Book Review: That Summer in Berlin

Synopsis:

Germany is again rising is power and planning for war — stockpiling equipment, developing weapons, conscription, training troops, and indoctrinating young people in violation of the peace treaty that ended World War I. Because the English aristocracy looks to marriage, an age-old institution, to stave off conflict and strengthen political bonds, young debutantes flock to Germany, including Viviane Alden.

Ostensibly on holiday with Julia, her step-sister, Viviane is actually carrying out a dangerous, clandestine mission.

Many in England want to appease Hitler, but others are convinced Germany is rearming. But they need evidence — photographs to bear out their suspicions — and Viviane is a gifted photographer, wielding her trusty Leica. Hosting the 1936 Olympics, Germany is on its best behavior, graciously welcoming tourists to a festival of peace and goodwill as the world watches. But first impressions can be deceiving. Viviane and Tom Graham, a daring journalist with a guarded heart, are tasked with revealing the truth. After all, who would suspect that a pretty, young tourist was a spy?

Others have their own reasons for befriending Viviane, however, and her adventures take a dark turn. She finds herself caught in a web of deadly games — and closer than she ever imagined to the brink of war.

Review:

Author Lecia Cornwall says she found inspiration for That Summer in Berlin when she happened upon an article about young English debutantes being sent to Germany to experience the culture and find husbands. Many believed, even as late as 1939, with war just weeks away, that if the upper classes of the two countries intermarried, another conflict could be avoided. “The idea of titled English debs dancing with young Nazi officers as the threat of war loomed” formed the first thread of the story, Cornwall recalls. The story began to take shape as she learned about the 1936 Olympics which Hitler was convinced by his advisors “would provide a wonderful way to use propaganda to impress the world and show off Aryan culture and superiority.” Readers might be surprised to learn that many rituals devised by the Germans for those games continue, including lighting the Olympic flame. During the games, the Germans hid the antisemitism and violence that had already taken hold in the country, putting on a deceptive show of brotherhood and goodwill. Lastly, Cornwall researched 1930’s English society, and found that many admired how Germany recovered from the defeat it suffered in World War I to become a world power in steel and chemistry. While the United States and England were mired in Depression, Germany seemed to be flourishing. Great societal changes were occurring, including the entrance, of necessity, of increasing numbers of women into the workplace. Dorothea Lange came to prominence with her starkly beautiful and often heartbreaking photographs depicting the realities of life in the 1930’s as the Depression raged on. Cornwall says she “made Viviane Alden a photographer and let her use her camera to tell the truth others tried to hide.” The character of Tom Graham is her homage to Matthew Halton, a daring and revered Canadian reporter.

The result is an absorbing story of two people who meet by happenstance, but agree to combine their talent and determination to gather and relay evidence that Germany, under the control of a madman, is intent on taking the world into another war.

As the book opens, Viviane has just broken off her engagement to Philip who, at first glance, appeared to be the perfect man for her — rich, handsome, titled, and able to give her a life of privilege. However, it became clear they had nothing in common, especially their politics and views on the roles of husband and wife. Viviane’s mother is distraught because she is insistent that Viviane must find a suitable husband to provide for her — Viviane working for a living is unthinkable. The family is gathered at Halliwell for the wedding of Viviane’s step-sister in which Tom Graham will serve as best man. They meet when Viviane is determined to go for a swim, despite a brewing storm, on the seventh anniversary of her beloved father’s death. He was a celebrated war hero who sustained permanent and, ultimately, fatal injuries to his lungs as a result of a gas attack during World War I. Putting aside his own safety, he returned to the battlefield over and over to rescue his soldiers. His death changed Viviane, making her “harder, sharper, fiercer.”

No one knows that, credited as an anonymous photographer, Viviane has been surreptitiously supplying photographs to the newspaper. She slips away to photograph a march of the British Union of Fascists, scheduled on the same day as a workers’ march, which Tom is also covering with an assigned photographer. When the two groups meet and the encounter erupts in violence, Viviane fearlessly captures the events on film. Tom thinks he recognizes her at the scene, and becomes convinced when he sees her photographs published in the newspaper.

