Shadows of War

by Michael Ridpath

  ‘I see,’ said Isobel when Conrad had finished. ‘So what do you want from us?’

  ‘He wants our car,’ said Haldeman. He put down his fork and looked straight at Conrad. ‘Don’t you?’

  The maid brought in Conrad’s omelette. ‘That’s right,’ said Conrad. ‘I’ll bring it back when I have found my father.’

  ‘Unless this is a German city by then,’ said Haldeman.

  ‘Then I’ll find you wherever you are,’ said Conrad. As he did so, he realized that without their car, they wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  ‘We are planning to stay on in Paris,’ said Isobel. ‘America is neutral, and Marshall’s business is here.’

  Conrad was tempted to point out that they wouldn’t need their car in that case, but decided not to. His plan was not going to work.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Can you spare it?’ He had to try.

  ‘I’m sorry, de Lancey. The answer has to be no,’ said Haldeman.

  Isobel didn’t look as if she was going to argue with her husband. ‘But you are welcome to stay here tonight if you wish.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Conrad. ‘And thank you for your offer. But I think I should continue my search elsewhere. You don’t happen to know anyone else who might be willing to part with a car? Or who is leaving anyway and has room for an extra body?’

  ‘No,’ said Haldeman simply.

  The American wasn’t being unfriendly, just straight. The chances of Conrad getting hold of transportation were nil.

  The bell rang. The maid had just left and so Isobel answered it. From the hallway, Conrad heard the familiar shriek of his ex-wife. ‘Darling!’

  ‘You’ll never guess who’s here,’ said Isobel, leading Veronica into the dining room. ‘It’s your husband. What a surprise.’ The irony was heavy.

  ‘Oh, how lovely!’ said Veronica. ‘I knew Conrad was in Paris, but it’s dreadfully lucky to find him here.’

  ‘Hello, Veronica,’ said Conrad coldly.

  ‘Here comes trouble,’ said Marshall in a gruff voice, but he couldn’t repress a smile. Veronica had got to him.

  ‘Veronica, what are you doing here?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Don’t sound so cross, darling. I’ve come here to help.’

  ‘How did you know I was in Paris?’

  ‘Williamson told me.’

  ‘But I didn’t tell Williamson.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell servants things for them to know them, Conrad. Williamson sees things. He hears things.’

  ‘And then he tells you?’

  Veronica’s smile had a hint of triumph.

  ‘I was just leaving,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Oh, don’t go,’ said Veronica.

  ‘He came to borrow our car,’ said Haldeman.

  ‘Aren’t you going to lend it to him?’ said Veronica.

  ‘No,’ said Isobel. ‘We need it. There’s a good chance that this city will be German soon.’

  ‘Why does he want it?’

  ‘He says he’s got to catch up with his father before he sees the Duke of Windsor in Biarritz,’ said Haldeman. Conrad was glad that he had at least been paying attention.

  ‘Well, then you definitely must let him have it,’ said Veronica.

  ‘It all sounds a bit fishy to me,’ said Haldeman.

  ‘Of course it’s fishy,’ said Veronica. ‘The whole thing stinks. Poor Freddie Copthorne was run down by some horrible MP. You’ve met Freddie, haven’t you, Isobel? Then someone tried to murder Conrad last night. There is definitely something fishy going on and Conrad is the man to sort it out!’

  ‘I think they thought I was the fishy one,’ said Conrad, impressed with Veronica’s loyalty.

  ‘He did come asking some rum questions about the Duke of Windsor last time he was here in November,’ said Isobel. ‘You remember I told you.’

  ‘He claims that his father is planning to get the duke to return to England and persuade the British to sue for peace,’ said Haldeman.

  ‘Well, then you must definitely help Conrad stop him!’ said Veronica. ‘Look. Conrad might be a stubborn brute, but he’s definitely not fishy. This is your chance to help the war effort, Bel. Do something that really will make a difference.’

  Isobel frowned at her sister. But she was listening.

  ‘Look. I’ll go with him. And I’ll make sure I bring the car back to Paris afterwards. I’m a professional driver now. And Alec taught me some racing-driver tips if we need to go fast.’

