of it. It certainly infuriated Fraulein Dietz who could make profit from such charm, but she was held in check by Willy's association with her brother.

As he so often did when Willy had joined them, Loti turned on the wireless and carefully tuned it until it produced some American dance music. Noticing Rosalyn was fixing the hem of one of Fraulein Dietz's skirts he glanced sideways. "Can you dance, Willy?"

"A little. I'm not very good." he said, bashfully.

"Make up a couple with me. I'll coach you how to dance backwards, like a girl is expected to do."

They began awkwardly, Willy watching Loti's feet as well as watching his own. Loti wore only his underwear, lacy French pants and a bra, but everyone understood Willy never became amorous with other `girls', and that was doubly the case since he had become so badly smitten with Eduard Dietz.

Before too long they were gliding around the room in a graceful two-step, and Willy rolled his eyes wistfully and began to put words to the music.

"...Must you dance - every dance - with the same fortunate man..."

His voice was unselfconscious, slightly squeaky, slightly off-key, but quite sincere and charming. It made Loti smile.

"You sing in English, Willy." he said, "Do you speak English?"

"A little bit. Enough to sing along with some American tunes anyway. And he continued,

"...you've been dancing with him since the music began. Won't you change partners, and dance with me...?"

Suddenly he stopped. "Oh, Loti, I'm so sad. Do you really think Eduard loves me?"

"Of course he does. He writes you letters all the time."

"Yes, but when I first met him he practically ignored me."

Loti laughed. "Oh, Willy, you're so innocent and you know nothing about men. Eduard thinks you're gorgeous and he's totally in love with you. When men act like you mean nothing to them, it means they are madly in love. And when they make a big fuss and say they love you wildly, they're usually lying."

Willy laughed himself at such worldly wise observation, but took it to heart and hoped it was true. It could be true. He knew Loti was far more sophisticated than he was, and he had good instincts about such things. He was fearlessly flirtatious and painfully adept in understanding the ways of men.

Rosalyn looked at him strangely. "You get on so easily with Eduard, but I've always been a little afraid of him."

Willy considered that in amazement. "Afraid of Eduard? He is not the sort of person one should fear. Admiration and respect I understand, but not fear. That's impossible. Never that." Finding nowhere to turn he gazed unhappily at his hands. "He will be flying in the sky somewhere. He will be in his aeroplane trying to shoot people down, and they will be trying to shoot him down. And if he dies it will be unbearable."

Loti placed a consoling arm about his shoulders. "Everything will be fine, you'll see. Fraulein Dietz says he may be home soon on a furlough."

"Oh, I do hope that's true. I really do."

Eduard did come home on furlough eventually, and there was an agonising delay in meeting him for Willy, because although Fraulein Dietz was aware of his relationship with her brother, she still regarded Willy Froehlich as house staff, and he knew she would be violently indignant if her rushed forward to greet him.

Standing several yards away, he was transfixed when he came through the door. And every kind of hormone in his body became focused on him with eager interest. He had an unexpected and dangerous urge to ignore everything and have him acknowledge his presence, talk to him, ask him that he was experiencing the same heart-wrenching, familiar needs that he was feeling.

His heart gave a painful jerk. The sight of him released all the anguish he had fought to ignore. For an awful heart-stopping few moments he thought Eduard was ignoring him purposely, but his patience was eventually rewarded. The agony did end when Eduard winked and smiled.

But he had to contain his impatience and watch from a distance while Celina met him in the hall, and took him in for tea.

"Eduard!" Willy's heart leapt when at last they were permitted to greet each other alone in a downstairs room. Eduard looked almost unbearably handsome in his uniform, and he knew there was real muscle beneath the tailoring too, eager, dangerous and aroused.

At the exclamation of his name Eduard's head snapped up, almost like a meddlesome charger. Tall, winsome and Aryan went nowhere to describing his full male magnificence. He was more than that, much, much more! Willy could feel his body responding to the sexiest man he had ever seen or was ever likely to see.

"I'm so pleased to be home again, Willy." he said has he settled into an armchair and offered an exasperated look. "It often seems to me you and I are the only gentle people in the world. Celina can be so abrasive at times. Hurting people if you know what I mean, keeping them apart. But then, my own nature has always verged on meek."

"Meek?" Willy laughed; it was a sweet and engaging sound. He was aware of the shiny new medal on the man's chest, and how quick Eduard had once been to deliver him from the clutches of Herr Hahn.

He gave him a lovely, spontaneous smile. Even though he knew him well he was always dazzled by how manly he was, and how kind. "Are you sure you are meek?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"I disagree. You are just excessively polite to your sister, that's all."

"Then I must apologise to you for being excessively polite."

Willy grinned. "And naturally I will enjoy your apology."

"And you're going to get it!" Eduard replied, reaching up with an expression that verged on lust and hauling Willy down onto his lap.

His movements were so swift and supple, so masterful and so intent, Willy had the sensation of loosing his balance as he went down. But he was glad to be so close because he was starving for the taste and feel of him.

"What have you been getting up to whilst I've been away?" Eduard demanded.

"I've been a good girl. I've been saving myself for you."

Eduard clutched at him while his hand circled his chin. "Many pretty girls have crossed my path in my travels, but there have been none to match you.Your mouth is the colour of vermillion." he murmured hypnotically, his thumb moving up to slide over it.

Willy's heart shook with desperate passion. "You once loved it."

"Yes, I did! And I still do."

Time seemed to stop. He drew Willy's head down and took possession of his mouth in a kiss so brief, brief yet so deep and urgent that Willy's body flowed towards it.

Then he kissed him again, longer this time. Kissing Willy was like tasting a freshly picked peach and each taste made him yearn for another and another, so he could forever remember his unique sweet juiciness.

Willy completely forgot about propriety. His heart, his mind his body -- all filled with pure unmitigated pleasure as the man's tongue slowly caressed his cheek. He could feel a dangerous ache inside, in his breasts and everywhere.

For a moment Eduard paused. Perhaps the unrequested celibacy of his life over the past few months will have had some effect on his behaviour to Willy Froehlich!

Like hell it did! The sudden tension in his groin told a different story.

The slick, warm wetness on feminine-like skin on his tongue caused images of shocking sensuality to burst in his head. He smoothed his hand over Willy's hip to remind himself of the she-boys shape, then a hand tracked down to his knee and slipped beneath the skirt before ranging high again, beyond the woollen stockings to savour bare skin and pluck at the lacy trim of panties that encased a delectable she-boy bottom.

"We must remember where we are." Willy admonished him, his warm breath mingling with his. "People can just walk in and see us here."

"You started it." Eduard whispered. "And I intend to finish it. Upstairs, my girl. Right now."

He reached out and took hold of Willy's arm, his grip firm and compelling. Willy felt his blood beating up around his encircling fingers as his body reacted to his hand, and he giggled wildly and felt jubilant as Eduard chased him up the stairs and shepherded him to the master bedroom, where facilities were grander than those in the servants' quarters.

They undressed quickly, breathlessly tugging at each others clothes, and Eduard felt Willy's body move against his own, heard the soft, hot sound of excitement he made against his own aroused body. He raised his hands to cover Willy's naked breasts and he enjoyed the taut nubs pushing eagerly against his palms.

Closing his eyes Willy leaned into the male body, waiting hungrily for Eduard to return the pressure of his lips and part them with a swift, hard thrust of his tongue.

This was it! This was him! His dragon-slayer and protector, the magical lover he had dreamed of in all his most vulnerable moments. The hero he had so long yearned for.

The man continued to excite him until he had a sensation of falling. Their bodies became crushed together, impaling them both on a rack of tormented feverish longing and need as they each sought to make themselves one.

Blind and deaf to everything else around him, Willy made a soft sound of pleasure deep in his throat; an aching whisper of female-like surrender.

.

As the flame of love in his heart rose high, he pulled away from Eduard's kiss to press his own lips to the man's throat, and then his chest, stroking his fingertips through the soft warmth of his body hair to claim his rights of territorial possession. His tongue-tip rimmed his navel and he felt the fierce clench of his muscles. His lips became poised to inflict a tender kiss against it, but Eduard's objection savaged the movement. He was already magnificently rampant and impatient for other things.

Although the bed was large and made up neat, Eduard ignored it and Willy found himself lifted up and carried bodily to be mounted on the top of a chest of drawers, his back pressed to the wall, his feet hooked up on Eduard's shoulders. The man's testicles looked so big and full, and he began feeling so vulnerable he didn't quite know where he was.

His nostrils started to quiver as he breathed in a discreet hint of cologne, underwritten by something very male and subtle that sent his self-control crashing into chaos.

Eduard drew back his foreskin and advanced the press of urgent, engorged flesh.

Ooooh! Oh, God, Willy thought. I love you...love you...love you. I'll never stop loving you.

Like someone lost in a trance he looked up at him. An instinct deeper than any thought or action seemed to have taken control of his body, and he was powerless to do anything other than give in.

Held fast around him, Eduard's hands controlling Willy's ability to move and there was nothing that could be done other than submit.

Submit! This was submission? wondered Willy. The hungry meeting of his own flesh with Eduard's? That feeling of hardness spiking into him and stabbing his bowels whilst his own hands gripped the man's shoulders to urge him on? No, none of that could be submission, he was certain. He was responding to him! Allowing Eduard to possess him. And he was possessing Eduard equally. That's the way lovers did things. That was the way they worked.

But he didn't want to think about what anything meant right then, he didn't wish to think deeply, in fact he didn't want to think at all. He simply wanted to know - to experience - to feel the heady, heated thrusts of high passion. He wanted to be there in that place with that man, and to keep whatever they were sharing forever.

In a haze of dizzying desire Willy felt his senses slide like melting ice-cream from the heat of his eyes to the curve of his mouth. His whole body was galvanised by a series of tiny tremors and he exhaled on a small, soft female sigh of wanton pleasure.

Eagerly he opened his legs and urged Eduard forward, welcoming him into his soft warmth. Passion ran through him like liquid heat, but more than that, as his hips lifted and writhed he realised that it wasn't just his body that desired him. His heart and his mind wanted him as well!

Eduard remained at Ravenskopf for a week, and they made love three times each day. Willy counted them and treasured every moment.

On their last night together as they lay in a damp and relaxed tumble of arms and legs, Eduard marvelled at the intencity of pleasure an imitation woman could provide. The solution to every problem in the word seemed clear and evident when Willy put his head on his chest and had his arms wrapped hard around him.

He gently kissed the top of his lovers head. "I wish I didn't have to go back to the war." he said sadly. "I hate the idea of going back. It's not at all the glorious event I imagined it to be. There is far too much blood and carnage and so much despair in war. Now I think of it as just a ghastly job that I wish to end quickly.

"But I think it will be over soon. Once the French have been beaten to their senses everyone can go home."

He smiled reassurance down at him, and Willy nodded, thinking that normal life was still too far away, and unable to bear how desperate he would feel if something happened to Eduard before then.

"I wish I could agree. But I think that once someone puts guns into men's hands, they don't let go of them easily. I have a terrible fear it could go on for years.

"I'm sick with it already. Sick with you. Sick of the long, lonely nights without you. I'm sick of the whole murdering business of war."

Eduard looked concerned. "When I leave -- you'll be alright?"

"Oh, yes," Willy said lightly, "I'm always alright."

"You are, aren't you? You think like a woman and cope alone. Men don't need to do that on the whole, they usually have constant companionship."

His serious expression lifted. "How do you do it?"

"There is no other choice." Willy said. He slid down the bed, took Eduard's penis in his hand and contemplated feasting on its bulbous tip.

"Why did this happen?"

"Why did what happen?"

"Us."

The man shrugged. "I don't know. I only know it did happen and I'm glad of it."

He drew Willy's head back up and nibbled his ear and looked at him for a long moment, lost in his blue eyes, which were even darker than his own. He looked like a painting there, lying elegantly against him in his satin underwear, he was looking like a very glamorous young woman.

