Journey to Munich

by Jacqueline Winspear

  One of Maisie’s first visitors was Sandra, who had telephoned her at Priscilla’s house, asking if she could spare a moment or two to talk about something quite important. Although Maisie kept an open mind, she suspected she knew what Sandra might reveal in the conversation.

  As they sat on a sofa situated to face the open doors and the garden in summer bloom, Sandra revealed her news.

  “Lawrence has asked me to be his wife—and I’ve accepted him.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear—I am so happy for you, Sandra.” She took Sandra’s hands in her own. “It was time. You loved your Eric and you have mourned him, and you’ve come through it all a new person—I take my hat off to you, really I do.”

  Sandra bit her lip. “I used to worry, you know—that I was changing so much, we wouldn’t recognize each other when my time came and I passed over. They say that, don’t they—that you meet again on the other side, you and the love of your life.”

  Maisie shook her head. “No one knows, Sandra, and best not to think about it. But you love Lawrence, and he loves you, so you must trust your instinct.”

  “There is one fly in the ointment, though.”

  “Is there?” Maisie reached for the teapot and poured for them both.

  “Well, the company has grown now, and we have more people—not a huge number, but six all told.”

  “Oh, I see. And as a married woman—to the owner, no less—they would have something to say about you being in the business. It could make things difficult.”

  “Yes, that’s about the measure of it. And being married, I can’t get another job—and I’m like you, not the sitting-at-home type. Never have been. I’ve always worked, even before I left school at twelve. Now I’ve educated myself, and I don’t want to languish in a house all day. Lawrence said I should talk to you, and I was going to anyway. He’s suggested I could work at home for the company, part-time—but I don’t know, it doesn’t sound right.”

  Maisie set down her cup. “Are you busy on Thursday?”

  Sandra frowned. “Um, no—well, yes, but I mean, I don’t have to be.”

  Maisie nodded. “Good. I have a plan. I want you to meet me at this address.” She took a pad of paper from the table next to the sofa, and scribbled an address, handing the sheet to her former secretary.

  Sandra’s eyes widened. “I’ll be there, miss.”

  “It’s Maisie—please, I’ve had enough of all this ‘miss.’”

  “You’ll never get Billy to change—he’ll never call you anything but ‘miss.’”

  “How is Billy? I haven’t spoken to him lately.”

  Sandra shrugged. “Doreen is doing very well, the boys are growing, and little Margaret Rose is a gem of a child—you should see her, all blond curls and red lips. Everyone in the family dotes on her, you know.” She sighed. “But since . . . well, since things changed, after Edward Compton came in to take charge under Lord Julian, who came out of retirement, it hasn’t been easy for anyone, apparently.”

  “Yes, I have heard.” Maisie noticed how Sandra could not speak James’ name. Edward Compton was a second cousin who had been earmarked to take James’ place in the event of his no longer being at the helm of the Compton Corporation—it was a line of accession planned during the war, in case James died while serving in the Royal Flying Corps. No one imagined his death would come much later. The tragedy had also affected her former assistant, Billy Beale. When she left for India, closing her inquiry agency, Maisie had arranged for James to employ Billy to oversee security at the company’s City headquarters. He was grateful for the steady work, but did not care for Edward Compton.

  “Billy doesn’t sound very happy to me,” said Sandra.

  “No, I can imagine the change must be affecting everyone.”

  Hugo Watson paced up and down the pavement in front of a whitewashed former mansion. The fact that he was to meet a woman who had been more than displeased with him when he was with his previous employer was worrisome indeed, especially for an agent working on commission.

  “Mr. Watson, what a surprise. Moved from residential to commercial properties, have you?” Maisie approached him, looking up at the familiar building.

  “I think it suits me more than residential,” said Watson.

  “As long as you don’t say ‘Up we go’ as if you’re putting a child to bed when we ascend the stairs, I think we’ll do well. Ah, here’s my friend now.”