Tom is the twenty-five-year-old son of a single, Scottish mother and the Earl of Strathwood who provided for him financially, including his education at Cambridge, but has never acknowledged him publicly. Tom has only met his father twice, and has no interest in curating a relationship with him or his half-siblings. Aside from his education, Tom has made his own way in the world, successfully straddling the working and upper classes to his advantage. So he is surprised when he is summoned to a meeting with his editor and his father joins them. At the behest of Winston Churchill, he is recruited to work for a new government agency with a posting in Berlin where he will report on the upcoming Olympics, as well as German advancements in technology, industry, and science, and society events. His assignment is to fit in to German society and gain the Germans’ trust, appearing sympathetic to their cause in order to gain exclusive access to press tours and secure interviews. He will be required to “write about the regime in glowing terms” in order to clandestinely discover and transmit the truth.

No one would question a pretty English tourist taking snapshots for her photo album.

Viviane’s stepfather, Lord Rutherford, is a supporter of Germany and its Nazi government because of the way it has restored prosperity and pride to the country. His friend, Count Georg von Schroeder, invites Julia, Viviane’s step-sister, to spend the summer with his family in Germany and attend the Olympics. Rutherford insists Julia will be safe, despite news reports about increasing violence in Germany, and when she hears that von Schroeder has three sons and lives in a castle in the Alps, she is intent on going. “Other young ladies are going to Germany, girls from the finest English families,” Rutherford explains. “They get a bit of international polish, visit music festivals, see the mountains, and come home with a greater understanding of how the world works. Surely that can only forge closer social ties and peace between our two nations.” Julia must have a chaperone, and Viviane’s mother is eager to press her into service. Viviane does not want to go to Germany, but knows that if she remains in England, her mother will continue attempting to force her into marriage.

When Tom learns that Viviane has a chance to spend the summer in Germany, he urges her to “use your talents, expose terrible wrongs with your photographs, possibly even prevent another war.” He reveals he learned her secret the day of the riot and convinces her that they will make a good team, especially since he knows why she ended her engagement. She will be the guest of a Count, and have access to places Tom does not. She will be free to take as many photographs as she wants because no one will suspect she is anything but an English socialite on holiday, snapping pictures for her photo album.

Viviane and Julia are welcomed into the von Schroeder family home. They are high-ranking members of the Nazi party. Youngest son Klaus is an enthusiastic member of the Hitler Youth, preparing to follow in the footsteps of oldest son Otto, an Obersturmfürher (equivalent to the rank of lieutenant) with the SD (the security service known to be “more terrifying than the Spanish Inquisition”). Middle son Felix is a research chemist serving as the assistant director of an agricultural laboratory, purportedly perfecting pesticides in order to increase crop production. The Countess is an emphatic disciple of Hitler, while the Count appears reticent — which has come to the attention of Nazi leaders — and openly expresses a desire to see Otto marry an English girl and settle with her in Britain. He wonders it if is “possible to love Germany and hate it at the same time? . . . Did no one see the terrible things the Nazis were doing, how they twisted and mocked all that Germans held dear?”

Cornwell convincingly takes readers along on Viviane’s trek as she, Julia, and the von Schroeder family make their way across Germany to Berlin where they will attend the Olympic games. For Viviane, it is a life-changing journey. At first, she wonders if reports about German activities and ideologies were exaggerated. She initially sees a thriving, beautiful country, but disturbing observations and incidents tell a different story. Germany is indeed on good behavior — except when Viviane makes the mistake of conversing with a Jewish man they happen upon and the group proceeds to a charming village in which someone forgot to take down a sign declaring it to be “proudly Jew free.” Such signs are forbidden for the duration of the Olympic games so that the multitude of tourists do not have “any misunderstandings about Germany.” In contrast, young (barely eighteen) and impressionable Julia is aggressively wooed by Otto, who is clearly determined to marry an English aristocrat, in part, to advance his position within the Nazi party. He lavishes gifts on Julia, one of which Viviane finds particularly abhorrent and horrifying, but Julia is thoroughly smitten and sees only what she wants to see, ignoring Viviane’s warnings.

