Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [43]
And the others ... bunglers. Marla was the one real Von Romstein of them all. A true German noblewoman. Count Ludwig had needed someone to modernize the Machine Works. He arranged a marriage between Marla and Wilhelm Frick to lure the brilliant industrial designer away from the Krupp Industries.
The Von Romstein fortunes revolved around the Machine Works. Wilhelm Frick could ensure its continued growth and prosperity ... even turn it into one of the nation’s industrial giants. So what if the marriage was not made in heaven ... Wilhelm was ten years older than Marla ... he kept mistresses at the Spa on the south bank ... he had another in Dusseldorf, where he made trips yearly and she accompanied him to Munich and the Riviera. But ... what the devil, we’ve all had our other women. Ludwig had not shared his wife’s bed for seven years. Even poor Sigmund kept a woman in Rombaden.
The marriage of Marla and Wilhelm had produced the necessary heirs, fortunately two boys. These grandsons would eventually adopt the Von Romstein name and carry the great tradition into the next century.
But dammit, just when the big contracts were rolling in Wilhelm Frick was drafted by Alfred Speer’s ministry to organize industry in the occupied countries. Wilhelm Frick had been captured by the Russians. God only knew when he would be seen again, if ever.
Ludwig left the table, retreated to the study of his late brother, Kurt. The room was still plush, having been spared from the bombings. It was in this room so many many years ago ... how many? Twenty ... twenty years ago that he urged Kurt to join the Nazi Party ... get in on the ground floor ... for the sake of the family. Kurt obeyed. Everyone obeyed Ludwig. It was damned fortunate for us all, Ludwig thought, that Kurt did not allow himself or the records to be taken. The Nazi records showed the close intertwining of the Von Romstein control. It was in this room, too, that Kurt took his life. Poor Kurt. Ludwig selected one of his brother’s pipes, found the last of the tobacco, and sunk into a deep chair waiting for Marla to finish putting the children down. Damned nuisance these days without servants.
Marla was a good sport. She and Wilhelm Frick had a magnificent smaller estate on the south bank. The Americans had commandeered it for those louts of Polish laborers. Slaves, indeed! A decent slave can at least put in a day’s work—the Poles were less than useless. In normal times they could not have held jobs at the Machine Works ... now these pigs live in Marla’s home. God knows what they will do to Castle Romstein.
Marla Frick entered the study and said that the children had fallen asleep. She sat in a straight-backed chair near her father. She was a radical departure from the plump, large-breasted, bread-eating, beer-drinking peasant variety that abounded in Romstein Landkreis. Marla Von Romstein Frick was slim, high cheekboned, immaculately groomed. Her features were too dark and thick to give her true beauty, but her manner offset that. All heads turned at the regal bearing when she entered the casino. She was a magnificent horsewoman with a cold intriguing cruelty that could use a whip on a horse or across a servant’s face. Ludwig’s adoration of her was obvious, and against his better judgment he conceded that she was his favorite. He often wondered why son-in-law Wilhelm found it necessary to stray from the fold.
Marla poured her father tea and cognac. “How did the interview go with the American?”
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
“What do they want from us? Haven’t we suffered enough?”
“War is a foreign substance to them. They have never had to explain to an occupation force ... what a convenient existence. We had a good chance to hold our position ... that is, until they opened Schwabenwald. But now the world will rise in a ground swell of righteous wrath and