To Catch a King. Jack Higgins

head waiter, looked in, holding a bunch of red roses. ‘I thought you’d like to know we’ve got distinguished company tonight.’

      ‘And who would that be?’ Max Winter asked.

      ‘Heydrich himself and General Schellenberg.’ Vogel handed the roses to Hannah. ‘These are for you with General Schellenberg’s compliments, and will you join them after the show?’

      The Garden Room was nothing like as busy as usual. Vogel gave Heydrich and Schellenberg a booth that was usually reserved for guests of the management.

      ‘Champagne,’ Heydrich said. ‘Krug. Two bottles and put more on ice.’

      ‘Certainly, Herr General.’

      Vogel bustled away and Heydrich looked the place over. As usual with such clubs, there were a number of pretty young hostesses available, seated at the bar. He looked them over with the eye of the true connoisseur.

      Vogel appeared with the champagne and Heydrich said, ‘The blonde, third from the end of the bar. Tell her to come over.’

      The girl came immediately. Heydrich didn’t ask her name. Simply told her to sit down and poured her a glass of champagne. Then he pulled back her skirt and stroked her silken knees while he talked to Schellenberg.

      Connie and his boys were playing ‘Some of These Days’ and Heydrich drummed out the tempo on the edge of the table with the fingers of his free hand.

      ‘Excellent – really quite excellent. You know, Walter, one of the more fatuous requirements of our present system is that it expects me to consider Negroes my inferior, which is rather unfortunate in my case as I adore Louis Armstrong, the music of Duke Ellington and the piano playing of Fats Waller.’

      Schellenberg said, ‘The Jewish situation creates the same personal difficulties, don’t you find? I mean, almost every mathematician, or musician or scientist of note seems to be a Jew, and rather large numbers of them have left. I wonder just how long we can stand that?’

      Heydrich frowned, which hardly surprised Schellenberg. He was well aware of his superior’s dark secret which was that his maternal grandmother, Sarah, had been Jewish.

      ‘That kind of talk will get you into nothing but trouble, Walter. There are times when I despair of you. Times when a definitely suicidal strain shows through.’ He refilled Schellenberg’s glass. ‘Here – drink up and shut up!’

      The trio started to play a little louder, Uncle Max’s voice boomed out and a moment later, Hannah emerged on stage and started to sing.

      A great many of her numbers were in English, which was what the crowd expected. She worked her way through a number of popular songs of the day including ‘The Continental’, ‘That Old Feeling’, ‘Time on My Hands’, a Noël Coward number, ‘Mad About the Boy’, and ended with a really beautiful rendition of ‘These Foolish Things’ that had the diners standing up and cheering.

      Schellenberg had been totally absorbed and was on his feet applauding madly when he glanced to one side and noticed Heydrich still sitting down, one arm around the young girl, frowning up at him in a strangely calculating way.

      As the applause died down, he said, ‘Careful, Walter, you’re letting your enthusiasm run away with you. I think you like this one – too much, perhaps.’

      Schellenberg nodded to Vogel who went and spoke to Hannah who had stopped beside the piano to talk to Connie. She came across, pausing here and there to speak to well-wishers.

      He stood up. ‘You were marvellous – truly.’

      He held her hands tightly for a moment and she responded in spite of herself. ‘Thanks – I enjoyed doing it and that’s usually good for the audience.’

      ‘General Heydrich, may I present Fräulein Hannah Winter?’

      Heydrich didn’t bother to get up. ‘Excellent, Fräulein. Really very, very good.’ His manner was cool enough to border on the offensive. He said to Schellenberg, ‘Actually, Walter, I’ve decided to have an early night. I’ll take the car and send it back for you, if you want to stay on, that is.’

      ‘Yes, I think I will.’

      ‘Suit yourself.’ Heydrich got up, clutching the blonde girl firmly by one arm. ‘Fräulein – a pleasure.’

      Hannah and Schellenberg watched them go. He poured her a glass of champagne. ‘You have another show?’

      ‘Yes, in an hour.’

      ‘May I escort you home afterwards?’

      She put a hand on her thigh, aware of the folded report that she had pushed into her stocking. It gave her a strange feeling of power over him so that she smiled and said yes and was aware of that familiar hollow feeling of excitement.

      ‘Your General Heydrich,’ she said. ‘Does he usually take bar girls home with him?’

      ‘Frequently.’

      ‘He should beware of young Lotte. The word I heard was that she was having to see the doctor.’

      Schellenberg laughed. ‘We have a saying in the SS. A soldier’s pay – a soldier’s risks.’

      She leaned forwards, a sudden urgency in her voice. ‘You’re not like him – like the rest of them. I don’t understand.’

      He took her hand and said gently, ‘Are you familiar with a song called “Moonlight on the Highway”?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I have a record of it sung by the English crooner, Al Bowlly. It is an especial favourite of mine. Will you sing it for me?’

      ‘If you like.’

      ‘I love good jazz singing. Billie Holliday was my favourite – until now. Your trio are really quite excellent.’

      ‘Connie and the boys. Oh, yes – terrors with the girls. Women seem to be their main spare-time interest.’