  ‘What if the city is German by the time you get back?’

  ‘We will only be gone for a few days. And I’ll sneak back in somehow. I promise. On Magic’s grave.’

  Isobel smiled. ‘Magic doesn’t have a grave. In fact I dread to think where Magic ended up.’

  ‘Who is Magic?’ asked Marshall.

  ‘Magic was Veronica’s first pony,’ said Isobel. ‘He lived to be twenty-six.’

  ‘There you are then!’ said Veronica, although it wasn’t clear to any of them what her pony’s longevity had to do with Conrad’s need for a car.

  ‘What do you think, Marsh?’ said Isobel.

  Conrad was stunned. It looked as if he might, he just might, get his hands on their car.

  Marshall was smiling. ‘I’m impressed by your powers of persuasion, Veronica, but the answer is still no.’

  ‘You love peace, liberty and democracy, don’t you, Marshall?’ said Veronica. ‘You have to, a nice American like you.’

  ‘I guess I do,’ said Marshall, still smiling.

  ‘Well, when the beastly Germans have been goose-stepping around the Paris streets for a year or so, and you are doing your neutral business here, you will like looking back to today and thinking: I did my bit for peace, liberty and democracy. I know you, Marshall. You will like that, I promise.’

  Conrad could see that Veronica had got to him. So could Isobel. And so could Marshall himself.

  ‘OK,’ he said, shaking his head but smiling at the same time. ‘But you make sure you bring it back here by the end of next week.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ said Veronica and turned to Conrad triumphantly.

  ‘Thank you, Haldeman,’ said Conrad.

  ‘When do we leave? Right away?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Conrad. ‘I do want to catch my father up, but the roads will be tricky in the dark. Even with a professional driver in the car.’ He realized that he was now committed to a long drive across France with his ex-wife, but there was nothing he could do about that, and she had done a good job.

  ‘If I were you I would get some sleep now and leave early tomorrow morning,’ said Marshall. ‘You’ll make better progress that way.’

  ‘But first can someone get me a drink?’ said Veronica. ‘I do find aeroplanes too thirst-making.’

  50

  Extract from Lieutenant Dieter von Hertenberg’s Diary

  23 May

  Still fighting in Boulogne. Ironically, we were held up by the medieval walls of the city. We needed an 88-mm anti-aircraft gun to breach them near the cathedral, but we broke through eventually. The British are putting up stiff resistance. Calais surrounded.

  Paris, 23 May

  Veronica and Conrad left at five the next morning in the Haldemans’ smart red Cadillac, loaded with food, wine and spare cans of petrol. The Paris streets were quiet, as were the suburbs, but once they got outside the city and on to the main Paris–Chartres road, they ran into a column of slow-moving traffic, comprising every kind of motor vehicle: tiny Simcas piled high with possessions, roadsters, family saloons, bakers’ vans, ice-cream trucks, lorries of all shapes and sizes. These were the Parisians, but interspersed with them were the farmers and peasants fleeing from the north, with their horse-drawn wagons bearing mattresses, birdcages, grandmothers and small children, and their cows ambling along beside them.

  Many of the Parisians hooted and waved at the fleeing peasants to let them by. Veronica, who had insisted on driving, copied their technique, and added her own invec
tive in appalling schoolgirl French – although she had never actually been to school, being taught at home by a German governess.

  Every now and then a French aeroplane would fly overhead causing many of the refugees to dive for the ditches at the side of the road. This gave Veronica a chance to force her way ahead in the temporarily empty road.

  Conrad didn’t like the attitude of the fleeing Parisians in their cars towards their less fortunate compatriots, and was tempted to insist that Veronica show a bit more consideration. But they had to catch his father up. He was comforted by the thought that Lord Oakford would have been similarly delayed.

  Veronica had been talking almost non-stop since they had left the Haldemans. She was clearly excited with their ‘mission’, as she called it, and pleased with herself for wangling the car from her sister. She occasionally asked Conrad for his opinion, and he answered with a monosyllable.