Without giving him any warning, he slipped his hand down below his waist and held him between the legs.

"Wouldn't it be nice if troubles between nations could be sorted out by people such as us? We could just make love, talk things over and agree a solution, instead of the way things are, with young men dying on battlefields."

Throughout the winter of 1939-40 the huge army that France had mobilised and blended in union with the small element that Britain furnished, had postured defensively along the German frontier seemingly uncertain of how to proceed. In April the Wehrmacht made its own move; it invaded Denmark and Norway.

A month later, in May the German army took Holland and the Lowlands, preparatory to taking on its main opponents. A divisionary attack through Belgium in the style of 1914 drew the strength of the enemy towards it, while the main thrust was delivered through the Ardennes, a thickly wooded and weakly guarded region beyond which it was believed no modern army could penetrate. The Wehrmacht penetrated it anyway. Outmanoeuvred and slow to react the French and British reeled and then broke, and it seemed that yet another war would soon be over.

After some weeks the British retreated to their island, and in June, France sued for peace. Hitler appeared to be taking over all of Europe.

It was towards the end of this time that Willy received another letter from Eduard, reassuring him he was still madly in love with him. He said he was in good spirits and had managed to view all the historic sites of Paris, but most of the time his Gruppe were flying out from Boulogne-sur-Mer to do sweeps over the channel, harassing British coastal shipping and seeing off cheeky reconnaissance aircraft.

On the same day Fraulein Dietz received a telegram, and being aware of her brother's relationship with Willy she dourly revealed its message to him after her lunch in the dining room.

"It says that Eduard as been killed in action," she said simply. "Eduard was a brave man, and we thank the Almighty that he served the Reich well."

Having relayed the news she coolly returned to the business of the day, leaving Willy to break down in an inconsolable flood of tears.

Over the following weeks the hurt from losing of Eduard didn't seem to recede. The pain was everywhere. Inside his head, inside his heart, inside his body.

He thought for the thousandth time of returning home, but rejected it for the thousandth time. He had always been a quiet individual, studious and impetuous but quite serious, and much more interested in his studies than finding a girlfriend. His father, when he was alive, had sometimes joked that he would have made a perfect daughter.

He was a girl now and he had no wish to alter that, because he felt more comfortable being a girl than he'd ever felt in his life before. But his mother would demand he should revert to being a man and join the army. And the one thing his mother expected of him, the one thing everyone she was associated with would expect of him, was that he would obey her.

One day during the summer Fraulein Dietz sent a message for him to attend her in the dining room where she had been entertaining Otto Hahn to lunch. She told him to bring the household accounts with him because she wished her solicitor to examine them.

Willy, who had been hungry and contemplating his own lunch, even though it was more than likely to be wurst again, sighed and took the account ledger in to her.

There was no critical inspection, he stood quietly at the table whilst Herr Hahn merely glanced at the totals and looked grave.

"You are the sole owner of Ravenskopf now, but that is hardly a blessing," he told Fraulein Dietz, "Your financial situation is dire, and despite everything I do for you, a dose of good fortune will be needed for you to avoid bankruptcy."

Celina Dietz stared straight into his face and waved a dismissive hand at the accounts. "That stuff is already out of date. My good friend Herr Strasser has arranged on my behalf a substantial grant from the Reich Military Orphan's Fund. It will pay off my debts and still stand me in stead for my plan."

"Your plan? Do you mean your idea that Ravenskopf can be converted into a hotel?"

"I prefer to call it a Recuperation Centre, a place of recreation for weary senior military officers." She flashed a glance at Willy. "You will have an avalanche of invoices to deal with soon. Teams of workmen will be arriving any day now to begin the necessary renovation and conversion."

She then continued to Herr Hahn, "War can be an exhausting experience and I have no doubt that many officers will spend at least some of their furlough here before returning to their wives and girlfriends. Ravenskopf will have first-class accommodation and be staffed on a par with the best hotels. I already own a good cellar, laid down by my grandfather and hardly touched. There is a good park for gentlemen to take the air, and fine hunting in the woods around. The Great Hall I shall have refurbished as a restaurant and each evening it will feature a spectacular floorshow with lots of pretty girls and boys."

Her glance swung once more to Willy. "I shall be engaging other people here shortly. Not just pussy-boys as I have at the moment, but real girls too. When we open our doors for business there will be a need to cater for every taste."

She threw another look of distaste at the accounts. "The paperwork I give you will eventually not be sufficient to fill all your time, so when everything is up and running I will expect you to take part in entertaining my clients."

That revelation was received in horror by Willy Froehlich. "Fraulein Dietz, I'm not a prostitute. I'm not even a show business person like Loti and Rosalyn."

Fraulein Dietz's eyes glowered with temper and she banged her fist on the table. "I will not tolerate you speaking to me in that way. What would you have me do? Allow you to live here as an ornament? You need the company of men just as much as the others do. Eduard is gone and it's no use you sitting around waiting for some other prince charming to find you and carry you away. Fascinated by books and art as you are, perhaps you would settle for a university professor, but you are so picky I expect you would soon find fault with him too.

"Don't be so prim and pompous. Whilst you remain at Ravenskopf you will do whatever I wish. It is exactly the air of unspoilt innocence about you that will make you popular, and I'm unwilling to ignore it. If you are inexperienced, well, like everything else in life, one can learn. Either that or you can be an artist. You can leave and die of consumption in a stinking garret somewhere."

Otto Hahn leaned back easily in his chair and smiled. He had once been warned off in no uncertain terms by Eduard in his fancy for Willy, but with the brother of Celina Dietz now safely tucked away in another world he foresaw a clear field ahead for himself.

Afterwards, as he was leaving, he threw Willy a leery grin and openly ogled him from the doorway.

"Patience really does have its reward, doesn't it Willy?" he gloated. "When Fraulein Dietz puts you on her stall I shall be first in line to taste what a succulent little cherub like you has to offer. Don't worry about not knowing too much. I shall take keen pleasure in teaching you how to be a first-class slut."

He leaned down with the intention of plastering a fat wet kiss on Willy's cheek, but Willy instinctively ducked and had to endure the feel of teeth colliding with the top of his head.

Progress on converting Ravenskopf into a residential hotel went faster then anyone expected. By late summer, there was an army of carpenters, painters, glaziers and builders hard at work, and Willy was kept busy with paperwork while all the time feeling deep discontent. Time slid by, October became November and the bright weather showed no sign of giving way to the sleet and gales of early winter.

The prospect of being pressed into being a bed companion to anyone who fancied him depressed Willy, and as the work on the house neared completion he made a decision to risk abandoning the security of its walls and make a return to the outside world.

Having no money of his own when he decided to leave it was to Loti and Rosalyn he turned. He knew that the men they went with frequently gave them gratuities; sometimes only trinkets or items of underwear, but sometimes small gifts of money too.

The following evening he made his decision known to his two friends. He found Loti practising a tap-dance routine and clearly hoping to have a prominent role in the up and coming floorshows, while Rosalyn was seated at a dressing table, trying on junk jewellery and peering forward at the mirror to smooth his eyebrows, stretching his mouth to apply a swathe of lipstick.

"But where will you go?" Rosalyn asked in consternation.

"I'll go back to Heidelberg," he told them; "I have friends at the university, and amongst them is sure to be someone who will take me in. All I need is the price of a ticket to get me there."

Quite apart from stumping up the price for his train journey Loti and Rosalyn went through their own closets to find something for him to wear, and they came up with a long blue skirt, a black blouse that could be worn a couple of times without any need to be washed, a sweater and a pair of woollen gloves. They made available also a pair of stout shoes and some new peach satin underwear trimmed in lace that had been given to them.

When Fraulein Dietz left the house one day to go and purchase new furnishings for the Great Hall he departed soon after her, walking the four miles into the town to take the train to Breslau, where he could catch a connecting service to Heidelberg.

He wore a cloche style hat and a rather shabby loden coat over the items that had been given to him, and he had only the barest essentials with him carried in a small, battered suitcase

At the ticket window at the station he fumbled for money while the ticket seller stared at him through the metal grating. She had a round face that looked bored, squatting on a thick neck. "Where do you wish to go?"

Willy heard the rumble of a train coming from the east, and he thrust his hand forward. "A ticket for Heidelberg."

The woman looked impatient. "Any five stations five deuchtmarks second class, three for third class."

"How much is first class?"

"There is only second and third."

"Third then."

She shook her head and ripped out a ticket, and Willy raced along the platform.

He was quiet as he got on the train, calmed by the prospect of his journey, but later, as the landscape passed by and other steam trains thundered in the opposite direction he dwelt on what he was leaving behind. Tears rolled down his cheeks on account of some good memories he retained; his friendship with Loti and Rosalyn for instance, and the love he had known from Eduard. Now he imagined himself being a lonely old lady one day -- feminine terms of reference were not uncommon to him by then -- in a room somewhere, with no friends and no visitors. In the children's books he had once read, all the endings were happy endings, and only the wicked people received their just desserts. He knew that this was not a fate reserved for the wicked, he knew too that he was not a wicked person, but only one whose instincts made him want to escape and exchange isolation for an intolerable situation.

Then he slept, and an old woman in the same compartment had to wake him up. She knew he had to change trains at Bahnhof Breslau. Willy thanked her politely and caught the connecting service.

As the railway bore him further westward he found himself growing increasingly doubtful. He may have sounded confident about his plans when talking with Loti and Rosalyn, but, truth be told, he wasn't at all sure what he would find when he reached his destination.

He arrived in the university town late in the evening and having nowhere to go directly had to settle for spending the night in the station waiting room, and when he glanced out of the window after midnight he saw the first snowflakes of winter falling.

The next morning he totted up the remains of his money and reckoned he just had enough to buy breakfast, but decided to hang onto it until he was more certain of his circumstances. He walked to the university and asked the porter on one of the gates about some people he had once known well. Most of them had joined the army he was told, and the rest the man didn't know about, but he was sure they were no longer students there.

Willy felt petulant at still seeing young men entering the campus.

"So many people are still allowed to come here." he murmured aloud.

"Not much room left for the arty-farty crowd anymore though," the porter told him, "Germany still needs scientists and engineers, and it needs educated men to fill places in the military academies. But there is no place for slackers now; everyone that comes here must agree to do military training at weekends, and to go into the countryside to help with the harvest in the summer."

Willy sighed. But for the war he could have been studying art in Paris or Rome by now. His mother was quite well off and would probably have indulged him if he'd remained in favour with her.

Discouraged and apprehensive he went back into the town, crossed the river via the Alte Bridge and began wandering the less affluent area of Neuenheim where students who didn't live on the campus had a habit of finding lodgings. He had no idea how long he walked, his feet became numb with cold, his back ached and his head buzzed, but he walked. Snow was coming down in good earnest now and the wind had risen, howling eerily round the corners of the buildings.

He knocked on a number of doors but was given no information about anyone he had previously known. He began to feel very hungry, but he had so little money he knew he would have to go without for food for a while if he intended to have a bed that night.

A ravenous appetite sent his plans crashing when he surrendered to spending half his money on a hot potato from a street vendor.

Time passed quickly and the failing light of late afternoon startled him with the prospect of having to spend a night sleeping out in the open, and by then the snow was beginning to settle. The eastern sky was bright orange and people were walking past him gritting their teeth as they hurried through the cold to reach their homes.

His mind flitted to the ache of hunger still in his belly, then back to the snow on the pavement, now three inches deep.

He reached a small parade of shops and swung in towards them. Wiping his face on his sleeve he looked at his reflection in a window. It was increasingly cold -- the worlds cold skin stretching to breaking point, and he knew his nose must have looked as red as a tomato.

