Shadows of War

November 1939

22

Bedaux International

Bungehuis, Spuistraat 210

Amsterdam

16 November 1939

Dear Sir Henry,

It is a few years since we met, but I remember that stimulating discussion over lunch with Baron von Schroeder and Pierre Laval at Banque Worms in Paris.

A mutual friend, with whom you have recently been in contact, suggested I get in touch with you. Gurney Kroheim has a venerable history of banking on the continent of Europe. I hope that some day my own firm will be able to emulate yours with a reputation in management consulting. Both our businesses rely on trade to thrive. This recent war is a disaster for trade.

Your former king the Duke of Windsor is an old friend of mine. You may recall that he and the duchess were married at my chateau. Like ourselves, the duke has a wide understanding of Europe. While there can be no more patriotic Englishman than him, he understands that his country’s best interests are not necessarily served by the slaughter of its youth on the battlefields of France.

These matters are sensitive, which is why I am sending this letter by hand. I should like to discuss the European situation and the duke with you face-to-face. I will be in London for a couple days at the end of next week and perhaps we could meet on the 23^rd? Please confirm care of Mrs ter Hart at Bedaux International in Amsterdam.

Sincerely yours,

Charles E. Bedaux

23

Kensington, London, 16 November

‘What the hell was Millie doing in Holland, Father?’

Conrad’s voice was quiet, but full of menace. They were in the library. There had been no invasion of Belgium the day before, no coup against Hitler. But there was other more immediate and far more shocking news. When he had arrived home from Heston Airport half an hour earlier, he was surprised to see his mother up in London from Somerset. One look at her face told him something was dreadfully wrong. It was. Millie had been murdered in Holland.

He hadn’t understood for a moment: there was no conceivable reason for Millie to be in the country he had just returned from; it must be some strange mix-up.

But it wasn’t. His mother’s face told him it wasn’t. And although the idea of Millie’s death still seemed unreal, a moment’s thought gave Conrad a possible reason.

Conrad hugged and comforted his mother, when all the time he just wanted to scream at his father. As soon as he decently could he insisted that he and his father withdraw to the library.

Lord Oakford looked shattered. Thin at the best of times, his face was drawn and wan, the lines that furrowed downwards from the corners of his mouth had become deep ravines. His eyes were dull. The empty arm of his jacket hung limply.

Millie was the second child he had lost; Edward, his eldest son and his heir, had died in a climbing accident on the slopes of Mont Blanc nearly ten years before. For a moment Conrad almost felt sorry for him, but his anger swept that thought away.

‘Well, Father?’

Oakford sighed. ‘She was there to see Theo,’ he mumbled.

‘Theo! Why Theo?’

‘She…’ Oakford couldn’t get the words out. A tear ran down his cheek.

‘I know. It was some hare-brained peace scheme, wasn’t it?’ Conrad said. ‘I refused to go, so you sent Millie along instead.’

Oakford nodded. ‘We wanted to open discussions with the plotters. So that if they did succeed in deposing Hitler, we could make peace. Theo was the conduit.’

‘How long had you been talking to him?’

‘Since the spring. Millie met him in Zurich in April. The conversations came to nothing then, but at least we had a line of communication.’

‘You know I saw Theo earlier this week? He didn’t say anything to me.’

‘We asked him to keep it quiet.’

‘So you, Millie and Theo were conspiring against me?’

‘We were just trying to bring peace. To stop this war before it kills a million people. It was a noble thing Millie was doing.’

‘That’s tosh! She was negotiating with the enemy behind her country’s back. You made her do it. And now she’s dead!’

Oakford hung his head and nodded.

‘How was she killed?’

‘She was stabbed in some sand dunes in Scheveningen. You remember. We went on holiday there once.’

‘Who killed her? Do you know? Was it the Germans? The Gestapo?’

Oakford took a deep breath and raised his eyes to his son. Conrad could tell it took courage for the man, who had become old before his very eyes, to do that, but he was not impressed.

‘I don’t know. She went with a companion, Constance Scott-Dunton. She’s a friend of Henry Alston. I haven’t seen Constance yet, I think she is still in Holland talking to the police there.’

‘The authorities here have been told, I take it?’ Conrad said.

Oakford nodded. ‘By our people in The Hague.’

‘I bet they weren’t happy.’

‘No, they weren’t,’ said Oakford. ‘I’m sorry, Conrad.’

‘Sorry? Sorry isn’t good enough, Father. Sorry is not nearly good enough.’

Conrad couldn’t stand the sight of the broken man in front of him. The stupid, stupid old fool! He had brought all this down upon himself, upon Conrad and upon his mother.

He found her in the drawing room looking anxiously at the door. Her face was red, her cheeks stained. He sat down on the sofa next to her and put his arm around her. She let her head fall into his chest and sobbed, her whole body heaving. Conrad patted her hair. First Edward, now Millie.

Eventually, his mother sat up. ‘Don’t be too hard on him, Conrad.’

‘How can I not be hard on him, Mother? It was his fault she went!’

‘Yes. But he didn’t kill her. Holland is a neutral country. She should have been safe.’

‘She was conspiring with someone who wanted to kill the German Chancellor!’ Conrad protested. ‘That was always going to be dangerous. Father shouldn’t have sent her.’

He almost added: ‘He should have sent me.’ But then he realized he couldn’t. Lord Oakford had tried to send Conrad to Switzerland to see Theo earlier that year, but Conrad had refused, and he had refused the previous week when his father had suggested it again. So Millie had gone instead. And Millie was now dead. Because Conrad had said no.

The stupid, stupid old fool.

‘I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t forgive him. Ever.’

Gestapo Headquarters, Berlin

Walter Schellenberg’s chest was swelling as he entered his office. He fingered the unfamiliar shape of the cross around his neck. He had just been in the Reich Chancellery, marching in with the detachment that had seized the British agents, and had been received in the Führer’s study by the Führer himself. Hitler had made a speech about how the British secret service was the best in the world, how Schellenberg and his colleagues had bested them, and how the German secret service was now building up its own traditions. Two thoughts occurred to Schellenberg: that he still believed it a mistake to have seized Payne Best and Stevens, and that Hitler had forgotten Germany’s own Abwehr. But he couldn’t deny the surge of pride he had felt; they had made fools of the famed British secret service.

Medals were handed out all round, Schellenberg and four of the others received an Iron Cross First Class, and the rest Iron Crosses Second Class.

Payne Best and Stevens were locked up somewhere in the Gestapo building next door. Schellenberg hadn’t been directly involved in their interrogation: the Gestapo were still pretending to their prisoners that Major Schämmel was a real conspirator. The officers who were interrogating them had been unable to unearth even the remotest connection between the two British agents and Georg Elser, the man who had planted the bomb in the beer cellar in Munich. But Hitler had also ordered Schellenberg to discover the name of all British operatives in Holland, and there had been some success there.