  Sandra smiled and waved as she walked across the square toward Maisie. “I can’t wait to see it,” she said as she approached.

  “Shall we?” said Watson, holding out a hand to the now open door.

  Maisie nodded, turned to Sandra, and raised her eyebrows. “Here we go.”

  They made their way up one flight of stairs, whereupon Watson unlocked the door to the first-floor premises.

  “Now, you will note that the office has changed quite a lot since you rented a few years ago. The new tenant tore back the plaster where doors were originally fitted, and opened it up again.”

  “Oh, goodness me,” said Sandra, stepping into the room, looking between the tall windows that faced the square and the space where a wall had been last time she was in the office. “I never knew there had been doors there.”

  Maisie stepped from what was once her office into the place where their neighbor had been, now part of a larger room, with white-painted folding doors drawn back like a concertina. “When it was a house, this would have been the dining room, I think—and this the drawing room.” She shrugged. “Not sure—but it’s much bigger and lighter now, and see, there’s a window at the back too, though the view is only into the yard.” She began to walk around the room, then to the window to look out across Fitzroy Square.

  How many times had she taken up this position in the past? How many times had she watched while a new client approached the door, or left after a meeting? She had waited so many times by that window, hoping for the insight that might lead to the successful closure of a case. She turned to Sandra.

  “What do you think?”

  “They’ve made a good job of it, haven’t they? I like that new gas fire, the paint is as fresh as a new pin, and now it’s bigger, it won’t be so cramped. Mind you, there will be only the two of us, and I’ll only be part-time—until you need me for more hours.”

  Maisie turned back to the window again and smiled. She beckoned to Sandra to join her as she pointed to a man walking in their direction, a slight catch to his step marking him as a soldier of the Great War. “Actually, there will be three of us, Sandra.”

  The front door slammed and footsteps could be heard on the stairs before Billy opened the door and stepped into the room, his smile broad and his hair as unruly as it had ever been. “Sorry I’m a bit late, miss. Hallo, Sandra!” He stopped speaking and whistled as he looked around the room. “Blimey, miss, it don’t look like the same place, does it? Changed as much as we have, I wouldn’t wonder.”

  Maisie looked at Watson. “I’ll take it, Mr. Watson. Please send the leasing documents to Mr. Klein, my solicitor—I believe you have the details.”

  She nodded to her two former employees, who would soon be working with her once again. But as she moved toward the door, Billy held out a brown-paper-wrapped package to her.

  “Thought you might like this. I did a little bit of engraving, down in my shed.”

  Maisie glanced at Billy, then Sandra, who both seemed to be on tenterhooks. She unwrapped the paper to reveal a brass plaque.

  M. DOBBS

  Psychologist & Investigator

  “I wondered if I should’ve put ‘Margaret,’ seeing as it’s your proper name, but then Sandra thought it would be best as just ‘M’—but I can start all over again, if you don’t like it.”

  “Oh, thank you, Billy, I think it will do very well—very well indeed.” Maisie wrapped the plaque in the brown paper once more. “Right, then—anyone for a cuppa around the corner? We’ve some plans to make.”

  It was in Se
ptember that Maisie received word that Edwina Donat had succumbed to the consumption she had fought for so long. Although Maisie had visited Leon Donat once after returning from Munich, she had not stayed long, as he was both tired and at the same time preoccupied with what was being asked of him. Now she decided to wait until the end of the month, when she would make the journey to his home outside the village of Shere in Surrey, to pay her respects and hopefully stay a little longer than before. This was, after all, the man she had once called “Papa.”

  The drive to Shere allowed Maisie to put her new motor car through its paces, negotiating twisting country lanes and longer stretches where the road opened up and she could ease out the throttle. Donat’s house, which had been built at the turn of the century, was set in manicured grounds, with a lawn mowed in stripes that made it seem as if it were being readied for a game of cricket. She parked the Alvis on a pad of gravel adjacent to the house, and was surprised to see Leon Donat at the side door, leaning on two canes, waiting for her to arrive.

