Dark Palace

by Frank Moorhouse

  She held him, comforting him, bewildered by the impenetrable nature of people, by the way they were able to be inwardly devastated and yet not show it as it happened, as Ambrose must have done during the Dieter conversation.

  She was just able to feel and comprehend his state of mind that evening.

  ‘We are hens in a big barnyard.’ She struggled to find comforting words which had some solidity to them. ‘More a zoo, perhaps, than a barnyard.’

  She tried to laugh. He smiled gratefully at her, understanding her efforts to comfort.

  He said, ‘Can’t seem to make a go of being a man. Rather unsuccessful—one way or another.’

  She again struggled to find words. She put a hand to his cheek. ‘You live well.’

  ‘Hitler might be right—might’ve hit the nail on the head.’

  ‘People who think like Hitler aren’t to be countenanced.’

  He smiled at her through his eyes. He was close to tears. ‘That’s right—they are not to be countenanced.’

  ‘Oh God, let’s go,’ she said, after they kissed again. ‘I need a hot bath, to get out of these clothes—I’m becoming chilly. And then a stiff drink and a good dinner.’

  He leaned over and whispered into her ear, ‘I will tell you the unsavoury details.’

  She could hear from his voice that his bravado was weak.

  ‘I insist,’ she said, trying to bolster their feeble bravado.

  But she knew, as she heard herself say it, that she was free again, free of the jealousy and was relaxing again, relaxing back into the soft silk cushions of their lurid life.

  Her jealousy now seemed so pedestrian, so affronting to their all-encompassing, wonderful, lascivious alliance.

  As they walked away from the courts, arm in arm, she said, ‘I’m sorry for having become so pedestrian.’

  ‘We all become frightened. Just have different ways of dashing it.’

  ‘Tomorrow I will call Eden,’ she said.

  And how would she do that?

  The Call to Eden

  It was against all the rules for her to call Eden, but all the rules were now scattered about on the floor of their world, underfoot.

  Lester had most of the staff working in the Library, burrowing into statistical work, trying to keep a semblance of organisation or, as she sometimes felt—hiding.

  Serious disquietudes did not fit into the monkish world of the Library—except over morning tea, and then tentatively and speculatively, everyone careful not to bring up any tension which would mar the sociability of morning tea.

  If anyone had a serious rumour, it had to be one which could easily be calmed or dismissed. No one wanted any more bad news. Everyone sought signs that the enemy was collapsing.

  So as she sat there in one of the empty offices, she stared at the telephone number which Eden had given her when they’d had their farewell drink at the Beau Rivage after the Committee of Eighteen had concluded its unsatisfactory business.

  That was way back now. She had never used the number.

  Maybe the number no longer rang.

  She felt that it was probably a number she could call just once to ask for a favour or use to get his ear. But only once.

  If what Dieter had told them turned out to be just a preposterous rumour—it was a war of preposterous rumours—she would have then burned her bridges with Eden.

  Would be something of a laughing stock at the FO. And she would have done damage to the image of the League Secretariat.

  She would certainly never be able to call him again.

  She went to the window and leaned her forehead on its icy coldness. The person who doesn’t make mistakes doesn’t make anything. Her father’s saying.

  If the Swiss political police listened in to her call, and everyone at the League assumed they did, it would do no harm for them to know the content. If the Swiss police were sympathetic to the Nazis and passed it on, then it would be good for the Nazis to know that their secret was out in high places. And Vichy would listen too, she supposed, on the telephone lines which crossed through France.

  Perhaps her call to Eden would be in itself a useful tactical move, simply by achieving that—by being listened to. She would not be mentioning Dieter’s name.

  She could see no harm coming from the call.

  And in happier, stronger times, the matter would have been formal League business.

  She went back to the telephone, picked it up, and booked the call to the British Foreign Office using the office of the Secretary-General as the authorising code number.

  It was done.

  She put down the receiver, her breathing irregular, and sat in the office awaiting the call to London to be connected. Given the turmoil she expected it would be a long wait.

  After about three-quarters of an hour the telephone bell rang. She picked up the handpiece and a voice asked, ‘Is that Geneva 50-381?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Hold for London.’

  Edith knew it would still take a while for the connection; she put down the handpiece on the desk, and went to lock the door. When she returned, the connection had still not been made but after a few more minutes a telephonist said, ‘Geneva, are you there?’ She replied. The telephonist then said, ‘Connecting London. Go ahead London.’

  An English male voice came on the line. The voice said, ‘Who is this calling?’

  ‘Edith Berry, League of Nations, Acting Secretary-General’s office, Geneva.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Berry, what is the nature of your call?’

  ‘Confidential to Foreign Secretary Eden.’

  ‘This is Oliver Harvey, Mr Eden’s private secretary. Do you have Acting Secretary-General Lester on the line?’

  She wrote down Oliver Harvey’s name and imagined him at the same time also writing down her name.