There was a grocer and a second hand clothes shop, and a bookshop. Some used books lay on a table beneath an awning outside the bookshop and Willy paused as he always did when confronted by the printed word. His breath came in thick plumes, his nostrils tingling with the chill, and he could hardly bring himself to examine the titles on offer.

"Why not have a book. It will cost you no more than a few pfennigs." said a voice.

The remark was made by a man who was standing at the open door of the shop. He was obviously the owner, soberly dressed in a dreary three-piece suit and a brown bow-tie. His ruddy features, despite carrying a neatly trimmed white beard and the hair of an old man, were curiously unlined, as if neither smiles nor frowns ever visited their indifference.

"A few pfennigs is all that I have to keep me from starving." he replied somewhat mournfully, and then he added with a tinge of hope, "Do you need any help in the shop? I'll sweep the floor for you if you'll let me sleep on it afterwards."

The man uttered a noise, something between a grunt and a moan. "Homeless and desperate are you? I can sympathise with that. Come inside for a moment."

Willy followed behind as he went inside. The walls of the little shop were lined with shelves of books and as a rule books gave him a feeling of comfort, but at that moment he remained apprehensive and stayed close to the door, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes wide and staring like those of a frightened child.

"Who are you, and why are you tramping the streets?" the man asked pointedly.

Willy looked away from his face. He was pleasant enough, he liked the gold chain on his waistcoat and he liked his tone of concern too. "I'm Willy Froehlich. I-er- I've been thrown out of the place I lived before and the people I hoped would take me in aren't living around here any longer."

The man surveyed the girl he had invited into his shop with a keen eye. Despite her being muffled up to the chin he could tell from the abrupt slope of her shoulders that there wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her anywhere. She had a broad, determined forehead, high cheekbones and a small mouth, down-curved, ready for anger or disappointment. Thick blond hair swept across her forehead and was pinned up at the back. She was of small stature, almost like a child, and that curried the paternal instinct in him.

"Are you a National Socialist?" he asked.

"No, I don't belong to any political party."

"That can sometimes be a disadvantage." he said, "However, if you're not in a hurry to go elsewhere I have a spare room and I can give you a bed and food in return for some help in the shop. There are other things I wish to do quite apart from selling books."

When he saw Willy pouting thoughtfully he added. "Don't worry about me having lecherous intentions. I'm old and quite incapable of taking advantage of you. Be sensible. You have no spare meat on your bones, and without a good layer of lard you could easily freeze to death out in the street tonight"

Willy hesitated for a moment, and then pushed the hair back from his forehead. "You haven't even told me who you are."

"I apologise. Sometimes I get out of step with social niceties. I am Felix Haushofer, and I know all about displacement. For many years I was a Professor of History at the University of Sonnenburg, but I wasn't the right flavour for the regime that emerged there. Four years ago I was summarily discharged from the faculty. Dumped to make way for a Nazi."

He shrugged dismally. "It was nothing unusual. Such things are happening everywhere these days."

He led the way through the shop and they entered a small sitting room, home to a cheerful coal fire. It wasn't large, but its heterogeneous mixture of unassuming antiques and comfortable shabby armchairs, handmade rugs and books -- there were lots and lots of books -- rendered it pleasant enough. In an extension there was a gas-ring for cooking and a brick-built boiler, coal-fired, for washing clothes. Everything needed redecorating.

The man called Felix watched as the girl he had invited in took a series of tentative steps which reminded him of a kitten sniffing out unfamiliar territory. Eventually she paused and smiled, satisfied with what she saw.

Later they shared an evening meal of noodles with tinned herrings at a small table in the same room, and while they ate Felix Haushofer sensed that the girl was beginning to relax. He noticed how the unshaded single light bulb in the ceiling caught deep red glints in her hair, and he became quite serious. "You really are a remarkable young lady, Willy Froehlich."

"I am?" Willy asked, hoping not to hear that his host had already penetrated his disguise as a female. "I think you are the remarkable one, to take me in off the street as you have. After all, you don't really know who I am, do you?"

The man chuckled. "I'm quite good at identifying people I can trust. Would you like anything to finish your meal?" he asked, "I have no real coffee I'm afraid. The British naval blockade deprives most people of real coffee and I can only afford ersatz, the substitute stuff."

Willy said he'd prefer tea, if he had any. "I don't understand anything anymore. The British were beaten along with the French last year and they are now alone and without allies. Why do they insist on pursuing a war they cannot win?"

Felix Haushofer chewed his lip as if it were an instinctive habit. "My guess is they just don't trust Hitler, and they're frightened he will inflict fascism upon them if they make peace. After all, a fascist government was at the heart of the terms he demanded for not occupying the area of Vichy France." He rattled his cup with a spoon. "The English have only a small army, but they are strong on the oceans. Strong enough to deny Germans their coffee."

He looked at Willy again, and this time gave a little shrug. "I don't know too much about this war. I don't have any interest in it. I expect the British have their own excuses for continuing."

"Excuses don't count. War is bad." Willy proclaimed stoutly.

He caught a quick gleam in the old man's eyes at that moment, as if he wanted to elaborate on that simple statement, but was guarding himself against doing so.

"I agree, Willy Froehlich. War is bad." was all he said.

Willy found his bed that night to be in a small closet room that was itself yet another bookstore. All kinds of books, piled to the ceiling, surrounded him on every side. But that didn't prevent him from sleeping like a dead person that night.

The following morning he set to work with a vengeance in order to earn his keep, dusting things and straightening them, sorting the books into neater arrangements on the shelves and organising a centre piece of choice items to catch the eye of people peeping in through the door.

The weather had turned quite bitter even when off the open street, and Herr Haushofen provided a portable paraffin heater to give the shop a little welcoming comfort. The stove brought a number of people through the door just to reap the benefit of it, but just as the crafty shop-owner had suspected many of them ended up buying something.

A pale faced young soldier bearing the rank of Captain on the shoulders of his greatcoat was one that came through the door. He didn't smile at Willy as men usually did, in fact he didn't seem to see him at all. He warmed his hands by the stove then went along the shelves, selected a book, glanced at the contents and then put it back. Then he took another, opened it and studied it briefly.

After a few minutes he closed the book and brought it across to where Willy stood.

"Can I help you, Herr Hauptman?" Willy asked.

The soldier still made no effort to smile, although he was vividly Aryan and would have looked quite handsome if he'd made the attempt. But his face remained grey and gaunt. "This book is about the American Civil War." he said.

Willy glanced at the dustcover and nodded. "Yes. It is in excellent condition and for sale at a fair price."

The man placed the book on the countertop and slapped some money down on it.

"I buy it for you." he said.

Leaving the book in place and saying nothing more he then swiftly strode out from the shop.

Willy put the money into the cash register, then curiosity had the better of him and he opened the book that had been left laying there. On the first page there was nothing but a caption written by a young soldier of long ago to introduce the rest of the contents, and it was clear that the grey-faced Captain had just ringed it with his own red pencil. It read:

"War is not play. It is not pleasure. It is not sport under the greenwood trees. It is a savage encounter with desperate adversaries who deal death and grievous wounds."

Willy was under no illusion as to what that red pencil mark was intended to mean. It was that mysterious army officer's way of expressing his personal feelings; feelings that would have been derided and may even have proved dangerous to him if he'd expressed them in any other way.

Herr Haushofer smiled with satisfaction when he was cashing-up at the end of the week. "It appears that I made a sound business judgement when I involved you here, Willy. The sale of books as increased considerably since you took a place behind the shop counter. Clearly people enjoy being served by someone with a pretty face rather than the grim old one that I own."

He encountered the man's gaze again and fidgeted under it, although his voice was kind enough. "I do my best for you Herr Haushofer."

"You do more than is required. Your enthusiasm for books spills over and becomes infectious, and you never seem stuck for a comment on any subject. Customers like that kind of chatter when they are spending money."

Later he explained he wished Willy to become used to running the shop alone occasionally, to allow him to devote more time to the meetings of the local Teutonic History Society, which he had agreed could assemble in his sitting room.

Felix Haushofer made tea with a flourish, raising and lowering the kettle as the stream of water splashed onto the mint leaves packed into the bottom of a glass.

"My tea ritual," he said with a smile, and then ..."Merde!" he cursed when he scalded his hand.

"Ah! You are polite enough to loose your temper in a foreign language." observed Willy as he forced the man's hand beneath the cold water tap.

"I can shout oaths in a dozen languages." fumed Felix.

"Many coarse seamen can do the same, but can you speak sense in any?"

"Yes, I speak French and English fluently and I can manage some conversation in Italian too. Have you ever wished to speak another language?"

"My father, when he was alive, insisted that I should learn another language. I chose English because I found it the easiest. But when he died my mother stopped the lessons. She said it was an unnecessary extravagance."

Felix nodded thoughtfully. "When we have cleared away our meal tonight, I think we should continue your lessons. When Hitler makes his peace with England there will be increasing work for English-German interpreters, and you could find yourself with better work than you have here."

And thereafter Willy had something else to occupy his time in the evenings.

Over the weeks he soon became used to the number of people belonging to The Historical Society who walked through the shop and went straight into see Herr Haushofer in the sitting room. He came to know some of them by name. There was Frau Ritter, Herr Ohlendorf, Herr Vockbruck and a skinny, middle-aged spinster called Fraulein Hottl. There were others too. The men drank beer, but never became drunk, while the women took their knitting as if they were going on a picnic.

In late 1940, Hitler postponed his proposed invasion of the British Isles and instead he impatiently turned to the east and the vast expanses of territory he had always coveted there. In June 1941, having conquered Greece and Yugoslavia, and with the armies of Hungary, Rumania and Bulgaria as obedient chattels, he unleashed Operation Barbarossa; the invasion of Soviet Russia.

On a line from the Baltic to the Black Sea the Wehrmacht relentlessly stormed forward.

During the early part of that year Willy lived unobtrusively in Heidelberg in the guise of a woman, but he was no female slave. He kept the place where he lived and worked clean, but Felix Haushofer always cooked their meals and helped with washing the dishes afterwards, and he also helped with the laundry when it needed to be done. He was sweet-natured, undemanding man, and seemed genuinely interested in helping him through an awkward phase of life. Willy was grateful to him for his kindness, which he had not expected from someone so generally at ease, but he felt no desire to know him more intimately. All physical feelings belonged to his knowledge of Eduard, to memories of his glorious naked figure striding unselfconsciously round the bedroom at Ravenskopf.

A number of men who came into the shop flirted with him and he often flirted back, but he maintained a life of celibacy. Homosexuality was considered an unnatural sexual deviance everywhere, and would warrant imprisonment, and there were disturbing stories being whispered around that in some parts of Hitler's Germany sexual deviants and feeble-minded people were being given lethal injections as part of a racial cleansing programme.

He concentrated on work and from it drew the bonus of learning. The range of books in the shop covered every imaginable subject and gave him the chance to keep abreast with the studies he had started at university, and he also took very seriously the language lessons with Herr Haushofer each evening.

On Sundays the shop never opened, and Herr Haushofer allowed Willy to spend the whole day to do as he wished. Willy always took him at his word and one day in June after they had taken lunch, he went down to the Neckar and walked along the path by the river that he's so often walked in the past. The bell in the spire of the church of the Holy Spirit tolled crystal clear over the water. The summer sunshine was cool that day so he thrown a shawl over the top of the blue dress he was wearing and he had put on a broad brimmed hat.

The river bank was a familiar place to him and conjured up many memories of his early days as a student. Things had been much freer in those heady, sunny days. None of those in his social group had cared about what was legal or illegal. They pleased themselves like buccaneers and took their pleasure where they found it.

Willy too had been quite shameless. Drawn by his good looks and his effeminate ways a good many handsome youths had courted him. It had been a time of experimentation, and he had discovered that he enjoyed the taste of men. He enjoyed their attention and he enjoyed having sex with them. He had allowed a great many of them to use him in their beds, and some of his tutors had taken advantage of his generosity too.