  “Mr. Donat—” She walked toward him, placing a hand on his arm as she reached his side. “I am so very sorry to hear of your loss.”

  “Thank you, my dear. It’s thoughtful of you to pay a visit.” He leaned forward and pressed his cheek to hers. “Please come in—my housekeeper has laid out lunch in the dining room. Did you have a good journey?”

  Maisie replied that it was a lovely day for driving, warm with the promise of an Indian summer. She followed Donat into the dining room, aware of his fragility, still. After the housekeeper had helped him into a chair, Maisie took her seat and poured water for them both. The housekeeper returned with a platter of steamed fish and serving bowls with small white potatoes, peas, and runner beans.

  “I have a young man staying here now. He was sent to help me with drawings, but he’s quite good company, so he’s living in the room over the garage. It was built by the last owner for his chauffeur, and it’s come in handy, as Andrew is very good with engines and keeps my motor running quite nicely too. He drives me anywhere I need to go.” Donat stopped speaking to press a hand to his chest and catch his breath. “In fact, I occasionally have another visitor, and they get on very well. I could even be accused of matchmaking.” He looked at Maisie as she took up the silver water jug to fill his glass. “Elaine comes every other week or so—she brings her boy. That’s indeed nice at my age, to have a young person around me. She was quite the surprise, Miss Otterburn.”

  “Really?” said Maisie. “Perhaps she’s finding her feet.”

  “Perhaps she is—and though I cannot say I hold with this sort of thing, I think it will be better all around when her divorce is made final and she receives her decree absolute. She’s used some money she earned to rent a flat in London, but she’s told me she’ll be going to Canada just as soon as she’s free to do so, and can take the boy with her. Lovely little man, he is—such a smile. I would rather they stayed, to tell you the truth. I miss Dina so very much, and it’s nice to think . . .” He seemed to look into the distance as Maisie served the fish and vegetables. “I wish Edwina had known motherhood—such a shame.”

  “Her fiancé perished in the war, didn’t he?”

  “And she was never the same after that. She didn’t lock herself away, but for her there was only the one true love.”

  Maisie nodded and waited for the right moment to speak of Munich once more.

  “Mr. Donat, do you mind if I ask you something? I know you were taking money to Elaine in Munich, but I think some details are missing. Just to put it to rest in my mind, perhaps you can tell me more.”

  He lifted his hand from the table with some difficulty and placed it on her own. “Yes, I think I owe you an explanation or two, don’t I?”

  “It would help me. I like to sew up things in my mind—in my work, I used to call it my ‘final accounting.’ It was something I was taught a long time ago, that it’s a way of picking up all the pieces we can when something important has happened. It’s rather like making sure we know where every penny has gone after we’ve been shopping. It’s not always possible, but I do my best.” She took a sip of water. “Why did you agree to bring the money to Elaine? I mean, I can see how she might have met Ulli Bader and Anton Schmidt—there was the connection of knowing England, and people overseas like connections—but you are not thought to be best friends with John Otterburn.”

  “Oh, I’m all right with him—he’s just a fiercely competitive man, and of course we moved in the same circles. When I won a contract that he thought he had in the bag, people said it was like the hare and the tortoise—and I know I look like an old tortoise now!”

  “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

  Donat nodded. “Yes, there is. And perhaps you are only the third person who knows this.” His eyes filled with tears. “Lorraine Otterburn and I . . . well . . . we had an affair, for a time. Not a long time, but it was a heady moment for us both. I loved my wife dearly, but—who can say? Summer madness twenty-six years ago, and of course, Lorraine is a very dear woman.”

  “And—”

  “Elaine does not know, but as you saw, she is drawn to me—like a homing pigeon, now that she has found me. She’s a lot like John, no doubt about it, but I think she’s discovering what it’s like to be another kind of person. And now we are joined by what happened in Munich—I agreed to do something without a shred of doubt that it was the right thing to do, and she brought me home when you asked it of her.” He laughed. “My goodness, but she is a fearless woman—you should have been in the aircraft with her. I was so very ill, but I knew I was in safe hands.” He took a bite of fish and a few sips of water. “As I understand it, she made a dreadful error where you are concerned, my dear.”

