The Vengeance of Rome

She left them on their feet and yelling for more, quite unlike the usual response of the blasé nightclub audiences. As their applause subsided she took her encore. She slunk, she strutted, she strolled and slid from one sinuous step into another. I almost swooned with the pleasure of it. The horns and reeds blared and shrieked, the banjo twanged.

‘Oh, the moonlight, the bitter moonlight, oh, the moonlight ... no heart has the knight . . . Locked in the prison of my dreams, he brings me my release . . . Love is a dish he can’t refuse. He tastes it once and on he moves . . . My blood finds harmony in his, true blood mixed with true love is .. . Must I perish so he can unify our land?’ She sang in English what was evidently a modern setting for an old folk song with more meaning in German. There was something in the words which brought the audience almost to tears, and their emotion filled that tiny cellar, giving her energy for still another chorus. Swaying, they joined in as one.’ We will unite, one day soon, / Some day when, we’ll united be again!

A yearning for conformity was a stronger pull than sex in those decent Bavarian hearts. She appealed to the patriot and man of goodwill, not the pervert. ‘And we know we’ll be together one day soon!’

Vera Ellen would pirate this song for crude propaganda during the War but every German who heard it knew what it really meant.

She left them happy again, with ‘A Little of What You Fancy Does You Good’ and ‘Please Take Care of My Pussy’, then just as she was giving her final bow, the stage awash with petals and notes, she saw me and screamed.

‘Ivan! Yer little barstard, where yer bin?’

Then she was engulfed.

Eventually she made her way to our table and sat down radiantly, still acknowledging their homage. She offered Kitty a distant nod. They were already acquainted, she said. Then she turned her beaming face on me. ‘Ivan. Th’ bad penny wot always turns up, eh? I bin tryin’ ter find yer since I saw yer in ther street wiv all yer parcels. That was ther day I got ‘ere with ‘Uggy. Did yer get married?’ She cast suspicious eyes on Kitty, who ‘frosted’ and turned away to smile at an old brewer leering at her knees. ‘I’ve got a job fer yer. Real work. We’d almost decided on Jack Trevor, but ‘e’s landed a contract anyway. ‘E’s goin’ ter live in Oberammergau, ‘e says, where they ‘ave ther play. It would probably suit ‘im to play Jesus.’ Then she calmed down, realising how much attention was still on us. She leaned forward and left a red kiss on my cheek. ‘Come rahnd ter the “Exit Only” door in five minutes and Reinhardt’ll let yer in. But I’d rather yer come on yer own.’

Kitty was more than a trifle disconcerted when I popped her in a taxi and sent her to spend the night at Prince Freddy’s. I had important business, I said, to be discussed in private. Kitty’s laughter, when I told her this, was crisply disbelieving. At that point I had no concern for her good opinion. I hurried back to Mrs Cornelius.

I waited a couple of minutes until the bar of the ‘Exit Only’ door was pushed back, and I was greeted by what appeared to be an elaborately dressed ape. A tiny hermaphroditic creature in a perfect linen suit of pale lilac, calling himself’Mr Reinhardt’, ushered me through the badly ventilated passage behind the toilets and into a scarcely more pleasant dressing room. Poorly lit, save for the glaring mirror, this tiny space was festooned with exotic underwear and coloured silks. Her figure as firm as ever, Mrs C leaned into the mirror, removing her exaggerated stage make-up. I was relieved to see the same vital youth underneath. Roughly my own age, she shared the tendency to unwrinkled skin that had little to do with care and a great deal to do with heritage. Save for facial hair I have remained smooth all my life. Most of my lovers have been fascinated by that quality.

Little Reinhardt scuttled away like an apologetic rat, and I was left to sit in the gold-painted wicker chair she offered me. Some of the paint immediately attached itself to my sleeve, and my attempts to clean it smeared it further. I did my best to relax in the chair’s creaking discomfort. What was worse, I was forced to endure the most exquisite pangs of lust while she removed her face, as she put it, and ‘slapped the old one back on’. Then she went behind her screen to finish dressing while I relieved myself as best I could in the time permitted.

I was disconcerted by a rapid knock on the door which opened immediately to reveal another familiar face. His knowing smirk was the last thing I wished to experience. I greeted him wearily with a wave of the offending hand. ‘Good evening, Seryozha.’ Mrs Cornelius was always soft-hearted. How many more of the walking wounded had she adopted? ‘When did you slip down to Munich? Where’s your uniform?’

‘I’m in mufti.’ A monstrous wink. ‘Special assignment.’ His lugubrious eyes leered into mine as those massive lips planted warm kisses on my cheeks. ‘Dimka, dearest. I’m a BODY guard!’ His giggle was unbecoming in an SS officer. ‘On loan from Himmler, who owes a favour to our Gloria’s special gent, and my association with the theatre is well known. The Bolshies will go to any lengths to attack us. They hate her because she happens to be friends with a very nice old gentleman who doesn’t share their particular views and whom Captain Himmler wants to keep sweet. I was the ideal officer to protect our star. But you have another acquaintance, dear —’