‘She has a gun?’
‘Yes, she has a gun. You say it is impossible to go back. When do we stop again?’
‘At the border. That is in a few minutes’ time.’
‘That is something. Look, go and bring me some cognac. There is going to be hell to pay.’
Jennifer placed the transcript in front of James and stood to attention. James scanned it while lead balloons gathered in his stomach. He raised his head.
‘Did Pound Seventeen say how this happened?’
‘He doesn’t seem to know, sir. When Rachel did not come in as usual, he began checking about, as we know. But she had just disappeared, with a man called Monterre. You say you knew Monterre.’
‘I do.’
‘Well, all Pound Seventeen knows is that they must have crossed the border. Now the Germans have announced that they have captured a British agent. They haven’t named her, or even said that it is a woman, but it can’t be anyone but Rachel.’
‘Yes,’ James said.
Jennifer licked her lips. ‘What will they do to her, sir?’ ‘Didn’t they teach you anything at training school?’
‘Oh, my God! But Rachel … Oh, my God!’
‘However, she had her capsule. We must assume she’s dead.’ ‘How can you sit there and say something like that? I thought you were friends.’
‘Would you prefer it if I broke down and wept? Yes, we were friends. Very close friends. But she knew what she was risking.’ He knew he dare not let himself think or he would break down and weep. The thought of Rachel in the hands of the Gestapo, subjected to flogging or to having electrodes thrust into her body to tear her apart with agony, the thought of all that delicate refinement at the mercy of brutal, jeering men … He had to believe she was dead. But then, the thought of that joyous, eager body turned into a lump of decaying flesh was no less horrendous.
‘Was Pound Seventeen able to tell us anything about the de Gruchys?’ he asked.
‘No, sir.’ Jennifer’s tone was cold. ‘He has had no contact with the Group. But he assumes that Monterre was taking Rachel to them when they were arrested. He is afraid that if they were interrogated by the Gestapo, the whereabouts of the de Gruchys will now be known, and that therefore we must assume that they have been terminated.’
‘And he’s probably right.’ James got up and put on his coat and hat.
‘May I ask where you are going, sir?’
‘To see the brigadier. I think we have just gone out of business.’
Chapter Six
The Hideaway
‘There is a gentleman to see you, Frau von Helsingen,’ Hilda said, standing in the doorway of the lounge. Madeleine was playing with her baby, as she spent most days doing. Now she stood up, the child in her arms. Unexpected men calling on her always made her nervous, since the day Oskar Weber had suddenly appeared to talk with her about Joanna. She felt she had handled that rather well, as Joanna and Oskar now seemed to be as thick as thieves. An apt description, she considered. But if this was Weber, Hilda would know it.
‘Has the gentleman a name?’ Madeleine asked.
Hilda looked at the card in her hand. ‘A Herr Fesster. He is Swiss.’
‘I do not know anyone in Switzerland.’
‘He says you have a mutual acquaintance.’
‘Oh, very well. Show him in.’ Madeleine placed Helen in the cot, and the baby gurgled happily.
‘Frau von Helsingen, it is good of you to receive me.’ Herr Fesster was a short, somewhat stout man, who wore a gold watch chain across the waistcoat of his three-piece suit; the chain accentuated his air of genteel prosperity. His face was round and clean shaven, his head bald save for a fringe. Madeleine placed him in his late forties.
‘My maid suggested we had an acquaintance in common.’ ‘I believe we do. A Fraulein Joanna Jonsson.'
‘Hilda, will you serve coffee?’ Madeleine sat down and gestured Fesster to a chair. ‘You know Joanna?’
‘We are business acquaintances.’
Madeleine studied him. That could mean anything. But he was not her idea of a British agent. ‘I did not know Joanna had business interests in Switzerland.’
‘Fraulein Jonsson has interests everywhere.’