Major Stevens had been carrying a sheet of paper on which various Dutch names had been written: the Abwehr had confirmed that some of these were known agents working for Britain. It seemed likely to Schellenberg that the whole lot were.

Only that morning Stevens had admitted under interrogation that the driver, who had escaped, was a British officer named Conrad de Lancey, who had been spotted in Leiden talking to a Lieutenant von Hertenberg. The British knew him to be an Abwehr officer.

Schellenberg was pleased to see that de Lancey’s file was waiting for him on his desk, as he had requested. The Gestapo filing system was its great strength. A vast, meticulously cross-indexed record of the little secrets of thousands of Germans, and, increasingly, foreigners like de Lancey.

Schellenberg picked up the file and leafed through it. Most of the memoranda had been prepared by Kriminalrat Klaus Schalke. Schellenberg remembered him, a big, shambling Gestapo officer who was a favourite of Heydrich’s and had been found murdered in the Tiergarten the previous autumn.

The Hon. Conrad de Lancey had been born in Hamburg in 1911. His father, Viscount Oakford, was a former member of the British government and his mother was a daughter of one of the big Hamburg shipping families. De Lancey had gone to university at Oxford and afterwards had fought for the International Brigade in the Spanish Civil War. He had arrived in Berlin in the summer of 1938, where he had quickly aroused Schalke’s suspicions. The Gestapo had arrested him with his cousin, Joachim Mühlendorf, who worked for the German Embassy in Moscow and turned out to be spying for the Russians. Mühlendorf had died in custody, but de Lancey had been released. A few weeks later, Schalke had ordered de Lancey’s arrest again. De Lancey had been seen with Lieutenant Hertenberg, and at one point Schalke had suspected Hertenberg of hiding him.

Then nothing.

Schellenberg had scarcely known Schalke at all, but his death that September had caused quite a stir. There were rumours that Schalke had been involved in altering Heydrich’s ancestry, erasing a Jewish grandparent. Or perhaps adding one. The rumours were vague and brief. No one in the Gestapo wanted to know anything about Heydrich’s Jewish roots. The investigation into Schalke’s death had been abandoned on the orders of Heydrich himself and the whispers stopped abruptly. There were some subjects you just didn’t whisper about.

So who was this Conrad de Lancey? What was Hertenberg up to? And what did it have to do with Heydrich?

De Lancey could be a spy being run by the Abwehr. Or Hertenberg could be a spy being run by the British secret service. Admiral Canaris might know. Given the involvement of Schalke, Heydrich might know. Asking Heydrich would be stupid. Dropping a casual word to Canaris while riding with him in the Tiergarten might elicit an interesting answer. But then Heydrich would find out that Schellenberg had been asking questions and that might turn out to be stupid too.

Schellenberg needed more information. Following the seizure of the British agents, a number of his officers had been assigned to Holland. One of them should keep a quiet eye on Hertenberg.

Whitehall, London

Still furious with his father and Theo, Conrad left Kensington Square to report to Van at the Foreign Office. His brain was in turmoil as he waited in an ante-room for the Chief Diplomatic Adviser. The reality of Millie’s death was pressing in on him, grief piercing through the anger, slowly at first, but more insistently with every minute.

When Mrs Dougherty eventually told him Van was ready to see him, it took a supreme effort of will to focus on his report. He expanded on his cryptic phone call from Amsterdam describing what Theo had told him about Captain Schämmel and the Venlo affair. Then he explained why he had gone to Paris. About Theo and Bedaux. And about the Duke of Windsor.

Van’s concern was obvious. Concern tinged with anger, not at Conrad but at the former king. But not as much surprise as Conrad would have expected.

‘I need hardly tell you that what you have outlined to me now is highly sensitive,’ Van had said. ‘Please do not repeat it to anyone. Clearly an allegation that a member of the royal family is a traitor is extremely serious. I can assure you that we will investigate it thoroughly, but until then, it’s just a suspicion. Leave it with me. And thank you.’

Conrad stood up to leave. ‘By the way, de Lancey,’ Van said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. ‘I heard about your sister’s murder yesterday morning. I am sorry. I met her on a couple of occasions: a lovely girl. Please accept my condolences for you and for your family, especially Lady Oakford.’ His voice hardened. ‘But tell your father to restrain himself with these independent peace initiatives. They cause all kinds of diplomatic mayhem. And after what happened at Venlo, and what befell your poor sister, it appears they are extremely dangerous.’

‘I quite agree, Sir Robert,’ said Conrad. ‘But my father ceased to listen to me on those matters long ago.’

‘We think we know who killed her,’ Van said.

Conrad looked at him sharply. ‘Who?’

‘I received a report from our intelligence services an hour ago, which sheds some light on it, although it also casts doubt on your information about the duke. Apparently her companion Mrs Scott-Dunton followed your sister into the sand dunes and found Millie’s body. As she was running for help, she saw someone whom she recognized leaving the dunes.’

‘And who was that?’ asked Conrad. But as he asked the question, he knew the answer.

‘Your friend in the Abwehr,’ said Van, his face grave. ‘Theo von Hertenberg.’

24

South Kensington, London, 19 November

The couple of days following his return from Paris had been extremely painful for Conrad. While the war was still very much ‘phoney’ for everyone he saw in the street, and for his unit back in Tidworth, it seemed to have already blown his family apart. Millie’s death struck Conrad and each of his parents hard in a series of repeating blows interspersed with brief periods of unreal calm. Lord Oakford was suffering from guilt, and so he should be. But then so too was Conrad.

The rational part of his brain knew than he had been correct to ignore his father’s requests to contact Theo, that standing up to Hitler was important. But if he had just done what his father had asked, Millie would still be alive. It wasn’t as if Lord Oakford had asked him to negotiate with the Nazi government. Theo represented people who were as opposed to the Nazis as Conrad himself.

Conrad didn’t know what to make of Van’s assertion that Theo was the most likely person to have killed Millie. He couldn’t accept it; he didn’t want to accept it. The whole point about Theo, what bound him and Conrad so tightly in such difficult circumstances, was that each believed that people were more important than nations or ideologies. Killing his friend’s sister would be the repudiation of what they both believed; in a world increasingly full of betrayals, it would be the ultimate betrayal.

But Theo had always been hard to read. There were several different Theos at Oxford: the idealist certainly, the intellectual, but also the womanizer, the drinker, and the arrogant Prussian. More recently there had been Theo the spy.

Theo the spy was especially hard to read. Conrad had no idea why Theo could possibly want to kill Millie, but he knew from first-hand experience the subtle complexities of the German intelligence services where the Gestapo and the Abwehr performed a lethal dance of bluff and counter-bluff and where it was impossible to be sure — to be absolutely sure — on whose side anyone was on.

Including Theo.

All right, Conrad admitted to himself, he didn’t want to believe Theo had killed his sister: there must be some other explanation, and he must find it. He needed to speak to Constance Scott-Dunton and find out what she knew and how sure she was of her identification.

