A Question of Betrayal

by Anne Perry

  Katherine was delighted to see her. “Margot, darling, come in, come in! Tell me all about it,” she said eagerly, hugging her daughter, her face alight with pleasure. “Have you eaten? At the very least, have a cup of tea. Stay here tonight; your old room is always made up.”

  Margot hugged her back, harder than usual. Cecily was too young to remember the war as Margot did, but perhaps she would lose her husband in a long, drawn out, and far more terrible way. That is, he would still be alive, but altered until the good she had seen in him was fragmented into a thousand pieces, none of them big enough to matter anymore.

  Margot let go of her mother and stepped back.

  Katherine stared at her. “What’s the matter?” she said. “Was it painful for you?” She went straight to the point, asking if Margot’s going had awakened her grief and sharpened her aloneness.

  Margot smiled. “No, in fact I met a man—a German officer—who had been saved by a British officer, and what he said made me think of Paul. It made me see him again in a good way. It reminded me of what he was really like, not just a frozen memory.”

  Katherine’s face registered her emotions sharply. Margot saw suddenly far more than an ambassador’s wife’s usual smooth concealment of all personal thoughts. It was as if, for an instant, all pain was allowable…then it was gone again. “But…?” she asked.

  Margot decided in that instant she would not tell her mother more than the happy things, the social things: who wore what, what the celebration entailed. “I would like to talk to Father about one or two things.” She saw her mother frown. “Just messages from people he knew,” she lied. “Before I forget what they said.” She smiled quickly. “And thank you, I’d love to stay here tonight and have a good meal. I have had excellent restaurant food in Germany, and I ate some marvelous meals, but I’m looking forward to something comfortable.”

  “Yes, of course.” Katherine led the way through to the sitting room. “I’ll tell your father. He will be delighted to see you safely back.”

  A moment later, Charles came into the sitting room smiling widely, clearly with relief.

  Margot felt a moment of emotion sweep over her. She’d always been her father’s favorite, and she had known this growing up. She had used it to her advantage, and she was not proud of this now. But recently she had felt grateful for their closeness, in spite of the extreme difference in their personalities. Above all, she was filled with an unusual wave of gratitude that she was not in Cecily’s position and that Charles was not in Roger Cordell’s. How painful for Roger to have to watch his daughter walk off into a dark and unknown future with a man he did not like or trust. Although he dared not show it, Roger was bound both by nature and by honor to protect those he loved. And Charles did not have such a fragile wife. Heaven knew, Katherine was every bit as strong as he, and possibly as astute an ambassador. Actually, she was not nearly as emotionally damaged by her experiences of loss as Margot had thought. And although Margot herself had suffered the death of her husband—a blow that perhaps had killed part of her—she definitely was not a fragile woman, either.

  She went quite naturally into her father’s arms and hugged him, and she felt him hug her warmly. “You weren’t worried, were you?” she said with a smile when she stepped back.

  “Of course I was. It’s my job,” he replied. “Every decent man worries about his daughters. You may be braver and more competent than most, but you also get yourself into bigger messes.”

  “Then you must adore Elena,” she replied instantly.

  “Never more than you,” he said in sudden gravity. “And she’s only been daring since May, and that was forced on her. Not to diminish the fact that she handled it very well.” He looked at Margot with pride.

  Margot had sometimes wondered if he saw an echo of Katherine in her: the elegance, the individuality. Perhaps that was partly why she dressed outrageously sometimes: just to be different. But she must not waste this chance.

  “Before Mother comes back with food for us, I have to speak to you.”

  He frowned. “Sit down and tell me how Cordell is. Is it about him?”

  She sat in the big armchair opposite his. “Yes and no. I overheard something at the wedding party: German army officers talking. There were a lot of them there. I know it’s…” She had been going to say a proactive safety measure, get in on the ground floor, but that was unnecessarily unkind.

  He was waiting, dark eyes troubled. They were so much like her own.

  “It’s probably a good future for Cecily.” She narrowly evaded the point and then hurried on. “I overheard two regular army officers talking about German influence in Austria. They mentioned a group called the Fatherland Front. It seems violent. Have you heard of it?”

  “There are a lot of groups here and there,” Charles replied, “and there’s unrest all over the place. I wouldn’t take them too seriously. Young men indulge in all sorts of wild talk.” He shook his head a little, smiling at some inner thought. “Most of it is just daydreams. Add a little boasting and I dare say they had more celebratory champagne than they could well handle.” He smiled at her. “I’ll look into it, I promise, but don’t worry, put it out of your mind. If you believed every wild tale from a man who is too young to have fought in the war, but longs for a part of the heroism without having any idea what real a real hero is like, what real war is like, you would live in a state of constant anxiety.” His face tightened a little. “Don’t mention this to your mother. She would only worry to no purpose. There are enough strange things going on in Washington, according to her parents. I think it would be a good idea if she took a trip out to visit them in the spring or summer, perhaps? Would you go with her?” There was a look of hope in his eyes. “I doubt I will be able to come, and you haven’t seen your American grandparents for far too long.”

