The Best of Our Spies

by Alex Gerlis

ooo000ooo

  They found the hospital easily enough. The one large hospital in the city was just across the river that surrounded the old centre, just off Rue de la Bourse. Their good fortune continued. The first doctor they stopped to ask in the corridor came from Paris and was happy to help a fellow Parisian. ‘Come with me, let me take you to the records department. I hope you find your friend and her baby are healthy.’

  The lady in the records department assumed that because the doctor had brought them along, it was in order for her to help. ‘Because otherwise,’ she said as she slid her chair over to the right filing cabinet, ‘it would be quite irregular for us to pass on records to someone else.’

  T...here we are, T... let’s see Troppe, I can’t see anything... when did you say it was... October or November... can’t see anything here, Troppe...’

  Owen was not altogether surprised. They were assuming that she had come back to Strasbourg. If she was running away, then this could well be the last place she would come to. And if she did, she would probably have used another name.

  She carried on searching, encouraged by André. She was still muttering Troppe... Troppe under her breath as she worked through the documents when a nurse came in carrying a bunch of files to leave on the desk.

  ‘What were you saying, Thérèse? That name?’

  ‘Troppe. I am looking to see if a baby Troppe was born here last year.’

  ‘The only Troppe I know is Ginette. Ah well.’ She turned and walked out.

  André and Owen were stunned. They followed the nurse out of the room.

  ‘You know Ginette Troppe?’ André was taking care not to appear too desperate.

  ‘Sure, I worked with her here in Strasbourg before the war. She went to work in Paris during the war apparently.’

  ‘Yes, that is where I know her from,’ said André. ‘I heard she returned here and as I was in Strasbourg I thought I would look her up. She gave me her address and you know, I lost it. I knew she was expecting a baby, so I thought maybe I could find the details here. I have some gifts for her, you see.’

  ‘I don’t think her baby was born here. But why not ask her yourself. She’s back working here now.’

  ooo000ooo

  After that, it was not difficult. Even though it was late at night, the nurse agreed to check – discreetly (‘Of course, I understand, sir,’ she had said, pocketing the folded notes. ‘Everyone appreciates a surprise’). Ginette Troppe, it seemed, was due in at six o’clock the next morning. Her shift would end at three in the afternoon.

  They found a hotel near the railway station and stayed there that night. Owen registered using his cousin Peter’s passport, which he had brought with him from England. They were up at five in the morning. André had already found out which side entrance the nurses used and they parked the car just down that street, giving them a good view of everyone approaching the entrance.

  Owen was slumped in the passenger seat wearing a hat, with a scarf wrapped across his face. André was concerned that he looked like a robber, but at least he was not recognisable. At a quarter to six, the morning shift began to arrive, in ones and twos and the occasional threesome. It was a bitterly cold morning, with frost on the ground and it would be difficult to identify her if she was wearing the hood of her cape as some of the other nurses were doing. André decided to get out of the car. He had looked at her photograph often enough and Owen had described her in detail, so he reckoned he would recognise her. He was just opening the driver’s door of the car when she appeared. She was walking alone along the side street where the entrance was. Her cape flowed behind her and she had the hood down. As she walked along, she threw her head back in her characteristic fashion so as to gather her long hair together. As she walked closer to them, she tied it back., and Owen caught a glimpse of her face. . Her deep black eyes pierced through the mist. Owen was in no doubt whatsoever. He made to open the car door, but André restrained him. ‘Later.’

  That was André’s plan. Let her do her shift. It would cause trouble if they approached her first. Let her do her shift and then we can follow her home. You need to know where she lives, don’t you? You want to find your child?

  They went back to the hotel to rest. André fell asleep and Owen stood at the window, looking out over Strasbourg. Somewhere out there is my child, he thought.

  He realised that he had not expected to reach this moment. Until today, he had not expected to find her, so he had not given any serious thought to what he would do when he did. Would he kill her? Could he forgive her? Would he take her back to England and hand her over to Edgar? Would he march her to a police station? Hand her over to the FFI? Would he be able to forgive her and stay with her? He had no idea. And then there was the child. Until the nurse last night had mentioned that she had given birth, he had not known for sure that she had even had the baby. Could he possibly allow her to keep the child?

  He stood leaning against the window, working his way through a packet of André’s cigarettes, his heart pounding away and any kind of rest out of the question.

  André woke at one. Naturally, he had a plan. They would eat and return to the hospital. Although the shift ended at three, they would be in position just before two, just in case she left early. They would need to follow her, which was the only way to be sure of finding out where she lived and where, presumably, the child was. Owen would drive the car so that André could follow her on foot in case she caught a tram.

  As they waited outside the nurses’ entrance, the drizzle which had been present since they had arrived in Strasbourg had now turned to a downpour, making it difficult to see. Nonetheless, she was not hard to make out as she swept out of the hospital just after three, much the same way as she had entered it; cape flowing and alone. As she climbed down the steps she unclipped her small nurse’s hat and untied her hair, shaking her head, her long hair now flowing loose behind her. They waited until she had crossed the street and turned left into the main road. She walked past one long tram queue and it appeared that she might be walking all the way home. At that moment, a beige tram appeared from the other direction and she ran across the road, raising her hand for it to stop. André had jumped out of the car even before Owen had brought it to a sudden halt.