Being effeminate at heart he had always been a bottom; always a receiver rather than a giver, but as time went on he had become increasingly choosey about who he went with. Exasperated by the frailty of casual sex he had sought out relationships that provided elements of true affection and commitment.

That had been an exercise that had culminated in his affair with Eduard, and after a year, only now was he beginning to overcome the loss of that man.

Head down and lost in his thoughts he was humming to himself as he strolled along. Most other people were lounging on the grass away from the river and he had the path to himself. A sound behind him made him glance up, and he was startled when a tall young man came striding briskly past, going in the same direction he was. He went by with such a rush that Willy took a step sideways, stumbled, and for a moment felt he was about to go hurtling into the water.

The man's hand reached out and caught him before he toppled. "I'm so sorry. I didn't intend to knock you over."

He looked instantly apologetic and concerned, and Willy noticed he was astonishingly good looking. Tall, fair, with eyes the colour of his own and he had long powerful arms and athletic shoulders. He kept a firm hold on him as he spoke, and Willy asked him to let go so he could straighten his hat. While he did that he gave the stranger a surreptitious glance from under his eyelashes. He looked older than he was himself, and he was wearing a dark blue suit and a red necktie, and on his head he wore a brown trilby pulled over at a rakish angle.

"It was silly of me. I didn't see you soon enough to get out of your way." he said.

The man smiled. He looked sympathetic and kind. "It was entirely my fault. I shouldn't have been in such a tearing hurry. Are you all right? Would you like to sit down for a moment?" He pointed to a bench near them that offered a good view of the river.

The stranger was treating him with the same kind of polite attention he would offer to a girl, and Willy was susceptible to that sort of thing. The prospect of sitting next to him was appealing, and he saw no harm in sitting and chatting for a while before they went their separate ways. Just for a little while anyway. Although he realised that the young gentleman, who was clearly very well off, would probably throw up his hands and scream if he realised he was associating with a cross-dresser.

He let the man lead him to the bench and sit beside him with a respectful distance between.

"I'm Viktor Schacht," he said, "My father owns an iron foundry in Mannheim but he keeps his family here -- you know, away from the smoke."

"You are very lucky. Heidelberg is a delightful place to live. My name is Wilhelmina Froehlich, but everyone calls me Willy. I moved here recently from Silesia, but I'm nothing special. Just a shop assistant."

The man grinned and purred. "Hmm, I think Willy Froehlich is probably a very special shop assistant."

Willy couldn't help but laugh. The man's way with a girl was wonderfully undergraduate, and though he was obviously middle-class there were no airs or pretensions about him. He seemed completely at ease talking with a shop girl.

With his mind in slight disarray Willy gazed at the river; deep and wide. A white paddleboat with a tall black funnel was wending its way upstream, and on the opposite bank, in the oldest parts of the town, great spreading poinciana were breaking out in sumptuous orange-red blossom, the radiant colour enhanced by bright green fronds and the intense blue of the sky. Everything, the water, the trees, the paddleboat and the old buildings, shimmered in the soft luminosity of the afternoon. It was a lovely scene with the great bulk of an old castle set on the hillside as a backdrop.

He gave the stranger a long hard look, and received a long hard look in return.

"Are you married, Herr Schacht?" he asked.

"You must call me Viktor," he said. "No, I'm not married. My family would like me to marry, of course. They expect me to take over my fathers business eventually and do things in the time honoured style. I've thought about it a few times, but I've never felt it was the right thing to do. I don't want to make the mistake of settling with the wrong woman. That would only lead to a life of misery for everyone."

"Are you not likely to be taken for the army?"

Viktor shook his head. "No, I oversee the iron-ore imports from Sweden on behalf of my fathers firm. The production of iron is of vital importance to the Third Reich at this time.

"Look, I would enjoy making amends for the rough way I treated you earlier. Would you like to have tea?" he suggested.

Willy's eyes lit up at the idea. "That would be nice, thank you."

He led him onto the terrace of a nearby hotel where they were serving tea, and where elegant women were sitting together and chatting and prosperous-looking couples were eating little sandwiches and speaking in hushed tones.

They shared a proper high tea and finally, unable to drag things out any longer, Viktor walked Willy into the lobby, and stood looking down at the girl he had encountered on the river bank. She seemed tiny and appeared fragile to him, but in fact after talking to her, he knew she was spirited and more than capable of defending her own ideas. She had strong opinions about some things, and so far he agreed with most of them. He found her incredibly exciting and breathtakingly beautiful. He didn't wish to leave her and he would have lingered if he had not made previous arrangements to meet his family for dinner. But he knew he had to see her again.

"I love talking to you." he said.

Willy smiled shyly at him." I like talking to you."

They stood in silence for a moment longer, and then Viktor said. "Would you have lunch with me sometime?" he looked hopeful, because he longed to touch her hand but didn't dare. Even more he would have loved to touch her face. She had exquisite skin.

"I'm working most of the time, except of course for Sundays. I could meet you here, by the river."

"No, no. I shall collect you. Where is the shop that uses you so hard?"

"If you insist in collecting me, you should call at the bookshop on Dresdener Allee."

They were suddenly allies in an unspoken conspiracy, the continuation of a friendship, or whatever it was. Willy knew that Viktor had been flirting with him and he realised that he had been flirting back, but he just hoped they could be friends too. He didn't dare imagine more, but he wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know where he lived and what his home was like, what food he enjoyed and if his parents were still alive.

When he wandered the streets on his way back to the bookshop, Willy realised he felt happier than he had done for a long time. Since Eduard had died, he thought. His mind lingered on the man he had recently met, and he imagined that the world was not such a dismal place after all.

Willy was not prepared for the reaction of Herr Haushofer when he mentioned his meeting with Viktor, and how they had spoken for a short while and had planned lunch for the following Sunday. It came as a surprise. In the time they had been together the old man had begun to look upon him as a daughter, and now he began showing the concern of a fussing mother hen.

"Lunch with a total stranger?" he looked horrified and highly suspicious at the idea.

He was not as innocent as Willy, and he knew a man loitering on the river bank could be nothing more than a lecher, trying to prey on young girls. He was incensed that the man had made advances to her, and even worse that Willy seemed to find him appealing. It only proved that the youthful person lodging with him was desperately naïve and still a child. And he assumed only the worst of the man called Viktor.

"What were you doing that he invited you for lunch?" he asked.

"I tripped and was in danger of falling into the river. Viktor was very gallant and saved me. He gave me tea at the hotel and we talked, about nothing in particular. He was very polite."

"How old is he? What is he doing here instead of in the war?"

"He's not an old man, and he lives here; he works for his father in the iron industry." Willy said primly.

The old man's suspicions took on a new slant as he absorbed that information. "Iron industry! This man, is his name Schacht?"

"Yes, how could you guess that?"

The eyes of Felix met Willy's and held them for a moment. He wondered if the silly girl had met him before and not told him, but no, there was nothing duplicitous about her. She was simply young and foolish.

"The Schacht family are wealthy and well known in Heidelberg. They are high profile Nazi's." he said reproachfully.

"I didn't know that," Willy said a little tartly, "But it's not a crime in Germany to be a Nazi. And anyway, we didn't discuss politics. Viktor was just a perfectly nice man, and I would still like to have lunch with him."

Of course Willy Froehlich would have his way, and eventually, in spite of his misgivings, the old man relented and removed his objections.

As the week progressed the importance of the following Sunday began to grow in Willy's mind. Frequently, when there were no customers in the shop, he would step outside to gaze into the window of Frau Gruber's second-hand clothes shop next door, where a pretty red dress was on display. Everything else in his life seemed so dreary and colourless when he looked at it, and he wanted to own that dress and to try it on. He wanted to wear it for his date with Viktor.

After his language lesson in the evening he tried out his powers of persuasion.

"Herr Haushofer, you have been very generous and shown me nothing but consideration since I've been here. You feed me and give me shelter, but sometimes -- just sometimes, I would like to buy things, and I have no money."

The old man frowned, perhaps prodded by a touch of conscience. "You are quite right in reminding me how parsimonious I have been in not allowing you any kind of wage. I shall put that right in the future. Is there some special item you wish to purchase right away?"

Willy rose up and hugged him, and he grinned, because he knew he knew he was going to have his dress.

On taking receipt of it he saw at once that the hem needed to be taken up, so he went to work. He was not a gifted seamstress, but he had learnt sewing as a child. A girl had taught him how to do it when she had found him admiring illustrations of Paris gowns in a magazine, so he wasn't a complete novice. He became so confident in what he was doing that he even sewed tiny pleats over the bust and tacked them down. In the end the pretty red dress fitted to perfection on his narrow waist and the skirt was a gentle bell that clung to his slender legs in clean, simple lines.

It was while he was trying to gain a little space and organisation in his bedroom among the mountains of literature stacked there that he came upon a neatly tied pile of newssheets. They were recent reprints of an old liberal magazine called, Die Weltbuhne -- `World Stage' - published by the notorious pacifist Carl von Ossietzky.

Willy's pulse lurched. He knew enough history to know Hitler hated that man. He had imprisoned him until tuberculosis caused his death.

"You shouldn't keep such things here." he told Felix when he next saw him. "They are illegal and if the wrong person discovered them it would mean trouble for you."

"They are just magazines." protested the old man.

Willy was not convinced of his complete innocence. "I've noticed when `Deutschland uber alles' plays on the wireless you always switch it off. Those people you invite here -- The Historical Society -- They are not history students at all, are they? You've formed a subversive organisation opposed to Hitler.

Felix sighed. The girl was looking surprisingly determined. At times she seemed almost childlike to him, and at other times, as she spoke to him, he could tell she had very definite ideas, like about art, and education, and war.

"Please understand that none of us who assemble here are subversives." he said, "We are pacifists, and we know we are powerless in this day and age. We meet only to give each other strength and comfort and to carry in some small way the brightness of peace into the future."

He placed an arm on Willy's shoulder. "Let me try and explain to you the way I see things. When people are born blind, they do not see blackness, they see, literally nothing. No colour, no texture, they are not even aware of a shade. There is a danger such a thing could happen with those born to war. They will not know any other way of life if they have never experienced it; therefore we must preserve the idea of peace and ensure it is not lost to them. That is important, isn't it?

"There is nothing else we can do I'm afraid. We've seen it all happen. The silencing of the unions, the brutality -- the knives and iron pipes -- the politics of the streets. Now we can only put our faith in kindness, and compassion as no political party."

Willy allowed a grudging nod. He had a sudden vision of the man as perhaps he saw himself, as a sort of crusader, striding through the world try to save civilisation from its own evil. "At least get rid of the magazines." he said. "They are a danger to you."

"No, I can't do that." Felix insisted, "They are our sustenance and we will not do without them. Despite Hitler's persecution the man who published them was no skittle to be knocked over easily. He has become an international figure of great influence and an inspiration to peace movements everywhere. He is our source of hope. He is our guiding star."

As midday on Sunday approached, Willy appeared in the sitting room looking very regal in his red dress, with a handsome string of pearls around his neck, and small diamonds in his ears; borrowed, curtsey of Herr Haushofer's late wife. He had also managed to borrow a little black bolero jacket with chic square-cut shoulders, and to top the whole thing off, a perky little black hat with a feather in it.

And velvet gloves. No self-respecting girl ever went on a date without gloves if she could help it.

Herr Haushofer smiled his approval. "Take a key with you. I shall be out myself for the rest of the day, and I won't be home till late."

Willy waited for half an hour after the old man had gone, then there was the honk of a car horn outside, and when he looked he saw that Viktor had called to collect him in a taxi.

"My, my! How vivacious and elegant you look today." the man enthused, "Just the right image for making an appearance at the Bergdorf. Come along, we must hurry, we are already late."

"The Bergdorf?" queried Willy as he clambered in beside him.