From his club, Conrad sent a message to her via Sir Henry Alston’s office at Gurney Kroheim asking her to meet him as soon as she returned to England. He heard from her the following morning, suggesting that they meet at the Russian Tea Rooms in South Kensington.

He arrived there first, at about half past three. It was a cosy place, with wood panels and a roaring fire. He found a table and ordered some tea. A copy of a magazine named Truth lay on the table next to his. He picked it up and leafed through it. There was a particularly unpleasant article about how influential Jews in Britain, including the publisher Victor Gollancz and a bevy of bankers, had pressed Britain to come to the aid of their brethren in Berlin and declare war on Germany. Another criticized Hore-Belisha, the War Minister, for his previous business failures and his support for ‘co-religionists’.

Conrad tossed the magazine to one side. Seeing views like this not only written but read by his own countrymen made him profoundly sick. He had seen first hand in Germany how anti-Semitic words could become anti-Semitic actions, and how even a cultured society could succumb to hatred and paranoia. Why couldn’t people in England realize that as well as the threat from the continent, there was also the threat from within their own society from poisoners who wrote articles like that?

He looked around the room. The café was half full with respectable people respectably dressed. There was a foreign-looking gentleman with a white beard reading a newspaper in the corner. Then there was a middle-aged man with a beaked nose above a trim moustache drinking tea with a couple of women. Conrad thought he recognized the man: Captain Maule Ramsay, a Scottish Conservative MP noted for his anti-Semitic speeches. What kind of place was this that Mrs Scott-Dunton had brought him to?

‘You must be Millie’s brother. You look just like her.’

Conrad pulled himself to his feet and took the hand of a dark woman with pale skin and shining eyes.

‘I’m Constance. Hello.’

‘Hello,’ said Conrad. ‘Can I get you some—’

But Constance had already indicated to the waitress, whom she seemed to know, that she wanted some tea.

‘I’m so sorry about your sister,’ Constance said, taking the chair opposite Conrad. ‘I didn’t know her before we went to Holland together, but we got along famously while we were there. She was a lovely girl. It was dreadful what happened to her.’

‘Yes, it was,’ said Conrad. But it seemed to him that Constance herself looked more excited than shocked.

‘She was very fond of you. She spoke of you a lot,’ said Constance.

Conrad was pleased to hear that. ‘I was fond of her,’ he said. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Yesterday evening. They flew me back — the Foreign Office, that is. I’ve had all sorts of interviews with mysterious Dutchmen, and Englishmen for that matter.’

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ said Conrad.

‘Not at all,’ said Constance. Her tea arrived in a Russian-style glass.

‘Do you mind if I ask you what happened?’ Conrad said.

‘No, carry on. Everyone else has,’ said Constance. ‘As your father probably told you, he and Sir Henry Alston sent us over there on a confidential mission.’

‘Father did say,’ Conrad said. ‘You met Lieutenant von Hertenberg?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Millie said he’s a friend of yours from Oxford. A charming man. Or at least he seemed so at the time.’

‘Theo is charming,’ said Conrad dryly. The man and the two women Conrad had spotted earlier left the tea rooms. One of the women nodded to Constance. ‘Do you know, is that Captain Maule Ramsay?’ Conrad asked.

‘Yes, it is. And that’s his wife; they often come here. The other woman is Anna Wolkoff, the daughter of the owner.’

‘I see,’ said Conrad. ‘Sorry, go on.’

‘Yes. Well, we spoke to Theo a couple of times, including the day before Millie was killed. We were staying in Scheveningen, by the sea.’

‘I know it,’ said Conrad. ‘We went there on holiday as children.’

‘Millie said. Anyway, that night Theo saw me and asked me to tell Millie to meet him early the following morning. He said she had to go alone and I shouldn’t come with her. He wanted her to meet someone — he didn’t say who.’

Constance sipped her tea.

‘So the next morning I got up at the crack of dawn, actually it was before the crack of dawn, to follow Millie. She came out of the hotel and headed off towards the sand dunes. I kept a discreet distance behind her. The sand dunes were quite bumpy, being sand dunes, so I couldn’t see her very clearly. Then I heard a short sharp cry. Well, I was worried. I wasn’t sure whether to run towards her or away from her — it was still pretty dark. But I thought I had better take a look. And I found her on the ground with… with a knife sticking out of her chest.’

Constance looked down at her tea as she said this. Her face was grim. Then she glanced up to check Conrad’s reaction. For a moment his mind conjured up an image of Millie lying in the sand, but it was too horrible to think about.

‘Did you see anyone?’

‘Not straight away. Nor did I hear anything. I ran over to see if she was all right, but…’ Constance lowered her eyes again. ‘She wasn’t. She was… dead.’

Conrad sighed. Silence lay heavily around them, shrouding thoughts of Millie.

‘I’m sorry,’ Constance said.

‘But then you saw Theo?’

‘Yes. When I went looking for help. He was heading towards the tram stop.’

‘Did you call out to him?’

‘No, of course not! He was quite far away. But more importantly, I thought he had stabbed Millie. I didn’t want him to kill me too! So I ran along to one of the hotels on the sea front and got them to ring the police.’

This didn’t look good. ‘Are you sure it was Theo? You say he was quite far away.’

‘Pretty sure. He was tall, wearing the same kind of hat as Theo, and he walked upright like Theo does.’

‘But you didn’t see his face?’

‘Not clearly,’ Constance admitted. ‘I told the police that. And the men from the Foreign Office.’

‘So you are not absolutely sure? It could have been someone else?’

‘I suppose it could have been. But it looked like Theo to me.’ Constance smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry, I know he is a friend of yours. Or was.’

Is, thought Conrad. Is. There was some doubt about Theo’s identification after all. ‘You have no idea whom Theo was bringing with him?’

‘No. None.’

‘Why didn’t Theo want you to come too?’

Constance hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I thought maybe…’

‘Maybe what?’

‘Your sister was sweet on Theo. Didn’t you know that?’

Bloody hell, thought Conrad. ‘No. I didn’t know that. Are you saying it was some kind of… assignation?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Constance. ‘It was just a feeling, that’s all. A guess. Perhaps Theo really did bring someone else along for Millie to meet.’

‘The secret service seem to think that Theo killed her.’

‘I know,’ said Constance.

‘But you can’t be certain that you actually saw him, let alone saw him stab her?’

‘I’m pretty sure it was him,’ Constance said. ‘And he is a German spy, isn’t he?’

Conrad nodded. ‘Well, thanks for telling me,’ he said. Then a thought struck him. ‘Why did you follow her?’

‘Why?’ Constance repeated.

‘Why?’

‘I’m curious. I’ve always been known for my nosiness. I wanted to know whether Theo really had brought someone to meet Millie, or if they were just, you know, meeting. An assignation. Also I suppose I didn’t like being left out.’

‘I see,’ said Conrad. But he wasn’t quite sure that he did see.