  The plan entailed him trying to follow the tram. If he lost them then he would have to rely on André following her by the tram, finding out where she lived and they would meet back at the hotel.

  By the time he had managed to turn the car round in the road he was already behind a lorry and another three or four cars. A couple of blocks on the tram stopped, but neither André nor Ginette, as he now knew her to be, got off. He was able to pull up behind the tram, but lost it again at the next set of traffic lights. By now the traffic was getting heavier and he decided to have one last go, turning into the oncoming lane and accelerating past the cars in front of him. The tram had just pulled away from another stop as he caught up with it again. He glanced to his right, but could see neither André nor Ginette on the pavement, so he carried on. The tram was turning left now, crossing a river, moving in a southerly direction away from the city centre. He nosed in behind as close as he could without driving on the tram-tracks. If he lost it now it would probably be too late. Soon after the left turn, the tram pulled into another stop. He held back a bit before pulling in near to it. Sure enough, Ginette got out, closely followed by André, who looked around and saw him. He waited while André followed Ginette round a corner and he followed slowly in the car. It was a long side street with apartment blocks on either side. It was a straight road, so he could afford to pull in and still see where André was following her. She stopped at a boulangerie and André followed her in. They both emerged a minute later carrying large paper bags. As she crossed the road she looked towards him, straight in the direction of the car. He huddled himself further down the seat, but she had not seen him. She was making sure it was safe to cross.

  André was well practised, Owen realised. He knew how to follow someo
ne. He had crossed the road in front of Ginette and was now walking before her, allowing her to pass him after a few paces as he paused to tie up a shoe lace.

  A hundred yards or so later and Ginette climbed up the stairs of a small apartment block, taking her keys out of her handbag as she did so. She briefly turned round as André walked straight past the entrance.

  Owen caught up with him a bit further on, where André had turned into a smaller side street.

  ‘Well done, Owen, that was good. Now we know where she lives. Are you ready for this?’

  Owen nodded, although he was not sure that he was ready. His heart was pounding so loud and fast that he was feeling light-headed.

  ‘And you are sure you want me to come with you?’

  They only had to wait five minutes before an elderly man walked slowly up the steps of the apartment block and they were able to time their walk up the steps to coincide with his. He was very grateful as they held the door open for him and doffed his hat as they followed him into the entrance hall.

  There was no concierge here, which André muttered was a good thing. There appeared to be six floors, three apartments to each floor. Apartment Five on the second floor had ‘Troppe’ on the board.

  They climbed the flight of stairs to the second floor. Owen’s breathing was heavy now and he must have been walking slowly as André paused for him, putting an arm round his shoulders as he did so.

  They waited outside Apartment Five. At first they could hear nothing and then through closed doors there was the sound of two people talking followed by silence. A minute or so later, the sound of a baby crying. André nodded. Owen knew his plan. He would wait round the corner so when the door was opened, it would only be the unfamiliar face of André that they would see for long enough to get the door open.

  André wrapped on the door. From behind the corner Owen could hear footsteps coming to the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ It was his wife’s voice.

  ooo000ooo

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Strasbourg

  February 1945

  It was the Sunday afternoon before Edgar found what he was looking for. He had arrived in Strasbourg in the very early hours of the morning and spent most of that day driving around the city and trying to persuade the police to let him see the hotel registration cards. Come back later he was told.

  He checked into a small guest house in the city centre, intending to get an hour’s rest. When he awoke he realised that he had slept for more than five hours. It was ten o’clock at night.

  The next day he went back to the police station. They had checked with Paris and they were going to be able to let him see the cards. Later. It was noon before he was taken into a small office and shown them.

  No sign of Owen Quinn, the only British passport holder staying at a hotel in the city was a Peter Sinclair. He was from the same town in Surrey as Owen.

  The hotel owner was very helpful. He was most impressed by the array of accreditation that Edgar had pointedly spread out on the reception desk in front of him, along with the photograph of Owen.

  There were two of them. The Englishman – yes that’s him, sir – and a Frenchman. Paris accent. Probably… you know, Jewish... not that that is a problem, sir. There were many of them here in Strasbourg. Before the war. They checked out yesterday. I’ve no idea where they went. They may have been going to visit a friend though. I remember now that they did ask me for the best route to the University Hospital.

  Edgar thanked him very much and asked if he would be so kind as to give him those same directions to the University Hospital.

  ooo000ooo

  ‘It is Pascal from Apartment Eighteen on the top floor,’ said André. ‘I have a parcel for you that came to me by mistake.’

  ‘One moment, one moment.’ She sounded annoyed. It took a moment for the door to be unlocked and bolts and chains removed.

  The door opened. André pushed it open wider and as he entered Owen followed him straight in. He was already in the hall, with the door closed behind him before she realised who he was.

  She made to scream, but no sound came out. The colour had drained from her face and her eyes were wide open, as was her mouth. She took an unsteady step back and leaned against the wall.

