Golden Boy. Paula Astridge
your talents could be put to better use overseeing the local rail infrastructure, Rudy,’ Albert said in frustration.
They had been waiting at Mannheim Railway Station for over an hour. Wolters’ train was running thirty minutes late and unlike his tall, sentimental friend who was not looking forward to saying goodbye, Albert was getting impatient to do just that. Several times he had looked at his watch, quite aware that in doing so he was making his friend uncomfortable, but that could not be helped. He had other obligations and his time was of the essence. Even now, Margret was at home waiting with their suitcases packed in the car to start out for Berlin.
With his hands in his trench coat pockets, Albert began to pace the platform in a way that made Wolters feel not only embarrassed and annoyed, but also disappointed to see that Albert could not wait to be rid of him.
‘You can go if you like,’ he said. ‘I can manage alone.’
The hurt edge to Wolters’ tone pulled Albert up short. ‘No, don’t be silly. I wouldn’t think of it. Bad form not to see you off on your new career. Dear ol’ Rudy, I don’t know how I’m going to get along without you.’
They were kind but glib words that didn’t go far to convince Wolters of his friend’s sincerity. So perhaps it was the prospect of his imminent departure that gave Rudy the courage to finally speak up.
‘Why is it, Albert, that I always have such an uneasy feeling about our friendship? It’s as if I always have to work harder at it than you do, as if I’m your friend purely on sufferance.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Albert was quick to dismiss the comment. Damn! He had hoped to escape this goodbye without a full-blown show of emotion on Rudy’s part.
‘Don’t deny it, it’s true,’ Wolters continued. Now that he had taken the bull by the horns, he had no intention of letting Albert off lightly. ‘Sometimes I feel like a real chump. Just like a little kid who’s terrified that one day you’re going to get sick of me and say that you don’t want to play with me anymore.’
‘God, how maudlin can you get!’
Lighting a cigarette, Albert laughed off the emotive accusation and Wolters lowered his eyes in disappointment, realising that his friend had stopped short of denying it. Obviously the thought had crossed Albert’s mind. But that was as far as Albert dared go. To voice his feelings would be unthinkable and Wolters deserved better. It was, however, the truth of their lopsided relationship. Rudy was right. There was a patronising quality to Albert’s side of the deal, doling out, as he did, only the minimum of commitment. Wolters’ eagerness was flattering to an extent, but also slightly oppressive, not to mention way too personal. He lapped up whatever titbits of attention Albert was in the mood to dish out and always gave him the uneasy feeling that he wanted to lick the plate clean and devour him whole.
Under the circumstances it would have been simpler to slough Wolters off, but Albert never got round to it. Often it felt good to have this satellite orbiting around him, and it did Albert’s ego no harm to know that he was the centre of another person’s universe. For this reason he chose to keep their relationship on simmer while he busied himself with other far more important issues. He had places to go and big things to achieve in his life. If Wolters wanted to come along for the ride, why stop him? There was always the chance that his friend’s cloying obsession might just come in handy one day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Karl Hanke, thankfully, was a different kind of friend altogether. One, who as Head of Grunewald Nazi District Headquarters, had already come in handy. He was a cool headed go-getter whose flagrant disregard for other people’s needs marked him as a man of stark contrast to the deep and meaningful, undyingly loyal Rudolf Wolters.
That suited Albert perfectly. Right at the moment the cold, calculating Karl was just the type of chum he needed. A compliment that the expedient Hanke would have been quick to return seeing that Albert Speer was one of the rare few in the city, or country for that matter, who owned a car. Such a possession was gold these days when few had enough money to afford petrol let alone a shiny, new vehicle to pump it into.
‘It’s at your disposal,’ Speer volunteered the day he arrived in Berlin.
Before his new Nazi recruit had a chance to change his mind, Hanke quickly handed Speer a pen and with equal speed, Speer put his name on the dotted line, formally signing over his vehicle to The Nazi Party’s car pool. To turn his prized asset into communal property helped put him at the hub of the frenzied excitement that gripped the city. It was a sacrifice well worth making when he was determined and impatient to get results and prepared to do anything to secure the same for Hitler.
So far he, Albert Speer, was an unknown entity, but he rightly reckoned that offering up his car for The Party’s use would bring him up to speed pretty quickly; one stroke of a pen putting him in the fast lane, quite literally, with the men who mattered. Similarly, a few strokes of his paint brush had them sit up to take notice even faster. Speer made himself the focal point of their gobsmacked attention when he painted Karl Hanke’s office red.
‘Hell! You don’t do anything by halves, do you Speer?’ Hanke said, shocked when he saw the new interior design for his office. He had no idea that Speer would go out on such a dangerous, innovative limb, taking an artistic concept to such an extreme to make his point. But then he should have known that Speer was not the type to play it safe. Having been given his first real architectural commission, he would go all out to make an impact.
‘Would you want me to?’ Speer replied calmly, not moving his attention from the design plans sprawled over his desk. He was working hard to ignore the startled reaction he knew his friend was having to his controversial work.
‘Well, I suppose not,’ Hanke replied, sounding a little uncertain.
‘If you don’t like it I can change it and go safe and conservative, but I was under the impression that you wanted to make a statement.’
‘Well you’ve certainly made one for me.’
Hanke laughed uneasily as he looked up at the ceiling and around his freshly painted offices, trying to take it all in. It was very difficult to do when he had anticipated greys and whites with mahogany trim and now had to come to terms with strident red, white and black. Not only did Hanke have to brace himself to live with it, but had to explain the radical colour scheme to his superiors back at Berlin Headquarters.
None of this should have surprised him when he knew that Speer prided himself on being a little left of centre, always getting his kicks from shocking people out of their comfort zone. This time, however, he had achieved as much by booting Hanke out of his. For this, Hanke had no one else but himself to blame. Perhaps he should have been a little more succinct about his interior design requirements.
When he hinted to Speer that he wasn’t averse to a splash of colour, he had no idea that the man would take him at his word. That all four walls of the impressive foyer and adjoining offices would be painted a fire engine red. It was a floor to ceiling, confrontational colour scheme that was alleviated only by the contrasting black and white trims around the windows: a living, breathing, three-dimensional representation of the Nazi flag.
Whereas Hanke was more than happy to march under its colours, he wasn’t quite so prepared to live with them on a seven day a week basis and was not at all sure he had the courage or clout to sell this outrageous design idea to his superiors. At the moment they were a bit sensitive about The Nazi Party’s public image and were striving hard to throw a conservative blanket over its radical, rough and ready roots. Surely a good start would be to surround themselves with a little uncontroversial, conventional taste?
But when it came to Hanke having to make a second dip into Party funds to do it all over again, he suspected that his superiors may not be so delicate about the virtues of good taste versus the value of keeping cold, hard cash in their coffers.
Despite this concern, however, Hanke’s initial dismay was subsiding and he had to admit that the concept was beginning to grow on him. Maybe Speer had something here.
‘It’s