Cornwall’s characters are fully developed and believable. Otto is charming and refined, but Viviane immediately catches flashes of darkness and menacing in his forced smiles and transparently phony gestures of hospitality. Felix is a bit of an enigma. He is witty and irreverent, but also intellectual. And Cornwall deftly keeps Viviane, as well as readers, guessing about his allegiances within his powerful, but ideologically fractured family and to his country. The matter seems settled when he introduces Viviane to his professor, mentor, and the director of the lab where he works, Solomon Hitzig. He has been allowed to remain in Germany because his brilliant work is valuable to and needed by the Nazis, but when Viviane learns about his scientific accomplishments and the history of their implementation, she is appalled and overcome by painful memories. Still, it seems that Felix truly cares for Hitzig and is trustworthy, and when he enlists her assistance, Viviane must navigate a moral dilemma. All the while, she takes photographs of the subjects Tom has instructed her to capture, but her activities do not appear benign to at least one astute observer. There are people assigned by the government to watch what the tourists taken pictures of. Tom warns her not to trust anyone, as he perceives their mission growing increasingly dangerous. After all, “everything in Germany . . . is an illusion.” Cornwall expertly accelerates the tale’s pace and dramatic tension as the Olympics get underway and Viviane finds herself in peril once the motivations and actions of Cornwall’s intriguing cast of characters are revealed.

From the moment he meets her, Tom is intrigued with Viviane, recognizing that she is not just a vapid aristocrat but, rather, a deep thinker with dreams and desires. Viviane soon learns that Tom is not entitled and spoiled like the other young men who have assembled for her step-sister’s wedding. He recognizes her talent for capturing the very essence of the subjects she photographs, treating her as a capable equal who can make a great contribution to the effort to prevent war. Over time they grow closer, but Viviane must come to terms with the truth about her past. A false narrative informed her choices and self-concept, and she is forced to re-evaluate her beliefs, principles, and desires. Tom faces a similar crisis as a result of his journalistic pursuits in Germany. While he knows that he has helped the war effort by gathering information, his byline has led everyone to view him as a Nazi sympathizer when, in reality, he is anything but. Cornwall’s depiction of their introspection is credible and touching because both characters are endearing. Early in the tale she establishes that they are honorable people, both of whom have grown up in worlds in which they don’t truly belong. Standing apart from their peers, both have evolved into keen observers and documentarians — Tom with words, Viviane with photographs. Viviane’s father died penniless and rumors swirled about the circumstances surrounding his death, and her mother married Lord Rutherford solely for security. Tom is the illegitimate son of a nobleman who was only able to attend a top-notch college and become enmeshed in the upper echelons of society because of his father’s vast fortune. Neither wants to be constrained by the circumstances of their birth or childhood, or conform to societal or familial expectations. Both of them are brave and stubbornly devoted to uncovering the truth, even if that requires sacrifices.

And at its core, That Summer in Berlin is a fascinating, pointed, and timely look at a specific point in history — a summer when Germany sought to deceive the world, using the Olympic games as a backdrop, while secretly constructing concentration camps, expelling Jews and others who failed to live up to their Aryan ideal from their homes and professions, and developing weaponry that would ultimately take the lives of millions. Cornwall examines it primarily from the perspective of an intelligent woman who defies societal expectations. Rather, she plays upon those expectations, using them to camouflage the significance of the actions in which she engages in plain sight.

Cornwall says she hopes reading That Summer in Berlin will inspire readers “to be bold and brave in their own life, find their own path and make their dreams a reality.” Because, as she demonstrates through the journeys of Viviane and Tom, “sometimes unexpected opportunities can lead us to exactly where we were meant to go if we’re brave enough to accept the challenges.”

Excerpt from That Summer in Berlin

CHAPTER ONE

South Coast of England

September 1935

There was a storm coming.