Mayfair, London

Conrad grabbed the pint of beer and the glass of gin and It and fought his way through the small pub in Mayfair to where Anneliese was sitting in a corner. He had known the place in the past as a quiet pub where they might talk, but there were no quiet pubs in London in wartime, even on a Sunday evening. At least they had been able to find a seat.

Anneliese raised her glass. ‘To Millie,’ she said.

Conrad smiled. ‘Yes. To Millie.’ They both drank.

‘I needed that.’ Anneliese put down her drink. Conrad had introduced her to gin and Italian vermouth soon after she had arrived in London and asked for something English from the bar. Afterwards he had realized it was a favourite of Veronica’s, but he hadn’t told Anneliese that. She was wearing her nurse’s uniform: the pub was full of uniforms of various types, although Conrad was still in his civilian suit.

‘I’m glad you rang me,’ he said.

‘Your mother wrote to me about Millie and I was shocked. I wrote her a note back and then I thought I must see you. I know how fond you were of your sister. I liked her; she always treated me well.’

‘Unlike Reggie?’ said Conrad.

‘Your brother is just ignorant,’ said Anneliese. ‘Millie wasn’t. She was fun.’

‘Yes, she was,’ said Conrad.

‘How do you feel?’ Anneliese asked.

Conrad was flummoxed by the simplicity of the question. ‘I’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘This is war. People will die.’

‘Oh, Conrad, don’t be so bloody British! Of course people will die. And it will be horrible for their brothers and sisters.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Conrad said stiffly. He glanced at Anneliese. His chest was churning with a turmoil of emotions to do with Millie. He hadn’t sorted them out; he hadn’t expressed them. He hadn’t even wept yet. He had been angry with his father. With Theo.

Anneliese waited.

Conrad was tempted to change the subject. To make a joke. To avoid at all costs cracking the wall that he was erecting around those thoughts about Millie. To behave how an Englishman should. But Anneliese wasn’t like that; his relationship with Anneliese wasn’t like that. They had shared a lot in Germany, and she had sought him out then, when she thought he needed support and strength.

It had been so good to hear her voice on the phone. It was good to be with her now, surrounded by a cocoon of noise and uniforms standing around their table.

‘I’m sad,’ he said, slowly and carefully, concentrating on not allowing his voice to crack. He was speaking quietly and in German: in the hubbub of the pub none of the servicemen around them would be able to hear. ‘I’m very sad. Millie had such a zest for life, such honesty, such enthusiasm. It’s wrong that she has gone. And it makes me angry. Very angry. So angry I can hardly think straight.’

‘Why are you angry?’ Anneliese asked.

Conrad struggled for a moment to maintain his composure. ‘I’m angry because it is wrong that a young woman like her should die, even in a war. She’s not a soldier. And I’m really angry about how she died.’

‘Yes. I don’t understand that,’ said Anneliese. ‘Your mother said she had been killed while on holiday in the Netherlands. That sounded very strange. I remember you saying you were going away. Were you with her?’

‘No,’ Conrad shook his head. ‘I did go to Holland; I just didn’t know she was there as well.’

Conrad told Anneliese all about Millie’s meeting with Theo, arranged by their father and Sir Henry Alston. He recounted what Constance had told him about how she had found Millie’s body in the dunes.

Anneliese listened intently. ‘And you knew nothing about any of this?’

‘No. Despite the fact that I saw Theo in Leiden the day before he met Millie. And that I spent the night at Kensington Square with Father and Millie just before I left for Holland. She and Constance must have been on the next flight!’

‘No wonder you are angry,’ said Anneliese.

‘It’s not just that,’ said Conrad. He paused, took a sip of his beer. ‘I should have gone instead of her. Father asked me, but I refused, and so he asked Millie instead and she said yes. And that’s why she’s dead. So I’m angry with myself.’

‘You can’t blame yourself for that,’ Anneliese said. ‘You didn’t kill her. You didn’t send her.’

Conrad shrugged.

‘What was she talking to Theo about?’

‘I’d better not say,’ said Conrad. ‘But you can probably guess. My dealings with Theo didn’t turn out too well either, although I didn’t think then that was Theo’s fault. At least I assumed it wasn’t. Now I’m not sure what the hell Theo was up to.’

Conrad knew he shouldn’t tell Anneliese about Oakford’s peace talks, or the shooting at Venlo, which was still being inaccurately reported in the British newspapers. But perhaps he should reassess Theo’s profession of lack of knowledge of Major Schämmel’s identity. Could he trust his friend after all?

‘Damn Theo,’ Conrad said, his voice still low.

‘For not telling you?’

‘For not telling me. And for not protecting Millie for me. You know, this Constance woman says that Millie and Theo had some sort of romance going on? Since last spring when they met in Switzerland. He never told me about that either. And also…’

‘Also what?’

‘The secret service seem to think that he killed Millie.’

‘No! That can’t be right!’

‘Constance saw a man walking from the dunes to the tram stop. She thinks it was Theo.’

‘Thinks? So she isn’t certain?’

‘Not one hundred per cent. But close to certain. She seems to have convinced the secret service.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘I hope it wasn’t him.’ Conrad shrugged. ‘But he’s a spy, Anneliese. We can never be sure what he is really doing or why. I want to see him. I really must see him.’

‘Can you manage that somehow?’ Anneliese asked.

‘I don’t see how. I do have a way of getting touch with him, but I can’t just swan over to Holland again. I have to go back to the battalion on Tuesday.’

Anneliese sipped her gin, thinking. ‘What’s happened to Millie?’ she asked. ‘Her body, I mean. Is it still in Holland?’

‘The Dutch authorities are keeping hold of her,’ Conrad said. ‘They have done a post-mortem, of course, but her body is evidence in a murder inquiry. The embassy is supposed to be dealing with it, but they seem useless. It’s all rather ghoulish. Mother can’t stand it, and it makes it impossible to arrange the funeral.’

‘Shouldn’t someone go over there to sort it out?’ said Anneliese. ‘You, for instance?’

‘Maybe I should,’ said Conrad. He nodded as he thought it through. ‘Good idea. I’ll talk to Father about it.’

‘What about this woman Constance? Who is she?’

‘That’s a good question. She was Millie’s companion in Holland. She is some sort of friend of Sir Henry Alston, who is one of my father’s fellow directors at Gurney Kroheim and a Conservative MP. He’s definitely pro-German, but then my father is pro-German. Hell, I’m pro-German. But I think Alston might be pro-Nazi, which is a very different thing. You know that as well as anyone.’

‘I do,’ said Anneliese.

‘I have my doubts about Constance.’

‘Why?’

‘We met at this place called the Russian Tea Rooms. On the surface it looks very respectable, but they had copies of Truth there — it’s an obnoxious anti-Semitic magazine. A kind of British Völkischer Beobachter.’

‘I’ve never seen it,’ said Anneliese.