‘I know she travels a lot. But what has that to do with me?’ ‘It is simply that I seem to have missed her. I checked at the Hotel Albert, where I was informed she maintains a suite, but she was not there, and they had no idea when she would be returning. Apparently she often does this. But they suggested that I try you for some information. They say you are her best friend in Berlin.’
‘They are mistaken. We had an … acquaintance, before the war. She comes to see me occasionally. But she never tells me what she is doing next.’
‘But you do expect to see her again.’
‘Perhaps. Is it that important?’
‘It is to me.’ He took a wallet from his inside breast pocket. ‘If I may, I will leave you my card.’ He opened the wallet, extracted the card, and a banknote drifted from his fingers to the carpet. ‘Oh!’ He retrieved it. ‘An English pound note. I had forgotten I had it.’ He stared at Madeleine as he restored the pound to its sleeve.
Madeleine had no doubt he was trying to tell her something, but she had no idea what it was. She took the card. ‘When — if — I see Fraulein Jonsson again, 1 will tell her you called, Herr Fesster.’
He was clearly disappointed at her reaction. He finished his coffee, stood up, and bowed. ‘I should be most grateful, Frau von Helsingen. Good day to you.’
‘Fraulein Jonsson,’ the under manager said, taking her bag. ‘Good to have you back.’
‘I have only been away a week, Rudolf.’
‘It seems longer. Now, Fraulein, Herr Weber is waiting for you.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ She began to brace herself mentally.
‘And … ’ He took a note from her pigeon hole. ‘A gentleman called, two days ago.’ He handed her the note. ‘Herr Fesster, from Switzerland.’
She scanned the paper. ‘I know no Herr Fesster.’
‘He seemed to think that you do, Fraulein. He left you this as a memento, of past times, he said.’ He gave her an English pound note. Joanna stared at it. ‘And you see he has left a telephone number for you to get in touch with him.’
‘Thank you.’ Joanna folded both notes into her handbag, walked slowly towards the lifts, followed by a boy with her suitcase. What a time for London to start chasing her! But first things first. She rode up in the lift, smiling at the bellboy, then checked him at her door. ‘I’ll take it in.’ She took the suitcase, tipped him and opened the door. ‘Oskar!’
‘My dear!’ He took her in his arms.
‘I am so ashamed.’
He kissed her, then released her to pour two glasses of cognac. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Joanna told him exactly what she had told the conductor. ‘When we stopped at the border, I called the local commandant, but he wasn’t very co-operative. I asked him to put out an alarm along the borders with Vichy, and Switzerland as well, but I don’t know if he did. I don’t think he considered I had the least authority, and, as he pointed out, Metz is a long way from Vichy.’
‘You did not give him my name?’
‘I didn’t think you would wish me to do that.’
He nodded. ‘You are a good girl. But also a very foolish one. In our business, one should never be overconfident. Would not Hoeppner give you an escort?’
‘He offered to, yes. But I did not think it necessary. As I said, she seemed such a depressed little waif.’
‘Overconfidence,’ he said again. ‘It can be fatal. I will see to the borders; she cannot possibly have got anywhere near them yet. But it is a serious matter.’
‘I know. As I say, I am very ashamed. But I do not think she was that important. I told you on the phone from Bordeaux that I felt she would have information about the de Gruchys. Well, it seemed logical that London would seek to make contact after Kessler’s death.’
‘There seems to have been a breakdown. 1 was right that she was to do with the de Gruchys. But she had no idea where they were. That is why she was sent, to re-open contact, and she had not yet succeeded in doing this when she was captured.’ ‘She told you this? Without being interrogated?’
‘Well, she was in the hands of Roess for an hour before I extricated her. She was terrified, and talked on the train.’ ‘You should have left her with Roess for another hour.’ ‘He would have reduced her to a gibbering wreck. I thought you would want more than that.’
‘Instead I got nothing, and you might have been killed … Oh, I am not angry with you. No one knows you were bringing a spy home. Except of course Roess and Hoeppner. Now, tell me, what is the truth in the rumours I have been receiving about Roess?’
