Shadows of War

by Michael Ridpath

  Alston had arranged that the three men should have a discreet table in the corner of the dining room. Freddie ordered lamb chops and Alston and Bedaux both went for the grouse. Alston ordered a bottle of Montrachet ‘24.

  ‘Friends in Germany tell me you have been in touch with my old friend Otto Langebrück,’ said Bedaux.

  ‘You are very well informed,’ said Alston.

  ‘Oh, I am,’ said Bedaux. ‘Always.’

  ‘We passed him a proposition,’ Alston went on. ‘Through an intermediary in Holland. Unfortunately the intermediary wasn’t able to hang around long enough to get a reply.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Bedaux.

  ‘Have you seen Herr Langebrück yourself?’

  ‘I knew him when he was in Paris,’ Bedaux said. ‘I haven’t seen him since war broke out. But I was in Berlin a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Oh. Did you meet Herr von Ribbentrop?’ Alston remembered Bedaux mentioning in his letter that he knew the German Foreign Minister.

  ‘I did. I also saw the big man himself.’ Bedaux beamed. ‘The Führer.’

  ‘Good God!’ said Freddie, choking on his beer, which he had uncouthly brought with him into the dining room.

  ‘And how is Herr Hitler?’ asked Alston with ironic politeness.

  ‘Mighty relieved not to be blown to hell in Munich. I saw him the day after the bomb went off. He seemed to think that God had saved him. Or Providence. Or someone.’

  ‘The devil?’ Freddie volunteered.

  Bedaux laughed. ‘Probably.’ His expression became serious. ‘Anyway, I became aware of your proposals and your willingness to countenance an end to this stupid war, and I thought it made sense to fill you in on the Führer’s thinking. About Britain.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Alston.

  ‘He doesn’t know your country very well, but he has plenty of respect for it. He admires Britain’s traditions and its history, and places Englishmen in the same racial category as Germans. He would like Britain to leave Germany in control of Europe, in return for which Germany would leave Britain in peace to run the rest of the world through her empire.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ said Alston to Copthorne.

  ‘He is also a great admirer of your former King Edward,’ Bedaux said. ‘He met him when Edward visited Germany in 1937. Hitler feels that if the Duke of Windsor were to become king again, Germany would be able to do business with Britain.’

  ‘I’m not sure that could ever happen,’ said Copthorne.

  ‘Couldn’t it?’ said Bedaux.

  Alston met the American’s eyes, which didn’t flinch. Bedaux seemed unperturbed by Alston’s ravaged face.

  ‘Not with the current government,’ Alston said. ‘But there will never be peace as long as Chamberlain is Prime Minister. Probably not if Halifax was PM either.’

  ‘What about Sir Oswald Mosley? Hitler knows him.’

  ‘Oswald Mosley will never lead Britain,’ Alston said. ‘The British people are simply not fascists. The uniforms, the parades, the histrionics: they might suit the Germans or the Italians, but the average Englishman would run a mile. No, a government for peace in Britain would be very different. It would be pragmatic, sensible, patriotic in a low-key way, doing what is best for Britain. I also believe that the duke would make a good king for that kind of country. He has charm, much more than George, and a real connection with ordinary people.’

  ‘But what about the government? If not Oswald Mosley for Prime Minister, who?’

  ‘Lloyd George, probably. He is less fiery now he is an old man. He has stature in the country and he would promote peace with Germany in the right circumstances. Of course, he is in his late seventies, so he would need to have men around him to run the government.’

  ‘Men such as yourself?’ Bedaux asked. ‘I have heard good things about you.’

  Alston smiled. ‘Possibly.’

  Bedaux looked around the restaurant. No one was in earshot. ‘Something would need to change for such a government to come to power, wouldn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Chamberlain would have to go.’

  ‘At some point – maybe next week, maybe next month, maybe next year – Germany will launch an offensive against France through Belgium and possibly Holland. It seems to me that there are two possible outcomes.’

  Alston was listening closely.