"Yes, we are going to the Pension Bergdorf for lunch. My mother and my sister Rita are there, and I wish to introduce you to them."

Willy's hands flew to his face.

"Don't be alarmed. I've told them that I'm bringing a young lady to lunch. They are expecting you and wish to meet you. I'm certain they will at once fall in love with you."

Willy groaned inwardly. He knew he was not in for a cosy meal but an interrogation by Viktor's female relatives, and women in general were very adept at identifying fraudulent impersonation of their own gender. Despite his smooth features and the mild piquancy of his voice he knew he would have a tough job to remain undiscovered, and even if he escaped exposure, as highborn citizens of Heidelberg they were going to want to know everything about him. They would poke and pry until he made a slip that would identify him as not being the right quality of person to be in their company, and that must mean he would lose Viktor as a friend.

It took only ten minutes to reach the hotel in a taxi. Once inside Viktor led the way across a richly carpeted foyer and into the dining room.

The Bergdorf, a hotel that was one of the swankiest places in the district was much too splendid for Willy's comfort. It was a place of white marble columns, potted palms and red banquettes, lavishly moustached elderly waiters and tables jammed with men in Prussian field-grey displaying the black and white tunic ribbons of the Iron Cross. The soldiers were all shouting and flirting and calling for more wine. There were other men there in morning suits, and women, eyelashes fluttering like fans, with short hair and knee-length skirts, wearing lipstick and smoking cigarettes.

Viktor's mother and sister were already seated at a table and Willy assessed the older woman first. Her face looked serious and startlingly pale, but she was beautifully dressed in purple. She was wearing black suede shoes. Her suede gloves were obviously hand-made and she was wearing an impressive emerald necklace.

The younger woman, Rita, was very pretty and seemed very fashion conscious and chic. Unabashedly Willy took inventory of her short black hair, her smooth triangular face, and the thick dark eyebrows that shadowed her very brown eyes. She was slightly older then himself, he thought, and was clearly so accustomed to being noticed that she herself was no longer aware of it.

They were just finishing their soup course when they arrived and the older woman looked up with an expression of displeasure, but Viktor cleverly managed to get in first words.

"I apologise for being late, mother. I was delayed in collecting Wilhelmina from her home. Please forgive me."

He clicked his heels as young men of the higher classes sometimes still did, and he bowed politely and kissed her hand. Quite correctly, he did not make the same gesture to his sister, as she was unmarried, and hand kissing was a courtesy only offered to married women.

"Louis XVIII once said that punctuality is the politeness of kings." the older of the two women said, scowling. She was bent over the table sucking aggressively at her soup, holding her spoon with short, thick fingers to scoop up the pieces of eel, which she was consuming without any pretence of genteel grace.

Viktor gave Rita a small bow and a smile, and then turned his attention back to his mother. "Those Frenchmen! Always so quick to corner we Germans with their quotations, but always finding it tough to stand up to us in a fight."

He was humorous, so polite, so solicitous, so ingenuous and so warm and kind the woman didn't have the heart to rebuff him when he formally introduced Willy.

Rita glanced at her watch. "The meal will be here in a moment," she said, "We took the liberty of ordering -- I hope you don't mind, it's better if they are given time."

Willy spent the whole meal looking dazed and feeling tortured. He went through the motions of eating as if in a dream. But he managed to tell funny stories about his family and his last summer holiday with them in Baden-Baden, sedate family walks along the Lichtenthalerallee, and how they took coffee in the Casino gardens where the orchestra played. All that was true. And he described his family's property as that of Ravenskopf in Upper Silesia with estates that stretched to the Oder, which was untrue but sounded impressive, and he hoped it would be too far away and be too obscure to be known by anyone there. He told them that at present he was taking a holiday with his uncle. He didn't make any slips, and he made no romantic overtures to Viktor, and there was nothing sneaky or sleazy about him.

Viktor's mother listened but said little. As far as she was concerned he was just a very nice girl on a vacation, and her son was drawn to very nice girls. She was more interested in consuming her food than anything else. His sister Rita didn't question his story in any great detail either, she gave off an unmistakable aura of privilege and she was plainly wrapped up with the importance of her own life.

"Holidays are such wonderful events, but the war as ruined them for us." she complained, "We usually go to Switzerland; the Alps are beautiful at this time of year, and father as many friends in Zurich and Geneva. But this year we shall have to settle for Vienna."

"That's good," the older woman interjected, wiping her lips with a napkin, "The Viennese make delicious pastries."

A piano somewhere began playing what sounded like the Parisian boites, bouncy, almost march-like music, and a crowd of SS officers came in dripping with insignia -- skulls and axes -- chins held high, girlfriends hanging on their arms. Only on their left arms, their right arms they kept free for heilhitlering each other. Suddenly the Bergdorf was a Nazi heaven.

Directly after the meal, much to Willy's relief, Viktor ordered a taxi. But he didn't take Willy directly home. He had the taxi drop them at the river bank where they had first met so they could walk the rest of the way.

"Thank you for coming to lunch, you were so nice to my mother and sister." he said.

Still flummoxed by the strain of the event Willy gave him a mild reprimand. "You could have warned me that you intended for us to meet them. I was quite taken by surprise. And I don't think we should see each other again. I don't belong to the same class of people as you."

He snorted. He had a devils smile and the eyes to go with it. "To hell with class! I take company with whom I wish. My mother as become quite used to that. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you by insisting that you meet them, but appearances are only of secondary importance to my family. Being a Nazi is the vital element." he glanced sideways. "Are you National Socialist, Willy?"

The question seemed a very serious one for Viktor, and Willy, caught off guard, fumbled for a positive reply. "Um, well, I think I am, but I've yet to become a Party Member. So many things need to be sorted in my mind. Do you believe it make good sense to make war with Russia?"

"Naturally," said Viktor. He was gazing out over the river but there was no trace of doubt in his voice. His reply was very positive. "If the Fuehrer has decided it to be proper, then it makes sense. A great leader always possesses vision, and the people demand visions."

"It will cause so much devastation, so many deaths and so much grief."

Viktor's gaze returned to Willy, probing for the cause of his concern. "Yes, of course it will," he conceded, "But whether we like it or not such things will always be with us. Politicians who claim they can eradicate them are doomed to duplicity; they cannot help but fail."

He produced a dazzling smile. "Politics is dead, Willy. Can you remember an election that actually meant something? Before Herr Hitler revealed himself every year saw clever new pretenders swept into power with a mandate to revive democracy and make urgent reforms. But what followed? Nothing but the same tired debates, pointless opposition and old compromises."

"The Fuehrer is all powerful, but didn't someone once say that power corrupts." Willy replied levelly.

"No," Viktor said gently, "'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'. The Roman Emperor Tacitus said that centuries ago, but he was wrong. It is democracy that corrupts, because the very act of begging for votes is a corrupt practise. Who can respect someone who spends his life toadying to strangers and asking them to elect him? Napoleon would never have done that."

Willy had never really taken a deep interest in politics. He had always thought it a subject too devious to understand properly, but he had always believed he supported the idea of democracy more than anything else. Now, as Viktor spoke, he found it increasingly difficult to trust his own judgement. The man was so...what? He was so persuasive.

"I expect I shall join the Party soon." he mumbled. Then in an effort to hide his uncertainties he changed the subject. "Your mother and sister were very nice to me. Rita is very beautiful and will no doubt break many men's hearts."

Viktor agreed. "She will be married before too long, and that will settle her down. She's more or less in love with someone at the moment and I'm sure she'll be engaged by the end of the year."

"But no marriage for you, Viktor?"

He reflected. "I enjoy myself too much," he said finally. "I have a young man's urges that I shall carry into middle age, and I hate the thought of denying myself."

When they had strolled along Dresdener Allee and had come up level with the bookshop he smiled wanly. "There are too many important things to do before I choose marriage." he glanced at Willy thoughtfully. "I was hoping you would ask me in for coffee."

Willy hesitated, for the first time feeling slight shame at where he lived. "It's not very plush inside, not what you will be used to."

Totally undaunted Viktor scrutinised the shop front with the carefree gaze of an adventurer. "Oh, I suppose everything could do with a fresh coat of paint, but it looks inviting enough. And I expect it's rather cosy inside."

Willy stood beside him offering lavish glances, while the man gazed down at him with hungry eyes. Something unseen and dangerous sizzled in the air between them. Willy couldn't see it, but he could feel it. Inside he was trembling, teetering on a tightrope of sexual excitement.

"We have no real coffee, but we have tea." he said.

He unlocked the door and led him through the shop, and then into the tiny sitting room. There he paused.

"I can't get involved with you, Viktor. I mean, not intimately. It's not just the class thing. There are other reasons why I can't get involved."

"Then, you must tell me why." the man demanded. "You're not a Jewess I'm certain, so stop avoiding it. I don't wish to hurt you, I want to understand. What is it you can't tell me?"

Willy turned his head away. "It's too complex."

Viktor nodded as if he understood. "I think you are a lost child who cannot find her way. You have loved before and now love means too much pain. It's true, isn't it? You did love a man once, didn't you? It's impossible to hide that; it shines in your eyes." His voice resonated with the emotions that burned in him. "How can so much love be lost forever? Tell me. I can't bear not to know."

Willy looked up at him directly. "Yes, I once loved a man desperately. Far more than anyone can ever understand."

Frantically Viktor shook his head. "And so it didn't work out the way you wished. Even so, it is important not to dwell on disappointment. You must overcome it."

Goaded beyond endurance he gave in to the overwhelming impulse to shake him.

Willy slumped against him and he stopped.

"Oh, Viktor, don't. It's not just the past, there is something else."

Viktor's answer was stark and immediate. He lifted Willy's head, his fingers hard along his jawbone; his tongue touched his lips and then pierced his mouth, crushing his mouth beneath his own just as he crushed the resistance.

"I know all your other secrets. I'm not stupid." he muttered, his mouth covering every inch of his face and throat. "I know you are not completely a woman. I've known it since we first met"

The revelation made Willy catch his breath. "And you don't mind?"

Viktor smiled. "Why do you think I'm so reluctant to marry? I'll tell you why. It's because I prefer people like you."

A gasp of amazement shook Willy. "You know what I am, and you still took me to see your mother and sister!"

The man chuckled gleefully. "Yes, I'm quite outrageous, aren't I? But there was no risk of you being discovered. They live in a different world to the one we inhabit, and it's inconceivable to them that a man could dress up and live as woman."

Willy turned away. Something in the timbre of his voice touched a nerve that he didn't want touched and caused a reaction he didn't want aroused. He surveyed him discreetly, the man who had tricked him and tricked his own family too. Beautiful, yes, but somehow spoilt by such childish games. But he was masculine; the word handsome seemed too tepid, too indefinite. So it was possible; a man could look like a hero, but not necessarily behave like one. Greek gods are quite misleading, he thought; statues in museums could easily represent a lie.

When he turned around, Willy's face was close to his and his eyes were almost shut. His mouth tantalised. Moist, warm and extravagant, and very soft. They barely touched before he drew away, and for a time they stood apart, arms by their sides. Then Viktor settled his hands on Willy's hips and moved towards him.

Without giving any warning his hands smoothed Willy's body, touching his breasts, enticing his flesh, just as Eduard had touched him in the past. Willy's recollection of Eduard was vivid, timeless in its power. It had stayed with him constantly, the angry ecstasy, his sensation of utter defencelessness. No man had touched him like that since, until now. Suddenly his body once more craved such wicked caresses.

Behind him he had the hardness of a heavy wooden door, and in front he suddenly had the hardness that was Viktor. A deep shudder tormented him as the man started to explore the delicate whorls of his ears, his thumb on the pulse at the base of his throat.

"Relax with me." Viktor gave voice to a restraint that had tested him. "Be a woman for me now."

"Up the stairs," Willy urged heatedly, "Herr Haushofer won't return until the evening."