Viviane Alden stood on the shore, the round pebbles shifting under her feet. For a moment she clutched the thick robe close to her throat as she stared out across the English Channel. The air was already yellow and heavy, but the dark clouds remained distant, mounded on the horizon over France. The waves were starting to kick up, but for now they were still merely fretful rather than angry.

She could still go back, climb the cliff, and slip into the house before anyone knew she was missing. All was in chaos anyway, with everyone busy preparing for tonight’s party at Halliwell Hall. Now there was a storm she’d gladly miss. Her stepsisters would barely notice her absence, though her mother would certainly fly into a rage if she knew where Viviane was at this moment.

She stayed put, staring out across the water. This day was a sacred annual ritual for her, and her mother was probably still in bed, sipping tea and complaining about having so many things to manage. There was Margaret’s betrothal party tonight, to be followed by her wedding. Julia, her second stepdaughter, was due to make her London debut in the spring, and the fifteen-year-old twins, Felicity and Grace, were unruly, inquisitive creatures who thrived on mischief. Fortunately, Miles, her stepson and Lord Rutherford’s heir, was away at Eton, and out from underfoot. There was also Viviane’s own wedding to the Marquess of Medway to plan for.

Except there wasn’t. Not anymore.

Viviane had called Phillip last night and broken it off, though she hadn’t told her mother yet. There’d be time later, of course. Or possibly not, with all that was going on today. The conversation would have to happen eventually-another storm that would need to be weathered-but today was not a day for the kind of news that would lead only to disappointment, arguments, and questions she didn’t want to answer, first from her mother, then her stepsisters. They’d join forces as a unified flock to peck Viviane to pieces over letting a prime catch like Phillip Medway go. Then she’d have to face her stepfather. She raised her chin against the wind. She had her reasons, and it was between her and Phillip alone.

Today she had other things to think about. Seven years ago, on this very day, at this very hour, Viviane’s entire world had collapsed.

She didn’t cry or turn to look west toward Cornwall and home-her old home, since Kellyn, where her father had died, was lost to her now. She’d been the one to find him that morning, in the lake, and this was how she chose to remember him. What better way to dispel the horror of a drowning than by defying the waters? She was the Lady of the Lake-or of the English Channel, now-and she was an excellent swimmer.

Her mother had forbidden her to go near the water after her father’s death, fearing Viviane would drown, too.

Viviane took a breath, ran down the shingle, and plunged into the icy waves.

The cold water closed around her. It wasn’t like the warm green waters of the Lady’s Lake at Kellyn. The Channel was fast and dangerous, black and salty, like tears. She waited for the water to become benevolent around her body, buoy her up in a loose, cool grip. It was memory and torment and pleasure all in one.

She hadn’t cried on the day of her father’s funeral, or even when her mother had told her that Kellyn, the estate that had been home to the Alden family for hundreds of years, was to be sold because there was no money to pay the exorbitant death duties.

At fourteen, she’d been too young and too shattered to ask questions, and her mother was consumed by her own anguished grief, torn between anger and loss. Did she remember the anniversary? Would she have agreed to this date for Margaret’s betrothal party if she did? In seven years, she’d never mentioned the events of that day, the way she’d found Viviane, white-faced and silent by the lake, next to the lifeless body of her father, his face turned to the sky, his eyes filled with water and nothing else. Her mother’s anguished screams had scared the birds from the trees.

The waves were kicking up in earnest now, a tantrum against the bully wind. Seabirds swooped, fighting the gathering power of the gale to screech a warning to her.