  ‘I am speaking from the Office of the Secretary-General. It is I who is making the call. Is it possible to speak with Mr Eden at this time?’

  She glanced at the outline of the steps of the call which she’d planned out on a sheet of paper.

  ‘You realise that you’ve come in on the Foreign Secretary’s reserved line?’

  ‘I was League liaison officer on the Committee of Eighteen and the Committee of Five with Mr Eden. I am known personally to Mr Eden and I wish to speak with him on urgent matters.’

  ‘You wish to arrange to speak with him yourself?’

  ‘This number was given to me personally by Mr Eden.’

  She had somehow to overcome this Mr Harvey. For the first time, she wondered why Eden had given her his number.

  ‘Are you at liberty to explain your call, Miss Berry, so that I can pass on a summary to Foreign Secretary Eden?’

  She pondered whether to broach the matter with him. She decided that she had to. ‘It concerns reports we have received about a serious change in the way the Nazi government is treating the Jewish population in occupied countries. And others in the civilian population.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I feel that these reports show a bizarre change in the conduct of the Germans and must be brought to Mr Eden’s attention as a matter of urgency.’

  ‘Reports or rumours?’

  ‘This is tested information. I use the term advisedly.’

  She grimaced at her use of the word ‘tested’.

  There was a stony silence.

  ‘How would the Foreign Secretary come into the matter at this point?’

  ‘Perhaps some measures could be developed to forestall or curb this German behaviour. I would prefer, if at all possible, to speak directly with Mr Eden.’

  Her palms were sweating, leaving moisture on the handpiece which she wiped with her handkerchief, holding the handpiece then with her handkerchief.

  ‘You would like to request a telephonic conversation with the Minister? I could put your request to him and call you back. I cannot promise anything.’

  ‘I would appreciate your doing that.’

  Blocked.
/>
  Push.

  ‘Could you tell me if your return call would be today?’

  ‘Nothing can be promised. I will put your request to the Minister. As soon as possible.’

  A man who was not accustomed to being pinned down.

  ‘Thank you, Harvey.’

  Mr Oliver Harvey checked with her the spelling of her name and the Geneva number he should call and they hung up.

  She put down the telephone, tense around her shoulders and neck from having made the call.

  She dabbed the back of her neck with the handkerchief.

  She became sickeningly aware again of how weakly based the information really was.

  There had been some sort of vague confirmation from other reports received by the Jewish Agency.

  And Ambrose had tested him closely.

  Would she have ever slept with a man to determine his veracity? She preferred not to face that question.

  She determined to sit out the day in the office awaiting the call but she didn’t have to wait long.

  The bell rang and she jumped.

  The telephonist said, ‘London calling, Geneva, please hold.’

  She held. How gratifyingly quick.

  ‘Connecting you.’ She heard the telephonist’s voice say to the London end, ‘You may go ahead now, London.’ Mr Harvey’s voice came on. ‘It’s Harvey here, is that you, Berry?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘The Foreign Secretary will speak to you in around thirty minutes. Will you be able to take the call at that time?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I will book the call for that time and we’ll call back.’

  He hung up. There had been a collegiate tone to his voice this time.

  She waited the thirty minutes and the call came in—precisely on time.

  The connection was made. ‘Harvey here, I have the Foreign Minister on the line and will hand him across to you.’ She heard Harvey say, ‘Go ahead, Minister.’

  ‘Berry? Eden here.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Eden. I hope you are well?’

  Eden and she then exchanged pleasantries. He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her and eager to know how they were surviving there in Geneva. She told him how the skeleton staff were working away in the Library, and another few, including herself, at the office of the Acting Secretary-General.

  ‘Is Lester there now?’

  ‘No, Minister, he’s not.’

  ‘I see.’ He asked after Lester and a couple of the others. He expressed his support for them. ‘Holding the fort,’ he said. ‘Gallant effort. Your time will come.’

  His voice became brisk and he asked her to explain her concerns.

  She picked up a pencil ready to take down his remarks and questions in shorthand as a record of the call.

  She began to give an outline of the matter but he stopped her rather quickly and asked, ‘Are you calling on Lester’s behalf?’

  She held her breath, crossed her fingers for luck, and said, ‘On my own initiative.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. There was a slight pause and then he said, ‘Always admire initiative. Continue. In three sentences.’

  He gave a small laugh to cover his brusqueness.

  She began again but had not gone very far when he stopped her. ‘This is obviously a grave matter.’ He then told her he would put someone on the line from his office to take down from her all the details, which he would then consider.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind doing it this way? I myself do not take shorthand.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ she said.

  ‘Better for accuracy. Before I go—do you have any ideas about what we might do if what you say turns out to be the case?’

  ‘I suggest a condemnation be broadcast—by Mr Churchill and President Roosevelt—warning the Nazis that if they continue with these acts they will be put on trial after the war.’