Halfway up the stairs he asked himself bitterly why, after what he had done and the tricks he had played he should be ready to comply with him, but the reaction of his body to the knowledge that he was close behind was of longing and not rejection.

They went into Herr Haushofer's bedroom because it was more spacious, and Willy felt a great wave of desire descending on him, deep and towering. He let Viktor slip the buttons of his dress and cup his breast against a chemise so thin it might have been a second skin.

"Viktor!" he was seduced into a long trembling sigh. The touch of his hand, the caressing of his tightly furled nipple, was exquisitely strong and arousing. He felt the pull of it to his body's core, and he gave a sharp, electrified moan as his body stiffened.

The man stared down at his upflung face, his full, sensitive mouth faintly swollen by the violence of his kisses. "Don't stop me." he gritted, his handsome face full of a terrible frustration. "I may just strangle you. You deserve it. If you were more desirable you wouldn't be human."

If Willy's mind wasn't yet sure about having a sexual experience at that moment, his body knew different. It knew, for instance that if he reached out and touched Viktor the way he was now doing, just the merest brush of his fingertips, slowly, oh so slowly against the tight bulge he could feel in his trousers, that instead of leaping away he would draw closer to him.

In his own way Viktor was fighting his own devil. He shouldn't be doing this. Oh, he shouldn't be doing this, he warned himself. Not with a boy in a skirt. His mother would be horrified, and his sister would have hysterics, and his father would disown him. But the mere prospect excited him, and the provocative touch Willy was subjecting him to, just the slight brush of delicate fingers against his erection, was more than he could stand. And it was true that being with a beautiful boy was the kind of thing he enjoyed most.

Nor did he just wish to touch and taste, he wanted to take that naughty little cross-dresser primitively as though every layer of civilisation had been stripped from them both. Hot, urgent, immediate sex -- that was what he wanted with him. He wanted to fill him and spill a great reservoir of his seed inside him.

Automatically Willy stepped back. His mind and body were tearing him apart with the ferocity of the conflicting messages they were sending. He wanted to go somewhere quiet and dark and stay there until he felt able to cope.

Instead, taking hold of Willy's hands, Viktor pushed him against the wall and pinned them above his head while his body leaned against him. Willy could see his expression clearly and a fast, furious surge of shocked excitement raced through him. He had lost control now. He could see it in the man's eyes and he could feel it in the way he was grinding his body against him -- and he loved it.

Willy let his red dress slither to the floor, and as Viktor felt his hips lift and rise tormentingly against him he knew there was no going back. Fingers were touching him again, and this time they were tracing his erection, gauging it -- measuring it?

Suddenly Willy was kneeling on the bed, presenting himself for a man's pleasure. His chest tightened as an uncertain touch revealed to him just how much a man Viktor was! When he felt his pants being removed shocked pleasure surged through him on a riptide.

He weighed next to nothing, and Viktor acknowledged that as he lifted him into position and plumped up the round contours of his bare bottom. Willy's face was turned back to him and he could see the bright, aroused glitter of his eyes and hear the exhalation of his breath.

"Relax and open up for me." he commanded.

Willy knelt forward against the bedpost, his face pressed against the wall.

"I can't believe this." he whispered after the first fit of passion.

"Accept it, darling." Viktor said, upright on his knees behind him.

In the dim light of the room there rose up a moan his uninhibited delight. Willy could feel his breasts swelling in Viktor's hands while his stomach tightened with expectation. The man's arms became wrapped around him, his fingers sliding through the softness of his hair. Blindly Willy turned his head to accept a fevered kiss. Viktor's mouth tasted of man, and he wanted to feed until his senses were sated with the pleasure of it.

Viktor touched the back of his neck with his tongue and a tiny pulse jumped and skittered. He felt his body shudder as the man's hunger for him ripped through his defences and entered him. Now he was beyond reason, groaning with rapture with each wicked plunge, going beyond sanity, beyond any wish but wanting him.

And he was the one who had done this to him, who had made him insane with need.

Afterwards Viktor glanced at his watch, put an arm around Willy's shoulders briefly, and then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Willy gazed up at him. "Shall we have that tea now?" he said, "You don't have to rush off, do you?"

Viktor got up and stood in the middle of the floor. "Tea," he said. "What a good idea. Get dressed first. Unless...?"

"Yes, I'd better get dressed," Willy agreed. "Do you want to go first? In the bathroom, I mean."

"You go first. But put the kettle on before you do."

After performing some minor ablutions Willy returned with a pot of tea and two cups, but only to find Viktor looking red faced and furious. He was purveying a copy of `World Stage' that he had found lying around somewhere in the room and he was openly disapproving of its contents. Willy felt a jolt in his chest. He wasn't merely disapproving, he was angry.

"This vile comic is an insult to the Fatherland. It makes a mockery of everything we are doing to make our country great in the world."

Warily Willy glanced in his direction. "I -- I don't believe it mocks Germany, Viktor. It just expresses the opinions of those people who don't agree with war."

The man was adamant. "If it just encourages that, it is seditious. It mocks the Fuehrer since it is his policy to promote war to save our nation. How can you bear to live in the same house with such trash?" He clenched his fist in anger. "Did you know this Ossietzky fellow, the man who produced these vile magazines, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1936? Hitler was so enraged he banned Germans from accepting international awards ever again."

He threw the paper onto the floor and kicked it across the room. "The man was a traitor of the first-order and anyone who revels in reading his literature is a traitor also."

He glanced sharply at Willy. "It belongs to the man who took you in, doesn't it? What is his name? Haushofer, isn't it?"

There was a look in his eyes that confused Willy and made him deeply troubled. It was a mixture of biting contempt laced with pain, as though somehow the discovery had a personal meaning for him.

"I know you are a National Socialist, Viktor, but not everyone is made the same. Surely people should be allowed some freedom in the way they think."

Viktor's eyelids drooped over his eyes so that Willy couldn't be sure whether he was watching him or not.

"Herr Hitler's brand of fascism is exactly what people want." he said. "Their wants are very basic. They can be divided into animal and spiritual categories. People want food in their bellies and money in their pockets, and maybe a fuck once in a while. They are animal needs. But they alone don't give people a purpose in life, and so they look for spiritual needs also. To have a purpose, people need someone to fear and something greater than themselves to believe in. That is religion, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is to some." replied Willy, softly.

Viktor dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "The Fuehrer has invented his own religion. He gives people a belief that is both grand and terrifying. He is giving them exactly what they want. Those that defy the Fuehrer also betray him, and they deserve not to live among us."

"No -- no!" The man's tone was threatening and Willy covered his mouth with his pearly fingernails. "Please, Viktor. Don't do anything that will endanger Herr Haushofer. He is just an old man, and he is harmless."

For a moment it seemed Viktor too had became prey to conflicting emotions. He had absolutely no doubt that his suspicions about the man who owned the bookshop were correct, he was a scurrilous advocate of disloyal propaganda and deserved to be shown the error of his ways. But his bitterness towards him was tempered by the feelings he had for Willy. They were not objective feelings in any way, shape or form. They were personal feelings. Even so, they were strong enough to weaken his resolve.

"Yes, I think what you say is true. He is a harmless old man. But if I agree not to denounce him it will only be because of your kind pleading on his behalf. Tell the fool to get rid of that stuff and anything else like it."

That night the university auditorium was full to capacity. Three hundred chairs had been set out and all of them were occupied, the front rows taken by a variety of regional dignitaries and the faculty of the university. Behind them sat senior representatives of the local National Socialist Party and Youth Leaders of the Jungmadel, and behind them students and assorted individuals from the town.

In the centre of a stage a sombre podium had been set, flanked with huge red banners bearing swastika emblems together with flags of the SS -- two white runic figures on a solid black background.

As the seconds ticked towards the full hour the central lights dimmed until only the stage was bathed in white light, and the Principal of the University then stood up briefly to introduce the guest speaker.

A slightly built, unassuming figure appeared in the wings and walked slowly towards the podium. It was Paul Joseph Goebbels, Minister for Nazi Propaganda.

He gripped the lectern in front of him with both hands and offered a faint smile. "Damen und Herren - Students of the University - Burgers of this beautiful historic town. Thank you for inviting me here. Those of you who know something about me will know I passed through these hallowed halls twenty years ago as a young man, so I am not an anonymous stranger. I am a traveller coming home."

He continued speaking in a courteous and unruffled manner. The audience listened, hushed in awe. His enunciation was crisp and clear. They were mesmerised. This man was a trusted friend of Hitler. They knew that every word he said was a reflection of the thoughts of the great Leader and it was like listening to the Fuehrer speaking himself.

"My friends. Good Germans. I am here to tell you about the future. The bad times, the unemployment, the despair and poverty are behind us now and we are victorious everywhere. We must now think what we wish our descendents to inherit from us in a thousand years from now, and of course we wish them to inherit a virile nation, a healthy nation free of racial ambiguities and a nation that is the foremost power in the world. We will not tolerate carrying forward the petty rivalries and divisions and the failures to unite that have plagued us in the past, and we don't have to, because we are blessed with a wise and faultless leadership.

"There may be those among you who are puzzled as to why, having conquered most of Europe so easily, we have not stamped on the stubborn English in their island before taking on a new crusade with Stalin's Russia. Well, I can tell you they will not escape our attention, but first we must seek to impose our priorities. We can crush the British at our leisure, but we must not allow them to deflect us at this moment from our urgent desire for expansion in the east and the eradication of the vile disease of bolshevism.

"You will know from the news bulletins that our armies in Russia are rapidly destroying the savage Slavic hordes opposed to them and ultimate victory is assured. This success is only made possible because we have a resolute leader who has correctly grasped the political and military situation and acted in accordance with his own understanding.

Not since the Roman Empire as the world known such greatness. Charlemagne and Napoleon almost achieved it, and great opportunities were missed by those men. Instead Europe was cursed with discord and waste as kings and princes continued to fight each other for supremacy. Now we have a chance to arrive at a final peace through war. We are blessed with a man with the intellect, the nerve and the will to bring all of Europe together under the leadership of a single beneficent master.

"Adolph Hitler will outshine all who have gone before him. He is an agency of history destined to resurrect Germany's national greatness. Believe in him and it will be attained. Our Fuehrer does not make mistakes.

"Some individuals with rotten minds will not admit that of course. They remain blind to the crisis of unemployment that was previously our despair, and they resent the money spent on armaments that are the key to our future prosperity. That is not good enough. The future can not be entrusted to foolish wishes, anger and lies; it can only be attained through hard work, honesty and obligation to the Fuehrer.

Show yourself worthy of his trust and a new golden age of Germanic-Aryan culture can commence.

"This cannot be achieved without effort, of course. The scale of things are awesome, the battles now and in the future will be intensely fierce, and our courageous soldiers must have the support of every man, woman and child in the Reich in order to achieve their aims. We must have Wehrwille -- the will -- the desire -- the courage to make war, and total war must be waged if we are to ensure success against the animal Slavs. We must ignore the restraints of morality, customs and international law. We must do what is best for ourselves, for we are fighting in a righteous cause, and we are fighting for an ideology."

His voice rose in a final dramatic crescendo, showing his skill for charismatic oratory as his hands began to bang on the lectern.

"The Fuehrer promises certain victory. He only requires his followers share the faith he as in himself as he guides them along the path of national unity and racial purity.

What counts is will, and if our will is strong and ruthless enough, we can do anything."

Rising in one spontaneous mass, the audience clapped until the room was awash with applause. An arm swung up in the midst of them, followed by a dozen others, followed by everyone's arm

"Seig Heil!" a voice bellowed.

"Seig Heil!" responded Viktor Schacht.

"Seig Heil, Seig Heil!" chorused three hundred other voices.

There was a knock on the door. It was a demanding thump. It banged, and then banged again and again until the door shook.

