‘So much for Cedric’s theory,’ said Dick. ‘He’s obsessed with this idea that MI5 are on to us.’
‘I was thinking about it as I was going through the files,’ said Jane. ‘It could equally have been someone who heard that I was asking questions about the Hess affair and got worried.’
‘You mean someone implicated with the Nazis?’
‘Or their son, or grandson. Family honour still has to be defended at all costs.’
‘Whoever it was, I’m changing the lock on your door.’
She smiled. ‘Masterful. That leaves the feeble woman to make the coffee.’
Later, while she was watching him at work, he told her about his visit to the library. ‘They have a copy of the diaries of Sir Alexander Cadogan.’
‘The man the Duke of Hamilton wanted to meet after talking to Hess? Nice work, Dick. What did you discover?’
‘If you remember, Hamilton called the Foreign Office and tried to set up a rendezvous. He wanted Cadogan to drive out to Northolt to meet him – which raises two questions. Why Cadogan? And why Northolt?’
Jane shook her head. ‘Where exactly is Northolt?’
‘About ten miles west of here. In a 1941 car, the Duke could have made it to the Foreign Office inside forty-five minutes, yet he wanted Cadogan to come to him.’
‘For a private consultation?’
Dick nodded. ‘Where they could set aside the usual FO formalities. Off the record.’
‘That answers the first question,’ said Jane. ‘How about the second: why Cadogan?’
‘Because he was a civil servant and not a member of the War Cabinet. He was in a privileged position, independent of the politicians.’
‘There’s no need to lecture me on politics,’ she gently reminded him. ‘Hamilton could have told Cadogan what Hess proposed without Churchill knowing a thing about it. Is that your point?’
‘Yes.’
She drew up her shoulders and gave him a wry look. ‘But as Hamilton wasn’t able to get through to Cadogan, what are you driving at?’
He put down the screwdriver and turned to face her. ‘Just this. Last week, I read Sir Anthony Eden’s account of the Hess business. The way he tells it, Churchill’s staff intercepted the call from Hamilton. Intercepted. The word is significant. This was a call to the Foreign Office, Jane, not a German spy tapping out a message to Berlin. The way I see it, Churchill was a fortunate man. If that call hadn’t been intercepted, God knows what would have happened.’
‘It would have been up to Cadogan, I suppose,’ Jane commented evenly. ‘What did you learn from his diaries, then?’
‘He seems to have been the impeccable diplomat, scrupulously impartial in his dealings with politicians.’
‘Do the diaries mention Hess?’
‘Oh, yes. He says, on 12 May 1941, that in all the years he has kept the beastly diary, he has never been so hard pressed, and it was mainly due to Hess. On 14 May, he reports that Hess is the bane of his life.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the Cabinet is divided and Churchill is having tantrums and drawing up statements that nobody else will endorse.’
‘That ties in with what Jacob told me. Is there any clue as to whether Cadogan would have given assistance to a right-wing coup?’
‘On the Sunday when Hamilton was trying to set up the meeting at Northolt, Cadogan was weekending at his cottage in Sussex. The message was passed on, and a meeting was fixed for later that evening, but within half-an-hour Churchill was on the line to tell Cadogan he need not be troubled.’
‘Fast work.’
The bleep of the phone cut through their conversation. Jane left her chair to cross the room.
‘Careful what you say,’ Dick cautioned her.
It was Cedric on the line, his voice terse and strained. ‘Jane? Is Dick with you?’
‘Yes. Do you want a word?’
‘No. I just want both of you to get over here as soon as possible.’
‘To your office?’
‘Yes. And Jane …’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t speak a syllable to anyone.’
24
It was all down to the final game in the Berlin table-tennis league match between Grunewald and Charlottenburg. The singles had put Grunewald ahead by two, but strong attacking play by the Charlottenburg men’s and women’s doubles players had levelled the score, and now their new mixed doubles pair, Kassner and Moody, faced the Grunewald husband and wife, the Feuerbachs, who had a reputation for coolly picking up the vital points while their team-mates and supporters sweated.