  ‘From what I know of the Nazis it would only harden their hearts. And another thing, Berry, it’s important in this war situation not to fixate on the Jews. Big picture, remember. Give your information and your ideas to my man. Good luck, Berry—and call if you ever have matters of urgency to report. You will do that, won’t you?’

  How sincere was that offer?

  ‘I will, Minister.’

  She was thrilled to have her direct access renewed, as it were.

  ‘I’ll hand you over now,’ he said.

  A male member of Eden’s staff came on the line. Not Mr Oliver Harvey.

  This staff member was less formal. He said he took shorthand but it wasn’t so good and could she speak fairly slowly. ‘Sorry.’

  She outlined the information, reading from her telephone plan and notes.

  ‘It is the word of one man?’ he queried gently, after she’d summarised Dieter’s story.

  ‘One man we have tested well. And the Jewish Agency here has reports which back it up.’

  ‘Good-oh. I’ll have this all typed up and put before the Foreign Secretary within the hour.’

  ‘Before you go …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have some proposals for what might be done.’

  ‘Proposals for His Majesty’s government?’

  ‘Mr Eden requested them.’

  She was glad he couldn’t see her blush. ‘Proposals for the Allies generally, including His Majesty’s government and the members of the British Empire and the colonies. And for the United States as well.’

  ‘What is the precise status of these proposals? Shall I say they come from the Acting Secretary-General? I understand that it’s been impossible to hold a meeting of Council—or the Supervisory Commission?’

  She hesitated. ‘We haven’t been able to hold any meetings. The proposals I will outline arise from internal discussion here.’ She wondered if she would get away with that.

  ‘Internal Secretariat discussions. Very good. I’ll take them down. I’m ready …’

  From her prepared notes she read out the random ideas which Bernard, Ambrose and she had come up with.

  ‘First, I suggest a condemnation be broadcast …’

  ‘You?’

  ‘We … we suggest a condemnation be broadcast by Mr Churchill and President Roosevelt warning the Nazis that they will be punished as criminals for their acts; secondly, that the possibility of an exchange of German prisoners of war for Jews and the others so threatened be offered; that an international fund be established to buy the liberty of the Jews …’

  The FO officer interrupted her. ‘The second and third proposals run against Allied war policy—what you are in effect saying is that we give the Nazis resources and or personnel which could be turned against British troops, prolonging the war, and simply exchanging the death of British soldiers for the lives of the Jews.’

  This brought her to a halt. Ambrose, Bernard and she had thrown together whatever they could think of which might help. All she could say was, ‘I cannot argue out these proposals on the telephone. They are ideas for your consideration.’

  ‘Please go on.’

  He sounded conciliatory.

  As they went on with the call, she guessed that in the FO he was probably equivalent to her rank or lower. Mr Oliver Harvey had probably found out her status from whatever League staff documents they had in the FO. Or maybe they had taken her standing from the willingness of Eden to speak to her.

  She continued, ‘Or that consideration be given to either the holding as hostage those Germans interned in Allied countries—as hostage for the Jews—and if the worst came to worst, the public execution of those Germans who still profess allegiance to the Nazi regime.’

  ‘Strong. Yes. More?’

  ‘The next proposal should perhaps be seen as informal and should not constitute part of any official report.’

  ‘Tell me what you have in mind.’

  ‘It should be considered how best to corrupt lower-ranking German civil servants and officials by bribery in return for helping with the release of Jews an
d others threatened with execution.’

  ‘I will see how best to put that to the Minister.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Is that the end of your message?’ His voice sounded carefully neutral.

  ‘We have one last proposal—that selected German cities be leafleted explaining that the civilian population will be bombed because of this new German behaviour towards the Jews and other civilians.’

  ‘Civilians bombed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘May I say one thing—on a person-to-person basis?’

  ‘Of course.

  ‘You probably know that, as a general rule, the Jews are inclined to magnify their persecution?’

  She didn’t know this.

  This again stopped her in her tracks. Were there things about the Jews which no one was telling her?

  Was that the failing of poor Stephan Lux? That he magnified his persecution? And what of the non-Jews? Did they magnify their persecution?

  Or maybe this was the FO’s pro-Arabist position speaking. Something Ambrose had alluded to at times.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  He went on in what she heard now as his advisory tone, taking advantage of her hesitation, ‘In dealing with the reports from Poles especially, you have also to keep in mind the Slavic imagination.’

  She found her position. ‘I can see that there may be a political motive for the Jews to exaggerate their plight to put pressure on the British government to open up further immigration to Palestine,’ she said, wanting to show that she knew something about FO politics. ‘I am aware of that. What we are saying in this report is that this is a new development. And furthermore, I would’ve thought that it was difficult to exaggerate the plight of the Jews, even working from what we know to be true to date—before any of what I am telling you. The Evian conference established the persecution of the Jews.’

  She hoped that wasn’t too strong a response.

  ‘Sorry to sound as if I’m debating—I’m trying to alert your people to prevailing sentiments over here.’