  “I’d love to,” Margot said immediately. She could not refuse him, and it would be something to look forward to, a wonderful change after Berlin. “Yes, please. But you won’t forget about Roger Cordell, will you?”

  “Thank you, my dear. And of course I won’t forget about him.” At last the tension in him eased, and his tight muscles unknotted.

  * * *

  —

  In the morning, as well as she had slept, Margot felt unsettled about the powerful memories that still hung heavily in her mind. After breakfast, she thanked her parents and left for home. But when asked, she told the taxi driver to take her to her grandparents’ house.

  As she rode, she thought about sharing her fears, her impressions of what was brewing beneath the polite chatter, and talk of the future. Her father had dismissed it, but she knew that, even had he taken it seriously, he would not have wanted to alarm her. But it made her feel as if he did not believe her—or did not trust her. It was no comfort; it was the opposite, although she had long grown past the need for comfort rather than truth. Perhaps she had not shown him that? She had accepted his protection rather than his support in facing hard truths. That was her fault at least as much as his. She hoped her grandfather would listen.

  When she was outside the familiar gate, she climbed from the taxi and paid her fare. The driver put her suitcases on the ground just as Lucas came out of the front door, Josephine on his heels. Margot’s heart sank. She should have telephoned. It had never occurred to her that they might not be in, and now here they were, clearly on their way out.

  Lucas took one look at her face and told the taxi driver to put her cases in the hall.

  “I’m sorry,” Margot said, suddenly aware of how much she took them both for granted. She had come to Lucas because, since May, she had learned so much more about him, and her respect had taken wing. But it was still largely based on his work during the war, even if he discussed so little of the details. State secrets lasted a lot longer than a mere fifteen years. What did she expect from him?

  “Come inside,” Jos
ephine directed her. “We have no appointment; we always have time to see you. Tell us about your trip to Berlin.”

  Margot followed her inside. Without her needing to explain, Josephine went into the kitchen and Lucas took Margot into the sitting room. He left the French doors closed. Autumn was in the air; there was a certain chill.

  “You look worried,” he observed, indicating the chair for her to sit down, then sat opposite her. “Was it the wedding itself, or is there something amiss with Roger Cordell?”

  “Not really.” She found herself equivocating, even though she had not intended to. She was not used to total honesty with her grandfather. She had never felt at ease with him, as Elena had for as long as she could recall.

  Lucas was waiting for her. Was he used to listening to confessions? Tales of spying, of fear, suspicion, or danger? She knew now that he had worked for British Military Intelligence, but not any more than that. And it had been her father who had told her, not Lucas himself. Charles had only discovered it in May. It had revealed to him an entire side of his father’s life, his work and his experiences, even his very nature, that Charles had not known. In one hour, the disrespect he had shown his father, when he believed Lucas had sat out the war pushing papers in some government office, had been transformed into profound respect. It had thrilled him to see his father as a hero, but it was also disturbing. Decades of perception had to be changed. Some things vanished at once, others, woven through tiny memories, shedding light on things he had taken for granted all his adult life.

  Some of that had rubbed off on Margot, but it was now peeling back like layers of skin.

  Lucas was still waiting. Josephine would arrive in a moment, probably with tea and biscuits.

  “I overheard a conversation at the party, after the wedding,” Margot began. “It was between army officers, and they were talking about a group of people calling themselves the Fatherland Front.” She stopped because she saw in his face a flash of recognition. “You’ve heard of them.”

  “Yes, Cordell has already told me of his concern. But this is important. Margot, I want your opinion, too. Cordell was very brief, and of course the information was encoded. Please try to remember what they said as exactly as you can.”

  “Then it’s true.” It was as if the door to the garden had been opened and the cold air let in.

  “Yes, but exactly what they are planning is not yet known. Tell me what you overheard as exactly as you can recall,” he repeated.

  “I didn’t hear much.”

  He sat still, silently waiting.

  Her mind was sharp on one thing, blurred on others. “They were talking about Chancellor Dollfuss and Austria becoming more or less part of Germany, and it being for everyone’s good and…inevitable.”

  Lucas sat motionless. “In what way? Try to think…Be precise.”

  The chill bit deeper.

  He leaned forward. “Margot—”

  “I’m thinking, trying to get it exactly. They said Austria was culturally the same as Germany in all that was important, and together they could be the strongest power in the world…for an indefinite period of time.”

  Lucas asked, without a shred of humor, “Led by whom? Not Dollfuss, I presume.”

  “No, they said he would argue with them or…I don’t remember exactly, but if he disagreed, he would crack like a chicken’s egg.”

  “Did they mention Hitler?”

  “Yes.” She found she was shivering, as if there were no warmth in the room. “Yes, everyone spoke of him. Sooner or later his presence was there with the young men, almost as if he were there himself.”

  “Did you hear anything about money? And please be careful; I don’t want you to say anything but what you are certain of. It matters, Margot.”

  She looked at his face, its ascetic lines, the steady calm blue eyes. She had known him all her life, loved him and trusted him, certain that he loved her. And yet, at this moment, she was deeply afraid of what she believed he could see, and what she had newly glimpsed. She had respected Paul as a soldier, and her brother also, of course, but this side of Lucas was a previously undiscovered territory. He knew the secret war that had begun before the soldiers mobilized and that continued, even now, after it was over.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her voice dry in her throat. “Do you know about this already?”

