She was in no hurry to relocate. She adored the Esplanade, her comfortable bedroom and the elegant reception halls where the family had already entertained many fascinating foreign dignitaries and handsome, exciting men—including Louis Ferdinand, Prince of Prussia and second in line of succession to the recently abolished German throne; Ernst Hanfstaengl, the German foreign press chief, who cheerfully urged Martha to call him by his nickname, Putzi; and Boris Vinogradov, the first secretary of the Soviet embassy, a particularly intriguing new acquaintance.
Then there was Rudolf Diels, the young, compelling, and sinister chief of the Gestapo. His penetrating eyes could convey warmth or malevolence, but it was what lay behind those eyes that had earned him the sobriquet Prince of Darkness. He seemed to take a vicious joy in his mystique, which for Martha only enhanced the allure of his lovely full lips, his luxuriant black hair, and even the cruel, broken beauty of his scarred face. A long, shallow V marred his right cheek, a deep crescent the left, and smaller arcs cut across his chin and near his mouth—dueling scars, or so the rumors told. He was also said to possess great charm and sexual prowess—rumors Martha hoped to confirm for herself before long.
Martha winced with chagrin whenever she imagined entertaining a guest like Rudolf Diels or hosting a banquet for high-ranking German officials and aristocratic foreign emissaries in a cheap flat. Her father’s determination to drive their own Chevrolet was an endearing quirk. His decision to rent the least expensive residence on the market could prove to be an embarrassment or worse.
The next day, Martha, Bill, and their mother went to see Tiergartenstrasse 27a for themselves. The street ran along the southern edge of the park, offering them a lovely view of lush greenery and flowers as they walked along. When they reached the correct address, their doubt gave way to amazement. Their new home was a four-story stone mansion enclosed by a tall, ornate iron fence, with leafy trees rising above beautiful cultivated flower gardens in the front yard. The front façade curved gracefully, and through the foliage Martha glimpsed the main entrance near the northwest corner, at the base of a rounded tower rising the entire height of the building. Near the street, the driveway passed through a high gate with an elaborate ironwork arch and ended beneath a porte cochère. Above that rose a gallery one and a half stories tall with many windows to let in the light.
Perhaps Martha’s father did not object to luxury after all, as long as it came at the right price.
When they knocked on the front door, the butler, a stocky blond in his midforties, answered. Herr and Frau Panofsky were not at home, he informed them, but it would be his pleasure to give them a tour of the house.
The residence was as impressive inside as it was from the outside. The main entrance led into a large foyer with coatrooms on opposite sides and a grand staircase at one end, drawing visitors above and away from the functional rooms that took up the rest of the first floor—the kitchen, pantry, laundry, ice room, various storage and supply areas, and the servants’ quarters. The second floor boasted two reception rooms, an expansive dining room with walls covered in red tapestry, and a ballroom with a gleaming oval dance floor and a grand piano, upon which sat a crystal vase filled with flowers.
Several graciously appointed bedrooms were on the third floor. The master bath was immense, larger than some apartments Martha had known back in Chicago. The floors and walls glimmered with gold and mosaics of multicolored tiles, and the massive bathtub stood on a raised platform like an altar to some pagan god of cleanliness.
Martha nudged her brother. “On weekends we could sublet the tub to the German Olympic swim team.”
As Bill guffawed, Fritz frowned primly and led the Dodds to the library. The walls were covered in dark wood and rich red damask and lined with bookshelves filled with a vast array of tempting volumes. A glass table held a vase abundant with flowers and a few artfully arranged rare books and manuscripts. At one end of the room stood a great stone fireplace with an elaborately carved mantel and a pair of comfortable leather chairs and a large leather sofa arranged before it. Light streamed in through tall windows with stained glass at the top, and the smells of old paper, leather,