‘Good. Don’t. Also, I spotted Captain Maule Ramsay; he’s a right-wing pro-Nazi MP, much further to the right than Alston. Constance seemed at home there. Her story doesn’t stack up very well; for example, she said she got up early in the morning to follow Millie to her rendezvous with Theo, but she didn’t really explain why she had done that. Or at least not satisfactorily. I’d really like to do some more digging, but I can’t. I don’t have the time.’

Anneliese sipped her drink. Conrad felt a surge of warmth towards her. Talking to her had lifted some of enormous weight he felt bearing down on him. Only some of it, and only for a moment, but it had felt good to speak to her, and he was grateful that she had made him do it. Naturally he was bloody angry, who wouldn’t be?

She seemed different, a little less withdrawn, a little less wrapped up in her own misery, a little more like the old Anneliese.

‘Perhaps I could help,’ she said, putting her glass down and looking straight at him.

‘You? How? You can’t go to Holland to see Theo.’

‘No. But I could find out more about Constance. She was with Millie when she died. It sounds as if you think she might know what really happened. If I make friends with her, maybe I can discover what that was.’

‘But you are half-Jewish. And German. How are you going to do that?’

‘I’m half not-Jewish. And I know a lot about Nazis. If you are right about her, she might enjoy having a Nazi German friend.’

Conrad smiled. ‘Anneliese, I really appreciate you doing this for me, but don’t worry about it.’

‘Why not?’ said Anneliese. ‘I saw Wilfrid Israel last Saturday and asked him if I could do something for Captain Foley. Something secret to help the war. I haven’t heard back yet, but I really want to do something useful. And if I can’t do something useful for your country, perhaps I can do something useful for you.’

Conrad realized he was talking to the old Anneliese. And he liked it.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘It sounds crazy to me, but if you really want to do it, have a go.’

25

Kensington, London, 20 November

‘I hope you can persuade them to release her, Conrad,’ Lord Oakford said. ‘It will be a great comfort to your mother to know that Millie is safely buried in St Peter’s churchyard.’

‘It will be to all of us,’ said Conrad. Although he knew they would all be relieved if he succeeded in bringing Millie back to Somerset, he also knew that the hole she had left in their family would always be there, just as her elder brother’s absence had hovered over them for the last ten years. His mother had been near to hysteria, more upset even than she had been after Edward’s death. Lady Oakford was usually the calm centre of the family, the stable counterweight to her husband’s moods, the source of common sense and sanity. Her raw grief, although it should have been understandable, was a shock for her husband and her son. Any activity was better than nothing.

So Oakford had jumped at Conrad’s suggestion that he go and fetch Millie’s body, and that morning had spoken directly to the Ambassador in The Hague, whom of course he knew, to arrange it. Conrad had booked a flight to Schiphol in two days’ time. Colonel Rydal had reluctantly agreed to a few days’ extension of his leave.

They were sitting in Lord Oakford’s study in the house in Kensington Square. Although there was a copy of The Times by his father’s armchair, it was unread. When Conrad had entered the room, his father had been staring out of the window, and when he had turned towards his son, his eyes were glazed, vacant. Lord Oakford’s passivity was worrying in its own way; it seemed fragile, a thin shell that could at any moment be shattered by the rage that Conrad knew must be bubbling underneath. But at least it had allowed Conrad to be civil to him while he was forced to stay at Kensington Square. Conrad was doing his best to control his own temper, which was extremely difficult, given that he still blamed his father for Millie’s death. He hadn’t forgiven him; he didn’t see how he could ever forgive him.

‘Can you tell me a bit about the Duke of Windsor?’ Conrad asked. ‘I missed all the fuss over the abdication, I was in Spain.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Was he forced to abdicate? And if he was, were there reasons beyond his desire to marry Wallis Simpson? His pro-German attitude perhaps?’

‘There’s no doubt that Mrs Simpson was the main reason. The government, and the dominions, felt he couldn’t be king and be married to a divorced woman, which it was clear he had every intention of doing. Many people felt that putting his lover before his country was an appalling failure of duty as king. Winston supported him, but what would you expect from Winston?’

‘Was anyone concerned about his friendship with Germany?’

‘Yes, they were,’ Oakford admitted. ‘He had had a number of meetings with senior Nazis, in particular Hess and Ribbentrop. When he became king, he took a more active interest in government policy than his father had. He put pressure on Stanley Baldwin not to react to Hitler’s invasion of the Rhineland in 1936. There was a lot of concern about Mrs Simpson and her friendship with various unsavoury Germans in London. Ribbentrop saw her all the time while he was German Ambassador, sent her roses every day. The security service had a sordid file on her.’

‘Sordid?’

‘Oh, yes. She spent time in China, you know, and there is supposed to be a file somewhere about techniques she learned in brothels while she was there. Something called the “Singapore Grip”. Do you know what that is?’

‘No,’ said Conrad, although he could have a guess. But since he was talking to his father, he decided not to.

‘Probably just as well,’ said his father. ‘They also discovered that while Edward was king, Mrs Simpson was seeing a car salesman named Trundle whom she appeared to be paying.’ Oakford sighed. ‘It’s very painful to watch your sovereign abandon his kingdom for a woman who is sleeping with a car salesman.’

‘I can see that,’ said Conrad. ‘And you? What did you think about the abdication?’

‘As you probably remember, I fell out with him over his interference in the Abyssinian affair.’ Conrad did remember: in 1935 Mussolini had made a grab for Abyssinia and the British and French governments, with Samuel Hoare as Foreign Secretary had let him get away with it, strongly encouraged by the then Prince of Wales. Lord Oakford didn’t disagree with the government’s policy, but he had resigned from the Cabinet over what he considered the misleading statements from the government about their negotiations with the French and Italians. Lying, he had called it.

‘And I think he was a bloody fool to abdicate. He should have toughed it out. Henry VIII did — you could say that divorce is what kicked off the Church of England. He was also a bloody fool to hobnob with the Nazis, but I’m sure he doesn’t actually agree with them. And he has good instincts for peace. Did you read that broadcast he made from Verdun last spring?’

‘I read about it,’ said Conrad. ‘It caused quite a stir, didn’t it?’ A few months before the outbreak of war, the duke had used the occasion of a visit to the Verdun battlefield to make an impassioned speech for peace, which was broadcast by an American radio station.

‘It did,’ said Oakford. ‘But it made sense to me.’ He frowned. ‘Why all these questions?’

‘After Holland, I went to Paris,’ Conrad said. ‘And I heard some worrying rumours about the duke.’

‘There are always worrying rumours about the duke,’ said Lord Oakford. ‘People don’t like him after he chucked the throne. But he loves his country, I’m sure of that. And he is still a member of the royal family, a former king. It’s absurd to think that he would do anything to betray England.’

‘Absurd?’