The first game had been a whitewash: 21–7. Knowing that their opponents were playing together for the first time in a league match, the Feuerbachs had set out to confuse them with a combination of wide-angled play that stretched them to the crowd-barrier and net-skimming dropshots that had them clashing bats as they re-positioned. The tactics hadn’t worked so well in the second game as Heidrun and Cal fought back more positively, and it went to deuce, and finally to Charlottenburg by 25–23.
Now, in the decider, it was 19–16 to Grunewald, with Cal’s service to come. Heidrun waited to kill the returns, as watchful as a cat. The first, from Wolf Feuerbach, failed to climb over the net, and his wife Eva did no better with the second. Cal had switched from his usual quick forehand serve to a backhand that imparted vicious backspin, and neither of them had judged it right. Two good points to Charlottenburg. Heidrun smiled her encouragement. A disguised topspin on the next sent Wolf’s return head-high, and Heidrun smashed it past Eva.
The scores were level at 19–19.
A woman in the seats behind the crowd barrier was shredding a Kleenex with her teeth.
Cal served a let. The second came back at a freakish angle from Eva and struck the edge of the table. Astonishingly, Heidrun reacted fast enough to retrieve it. Wolf produced a looping topspin drive which Cal returned. Eva tried a smothering shot and put the ball into the net.
20–19 to Charlottenburg.
The ball sat ready on Cal’s uncupped palm. With a nod to Wolf Feuerbach, he tossed it extravagantly high and served with a strong sidespin bias. In controlling the spin, Wolf returned a bland shot down the centre and stepped the wrong way, blocking his wife. Heidrun gratefully tricked it out of Eva’s reach – a satisfying coup de grace. She grabbed Cal and embraced him heartily. The Charlottenburg people closed in for an orgy of congratulation.
From a bench at the edge of the gymnasium, Red Goodbody watched the rejoicing and planned some tactics of his own.
Twenty minutes later, when Cal Moody appeared in the refreshment bar and looked around for the other members of the team, Red drew him towards a table. He didn’t go to the extreme of grabbing him by the lapels, but he used the authoritative manner that had served him on journalistic assignments before, speaking in rapid German. Cal was too bewildered to object.
‘What did you want – a coffee? Black or white? Just sit there and I’ll have it brought over. If you’re wondering where your doubles partner is, she hasn’t come down yet. We can keep a place for her. What’s her name, by the way? I must have your names right.’
‘Heidrun Kassner. Excuse me, what is this all about?’
‘That’s no German accent, I’m sure,’ said Red in English. ‘Are you over with the BAOR?’
‘No, I’m from the States. Philadelphia. Cal Moody.’
‘Red Goodbody. Never heard of me? Don’t let it worry you, pal. My work is syndicated right across America, but I appear under various by-lines.’
‘You’re a journalist?’
‘Right. Doing a story on the sports scene in Berlin. Isn’t that your partner?’ Red raised a hand to catch Heidrun’s attention as she appeared at the door. ‘He’s over here, love.’
Heidrun hesitated, then spotted Cal and came over. Her hair was still damp from the shower, making dark streaks in the blonde. She looked radiantly pretty, in the sturdy mould of German sportswomen who swim twenty lengths a day a
nd take their vegetables raw.
Red introduced himself. ‘I was just explaining to Cal why I want to borrow a few minutes of your time,’ he told her. ‘I’m writing this piece about sports in Berlin. I shall probably need some pictures. You don’t mind if I fix that later? Brilliant as my writing is, it helps to have a picture of a gorgeous girl above the text! But in your case, love,’ he added quickly, seeing a frown develop, ‘your sex appeal is immaterial. I want you for what you did on that table tonight. That was a stunning way to clinch the match. Heart-stopping. Let me order you a fruit juice or a yoghurt.’
‘Are you sure you’re a journalist?’ Heidrun enquired with a penetrating stare.
Red was thankful that he had not strayed too far from the truth. ‘Want to see my press card?’ He took it out and waved it in front of them briefly. ‘Who did you think I was? A spy from the other team?’
‘Why should a foreign journalist take an interest in a table-tennis match of no importance outside Berlin?’ Heidrun persisted.