She ignored them. She wasn’t afraid of the waves or tricky currents, was sure of the strength in her body, the power of her whole, healthy lungs. She’d fallen and broken her left leg as a child, and was left with scars and a permanent limp. She was awkward and clumsy on land, so her father had taught her to rule the water. They swam together like fish, like diving birds, like swans, and then lay on the grassy bank beside the lake to dry in the sun. When he’d caught his breath, and the wheeze and crackle in his damaged lungs eased, he told her tales of King Arthur, the sword Excalibur, the first Sir Alden of Kellyn, and Viviane, the Lady of the Lake. “The Aldens are the true guardians of the great sword, lass. Don’t ever forget that. It is our duty to be worthy of that honor, to right what wrongs we can and do our best for those who need us most.” He’d rise from the grass, knowing he must get dry and warm and return to the house to take the medicine that helped his lungs, ruined by a gas attack during the war. “A vile and cowardly weapon,” he said. He rarely said more, but she knew when he was in pain by the strain on his face, by the harsh sound of his breathing, the rasps and whistles and hacking coughs. She’d also known that it had been getting worse, and he had more bad days than good.

The whole village-the whole country-had mourned the death of Major Sir Arthur Alden of Kellyn. Soldiers who’d served with him came from all over the country for his funeral. Winston Churchill had been there, and Lloyd George, and the Earl of Rutherford, who would become Mama’s second husband.

Viviane took another deep breath and kicked hard, fought the fierce shove of the waves, pushing back with every stroke. She would never drown. She felt the cold numb her, willing her to let go, to release the air in her straining lungs. Was this what her father had felt in his last moments? She held her breath until her chest ached and dark spots spun before her eyes. Only then did she kick for the surface, using her weaker leg, forcing it to take her upward. She drew a long breath just as a wave crashed over her, and she swallowed half of it, coughing, choking on the burning salt water as it filled her throat.

The storm tide spun her around, stronger now. The distant shore was all but obscured by the rising waves. She was being carried away from the beach, and safety.

She gasped for breath, began to swim, but she was tiring, pushed to her limit, her heart pounding, her scarred leg aching. She willed herself not to give in to panic, to endure, conquer, and be strong the way her father had taught her, but she felt the knife edge of fear.

“Ahoy!” The call was garbled by the water, and she couldn’t tell if it was just the wind or a gull playing tricks on her.

“Ahoy, I say-is that a mermaid?”

Then she saw it, a small sailboat coming toward her, bounding across the waves. The Kipper, Reggie Farraday’s boat. The sail was bowed outward, glutted to bursting with wild wind, and the wee craft bucked like a rodeo horse. It seemed a miracle that he’d come, good old Reggie, her friend, the boy-and the heir to the earldom-next door.

“Perhaps it’s a selkie,” another voice said, also male, Scots tinged, and unfamiliar. They came alongside and looked over the gunwale at her. She peered up into a pair of eyes as gray as the sea.

“Oho! I know this mermaid!” Reggie grinned, his teeth flashing as white as a gull’s wing as he trimmed the sails to hold the boat still. “Vee! Is that really you? I thought you were forbidden to swim in the sea.”

She sent him a sharp look that belied her predicament and her relief at seeing him. “I’m surprised to see you out here, too, Reggie, what with so much to do before the party tonight,” she replied tartly. “How’s the sailing?”

“There’s a storm coming. We were just heading back, actually. There’ll be thunder and lightning before the hour’s out.”

“Do you not see those clouds?” Reggie’s companion asked her. She was surprised by the admonition in the stranger’s tone. “Did no one ever tell you it’s dangerous to swim in a tempest?”

Before Viviane could reply, Reggie did. “We’d best take charge. Pull her in, will you, Tom? I’ll hold the boat steady.”

“No need. I can swim back,” Viviane said, stung by the scolding, but a hand reached over the side, the sleeve rolled up and the palm extended. She saw calluses and the smear of something dark on the tip of one finger. She could see his face now, the features even, his expression flat, even as his eyes snapped with irritation.

“Come on, give me your hand,” he said, edging the command with impatience. She had no choice, of course, and he knew it. She took his hand and let him haul her over the side. She landed in the bottom of the boat like a flounder and quickly righted herself. He regarded her with curiosity and male interest. Her swimsuit clung to every curve, and she felt naked under his sharp gaze.