  Eventually, she had had enough. They had come to a complete halt. A quarter of a mile further up a hill they could see a baker’s van was blocking the road, either broken down or run out of petrol. No matter how hard the line of cars hooted, and they hooted hard and long, the van would not move. ‘Why so glum, Conrad?

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘About your father?’

  ‘No. About you.’

  ‘About how clever I was to get the car?’

  ‘Not exactly. About how you got to Paris at such short notice.’

  ‘Imperial Airways from Heston. Fearfully expensive.’

  Conrad raised his eyebrows. ‘You see, I know that’s not true, Veronica. I tried to get a flight here yesterday and there wasn’t a seat. Thomas Cook laughed at me.’

  ‘Ah, but you’re not me. You know I have ways of getting what I want.’

  ‘Why did you suddenly decide to come and help me?’

  ‘I thought you might need me. I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘And the other night. Why didn’t Parsons turn up? And how did the big man who tried to kill me know I was going to be there? Does Parsons even exist?’

  Veronica turned to him. ‘Conrad, do you think I am lying to you?’

  ‘Veronica, I know you are. We were married for three years. I know you are lying to me. I just don’t know why.’

  Veronica opened her mouth and shut it. The gaiety left her. She stared ahead and hit her horn hard. The driver in front hit his in response. Nothing moved.

  ‘Who sent you, Veronica?’

  ‘Major McCaigue.’

  ‘McCaigue!’

  ‘You remember you told me to see him when I came back from Holland after meeting Theo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I told him about the attack the Germans were planning. And then he said he wanted me to keep an eye on you. He seemed to know a lot about you already and quite a bit about me. I think he had been talking to Alec.’

  ‘Linaro?’

  ‘Yes. Linaro. McCaigue said that he thought you were spying for the Soviet Union. He said you had a misguided idea about the Duke of Windsor returning to England to reclaim the throne. He asked me to watch you for him.’

  ‘And you did it?’

  Veronica swallowed. She was speaking quietly. ‘Yes. I thought it was my duty. And to tell you the truth, I was quite excited by the idea. Frankly, I could believe that you might be a Russian spy. You’ve always been a bit of a leftie, and you did leave me to go to Spain.’

  ‘You encouraged me to go!’ protested Conrad. ‘You were going to come too. It was going to be a wonderful lark; you were going to drive an ambulance or something. And then you never came. You stayed in England with Linaro and I got shot at in Spain for a year.’

  ‘Yes, all right, darling,’ said Veronica. ‘But it wasn’t as though McCaigue asked me to do you any harm.’

  ‘What about that fellow who tried to knife me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Veronica. ‘I wondered about him. But McCaigue told me there really was a man called Parsons. He was delayed, but when he arrived in Shepherd Market, he found someone had been stabbed. So he scarpered.’

  ‘So it wasn’t Polly Copthorne who put you on to Parsons?’

  ‘No,’ said Veronica. ‘McCaigue said Parsons would have something very interesting to say to you that night. And I didn’t believe that big chap who tried to stab you was him; McCaigue assured me he wasn’t. I have no idea who he was.’

  ‘McCaigue sent you over here?’

  ‘Yes. At short notice. I flew in an RAF plane from Hendon. I saw Churchill land in it.’

  Conrad’s brain was racing. He could believe that Veronica might be persuaded to keep tabs on him by someone purporting to be from the secret service. But what worried him most was McCaigue.

  ‘Are you a Russian spy, Conrad?’

  ‘Of course I’m not a bloody Russian spy!’ Conrad answered.

  It sounded as if not only was McCaigue trying to keep tabs on him, which would have been disappointing but understandable, but he was trying to get Conrad killed. Which meant he was on Alston’s side. He was the ‘power that be’ who had placed doubts in Van’s mind about him, who had spread the idea he was a Soviet spy, who had tried to keep him confined to his unit. And who had tried to get him killed.

  And Conrad had trusted him! Told him everything he had learned about Alston and the Duke of Windsor and Freddie Copthorne’s death. He had brought Anneliese along to speak to him. Christ! Was that why Anneliese had been arrested?

  Conrad hated the thought of Anneliese in a cell, a British cell, after all she had suffered in Berlin. And McCaigue had put her there!