Red tried his disarming smile and a string of sportswriters’ clichés. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, my darling. This is important. The public is sick to the back teeth with the monsters who earn millions out of professional sport: the drug-takers, the fixers and the freaks. Top-level sport is just a branch of showbiz now, a way for big business to turn a profit. What I want to tell the world is that there are still people like you who play sport in its true sense.’
Cal said supportively, ‘Mr Goodbody’s work is syndicated all over the States.’
Red modestly remarked, ‘I expect to sell this story throughout Europe, too.’
‘A story about table-tennis?’ asked Heidrun, giving no sign that she even wanted to be convinced.
‘Absolutely,’ Red assured her. ‘Only let’s be clear about this. I want the personal angle. This will feature the two of you, the sort of people you are, the reason you play, the satisfaction you get from the game. I’m not interested in league positions and all that crap.’
Heidrun cut in, ‘What do you mean: all that crap?’
‘What I mean is that some guy reading his paper in Los Angeles doesn’t give a toss about the piddling club you play for and how many points you get.’
‘Charlottenburg is not a piddling club, whatever you mean by that, and I don’t care about a man in Los Angeles, because I do give a toss,’ said Heidrun, puffing up her chest. ‘All the club members give a toss. And that is why we expect to win the league.’
‘No question!’ said Red with a slick change of tack. ‘I can see what motivates you, my darling: the honour of playing for a great club.’
Heidrun said witheringly, ‘It is not the custom in Germany to address a woman as darling when you meet her for the first time.’
‘No offence, sweetheart,’ said Red.
‘I am not your sweetheart, either.’
Red winked at her. ‘Cross your fingers. You never know your luck.’ He switched to Cal. ‘So you’re American. What are you doing over here if you’re not a soldier?’
Cal shifted in his chair and looked around him. ‘I’m not sure if I should be talking about my job.’
‘Secret, is it? CIA?’ Red suggested blithely.
‘Jesus, no.’ Cal grinned at the idea.
‘Don’t worry. This is off the record. You can see I’m not writing down a thing.’
‘Could I have a sight of anything you do decide to write about me?’
‘No problem.’
‘Okay, I work in Spandau Jail. I’m one of the US warders there.’
‘Guarding Rudolf Hess? No wonder you need an outside interest. Is it true that he’s crazy?’
‘I’m not permitted to discuss Herr Hess.’
‘Understood,’ said Red. There would be opportunities later to prise the information out of Cal, and this was not the occasion to declare an interest. ‘Tell me, do you two date each other, apart from table tennis fixtures?’
‘Of course not,’ Heidrun scornfully answered. ‘We have more important things to do.’
‘Jesus, yes,’ said Cal, looking at his watch. ‘I must be going. I’m on duty in twenty minutes. Maybe we can talk some other time, Red. You can find me at the sports centre most evenings.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘You’re on.’ Cal mumbled his farewells and left in a hurry.
Red studied Heidrun. He had to face it: she was not going to go away, not now and not tomorrow. She continued to sit at the table, sipping her fruit juice and looking at Red as if he owed her a better explanation. They were blue-green eyes with flecks of gold. She wore no make-up, yet she was not indifferent to her appearance, because she definitely plucked her eyebrows.
‘Too bad Cal had to go,’ said Red. ‘I was hoping to interview the two of you together.’
‘Then you should have made an arrangement,’ Heidrun pointed out. ‘He is a busy man. He works nights at Spandau to leave the evenings free for table-tennis.’
‘Rather him than me.’
‘It’s only while the season lasts. In five weeks it will be over. He has only recently joined the club. My last partner had an accident. He broke his ankle.’
‘Pity.’
‘Not really,’ Heidrun said matter-of-factly. ‘Cal Moody is a better player.’
‘Pity for the other guy.’
‘The club is more important than any individual.’
Red commented, ‘That’s the totalitarian concept.’
‘It doesn’t make it any less true,’ she retorted. ‘All team sports proceed on that understanding.’
‘And all dictators,’ said Red.
She gave him another of her riveting stares. ‘I don’t believe you are a sports journalist at all, Mr Goodbody.’