  “In the past, Mr. Donat. It’s in the past.” Maisie wanted to move the conversation onto another aspect of the journey to Munich. “You were involved in the Voice of Freedom, weren’t you? And I think it might have been more than that.”

  “Very observant of you, Maisie. Yes, I was.”

  “Forging papers for people who wanted to leave Germany.”

  He pressed his lips together and then spoke again. “I don’t know that I helped, but I funded what Ulli and Anton were trying to do. They had the press, they had the connections, so I made it possible to get the special quality papers and other materials they needed, and of course to buy favors from people in the right places. It wasn’t only Lorraine’s money that came in to help them, but mine. I hope they are still doing it, and I hope they are successful. They are both brave young men. Braver than I might have been in their shoes.”

  They continued to eat in silence for a while, and Maisie realized that Donat might become overtired. As he finished lunch, placing his knife and fork together to signal he’d had enough, the housekeeper knocked on the door and stepped into the room.

  “You asked to be reminded about the broadcast, Mr. Donat.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Would you turn on the wireless? I want to listen to the news.” He turned to Maisie. “Do you mind very much, my dear? They’re broadcasting Chamberlain’s speech. He arrived home from Munich with an important announcement, and I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “Not at all. I think we all want to know what’s happened.” Maisie leaned forward to listen.

  “Sit down, Mrs. Randall—you too,” said Donat.

  Maisie kept watch on Leon Donat, and as the housekeeper took a seat, the radio broadcast began, the speaker crackling as Neville Chamberlain’s voice echoed into the dining room.

  We, the German Führer and Chancellor, and the British Prime Minister, have had a further meeting today and are agreed in recognizing that the question of Anglo-German relations is of the first importance for our two countries and for Europe. We regard the agreement signed last night and the Anglo-German Naval Agreement as symbolic of the desire of our two peoples never to go to war with one another again.

  As the broadcast continued, Maisie watched Donat close hi
s eyes and become still. Maisie reached out to touch his hand, and he grasped hers in return.

  The housekeeper stood up and turned off the wireless as the announcer moved on to other news. “They say it’s peace for our time, now that man Hitler over there has signed this agreement. After 1918, I can’t imagine that any of them has the gall to go to war again. We paid a high enough price the last time.”

  Donat looked up. “Quite right, Mrs. Randall. I think Maisie and I will take our coffee in the conservatory.”

  Maisie helped Donat into the conservatory, making sure he was seated in comfort on a wicker chair and had enough cushions to support his back. She took a seat next to him as they waited for Mrs. Randall to bring coffee.

  “What do you think, Mr. Donat?”

  Donat shook his head. “What do I think? I think you know exactly what I think—we were both in Munich. We saw the Brownshirts. We saw the Gestapo, and we both know what goes on in Dachau—and Dachau is only one prison of its kind; there are others, and more being built. So what do I think? I think our prime minister is either a fool or a liar. And it might be better for him if he were a fool—though the outcome will be the same.”

  Maisie watched as Donat’s eyes seemed to become heavy again. She stood up, placed her hand on his shoulder, and in a low voice, told her host that she should be on her way.

  At a slow pace, with Maisie supporting him, Donat accompanied Maisie to the door. She insisted he remain at the threshold. It was as she reached the Alvis that Leon Donat mustered his strength to call out to her.

  “Maisie—we have our freedom, both of us. We are lucky, very lucky. Make sure you use it well.” He waved. “Come again, won’t you?”

  Maisie returned the wave as she stepped into the motor car. As she began to drive toward the road, she saw a young man come to Donat’s side to help him indoors. She had no doubt that, following a brief nap, he would be back at his drawing board. A valuable boffin at work for his country.