‘Hasn’t he reported?’
‘He has reported that he was attacked by a madwoman in Limoges. That is all. But he was apparently so badly injured that he has had to go to hospital.’
‘Well, I suppose that is the truth. Save that this “madwoman” shared his compartment all the way from Paris, overnight.’ ‘What is your interpretation of that?’
‘That she found his sexual preferences unable to stomach. He really is a horrible little man.’
‘He does his job,’ Weber said mildly. ‘We shall wait and see, and hope he comes up with something. When he gets out of hospital.’
‘Am I to go back down?’
‘Not at this time.’
‘You are angry with me.’
‘I am not in the least angry with you. I am thinking of you. Don’t you realize that your position has been compromised?’ Joanna frowned. ‘In what way?’
‘This British agent who has got away knows who you are. If she were to regain England … ’
‘Oh, come now. There are something like forty million people in England. We are hardly likely to bump into each other.’
‘She will be able to describe you. You will admit that you are not the sort of woman one easily forgets.’
‘I usually travel in dark glasses and with my hair up. And this woman does not know I have ever been to England. The risk is really infinitesimal.’
‘Nonetheless, it is there. I would prefer not to chance it. If we manage to recapture this woman, well and good.’
‘So what am I to do? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs? Or shall I go back to Sweden?’
‘No, I don’t want you to do that. I suggest you take a holiday. But here in Germany. Go down to Munich and do some skiing. You do ski?’
‘Of course I ski.’
‘Well, then, spend Christmas in Munich, and stay on into January. I will come down and spend a few days with you.’ ‘You will spend Christmas with me?’
‘Well, no. I must spend Christmas with my family. But I could come down for New Year. Yes, I will do that. Now I must hurry. I have a meeting.’ He kissed her. ‘I will make the travel arrangements, and bring them to you tonight.’
The door closed behind him. Joanna heaved a sigh of relief and poured herself another drink. As always, he simply believed everything she told him. She wondered how long that would last. Meanwhile, she opened her handbag and took out both the note and the pound. She reread the note, committing the telephone number to memory, then tore both pieces of paper into strips and carefully burned them, making sure that there was no shred left before crushing out the ashes. She actually did feel like a holiday, having skated on enough thin ice over the past few weeks. Fesster and London would have to wait.
‘Good morning, Anatole,’ Liane said. ‘I hope you had a good Christmas.’
The baker gaped at the woman standing in front of him. She wore a hooded cloak that concealed both her hair and her body, but hers was not a face anyone could forget. ‘Mademoiselle de Gruchy!’
‘Pound Twelve, please.’
‘But where have you been? There has been so much trouble … ’
‘So I understand. Take me somewhere private and tell me about it. Hello, madame.’
Clotilde had come into the shop to see who her husband was talking to. ‘Mademoiselle de Gruchy! Oh, so good to have you back!’
‘I am glad to be back.’ Liane followed Anatole through the bakery itself, where several men and women were hard at work and the scent of fresh bread clogged the air, into the parlour beyond.
‘There is hot coffee,’ Anatole said, fussing. ‘And you must be hungry.’
T am more hungry for a hot bath.’ Liane sat down. ‘But report, first.’
Anatole poured coffee, gave her the cup. ‘I hardly know where to begin.’
‘Try the beginning. I left here in October, because it was necessary for me to go to Paris. That is only three months ago. And I left instructions that no one was to undertake any action until my return, or unless instructed by London. So what happened?’
Anatole sat down also. ‘Nothing happened at all for a month following your departure. Your brother came to see me once or twice, to find out if London had sent any messages. But they had not. So he stopped coming. I did not find anything sinister about this. I knew that the Group had broken up since your coming here, but you gave me to understand that it could be reunited when required.’
‘So it can be. Do you not have all their addresses?’
‘They are not at those addresses any more. They all seem to have disappeared after the shooting of the German colonel.’
‘They are saying that was done by my sister. Can this possibly be true?’