He returned the stare. ‘What’s your theory about me, then?’
‘I don’t know who you are working for, but you are interested in Cal because of Rudolf Hess. You hope to find things out. It’s transparently obvious that you know practically nothing about sport, so what other reason can there be for your interest?’
Red’s reply was so rapid that it sounded wholly convincing. ‘I wanted to meet you, didn’t I?’
With a blank expression, she asked, ‘Whatever for?’
Equally solemnly, Red said, ‘I’m crazy about you, darling.’
Heidrun’s expression stayed blank, but it was suffused with a deeper shade of pink. Her voice was totally under control. ‘You know nothing at all about me, except that I play table-tennis.’
‘True, there’s so much to catch up on,’ said Red with a winning smile. ‘Where would you like to go for a meal? I know a good French restaurant just a few minutes away, in Paulsborner Strasse. Very informal.’
‘Do you seriously expect me to go out with you?’
‘Do you believe me when I say I’m crazy about you?’
‘Actually, no,’ answered Heidrun.
‘OK, call my bluff and have a cordon bleu at my expense,’ suggested Red. Spotting a glimmer of indecision in her eyes, he added, ‘While you eat, I’ll tell you precisely why you’re the most fantastic fraulein in Berlin.’ He got up and reached for her sportsbag.
Heidrun asserted her independence with a shrug, and walked with him to the exit.
It went unsaid that Red was prepared to demonstrate his sincerity in Heidrun’s bed. It was implicit in the offer.
Slightly over two hours later, buoyed up by Moselle and Armagnac, and jubilant at having carried conviction right through the meal, he followed her into her apartment, mentally reciting lines from Betjeman about adorable sports girls.
The place was better set up than he had expected from the outside of the block. Pine cladding and pale blue emulsion gave it the relaxing ambience of a sauna. There were Persian rugs scattered about the wood-block floor. Halogen lamps in white metal stands provided a soft, even light. The furniture was upholstered in white leather.
‘The customers in Mohring’s must be good tippers,’ Red remarked.
‘Like to see the rest?’
He was shown the kitchen first, ceramic-tiled and immaculate, with built-in gadgets, including a microwave.
‘And the bathroom is upstairs.’ She led him back into the living-room and up a wrought-iron spiral staircase. As a consequence he could not help noticing an extra swing to her hips as she mounted the stairs.
The bathroom was pastel pink. It looked more lived-in than the kitchen, with a range of bottles, aerosols, tins and glass pots along the shelf over the bath.
Red felt his wrist held in a tight grip. ‘First we take a shower, hm?’
‘Together?’
‘Mixed doubles.’
She unzipped her tracksuit top, confirming what he had guessed across the table in the restaurant – that she was naked underneath. Facing him, she pushed the sides sufficiently apart to expose both breasts. She supported them with her hands, and lifted them a fraction for appreciation. They had deep pink aureoles the size of wine-coasters.
‘Ladies’ doubles,’ said Red.
‘A fine pair?’
‘Top of the league.’
She slid back the glass shower-guard and turned the jets full on. ‘I like to have it strong and hard.’
She turned towards him again and unfastened the top button of his shirt, then worked systematically downwards as far as his belt, unbuckled that, unzipped his fly and pressed her hand against him, arousing him with the warmth of her palm.
Red responded by easing the waistband of her tracksuit over her hips and tracing the curve of her buttocks, feeling the unexpected coolness on his hand. Her bottom clenched as she swayed forward, naked, and kissed him.
She tugged the rest of the clothes from his body and pulled him into the steaming shower.
‘Christ, it’s hot!’ He reached out to adjust the taps.
‘Come here and it won’t touch you.’ Heidrun grasped his penis like the handle of a table-tennis bat and tugged him towards her. She had her back to the tiled wall and her legs apart. The soles of her feet gripped the rubber shower-mat to prevent her from slipping. She guided him into her, shouting, ‘Strong and hard!’
It was not a comfortable position. His knees were bent and his thighs ached. He had turned off the hot jet and now the cold cascaded onto his back with each thrust.
The Secret of Spandau Page 12