  Bedaux leaned forward, his boxer’s face animated. ‘One. The French and the British stop the Germans like they did in the last war, and there is a long, bloody stalemate. Chamberlain and his friends dig in; the war lasts for years. Not an ideal state of affairs.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Two. The Germans punch through a weak spot in the French lines. The Allied armies crumble. The French are defeated. The British people realize they must get rid of their prime minister and their king, and make peace with Germany. The Germans make a fair peace with the British and a tough one with the French. The war is over. The killing stops and people like me can go back to peace and prosperity.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Now, I was born in France, but even so it seems to me that the second outcome is the better one. Doesn’t it to you?’

  Alston understood exactly what Bedaux was saying. He glanced at Freddie, who was frowning. But Alston had a question.

  ‘If the second outcome were to actually occur, what would your role be, Monsieur Bedaux?’

  ‘Same as it always is,’ said Bedaux with a grin. ‘I am just a facilitator. I make things run smoothly, be they factories or peace negotiations. All I would ask is that my friends remember who helped them. I was born in France, I have an American passport, but I am really a citizen of the world.’

  Alston was now a politician, but he was also a banker, and he knew how businessmen thought. If the world did indeed turn out as Bedaux had described, then he and his businesses would do very nicely. Very nicely indeed.

  ‘I can ease things, but I can’t make things happen,’ said Bedaux. ‘It’s people like you who will make things happen, Sir Henry.’ The American dismembered his grouse skilfully. ‘By the way, my Amsterdam office had a visitor recently, a colleague of yours from Gurney Kroheim.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that Bedaux International was one of our clients,’ said Alston.

  ‘No. Neither was I. But this man said that you had been enquiring about me and my company. Apparently you personally were interested in using the Bedaux System in bank processes.’

  Alston frowned. ‘That’s very strange. I mean, I am sure your system would be very useful, Bedaux, but I know I didn’t ask a colleague to look into it. Did your office get the man’s name?’

  ‘Yes. De Lancey. Do you know him?’

  Alston’s frown deepened. ‘Yes, I do know him. And he doesn’t work for Gurney Kroheim.’

  ‘Then what was he doing claiming he was?’ said Bedaux.

  ‘That is a good question.’

  As promised, Bedaux left the lunch early, before the pudding, leaving Alston and Copthorne with their spotted dick and custard.

  Alston was excited. Bedaux’s vision matched closely his own. And it was clear that Hitler would go with it, even if the current British government wouldn’t. ‘What do you think of that, Freddie?’ he said.

  But Freddie Copthorne looked unhappy. ‘I don’t like that man, Henry. I don’t like that man at all.’

  31

  Heston Airport, Middlesex

  It was dusk in Middlesex as Conrad’s aeroplane landed. It had been touch and go getting out of Holland. He had plunged down the stairs and out of the Academy building and hopped on a tram to the railway station, from where he had taken a taxi to the airport. Schiphol wasn’t far from Leiden, but he had had a couple of hours to wait before the aeroplane on which he had booked a seat was due to take off, two hours of anxiety lest he was accosted by a Dutch policeman or airline official and asked to ‘come this way, sir’.

  But the Dutch authorities weren’t quick enough, and it was with a sigh of relief
that Conrad looked down over the coastline of Holland retreating behind him.

  Professor Hogendoorn would have quite a lot of explaining to do. Fortunately, he must have preferred to prevaricate rather than point the police towards Conrad. It was clear that the professor had betrayed Theo. It was just a shame that Holland was not yet at war with Germany; then Hogendoorn’s actions would be classified as treason. Or would they? Was betraying one German to another really treachery against Hogendoorn’s country? Working out who was on whose side was becoming increasingly complicated in this damned phoney war.

  As Conrad descended the steps to the tarmac at Heston, he was surprised to see a burly figure he recognized: Major McCaigue. The major held out his hand.

  ‘Welcome back, de Lancey. After your journey, I thought you might like a lift back to London.’

  ‘I would indeed,’ said Conrad. ‘As a matter of fact, I have quite a bit to tell you.’

  McCaigue’s car crept through the unlit Middlesex suburbs. Fog mixed with darkness to create a dangerous murk. McCaigue, who was unaccompanied, had to split his concentration between Conrad’s story and the road ahead.