  ‘Owen!’ she gasped. ‘Oh my God!’

  Very slowly, she sank to her knees. Her mouth was open and she was trying to speak, but nothing was coming out.

  ‘Who is it, Ginette?’ It was an older woman’s voice from behind a door, accompanied by the sound of a baby crying.

  ‘It is all right, mother. Someone from work.’ Her voice sounded hoarse.

  She glared at André.

  ‘This is a friend of mine,’ said Owen.

  ‘I have heard so much about you.’ André bowed with exaggerated courtesy.

  ‘Can we talk alone, Owen?’

  ‘Yes, as long as it is in this apartment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I have come for my child.’

  Another gasp. She rubbed her knuckles against her teeth, desperately thinking what to do.

  ‘We can go into the kitchen.’

  ‘I will wait in the corridor outside,’ said André.

  ‘Mother,’ she said, trying very hard to sound calm, but her voice was now highly pitched. ‘There is someone here from work I need to see about changing departments. We will go into the kitchen. Please do not disturb us.’

  He followed her into the kitchen and closed the door. She gestured towards an empty chair at the table and she sat opposite him, nervously pulling at her hair.

  ‘How did you find me, Owen?’

  He ignored her question. ‘What shall I call you? Nathalie, Ginette?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘How did you know about the baby? How could you have known? You must tell me that, Owen!’

  Owen was breathing heavily now, the tension and fury mounting up in him.

  ‘No, I realise I wasn’t meant to know. I was in such a bad state over this whole business that I was drinking too much and sleeping too little so I went to see Dr Peacock in September. He let slip that you were pregnant. You can imagine how much better I felt after that visit. But what it did do was drive me to find you and my child. Is it mine? I don’t even know if it is a boy or a girl!’

  She got up and paced around the small kitchen before going over to the sink to get herself a glass of water. When she sat down again her hands were shaking so violently that she had to hold the glass with two hands. He could hear it clattering against her teeth as she took a few sips.

  ‘It’s a boy Owen...’ She paused and sunk her head into her hands. She stayed like that for a while, the sounds of her quiet sobs filling the room. She tried to compose herself, but when she started speaking again, her voice was weak.

  ‘... he looks like you. Of course, you are the father... I am sorry, I never intended ... but, you know... it happened. I only found out just before I came back to France, when I went to see Dr Peacock. I was in a panic. I had not intended to get pregnant but I wanted to keep the baby. If I was not being sent to France, I think I would have told you. Not just about the baby, but everything, Owen. I had decided that much. I promise you.’

  ‘You can tell me now.’

  ‘What are you going to do with him?’

  ‘With whom?’

  ‘Our son.’

  ‘What is his name?’

  ‘He is called Philippe, after the French general who liberated Strasbourg. It was my mother’s idea really.’

  She tried to drink from the glass again, but her hands were shaking so violently that the water spilled on the table top. She bit her forefinger to try to stop herself crying.

  ‘Tell me everything first. Why did you work for the Germans? Did they make you work for them or did you volunteer? I want to know everything.’ Owen was doing his best to sound angry, but his overwhelming emotions were sadness and confusion.

  She was crying freely, the tears gathering under he
r eyes before rolling fast down her reddened cheeks. For the first time since he had met her, she looked vulnerable. When the crying subsided and she began to speak he noticed that her face reminded him of the time when she had emerged out of the fog on Westminster Bridge in the winter of 1943. He had realised then that for the first time, she looked unguarded. As if she’d always worn a mask. She now looked as if her mask had been discarded and for the first time, he was able to look at her face with all her true emotions exposed on it.

  ‘My family is from Alsace. We are of German origin, like a lot of people in this region. In the Great War my father fought in the German Army – Alsace was part of Germany then. As far as he was concerned, he was German. He never thought of himself as French. He worked for the railways and when Alsace became part of France again after the war, he was sent to Lyons to work. We all went there. I had no brothers or sisters. My father was treated very badly in Lyons. People regarded him as a traitor. People did not talk to him at work, we had no friends. In the time we were there, I don’t think we were ever invited to anyone else’s house. I was too young to realise, but I grew up with this atmosphere in the house. By 1921, he couldn’t stand it anymore so he gave up his job and we moved back to Alsace. I was seven then. He couldn’t get any work here in Alsace, so he went to Germany, but things were even worse there, there were no jobs and they treated him as if he was French, so he felt that he did not belong anywhere. He came back to Alsace in 1922 and killed himself in 1923. I discovered his body hanging from a landing over the stairs when I got up during the night to go to the bathroom. I was nine.

  ‘My mother was destitute, but a German cultural organisation helped with my education and they would give us food each week. As I grew up, I became interested in politics. I felt that a strong Germany was important. So in 1935, I joined the Nazi Party. It was clandestine, of course. Alsace was still in France then. I didn’t think too much about it. Most of the people in the organisation that had helped us had joined it; they had helped fund my nursing training. Maybe I was trying to repay their help. The Germans were the only people who helped us and the Nazi Party were the only people who cared about Germany. I moved to Paris in 1938 and I was recruited as a spy. That’s it.’