“Hello, darling,” Reggie drawled. “You’re very wet, aren’t you?” He kept hold of the tiller and let her help herself up onto the seat. “Tom Graham, allow me to introduce the Honorable Miss Viviane Alden, a dear old friend of the family, and the woman I hoped I would one day marry, but alas, she is betrothed to a much better man than I.” She sent him a quelling look, but he simply grinned and went on with the introductions. “Tom and Geoffrey were at Cambridge together, which is how he came to be chosen as my brother’s best man. Tom’s also a reporter, working at the London Herald, so watch what you say.” He winked at Viviane, navigating the waves.

“Alden?” Something changed in Tom Graham’s face, a slight tightening of his mouth. He gave a sharpness to her surname, almost an accusation. Had they met? She scanned his face, but he was indeed a stranger. He stared back, his brows furrowing slightly, as if he knew something suspect about her. Or perhaps he did not approve of women swimming. She felt her cheeks flushing despite the cold wind, and she looked away, raised her chin with aristocratic insouciance as she tucked her scarred left leg under her perfect right one. She pulled off her bathing cap, her eyes on the horizon. The wind was icy on her wet skin, and she clamped her teeth together to keep from shivering and wrapped her arms across her chest.

“I say, that breeze is kicking up fierce, isn’t it?” Reggie said, hauling on the tiller as the little skiff bounced on the rising sea. He looked at Viviane. “You’re cold,” he pronounced. “Tom, lend her your coat, would you?”

For a moment Tom Graham hesitated. “Well come on, old man. Consider it an act of chivalry. I’d give her my own if I was wearing one.” Reggie was clad in a thick sweater. He might have given her that, but his friend was already removing his tweed jacket. He dropped it over her wet shoulders without a word, and without touching her.

“Thank you,” Viviane said stiffly. The garment was warm from his body, and it smelled like shaving soap, and him, she supposed, different from Reggie’s expensive cologne or the scent of tobacco and hair pomade that clung to her stepfather’s clothes. She glanced at Tom Graham and wondered if he was cold without his jacket, but he was staring at the thick clouds barreling over the horizon, his eyes narrowed against the glare, dark hair blowing back from a wide, clear brow, his white shirt molding itself to his lean body. He looked like a pirate, especially when compared to Reggie’s crisp appearance, his clipped hair, thin mustache, and tailored clothing, all of it bought at huge expense to ape the casual ease that Tom Graham had at what was likely a far lesser cost.

She scanned the shoreline, and realized she’d drifted quite a way from the small beach under Wrenwood House, her stepfather’s estate. Goodness, she had been in danger, hadn’t she? She cast a sidelong look at Tom Graham, who was staring at her again, a mix of puzzlement and censure in his sharp eyes. “Drop me back at the cove below Wrenwood,” she said to Reggie. “You’re probably as busy as I am-there’s so much to do before the party tonight.”

Reggie made a face. “Yes, shouldn’t you be home making yourself beautiful? Not that you’re not beautiful now, of course, but my sister has been trying to decide on which frock to wear all week. You’d think she was the bride. What time is Phillip arriving today?”

She lowered her gaze to her puckered fingertips. “He . . . can’t make it.”

She felt Reggie’s eyes on her, knew his brows were rising and he was waiting for her to continue. If they were alone, she might have told him about her broken engagement, but she could hardly do that in front of a stranger, so she looked across the water and stayed silent. The square bulk of Wrenwood came into view, standing firm on the cliff top, its granite face unperturbed by this storm or any other. She realized Reggie was sailing straight past the cove. “Just set me down in Wrenwood Cove, Reggie,” she said again.

He frowned. “If it’s going to storm, I can hardly toss you back into the sea like an undersized flounder. Come back to Halliwell with us, and I’ll drive you to Wrenwood.”

Viviane considered the consequences if she arrived home in Reggie’s car, clad only in her swimming costume and a strange man’s coat.

“I can get back faster if I go the way I came,” she said. She’d climb the cliff path, slip back into the house via the garden, and say that she’d been out doing laps in the swimming pool if anyone saw her.