‘Absurd,’ Oakford repeated. His frown deepened. ‘I know what it is! You think because he believes in peace he doesn’t love his country. Why can’t you understand that it’s exactly because we love our country that people like him, and me for that matter, believe that we shouldn’t be fighting? The war will ruin us. Once it gets going, hundreds of thousands of Englishmen will lose their lives. We might even lose the damn thing. Is that good for Britain? Answer me that!’

The voice was rising; the eyes were glinting. Conrad’s father was on the brink of exploding. Conrad wanted to answer, to disagree, to argue, but he knew what that would lead to. For his mother’s sake he had stayed on in Kensington Square; for his mother’s sake he was still speaking to his father after he had sent Millie to her death in a quixotic lunge for peace.

But then his father did something rather odd. He apologized.

‘I’m sorry, Conrad. Millie’s death has… Well, you know. And then I have just received some news that I should really tell you.’

An apology from his father was rare, and Conrad appreciated it. ‘That’s all right, Father. What’s the news?’

‘Are you seeing Theo in Holland?’

‘I’ve contacted him,’ said Conrad. He had sent a telegram to the Copenhagen address suggesting that Theo meet him at the University of Leiden. ‘I haven’t received a reply, and I don’t necessarily expect one, but I hope he shows up. There’s a lot I want to ask him. He may well know the answers.’

‘He may,’ said Oakford. His face, already grave, became even graver. ‘Van telephoned me half an hour ago. They have more evidence about Millie’s death.’

‘What?’ asked Conrad.

‘They have a witness. A walker who saw Theo running out of the dunes with blood on his hands and his shirt. He identified him by the scar on his jaw. I’m sorry, Conrad. There is no doubt now that Theo killed her.’

Conrad refilled his glass from the port decanter and sat in his father’s armchair in front of the embers of the coal fire in the drawing room. It was just past midnight: the others had all gone up to bed.

The decanter was almost down to the dregs; Conrad had already helped himself to quite a few glasses. There was something about drinking port that reminded Conrad of Theo, of those long nocturnal conversations at Oxford.

He fixed his eyes on the fireplace, as if an answer would be revealed somewhere in the dying orange glow of the coals, if only he stared long and hard enough.

How could he do it? How could Theo kill Millie?

Had he really killed Millie?

Ever since he had heard about the new witness in Holland, Conrad had been torn between fury and disbelief. Fury that Theo had killed his sister and disbelief that he actually had done so. He tried to cling to the disbelief, but all the time he was afraid he was just hiding from the truth, denying the evidence.

Conrad had known Theo since the age of eighteen. During that time they had shared much: ideas, drink, friendship and, more recently, a sense that the only way to stop global catastrophe was to stop Hitler. They loved and respected their own countries and each other’s. They had faced danger together; together they had worked to overthrow the German dictator. It was bad enough for Conrad to learn that Theo had been negotiating with his sister and his father behind his back. To be told that Theo of all people had actually killed Millie was unbearable. Unthinkable.

It was unthinkable. Apart from anything else, Theo was not a killer, or not yet. Unlike Conrad, who had killed in Spain and then in Berlin. Chivalry was bred deep into Theo; Conrad could not imagine him stabbing a woman, especially not Conrad’s sister.

But the unthinkable had happened.

Why would Theo do it? Conrad couldn’t think of a reason, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. In the world of espionage he was beginning to realize that few people if any ever had the whole picture. And the other trait that was bred deep into his friend was loyalty to his country. For the right reason, if there was no other alternative, and if his country demanded it, perhaps Theo could kill, in much the same way his Prussian ancestors had killed, ever since the Seven Years War two hundred years before.

Conrad hoped he would find out something more in Holland, either from the Dutch authorities, or from Theo himself. But deep down he knew he should stop fooling himself, accept the unacceptable.

His friend had killed his sister.

26

Gestapo Headquarters, Berlin, 21 November

Schellenberg examined the short memorandum on his desk, and frowned. When you worked for the Gestapo, there were certain moments where taking the wrong decision, following the wrong path, could be career-threatening. Even life-threatening. Survival came from recognizing those moments; they were not always easy to spot.

Schellenberg’s instinct told him this was one of them.

The memorandum came from one of the Gestapo officers detailed to keep an eye on Lieutenant von Hertenberg in Holland. The officer had approached a Dutch professor at the University of Leiden, W. F. Hogendoorn, who was a firm believer in National Socialism and felt that his own country’s future would best be served by friendship with Germany. The professor had occasionally been used in the past by Hertenberg as a means of contacting foreigners in Holland. One of these was an Englishman named Conrad de Lancey. Hogendoorn told the Gestapo officer he had his doubts about Mr de Lancey, and by implication about Hertenberg. He wondered whether what they were doing was above board.

It was a good question and Schellenberg didn’t know the answer.

The choices facing Schellenberg were the same as before: he could keep the information to himself, he could check with Canaris, or he could inform Heydrich. Schellenberg preferred the first option, but he knew that if he chose not to inform Heydrich now and his decision came to the notice of his superior, he would be in trouble. Possibly terminal trouble. And his instinct was that de Lancey and Hertenberg were likely to cause more difficulties, the kind of difficulties that would get them noticed.

He dug out the de Lancey file from his desk drawer, picked up the telephone and called Heydrich’s secretary, telling her he had to see him as soon as possible.

The Gruppenführer was only a few years older than Schellenberg, a tall man with blond thinning hair brushed back over a high forehead. His eyes were small and crafty, and his nose and lips suggested the cruelty of a predator — a hawk perhaps, or even a vulture. Yet there was something feminine about him: his high-pitched voice, his wide hips, his delicate hands. The whole effect was disconcerting, disorienting, a warning. In Schellenberg’s opinion, it was sensible to be disconcerted by Heydrich.

Schellenberg remained standing as he passed his chief the memorandum.

Heydrich scanned it quickly, and then waited, his eyes on the paper. Schellenberg knew he was thinking, not reading.

He tossed it to one side, and leaned back in his chair. ‘So?’ he said.

Heydrich was asking how much Schellenberg knew. This was Schellenberg’s chance to tell him he knew very little.

‘This is the second time I have come across de Lancey’s name,’ he said. ‘It first came up during the interrogation of Major Stevens a couple of days ago. Stevens claimed that his men in Holland had followed de Lancey, and saw him meet Hertenberg in Leiden. That was probably the seventh of November. I retrieved de Lancey’s file and discovered that he and Hertenberg were old friends from Oxford University. In fact they had seen a lot of each other last year, when de Lancey visited Berlin.’

‘And what did you do with this knowledge?’

‘Much of the file was put together by Kriminalrat Schalke, whom you may remember was murdered in the Tiergarten last year. Having read the file, it seemed to me prudent just to watch Hertenberg and wait to see what he did.’

Heydrich smiled. ‘You have good judgement, Walter.’

‘I was tempted to continue just to watch and wait, but I thought it was better to inform you.’

‘Another good decision. Let me see the file.’