  Conrad told him everything. What Inspector van Gils had said about Millie’s murder; his doubts about the evidence against Theo; how Millie had met Otto Langebrück; what Charles Bedaux had told the Germans about the weak spots in the French lines; the identity of Bedaux’s source within the British Expeditionary Force and what the Nazi leadership thought of the Duke of Windsor. Finally he told McCaigue about the presumed Gestapo agent who had tried to kill both him and Theo.

  ‘You do seem to bring trouble with you whenever you visit Holland, don’t you, de Lancey?’

  ‘I used to like the country,’ said Conrad. ‘Now I’m not so sure. For a neutral nation it seems awfully dangerous.’

  ‘I would stay away from there for a bit if I were you,’ said McCaigue. ‘Is your friend Theo telling the truth?’

  ‘About not killing Millie or about the Duke of Windsor?’

  ‘About both.’

  ‘I am sure he didn’t kill Millie. He convinced me that he had no reason to – quite the opposite. And the detective convinced me that the evidence against Theo was doubtful.’

  ‘I see,’ said McCaigue.

  ‘Was the testimony of that witness against Theo fabricated?’ Conrad asked. ‘Was Constance Scott-Dunton lying?’

  McCaigue didn’t answer the question. ‘What about the Duke of Windsor? Hertenberg is betraying his country telling you all that. That’s a big step for a German officer.’

  Conrad decided not to try to pin McCaigue down on the witnesses. Either McCaigue knew they were false or he didn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t admit to it to Conrad. If he didn’t, he might try to find out what was going on. That was the best Conrad could hope for.

  ‘He did warn me about the date of the offensive,’ Conrad said. ‘I know it didn’t happen, but I am sure the date was genuine. It was cancelled because of bad weather. The weather was bad, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was,’ McCaigue conceded. ‘And the Dutch received a similar warning from Berlin. But there was no coup.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I do believe Theo is telling the truth about the duke,’ Conrad said. ‘That he has been passing on secrets to the Germans. I know how Theo thinks. In his view, a decisive German victory in France would be a disaster for his country. Theo genuinely believes Hitler is evil and must be removed at all costs. I saw the lengths he went to last year to try to make that happen. He’s telling the truth.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘You sound as if you would rather he was lying,’ Conrad said.

  ‘What he has told you is very inconvenient, to put it mildly,’ said McCaigue. ‘A lot of people are not going to like it.’

  ‘But you are going to tell them?’

  ‘Oh, certainly. And despite the determination of some people to thrust their heads in the sand, it is much better to know uncomfortable truths than to not know them. Or even worse, pretend they don’t exist.’

  They drove on in silence, as McCaigue mulled over what he had heard. ‘De Lancey, there is something you should know,’ he said eventually.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Your loyalties are doubted in some quarters.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some people think you are a communist. We have looked at your file: the Labour Club at Oxford; fighting for the socialists in Spain.’

  Conrad snorted. ‘That’s ridiculous. The communists shot two of my best friends in Spain. In the back. And anyway the Nazis and communists are at opposite ends of the spectrum, aren’t they?’

  ‘One would have thought so,’ said McCaigue. ‘But then in August they teamed up to carve up Poland.’ He grinned. ‘As far as I am concerned you have just carried out a difficult mission in dangerous circumstances. I just thought I had better warn you.’

  ‘You will be able to convince them that I’m telling the truth, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  McCaigue slammed on the brakes as the back of an Austin 7 suddenly emerged out of the gloom in front of them.

  ‘Major McCaigue?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said McCaigue, turning to face Conrad. ‘I believe you.’

  Abwehr Headquarters, Berlin

  It was after ten by the time Theo arrived at Abwehr headquarters, but he was relieved to find Admiral Canaris and Colonel Oster still at work, having dined together there. He knew how vital it was to report back to them before the Gestapo realized that their man had been killed in Leiden. Unlike Conrad, he hadn’t already had a reservation on a flight from Schiphol, but he did manage to get a train to Brussels, and from there fly on to Berlin.