  “A little. I’m learning more.” He put his hand out and covered hers for a moment. “Don’t talk about this to anyone at all.”

  “I told Father a bit about it, but he said not to worry. I don’t know whether it was to comfort me or that’s what he really believed.” She stopped, hoping he would tell her, and yet dreading it. “I think Hans Beckendorff, Cecily’s new husband, belongs to an elite group, maybe even the Gestapo. I’m not certain. I…I think Roger suspects it.”

  “Very possibly,” Lucas agreed. “I don’t know, either,” he added. “There are things we try not to know. People tend to believe what they need to, what will keep them safe and support all the things they love and want. We’re all like that. Somewhere inside ourselves we will fight to believe the world is as we thought. Please tell me, but stay safe. You must go home and carry on with your life. Don’t try to find out any more, please.” He was very earnest. “Your grandmother and I lost a friend a couple of days ago. We have to take care of his affairs. He had no one else.”

  “Can’t I…” she began. She saw the refusal in his eyes and suddenly she felt included, a Standish, like Elena, trusted. “I will, Grandfather,” she promised.

  His smile softened and he sat back in the chair just as Josephine came in carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.

  CHAPTER

  16

  After the escape from the club, across the rooftops and eventually to the ground, Aiden and Elena parted from Gabrielle. Hers was the hardest and most dangerous lot, but she had no choice. Perhaps she would have gone deeper into the slums, where it was easier to hide, but for her child. She would never leave him, unless it was to save his life. She did not need to explain that, at least not to Elena. She trusted that Aiden understood it, too.

  “Be careful,” Aiden warned Gabrielle. There was a momentary tenderness in his face. It flickered across Elena’s mind to wonder if Gabrielle and Aiden had once had a different kind of relationship, and if Aiden was Franz’s father.

  “You, too,” Gabrielle murmured in the darkness. She touched his cheek and then turned to Elena. “Safe journey,” she whispered, and then she was gone as silently as one of the shadows across the street.

  “Come on,” Aiden said briskly. “She’ll probably be all right. She’s good at this, and there’s nothing we can do to help her anyway. We need to disappear. We’re a danger to others, as well as to ourselves.” He took her arm and pulled her along the pavement at a brisk pace. An actual run might draw attention to them.

  “Where are we going?” Elena asked, struggling to keep up without breaking step. She had on higher heels than she usually wore, and the silk dress was designed with dancing in mind, not racing along a dark street with uneven cobblestones and occasional heaps of rubbish.

  “Where they won’t look for us,” he replied, without turning to face her. “The splinter faction in the Fatherland Front is going to strike before the main group can. Ferdie’s part of them and they won’t let us live to tell anyone. We would have been shot and dumped if Gabrielle hadn’t rescued us. Whoever the other players are, they’ll be mad as hell.”

  Elena slowed down, trying to think. What Aiden had said made only partial sense. Which side was he on? Or was he on neither? It was not the time to ask. And more than that, she could not disentangle the lies from the truth, if there was truth in any of it.

  “We’ll have one more chance to find out about Max,” he said. “It would help to know if he’s still alive, poor devil. And on the practical side, what he told them. But we must
get the information back home. It’s urgent,” he said. “At least, you must. Gabrielle is French, so God only knows which side she is on, if it comes to the pinch. Her own side, I suspect: anything to protect Franz. I wish to hell my mother had cared that much about me.” There was pain behind his voice when he said it.

  At another time, or another place, she would have liked to comfort him, but now it would risk both of their lives. And she was not sure she could even reach whatever the pain was, never mind actually help. He had never spoken of his childhood to her. But no one wanted pity, least of all Aiden. He had probably not even meant to let that slip.

  She turned all her attention to keeping up with him, avoiding the chipped cobblestones and concentrating on not breaking a heel or twisting an ankle on the curb.

  Once or twice he stopped to check which way to go. She thought they were moving steadily inland, away from the harbor and all the main canal outlets to the sea. The alleys were getting narrower and were smelling less pleasant.

  “Who betrayed us?” she asked, trying to catch up as she struggled to keep pace.

  “Maybe Ferdie, maybe Marek,” he answered.

  “Why?”

  “For God’s sake, Elena,” he said impatiently. “Every man’s got his own reasons. Money, love, hate, patriotism to anywhere—Italy, Serbia, Austria, Hungary. Maybe a hostage to fortune, fear, bloody stupidity? None of us knows what we’d do with a knife at our throat. The only one who’s got any right to say is the man who’s got a stake in this. I’m still trying to work out exactly what stake Gabrielle has.”

  “Who is Franz’s father?”

  “God knows. I don’t.” He stopped suddenly, halfway along the street. “It’s not her who betrayed us, Elena. She got us out.”

  “Does that count?” she asked. “As you said, she’d do anything to save Franz. So would I, if I were his mother.” She realized that this was true. If your child trusted you, loved you, how could you do anything else? Or perhaps it was also Franz’s father she protected?