The Dictator's Muse: the captivating novel by the Richard & Judy bestseller by Nigel Farndale

Author:Nigel Farndale [Farndale, Nigel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473578388
Publisher: Transworld

TWENTY-TWO

‘Who’s that lady dressed like a man?’ Kim said, pointing at a striking-looking woman in a white polo-neck and flared trousers who was striding around the track, barking out instructions in German to the three nervous-looking cameramen trying to keep up with her. ‘I noticed her yesterday at the opening ceremony.’

‘That’s the Queen of Nuremberg.’

Kim pulled a questioning face at his interlocutor, a Daily Express photographer who had chatted to him on the crossing to the Hook of Holland.

‘Leni Riefenstahl?’ the reporter elaborated with a rising inflection. ‘Don’t you read the papers?’

‘Never heard of her,’ Kim said.

‘You’ve heard of that ruddy great rally that the Nazis held at Nuremberg?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, she organized it, pretty much. Made that film about it, The Triumph of the Will.’ He jerked his head in Leni’s direction. ‘She’s Hitler’s favourite film-maker. And his mistress, according to the rumours. Now she’s making a film about the Games. Look.’ He pointed. ‘Even has her own personal photographer in tow. None of us are allowed anywhere near her. She’s treated like royalty in Germany. Some say she’s the real dictator here.’

Kim gave a low whistle of appreciation.

The reporter caught his look. ‘I’ve heard she likes athletes, though.’

He took from his pocket a rolled-up copy of Time magazine. On its cover was a portrait of a handsome if dishevelled-looking brunette in a figure-hugging bathing suit, facing up a ski slope. The caption read: ‘Hitler’s Leni Riefenstahl’.

Kim studied the magazine. It was dated 17 February 1936, and now looked dog-eared. ‘Why is she trying to ski uphill in a swimming costume?’ he asked.

‘Why don’t you go over and ask her?’

Leni was now shouting at a cowering sound engineer. ‘No, thanks,’ Kim said. ‘She’s terrifying.’

As the photographer now wound his camera on he asked: ‘You and Lady Constance still courting?’

‘We are, yes. And she’s not a Lady, she’s an Hon. She’s here some … How did you know that?’

‘My job to know.’

At that moment, the crowd let out a cheer. They then fell silent as two black athletes arrived together for the qualifying heat of the 100 metres: Jesse Owens and Ralph Metcalfe. Kim was transfixed as they bent over their marks in the semi-crouch favoured by the Americans. They looked like gods.

Owens seemed calm and loose. Metcalfe crossed himself. One of the other runners, fair-haired and thickset, rubbed his hands nervously on his shorts and took up the standard kneeling position. His legs were quivering. The next man in the line shifted in his footholes. An on-your-marks warning from the starter – ‘Auf die Plätze’ – was followed by a crack from the pistol. As a small puff of smoke curled upwards, the sprinters exploded from their marks. For thirty yards, they bunched, then Owens drew ahead until, with a lead of a yard, he flashed first to the tape.

Kim was astonished by the power in Owens’s legs. His style was as effortless as it was smooth. He had never seen an athlete move with such grace before. It was as if he were running on silken threads.

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