Schellenberg handed it over and Heydrich flipped through it. The Gestapo chief grunted and a small smile crossed his lips. Schellenberg guessed that he was pleased to observe the obvious gaps. Heydrich stood up, walked over to the window, and stared across the Wilhelmstrasse to the new Reich Chancellery. Schellenberg waited.

‘Klaus Schalke was a good officer. I’m sorry he died, and I am quite sure that de Lancey had something to do with it. I met him once, next door.’ Heydrich meant the Gestapo building around the corner in Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. There had been nothing in the file about Heydrich interrogating de Lancey, another deliberate omission no doubt. ‘I didn’t like him. And I have severe doubts about his friend Lieutenant Hertenberg.’

Schellenberg remained silent.

‘Get Naujocks to put one of his men on to it. When de Lancey comes to Holland I want him dealt with. And tell Naujocks that it would be most unfortunate if an accident were to befall Hertenberg at the same time.’

Schellenberg knew that when Heydrich used the word ‘unfortunate’ he meant the opposite. He had no objection to de Lancey’s death, but he thought Heydrich was going too far with Hertenberg.

‘But Hertenberg is an officer of the Abwehr! Shouldn’t we check with Canaris to see whether he knows about the meeting?’

‘I am sure that Canaris is being hoodwinked by these two as much as we are. And, as I said, it would be most regrettable if Lieutenant Hertenberg were hurt in the operation. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Crystal clear, Herr Gruppenführer! Heil Hitler!’ Schellenberg clicked his heels and saluted. He understood his orders.

Unter den Linden, Berlin

‘It’s a shame you couldn’t get away, Theo.’

‘I know, Dieter,’ Theo replied. ‘I haven’t been home since May.’ Once again he had had to drop everything and fly to Holland, this time to meet Conrad. He couldn’t explain this to Dieter, of course. His aeroplane was leaving Tempelhof that afternoon.

Theo and his younger brother were strolling along Unter den Linden, both in their Wehrmacht uniforms. Although Dieter was only five years Theo’s junior, he looked a lot younger than twenty-five. He was an enthusiastic soldier, in fact he was enthusiastic about everything, with a wide grin full of innocent charm, and unruly red hair which even a military haircut could not completely tame.

They had agreed to meet at Café Kranzler on the corner of Friedrichstrasse, but it was too crowded and Dieter said he needed the exercise between two long train journeys: one from Koblenz to Berlin, another to Stettin, and then on to the little town in Pomerania near which their family owned a small manor house and estate. The war was playing havoc with Germany’s rail system; the trains never ran on time, with delays of many hours, and there had been two major crashes with hundreds dead. During this Sitzkrieg it was safer sitting on the western front than taking a train home.

It was cold, but at least it wasn’t raining. Unter den Linden was busy, with sleek modern vehicles fluttering swastikas and men dressed in the smart uniforms of the modern German Reich passing purposefully in front of the grand buildings and statues of the old, glorious Prussia. The biggest statue of all, Frederick the Great, looked down approvingly on it all from his horse further down the avenue.

‘Father said we are going hunting tomorrow. The Bismarcks will be there. And the Kleists.’

‘Give my regards to Uncle Ewald,’ said Theo. ‘And the others.’

‘So you and Uncle Ewald haven’t been discussing things recently?’

Theo knew Dieter was referring to the various plans to remove Hitler. While Dieter had never been involved directly in any of the plotting, it was impossible to be a member of one of those close-knit Prussian families and not know about them. Uncle Ewald — Ewald von Kleist — had been right at the centre of those discussions, and had visited Britain in the summer of 1938 with the help of Theo and Conrad to meet senior British politicians.

‘It’s been called off,’ said Theo. ‘I don’t think Brauchitsch and Halder ever really had the guts for it.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Dieter.

‘Are you?’ Theo asked sharply.

Dieter walked in silence for a bit. ‘Yes, I am. I agree with all of you that Hitler is a madman and the country would be better off without him. He will ruin Germany. But I am a soldier and we are at war. I want us to win, Theo. This isn’t the time for a putsch. This is the time for fighting the enemy.’

In some ways Theo admired his brother’s loyalty and straightforward patriotism. Dieter was no Nazi; he was a decent man who believed in his country. But it had long been Theo’s role in life to explain things to his little brother.

‘Look at the linden trees,’ said Theo.

‘What lindens?’ said Dieter.

The tall lindens that gave the street its name had been chopped down in 1934 to facilitate the construction of the S-Bahn. Saplings had replaced them, but it had changed the whole character of the boulevard.

‘Precisely. You know the song: “As long as the old trees stay on Unter den Linden, nothing can defeat us. Berlin will stay Berlin.” The trees are gone, Dieter.’

‘And that’s just an old song,’ said Dieter. ‘I saw what we did in Poland. I know we can do it again in France.’

‘What was Poland like?’

‘We did well,’ said Dieter. ‘Mostly the Poles retreated or surrendered, but we were involved in one action. There was a counter-attack near the River Bzura, and we held off a Polish cavalry brigade for two days. They fought bravely and so did we.’

Theo was curious about what real battle was like. In his role in the Abwehr he had faced danger, but never a visible enemy. Conrad had, and now so had Dieter.

‘Did you take many casualties?’ he asked.

‘Our company lost fifteen men killed and twenty-three wounded.’

‘Were you afraid?’

Dieter glanced at his older brother. It wasn’t the sort of question one soldier asked another, at least not in the Wehrmacht. ‘Yes. I was. But I was also excited. And when we realized on the third day the Polish brigade had given up their attack, I felt so proud. Our unit worked well together: all that training paid off. And, yes, I felt that I was doing what I was born to do, what all those Hertenbergs from Father back through history have done. We fight wars. It’s dangerous, sometimes we get killed, but we usually win. I often think you don’t understand that, Theo.’

‘You are probably right.’

‘So I am happy to kill and be killed in battle. Not happy, so much as willing. But the horrific killing I saw had nothing to do with battle.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Afterwards we marched past a POW camp guarded by the SS. Except it wasn’t really a camp, and the POWs were not really prisoners of war. It was a field outside a village with a couple of hundred Poles inside it, soldiers but also women and children. The SS had set up machine guns around the perimeter of the field. There were about fifty bodies lying in the perimeter where they had been shot — we heard later most of them had been trying to relieve themselves. We took over the camp from the SS; it turned out the prisoners had been given no food or water for days. Our major has filed a report and we’ll see what happens. But the whole thing made me feel bad, dirty even. It was as if what those SS men did betrayed the bravery of our own comrades who had died by the River Bzura.’

‘That’s why Hitler has to go,’ said Theo.

Dieter grunted. They passed beneath the Brandenburg Gate and crossed the road into the Tiergarten. A new thoroughfare had been bulldozed through the park, at the end of which was the recently relocated Siegessäule victory statue, which Berliners claimed looked like a giant asparagus. The light was fading.

‘So you are on the western front now?’ Theo asked.