  ‘What’s wrong, Hertenberg?’ Canaris asked the instant he came into the room. ‘Not another Venlo, I hope?’

  ‘Not quite. But I have just been shot at, probably by a Gestapo officer. In Leiden.’

  ‘And where is this Gestapo officer now?’ asked Canaris.

  ‘He’s dead, Admiral.’

  Theo noticed his direct boss, Colonel Oster, stiffen at this news, but Canaris seemed to take it calmly. Theo could see his brain begin to work through the possibilities.

  ‘Explain.’

  So Theo explained. He didn’t divulge quite everything; he certainly didn’t admit to telling Conrad about the Duke of Windsor or about Charles Bedaux. But he did say that they had met and that Conrad was trying to find out more about his sister’s death in the sand dunes at Scheveningen, and that the British secret service seemed to have decided that Theo had killed her. Why, he wasn’t sure.

  ‘We know how much Heydrich dislikes de Lancey,’ Canaris said after Theo had finished. ‘And frankly I am not surprised that he took the opportunity to get him killed. But I am most unhappy that one of my officers was a target too.’

  ‘It’s outrageous!’ said Oster. ‘We can’t possibly have the Gestapo taking it upon themselves to murder our men. You should speak to Himmler. To the general staff. To Hitler! It cannot be permitted.’

  ‘No, it cannot, Hans,’ said Canaris. ‘But no doubt Heydrich would say that Hertenberg was an innocent victim caught in the crossfire. Are you sure the man who tried to kill you was alone?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Theo. ‘Although I suspect my contact at the university tipped off the Gestapo that we were meeting.’

  ‘If he was alone and he’s dead, the Gestapo won’t know what happened. They might well assume that Conrad killed him single-handedly.’

  ‘We can’t just turn a blind eye!’ said Oster.

  ‘Oh, I think we can, Hans,’ said Canaris. ‘I think that would be better all round. It’s time for one of my early-morning rides with Sturmbannführer Schellenberg.’ He picked up the phone.

  Kensington, London

  McCaigue deposited Conrad at his parents’ house in Kensington Square. Conrad’s mother greeted him in the hallway. She seemed calmer than he had see
n her since Millie’s death, and pleased to see him in one piece.

  ‘Will the Dutch authorities release Millie’s body?’ she asked at once.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Conrad. ‘Technically they are not allowed to because of the murder investigation, but I met the policeman in charge, and he seemed sympathetic. I am sure he will do his best. I am not sure that will be enough, but there is nothing more I could do.’

  ‘Thank you, Conrad. I know it’s silly, but it will be a great relief to know that she is back in Somerset where she belongs.’

  Conrad took his mother by the arms and kissed her forehead. ‘It’s not silly, Mama. It’s not silly at all.’

  ‘Did the policeman know who killed her?’

  ‘No,’ said Conrad. He knew his father hadn’t mentioned the British secret service’s suspicion of Theo, and Conrad had decided not to pass on van Gils’s theory about Constance. It would distress his mother and he wanted to speak to his father about Constance first. ‘The Dutch intelligence people are saying it was the Germans, but they don’t really know. Where’s Father?’

  ‘He’s dining at the club tonight. Reggie’s up in town from Chilton Coombe. He’ll be back for dinner. And Charlotte is staying as well for a few days. She has brought Mattie.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. I haven’t seen them since Millie died.’ Charlotte would be good for his mother, as would her son Matthew, on whom Lady Oakford doted. And it would be good for Conrad to see his brother and sister too, the living ones. He hoped he would have the patience to tolerate the crass comments that he knew Reggie would let drop. It was his father who would be the really difficult one to talk to. Conrad wasn’t sure he could ever forgive him for what he had done. But he would have to at least pretend to, for his mother’s sake.

  And he knew his father; Millie’s death would be eating him up. Despite his anger with him, Conrad couldn’t help feeling a sliver of sympathy.

  ‘There’s someone else here to see you,’ his mother said. ‘Anneliese. She came about an hour ago. We had a lovely talk. It was so nice to be able to speak to someone about my daughter in German.’