‘I am afraid there can be no doubt of it. Madame Burstein was avenging the death of her husband.’
‘What?’
‘As I understand it, Monsieur Burstein visited Bordeaux, was either identified or betrayed, and was seized and hanged after being interrogated. It is not known whether he gave away any of our secrets, but the mere fact that he had been taken caused the various members of the Group to disappear. As you know, the Vichy authorities in this part of the country are very co-operative with the Germans.’
‘But what was Henri doing in Bordeaux in the first place?’
‘I do not know, mademoiselle.’
‘And Amalie sought to avenge him. Oh, poor, silly girl.’ But she could not blame her. Amalie’s marriage had lasted precisely ten minutes before Henri had had to join his regiment. She had driven him and Pierre and James Barron up to the Belgian frontier, together with Joanna and her half-brother, Aubrey, thus beginning the cataclysmic series of events that had carried her along ever since — and which, but for Aubrey’s death — and more recently the sad execution of Hercule — she would not have missed for the world. How it was going to end, how she would be able to resume a normal, civilized existence, even with James to help her, she did not know.
But for Amalie, the war had been even more traumatic. After her attenuated marriage, she had gone to live in Dieppe with her new parents-in-law, on the assumption that whenever Henri was given leave that was where he would go. Instead he had been pronounced missing, believed dead, following the disastrous campaign in Flanders. Amalie had been distraught, her anguish accentuated when her Jewish parents-in-law had been deported to a German concentration camp. Always emotional and quick-tempered, she had struck one of the Gestapo officers carrying out the arrest.
That had brought her into the orbit of Johann Roess, then only a junior officer, but as vicious as he was ever to become. It had also brought her into the orbit of Franz Hoeppner, who was commanding the garrison in Dieppe at the instigation of his best friend, Frederick von Helsingen, already in love with Madeleine. That action had undoubtedly saved Hoeppner’s life when Amalie had gone on the rampage.
But her experiences, however brief, at the hands of Roess had left mental scars. Amalie had only been nineteen and her life, up to that fateful May day in 1940, had been lived entirely in the perpetual sunlight provided by the de Gruchy millions and the loving protection afforded her by her older siblings.
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With all of that stripped away, she had undoubtedly suffered a mental breakdown, compounded by the marriage of her sister Madeleine to one of the hated Boches. She had even contemplated suicide. Liane had rescued her from that and had taken her into the Massif Central to join the guerrilla band. She had cared for her and nurtured her, and had been rewarded when, after a six-month absence, Henri had got to them — a fugitive to be sure, but they had all been fugitives. To witness Amalie’s restored happiness had been a joy. Yet Liane had never doubted that the basic instability had remained behind the smiling countenance.
‘Does London know what happened?’
‘Oh, yes, mademoiselle. Pound is very upset. Not only about the unauthorized killing, but at his inability to get in touch with any of the Group. He is so upset that a month ago he sent one of his British agents to find out what is going on.’ ‘A British agent has been here? What did you tell him?’
‘I could not tell him anything, because I did not know anything. And it was a woman, not a man.’
‘A Pound agent? What number?’
‘Number Two. So she must have been important.’
‘Rachel! Yes,’ Liane agreed, ‘she was important. So you could tell her nothing. How long did she stay?’
‘I’m afraid she is still here. Or in Germany. If indeed she is still alive. She crossed the border and was captured by the Gestapo. I had not supposed she would do such a foolish thing.’ ‘How do you know this?’
‘It was put out by the Germans, that they had captured a British agent. They did not name her, but as it was only two days after she disappeared, it had to be her.’
‘What date was this?’
‘December eighteenth.’
My God, she thought. That was the day before Limoges! She had been tempted to come here then, but had known it was too risky. Instead, recrossing the border, she had doubled back to the north and taken refuge for a month with another guerrilla band, certain the Germans would look for her in the south. As they had. But even if she had come here, she would not have been able to do anything about Rachel.
Legacy of Hate Page 13