  ‘Then all this stuff about the Duke of Windsor is true?’ Veronica asked.

  ‘Henry Alston is planning to use the duke to precipitate a change of government,’ Conrad said. ‘Churchill will go, Lloyd George will become Prime Minister, Alston and my father will be in the government, Edward will become king again and we will make peace with Germany. Britain will become a Nazi satellite.’

  ‘No! So isn’t McCaigue really in the secret service? You told me to go and see him.’

  ‘He is,’ said Conrad. ‘But I shouldn’t have trusted him.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Veronica. She glanced at Conrad. ‘I’m sorry, Conrad.’

  Up ahead, a group of men had manhandled the van off the road and into a ditch, ignoring the remonstrances of its driver. A few minutes later the traffic began to move.

  ‘I can understand why you came over to Paris to find me,’ said Conrad. ‘But why did you persuade Isobel to give us her car?’

  ‘Major McCaigue told me to prevent you from getting to your father. He didn’t tell me why, he just said it was a question of utmost importance to the war effort. But actually I was worried about that man attacking us too. I wondered whether there was something in what you said. I mean, I know you, Conrad. You are about the most honest person I’ve met. So I thought I would help you get the car and keep a close eye on you to see what happened.’

  Conrad stared out of the window over the flat green farmland, empty and peaceful compared to the clogged road on which they were stuck.

  ‘Conrad? What now?’

  Strangely, Conrad didn’t feel anger towards Veronica. She had done what she thought was her duty. She had been pro-German, even pro-Nazi in her time, but now her country was at war, she was doing what she thought was the right thing. Wasn’t she?

  ‘I’ll give you the choice, Veronica,’ Conrad said. ‘If you believe that Hitler is evil, that Nazism is wrong and that Britain should fight it to the bitter end, then stay in the car and help me. If you think it would be wiser for our country to make peace with the Germans, if you think Hitler isn’t so bad really, then get out and go back to Paris. It’s your choice.’

  He watched Veronica as she drove. To his amazement, a tear ran down her cheek. Veronica never cried.

  She sniffed. ‘You were right all along, Conrad,’ she said. ‘You and people like Anneliese. And Winston Churchill. We were all so blind, people like me and Diana Mosley, and Unit
y Mitford and Freddie Copthorne and my father. We thought that Hitler was a little over-excitable and didn’t do things the British way, but he gave Germany just the kind of leadership it needed, and he was stopping Europe from becoming communist. And the uniforms were just divine.

  ‘The Nazis are horrid, beastly people, and I feel horrid and beastly for not realizing that before. So yes, I want to help you. I want to stop Sir Henry Alston. And I want to stop your father.’

  Conrad looked at his former wife. She meant what she said.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s find him.’

  They drove on, slowly, oh so slowly, rarely getting above walking pace. The verges were littered with broken-down cars, or vehicles that had simply run out of petrol. They passed one elderly and impeccably dressed couple eating a picnic lunch out of the boot of their Rolls-Royce. What was much more distressing were the old people, sitting or lying on the grass, exhausted. Conrad hoped their families hadn’t just left them there, but it appeared that they had.

  There was a ripple of excitement in the column of traffic as a detachment of French tanks came barrelling along, heading for Paris. One way or another, everyone managed to get off the road to let them by, including the cows.

  They had planned to stop in Chartres for a late lunch, but the city was crowded to overflowing. After an hour of battling through medieval streets, they emerged on the far side. Conrad examined the Michelin map that Marshall had provided them with. ‘Let’s get off the main road,’ he said. ‘I know these lanes are narrow and don’t go in a straight line, but they must be quicker than this.’

  And they were. Not much quicker, but Conrad and Veronica were zigzagging their way south towards Tours, like a dinghy tacking against a stiff breeze. They stopped for half an hour for a pleasant picnic next to a small stream.

  Conrad took over the wheel of the Cadillac. Afternoon turned to evening. ‘Shall we stop in Tours, or carry on?’ said Veronica.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Conrad. ‘I wonder where Father is staying.’

  ‘He can’t have gone much faster than us. But of course we don’t know what route he has taken.’