It was still only early morning but the banging became so urgent that Felix Haushofer hurriedly pulled on his trousers and went down the stairs. Willy, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes and thinking there must be a fire, went with him with only the fabric of an ankle-long shift clinging to his body.

"What on earth can be so urgent on a Sunday morning?" rumbled the old man.

The noise continued. A relentless din. This time a voice accompanied it. "Open up! Open the door!"

"Who is it? What do you want?" Felix called hoarsely.

"Police! Open the door or we'll break it down."

"Okay, okay! There's no need for that. Just give me a moment." Felix unbolted the door and swung it wide to be confronted by a policeman in uniform. Behind him were several other men, some of them in civilian clothes.

"Step outside." the uniformed man told him, "And the girl. Bring out the girl too."

"Can we put on some proper clothes first?" the old man asked.

"You heard what was said. Out!" one of the other men growled threateningly. He grabbed Felix by an arm and yanked him into the street. Dismayed, Willy followed him.

A number of anonymous looking black cars were lined up along the curb. A uniformed policeman was ushering pedestrians to the other side of the street, while others took up post as sentinels at their side.

Some men went into the shop and there was the noise of callous searching; things falling over, books showering onto the floor. Another man went in with a crowbar.

A short distance away a small knot of men in plain civilian clothes hung together in a group. Viktor Schacht was standing with a dumpy man who wore a long coat and a Tyrolean hat who was being consulted by someone who had just come out from the shop with a pile of magazines.

Fearful and confused, and astonished at seeing Viktor there, Willy looked up at Felix. "What is this all about? Why are they treating us like this?"

The man tried to smile reassurance, but couldn't manage it. He had forgotten how dramatic Willy could look, her cheeks pale and delicate, emphasising the gentleness of her lips and brows, the sparkling blue of her eyes. He could only hope that such sweetness would warrant a little mercy.

"Willy, I fear I have dragged you into something very bad. Some of the people here are not regular police. Some of them are Geheime Staatspolizei -- they are Gestapo."

"Stop talking!" a voice demanded. It was the man in the long coat. He had the face of a frog suffering from dyspepsia. With a curt swing of his hand he signalled to his henchmen.

"Take them away and keep them separate. I don't want them cooking up stories between them as they go."

"Do you have a coat for the girl? She should have a coat." put in Viktor Schacht with an ionic touch of thoughtfulness.

A blanket was found and wrapped around Willy's shoulders, but through the rough wool his frame looked no less frail.

"I found it impossible to keep my promise, and I regret that you are involved in this." Viktor remarked stonily as Willy was led past him.

Willy, stunned by the man's apparent betrayal, merely gazed at the ground and didn't answer even whilst disappointment raked him with burning claws. His words hurt more than if he had turned and walked away -- more than if he had physically attacked him. Every breath he took drew in the rank bitterness of his poison.

The man in the long coat and alpine hat rubbed his hands together as the mornings catch were loaded into two of the cars. Nobody important, just a couple of minnows, but they were a rescue from a day that had promised boredom.

"Do not allow your personal feelings to cloud your judgement in this matter, Herr Schacht. You did the right thing by reporting this mealy-mouthed scum."

Viktor bridled. "With due respect, sir, my personal feelings do not enter into the matter. I did only what any good German should do."

"Naturally." the frog-faced man said genially, "Good Germans know the difference between right and wrong, and they have faith in their decisions. The greatest weakness of power is self-doubt. We must expect people to obey."

"And if they do not obey?"

The man's tone became iron-hard. "If they do not, we must be absolutely merciless. The second weakness of power is pity; we can have none of that."

SS-Standartenfuhrer Albert Naujocks gazed out from his second storey office window along the Unter den Linden, allowing his gaze to follow the line of trees along the wide boulevard to the palace and university. To his left, beyond the Pariser Platz, the Brandenburg Gate, martially equipped with horses and chariots, stood on guard.

He was thinking about what had recently happened to Rudolph Hess.

For many years Hess had been one of Hitler's most intimate and slavish devotees and had been given the status of Deputy Fuehrer, but some time ago he had begun to feel himself being sidelined by other people in the Fuehrer's inner circle.

In order to make his star shine bright again he had recently flown to Scotland -- his own idea - with the notion of instigating a treaty of peace with the British by way of a relative of King George. Foolishly, naively, he believed that the differences between two warring nations could be sorted-out over a cup of tea with a well-heeled aristocrat.

Of course he was unsuccessful and he would now be incarcerated by the enemy for the duration of hostilities. But Hess's silly escapade had aroused in Naujocks an idea that there were more ways to skin a cat other than with a blunt knife.

Earlier he had glanced at the latest pile of dispatches lying on his desk. Lists and more lists. Most were grainy and of poor quality, third copies `for information only', and usually he didn't bother even reading them. But on that particular day, a name on the topmost sheet of paper caught his eye and had started him on a train of thought.

Mechanically he walked across the room. On the far wall was pinned a large map of Europe and western Asia depicting the current extent of Hitler's conquests. Almost the entire European land mass lay under his dominance, and the parts that clung to independence were either servile allies or nervous neutrals. Since the surprise assault on Russia in June German arms had swept relentlessly eastwards and overrun the most populous areas of the USSR, and it seemed certain that before winter set in Moscow and the prize of the Caucus oilfields would be in the fuehrer's grasp.

The Leader of Germany had engineered a masterly concept that outshone the best of his generals, and to Naujocks only one element of it rankled with untidiness.

To the side of the map hung a framed copy of the Hymn of Hate that his father had retained from the First Great War.

`French and Russians they matter not

A blow for blow and a shot for shot

We love them not, we hate them not

We hold the Vistula and the Vosges-gate

We have but one and only hate

We love as one, we hate as one

We have one foe and one alone,

ENGLAND!'

Yes, he thought, the continuing hostility of the British was an untidy element in what was otherwise a faultless plan.

He knew his history and he recalled his father's great disappointment and the hatred that had obsessed him at that time. During that war the British sea blockade had pushed the population of Germany to the verge of starvation, and although huge French armies had blocked German success on land for years, it was mainly the British who had broken the Alberich offensive in 1918. That had been Germany's final frantic gamble to bring the war to a satisfactory conclusion before the Americans arrived in any great strength to assist the allies, and it had failed. Thereafter his father had blamed the English more than anyone else for Germany's eventual defeat.

He remembered the last few months of that war, when every letter from him had been postmarked `God Punish England'.

He thought things over for perhaps half an hour, then feeling suddenly inspired he strode out of the door into the outer office where an aide immediately leapt to his feet.

"Is SS-Sturmbannfuhrer Strasser in town, Kleist?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." said the aide, "He'll be sauntering along the Kurfurstendamm at this moment I expect." a small smile flitted across the young officers mouth. "Major Strasser particularly enjoys the cabarets when he's in Berlin."

Naujocks glanced at his watch. "It's still only early evening. Have someone go and find him. Tell him I want to see him here right away."

Princess Ingrid had a lean face with a strong, wide mouth. Except for her fair skin and large expressive eyes her beauty was almost masculine. That was not alarming, since the princess was a man. His real name was Walther Holldobler, and Princess Ingrid was only his stage name, but everyone called him Ingrid. He was till wearing theatrical base and eyeliner from the cabaret, but that was all he was wearing. Beneath the bedcovers he was completely naked.

He was expecting a guest, but when he heard a key turn in the lock of his bedroom door, he nonetheless clutched the heavy Federdecke to his chin.

Hermann Strasser leaned his head through the doorway and presented a lurid grin.

"Ingrid, meine Schatze, meine kleine Edelweiss. I've missed you."

Ingrid moved his legs slowly back and forth beneath the bedcovers. "I've missed you too, Hermann. Have you brought me a nice present?"

The man's gorilla frame almost filled the door. He was carrying a bottle, and he surveyed the room carefully before entering.

"A fat little purse and a bottle of real champagne."

"How sweet of you."

"How sweet indeed." he rejoined, letting his eyes linger on the princess's pretty white throat. He sat on the edge of the bed, bent forward, and gently kissed him.

"How was Düsseldorf?" Ingrid asked.

Hermann lifted his nose as if he'd just detected a bad smell. "I never go to Düsseldorf. I work in Breslau."

"Oh, yes, of course." Ingrid sat up, realising he was confusing his guest with someone else. "Come and warm me up." he invited.

Hermann found it easy to adapt to the mood when he knew there was a naked body involved. He slipped off his jacket and trousers and rolled onto him, his erection already protruding through the gap in his underpants. He was a jaded man in many respects, and Ingrid was so youthful and ripe, and so effeminate. And he fully understood the need for distraction with a war raging. It was his duty to service those in need.

He leaned forward and gave her an enormous wet kiss. Ingrid received it with vengeance, pulling at his tongue with his own.

"Wait!" Hermann said. "I do believe...why yes, I swear I saw a public notice. Let me check." he threw the covers over his head and began nibbling down the transvestite's body as Ingrid laughed. He loved that laugh -- the ring of fine crystal. He began kissing his belly just below the navel, ultimately seeking his thighs.

Licking lightly just once, he raised his head. "I knew it." he said. "It says `verboten,' here."

He rolled him over and gripped his buttocks which were of a tender hue the French would call `rose de dessous'. "Just as I suspected. Here too."

Ingrid giggled. "And what about my titties?"

Hermann rolled Ingrid back over and buried his face in his chest. "Same story. Both of them." he licked each of them, then sucked each nipple in turn while Ingrid stroked his head.

"What fine boobs you have," he said, gathering them into a firm grasp. "The trouble is, I'm Bavarian, and whenever I see verboten' I read it as opportunity.'

"And what will become of this opportunity?" Ingrid murmured.

Hermann clucked joyfully. "Why, quite definitely it will lead to the fucking of your lovely round arse, my poppet."

There was an abrupt knock on the bedroom door that interrupted negotiations, and Ingrid barked, "Fuck off! Go away and come back in the morning."

Hermann approved enthusiastically. "What an excellent idea! My sweetheart, your grasp of language is a godsend!"

Far from departing, the person outside lingered and spoken words came through the woodwork. "I have an urgent message for Sturmbannfuhrer Strasser." it called.

"What's the message?" rumbled Hermann, making no attempt to go near the door.

"Major Strasser is immediately required to attend Colonel Naujocks at SS Headquarters, sir." the voice answered.

Hermann's expression drooped, and his ardour immediately began to droop too. "Damn this bloody war!"

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything of vital importance by insisting you come here, Hermann." Albert Naujocks said when Herr Strasser joined him.

"No, no, sir. I was merely about to have dinner with a lady. It was nothing that cannot be done another time."

"That's good, because I'm going to need your assistance for the next few days. I've been thinking rather deeply about some things, and one of them is the British. The Fuehrer as become fixated with the war on Russia without first completing the subjugation of the English pest."

Hermann threw up his hands. "The English are on the defensive everywhere, surely there is no urgency to finish them off."

The senior officer's jaw set firm. "Of course there is urgency. The Fuehrer would have had them tucked on the shelve last year had he not been served by incompetent fools. Goering's airforce failed to obliterate their army when it was cornered on the beaches at Dunkirk, and afterwards it failed to clear the way for a seaborne invasion of the British island.

"They are a thorn in our backside, Hermann. Their continuing defiance compels us to maintain a separate army just to hold them in check, and it is an army that could be thrown into the struggle with the Russians if England could be coaxed into making peace. At the moment the Fuehrer is torn between making a dash to seize the oilfields of Baku and taking Moscow before Christmas. Given the help of those formations sitting on their backsides along the North Sea coast he could do both."

Naujocks reached for a sheet of paper. "Does the name Wilhelm Froehlich mean anything to you?"

Hermann scratched his slab of a chin and considered for a moment. "Well, yes. I recall that was the name of an effeminate queen that once lodged with Fraulein Dietz at Ravenskopf."

"Correct. He was memorable little thing, even I am willing to admit that. What do you know about his passions?"

Strasser put on a show of being affronted. "Practically nothing, sir. Gracious, I would never get involved with a queer. You know that."

The other man cocked an eyebrow and smiled faintly. He knew everything about Strasser, right down to the amount of toothpaste he put on his brush. He tapped the paper in his hand with a fingertip and passed it over.

"The creature is in trouble with the Gestapo. For subversion, of all things."

Strasser looked at the name. "It doesn't surprise me. He lost his homosexual lover in the war some time ago. He is a soft, emotional thing and a bit of a pacifist. He could easily be led astray."

"Having control of a pacifist can be useful to me at this time." said his chief. "I have come up with a rather cute idea that could cause some mischief for the British and may even help bring about their downfall. My idea involves this -- um - person. It is quite inexpensive and simple to action, and I foresee no objection being raised by the Abwehr to trying it.

"I'd appreciate your help in arranging things, Hermann. If I can persuade Himmler's overeager hotheads to release him it will mean a little trip abroad for our young pansy friend."

"Abroad, sir?"

Herr Naujocks nodded. "Dead men and exiles, Hermann. Excellent company to be in. They don't argue or complain, and they find it hard to tell tales."

The room was small and austere, all four of its walls being lime-washed with their lower portions scarred by countless black scuff marks. There were no windows and there was no furniture either except for a chair and a narrow wooden trestle-table that served as a desk. On the table sat a notebook and a telephone.

There was a smell of disinfectant about the place, an antiseptic, fishy smell that made Willy Froehlich reluctant to breathe. It was like a hospital, but without promoting the good intensions of a hospital.

The floor was surfaced with old and stained tiles, and the tiles were cold to his bare feet. Two heavyset young men stood behind him by the door. He was completely naked, and utterly terrified.

"Your name is Wilhelm Froehlich and you are a girly-queer. Is that correct?" a spiteful voice demanded.

Willy blinked painfully. His chest and arms hurt as if they had been punched. He tried to focus on his words, but although his tongue attempted to move it seemed to stay glued to the roof of his mouth. Nodding dumbly, he gazed at his feet.

"Answer!" the voice yelled viciously. "When I ask a question, I require an answer."

"Yes, yes I am." muttered Willy, shocked into speech.

"Look at me." the voice then rasped. Willy lifted his head and peered through unkempt straggles of hair to view the wiry little man standing before him. His sinister eyes were hidden behind steel-rimmed glasses and he wasn't smiling.

"First, let me explain a couple of things, girly." the man said. "I'm going to demand co-operation from you, and my two colleagues are here to ensure I get it." he gestured towards the door where his assistants stood. "Karl enjoys knifework. He could make more of a woman of you in a few seconds than you've ever been in your life before, while Heinz prefers to use his fists. He hates queers, and you would end up a shapeless lump of snot and blood on the floor if I let him have his way with you. You would be unrecognisable as a member of the human race -- which you probably don't belong to anyway."

Willy's blond hair was loose and matted and he had been crying; his eyes were red from it, and one of them was badly bruised. A cold feeling of sickness was crawling through him. Shock, anguish, despair -- he could feel them all.

"Please... I don't know why you've brought me here. I don't know what I've done wrong."

The man's eyes flicked over Willy's unguarded face in scornful dismissal, the hard line of lips below his pug nose looking like a gash in his face. "You are a disgusting homosexual monstrosity, and you were found masquerading as a woman and co-habiting with a subversive."

"Herr Haushofer was a pacifist. He was my landlord. He gave me a room when I asked about work in his bookshop."

"He was distributing seditious pamphlets, subverting others with his lies and distorted ideas. He was preaching revolution and hate for the Fuehrer, and you were helping him."

"H-he wasn't a violent man, he just didn't agree with the war."

"The Fuehrer makes decisions about war and peace, no one else. Anyway, whatever your friend agreed or disagreed with doesn't matter any more. That man argued too much, and one of my associates lost patience with him in this room an hour ago and shot him in the head.

Willy's shoulders slumped. He was shocked at the cold blooded murder of the old man, but he couldn't help an overriding feeling of concern for himself too. He didn't wish to admit it, but he nevertheless suspected that he would share a similar fate once the men there had no more use for him.

"You were a fool to leave Ravenskopf." his interrogator continued. "Many senior officers favour taking their furlough in that place these days and degenerate pantywaist freaks such as you are protected there."

"I couldn't stay." Willy said, his words clipped and unwilling, "Not after..."

His explanation petered out, but with a cynical twist to his mouth the interrogator finished for him. "Not after the death of you boyfriend, is that what you were about to say?"

He was about to say that. He and Eduard had only snatched brief interludes together since the beginning of the war, but they had been joyous and happy times, the kind of times only young lovers can know about. Then one morning Fraulein Dietz had told him of his death. Killed in action. The news seemed to affect him more than it did her. She went about her daily routine as sharp and efficiently as usual, while he had wept for days on end.

"Eduard was brave and kind."

The man's lips curled up in a sneer. "Probably had a big dick too, eh?"

The two men at the door sniggered.

Willy's lips worked silently for a moment, then he said: "He had a noble and generous mind, and I loved him."

The man slapped his hand down on the table. "Enough of the sentimental crap. He was just an officer like many others who have died in the service of the Reich. Now, I want names from you. I want to know the names of everyone you and that traitorous turd Hausofer spoke regularly with in the past three months."

Willy shuddered unsteadily, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of the man's words. "We didn't always talk about the war. Germany is winning. The Wehrmacht is victorious everywhere. Most people we spoke with support what is happening."

The interrogator seated himself at the table and drew a pen from the inner lining of his jacket. In his drab civilian clothes he would have seemed insignificant and innocuous in the street, ignored by good looking women and scorned by more intelligent men, but in that squalid claustrophobic room he could take on the role of a tyrant king, and he relished playing the part.

"I will decide what is important, and I'll decide who is guilty or innocent of crime. Give me some names. Begin with someone who didn't support the war."

Willy couldn't stop shivering. He was cold and very frightened, and he was ashamed because he wasn't brave and knew he was going to tell the man whatever he wanted to know.

Before he could say a word the telephone on the table jangled softly, and with a curse of irritation the man lifted the handset. "Yes, what is it? I'm busy ...What ...But I protest. I'm in the middle of something...That's impossible..." He continued listening for a moment and his face flared with anger. "Yes damn it, yes. Very well."

He slammed the phone back onto its cradle, a look of fury predominant on his face. "Out, out!" he yelled at the men near the door. He rose up himself and as he passed Willy he glared malevolence. "We have been told to vacate the room for a few minutes to allow someone else to interview you. Don't move from this spot while we are away. If you move a millimetre I'll have Heinz to give you a reprimand when we return."

Soon after his three tormentors had departed two officers wearing the uniform of the SS entered the chamber where he stood, and like a dream from the past come back to haunt him he recognised the Rottwieller features of Herr Strasser and the more inscrutable face of the more senior officer who accompanied him. A man who had become known to him as Herr Naujocks.

"It stinks in here. Smells like a mortuary." remarked the senior man.

"This is a subterranean cellar." replied Hermann Strasser, "We're twenty metres underground and I guess the ventilation is not too good."

The senior officer glanced at Willy with disapproval. "Put some clothes on for goodness sake."

Willy flinched. "The man who was here before said he'd punish me if I moved."

"As long as you are agreeable to what I say, he won't be coming back. Cover yourself up."

Willy scampered swiftly across to the wall and retrieved the coarse grey smock that had been pull off him and thrown on the floor on his arrival. Naujock swung the chair round from behind the table and told him to sit on it. The man himself perched a single buttock on the edge of the table and stared down at him.

"Willy, that's your name, isn't it? We worked together a couple of years ago - a little escapade in a radio station. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

Naujocks eased into a more comfortable position. "It's a shame we have to meet again in such depressing circumstances. The Gestapo are not the most pleasant company, and the accommodation they provide is always appalling. And I think that in your heart you are a loyal German, aren't you, Willy?"

"Yes, yes. I would never do anything to hurt Germany. I would never wish to do anything to hurt ANYONE."

"Quite so! And I am here to make you a proposition. It's an offer that can get you out of the trouble you find yourself in."

Gradually some of the panic drained from Willy's face, but the adrenaline was still pumping and making him shake, and he remained sceptical, not daring to believe a reprieve could so easily be given. "I can go free?"

"Certainly. If you prove agreeable to what I say, Herr Strasser and I will immediately escort you to safety. But of course there are some conditions attached to the deal."

Conditions! That sounded cryptic, almost ominous. Willy Froehlich was sickened by the prospect of returning to the bordello-like existence that would have permeated Ravenskopf since its refurbishment, or to life as a personal whore to some high-rank official.

Naujocks shuffled his broad thigh against the tabletop and his next comment referred to neither of those things.

"You've no doubt heard of Rudolph Hess."

Willy nodded. "Herr Hess was the Fuehrer's deputy. He recently flew himself to England to negotiate peace with the British. It was his own idea. Hitler insists he was demented."

Naujock nodded. "You understand the gist of it. And although his idea was fantastic, it was not without some merit, and I have the permission of the High Command to attempt something similar. I need your assistance to do it, Willy. You are known to be a person who hates war, and I wish you to take your passion to England."

Willy's pulse lurched wildly and he gaped. "England! But I've never been there in my life before."

Hermann Strasser shuffled his feet. "We know you can speak their language. It will take a little time to complete our arrangements, and while we wait I'll ensure you attend a course of tuition with an excellent coach to sharpen you up."

"And you should study the way of English politics too. That will be important." continued Naujocks.

"The Fuehrer as recently taken on the Bolsheviks, and he wants an end to the war in the West. The British have stood alone for the past year and cannot win. Our U-boat campaign in the Atlantic is slowly starving their population, but Herr Hitler is becoming impatient.

"The Fuehrer as no argument with them, nor as he ever wished them harm. He no longer considers how to win a war against them, but only how rapidly he can end a war that is already won. They are already defeated, but their administration as fallen into the hands of a gang of warmongers who refuse to acknowledge reality.

The Fuehrer is a kind man in victory and admires British pluck. He dislikes the relentless bombing of their cities and grieves at killing so many children and their mothers. You are a sensitive individual. You can sympathise with what I'm saying, can't you, Willy?"

Another nod from Willy Froehlich, but less perceptible than the first. "But I am not important. How can you expect me to succeed in something in which the Deputy Fuehrer has failed?"

The senior officer pursed his mouth. "Herr Hess went at this thing like a bull at a gate, but we won't make that mistake. Forget about approaches to their king and such nonsense, there is a significant anti-war faction in England that only needs encouragement to make itself known. A great many of the English upper-classes approved of Hitler's policies before the outbreak of war, and I have selected one of them for you to ingratiate yourself with. He is a Member of Parliament who regularly socialises with influential people, and you must convince him that there is a chance for honourable peace. It's as simple as that."

"It would be dangerous for me to go there." Willy exclaimed tremulously, "The British would consider me a spy, and spies are executed in times of war."

"Only if they're caught. You'll need to take that chance." he was told brusquely. "The war rages on more than one front, but this is your chance to alleviate the suffering of a great many people, and it is a chance to serve your country."

Naujocks looked around at the bare walls. "Look at it this way. Our beloved Geheime Staatspolizei are above the law and can do as they wish. The outlook for you in this place is bleak if you don't wish to agree."

Once outside in the street Willy was put into the back of a waiting car, and Hermann instructed the driver where to take him.

As the car pulled away from the curb he looked at his companion. "Well, the tart agrees to comply with our wishes. Do you think anything will come of it?"

Naujocks signalled his own car forward with a wave of his hand. "Probably not. But if he -- she can make the British a little discomforted, it will be enough. If the pervert actually succeeds in bringing about a peace settlement, he'll be a hero and the Fuehrer will pin a medal on his tits.

"And if he fails -- well, who cares? The bitch is expendable."