‘Yes. I’ve been made ADC to General Guderian. Do you know him?’

‘I’ve never met him, but I’ve read Achtung Panzer!’ said Theo. ‘He’s XIX Corps commander in Army Group A, isn’t he?’ Theo remembered the ‘cowhide’ relief map at Zossen and his conversation with Major Liss.

‘You are well informed.’

‘I am,’ Theo admitted. ‘How did you manage that?’

‘I mended his wireless in Poland; all that messing around with electronics when I was a boy finally paid off. Guderian pulled up next to our unit in his command vehicle swearing blue murder. I fixed the set and we got talking about radios. He believes reliable wireless communications are what allow a general to lead panzers from the front and keep the initiative in battle. He seemed to like me and arranged the transfer. Cousin Paul helped — Guderian reports to him.’

‘Cousin Paul’ was General of Cavalry Paul von Kleist, their mother’s cousin, and the commander of Panzer Group Kleist of which XIX Corps was a part. When it came to the Wehrmacht the Hertenbergs were well connected.

‘What’s Guderian like?’

‘Impressive. If you’ve read his book you’ll know he is a great believer in the blitzkrieg. Mobility, concentration, seizing the initiative and keeping it.’

‘Army Group A’s role is to protect the flank of Army Group B in the Ardennes, as Army Group B drives through Belgium towards the Channel. So no blitzkrieg for General Guderian.’

‘That’s right,’ said Dieter. ‘And Guderian doesn’t like that. He thinks we should strike in the Ardennes, with him in the vanguard, of course. He’s trying to persuade General Manstein, who in turn needs to persuade the general staff and ultimately the Führer.’

‘Your chief is absolutely right,’ said Theo. ‘That section of the line is defended by the French 2^nd Army under General Huntziger. They are a bunch of overweight under-trained reservists whose defensive preparations are poor. The French think the Ardennes is impassable to modern tanks; it’s the weakest point in the line.’

‘How do you know this, Theo? Is this what you are doing for the Abwehr?’

‘I know it,’ said Theo. ‘And so does OKW, although I am not sure yet whether they have drawn the correct conclusions. Your General Guderian has the right idea. The strongest French forces and the BEF are lined up on the Belgian frontier to move north and meet Army Group B in Flanders. Army Group A should make the breakthrough through the Ardennes.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ said Dieter.

‘Unofficially.’

Dieter stopped. ‘By the way, I know this might sound crazy, but I think that a man is following us. In the brown overcoat on the other side of the road.’

‘I know,’ said Theo. ‘I’ve seen him.’

‘He’s not a British spy, is he?’

‘Gestapo,’ said Theo. ‘Almost certainly.’

‘So the Gestapo spies on its own spies?’

‘It would seem so,’ said Theo. ‘Don’t worry. There is nothing suspicious in me meeting my brother.’ Though in truth Theo was worried. The Abwehr had many officers and the Gestapo couldn’t follow them all. Why Theo? Did it have something to do with Conrad and the capture of the British agents? Or were the Gestapo finally getting to grips with the army officers who opposed Hitler, just when it seemed the Nazis no longer had anything to fear from them?

They were at the edge of the woods in the Tiergarten when Dieter stopped. ‘I should head off to the station now. I’m glad I got to see you, even if you can’t make it home.’

‘Me too,’ said Theo. ‘Give my love to everyone.’ He embraced his brother and turned through the woods towards Abwehr headquarters in the Tirpitzufer.

He had only gone a few yards when an unpleasant thought struck him. Perhaps he would never see Dieter again. Theo had always looked after his little brother. In some ways Dieter’s naive patriotism irritated him; Theo felt it was his job to keep Dieter away from danger. Yet for all Theo’s worldly experience, Dieter had actually fought for his country and Theo hadn’t, at least not yet.

In a few weeks or months, Dieter would be fighting his way through Luxembourg and Belgium, and Theo wouldn’t be there to protect him.

Theo could cope with Dieter fighting for his country. He just prayed that his little brother wouldn’t die for it.

27

Police Headquarters, The Hague, 22 November

Conrad was apprehensive about meeting Theo in Holland. Just before leaving England he had received a brief cable from Denmark confirming that Theo would see him in Leiden. At least Theo hadn’t ducked it, which Conrad had half expected him to. On the one hand, Conrad knew he had to confront him. On the other, if Theo really had killed Millie, then he would have no compunction in killing Conrad too. Theo his friend would become Theo his killer. Unthinkable. But Conrad knew he had better think it.

It was a risk Conrad just had to take.

But first he wanted to find out what he could from the Dutch authorities. The man from the British Embassy in The Hague was much less friendly to Conrad than he had been when he had rescued Conrad from his Dutch inquisitors after Venlo. Conrad and his family were trouble. But despite his coolness, the official was still polite and efficient, and had arranged an appointment with the Dutch police inspector who was in charge of the murder investigation, and who might have the authority to start the process of releasing Millie’s body for repatriation to England.

Police headquarters was a suitably solid-looking building not far from the embassy, in Alexanderplein. Conrad was kept waiting for twenty minutes before he was shown into a small office, which reeked of tobacco smoke. The policeman slumped behind his desk was about fifty, short and flabby, with thick tousled iron-grey hair. He was dressed in a baggy suit. He was smoking a cigarette and two full ashtrays scattered ash like post-eruption volcanic craters amid the jumble of files on his desktop.

Conrad was taken aback. The officials he had come across in Holland so far, while not quite Teutonic, had tended to be clean, smart and efficient.

‘Do you speak German?’ he asked the policeman in that language.

The man didn’t get up, but examined Conrad through narrowed eyes. ‘Why would I speak German to an Englishman?’ he said in English, with a heavy Dutch accent. ‘Take a seat.’

Conrad sat in one of two small wooden chairs. It creaked.

‘My name is Conrad de Lancey. I am here to enquire about the murder of my sister, Millicent de Lancey.’

‘I know,’ said the policeman. ‘I suppose you have come to the right place. I am Inspector van Gils, and I am in charge of the investigation.’

‘Good,’ said Conrad, trying a smile. ‘I wonder if you could tell me about her death?’

‘Can you?’ the policeman said, his brown eyes examining Conrad.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Can you tell me anything about your sister’s death? It’s a reasonable question,’ van Gils said. ‘I am supposed to be investigating it after all.’

The bitter emphasis on the word ‘supposed’ was not lost on Conrad. ‘No. I’m afraid I can’t. I know nothing about it.’

Van Gils’s hand darted into the files in front of him and produced a slim one, which he opened. ‘Is it true you were in the Netherlands two weeks ago?’

‘Yes,’ Conrad admitted. He knew his reluctance to answer was obvious to the policeman.

‘And did you visit the little town of Venlo, in the east of our country, on the ninth of November? Take a little tour through the woods? Stop at a little café?’

‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘But I spoke to your colleagues about that.’

‘Not my colleagues. Military intelligence. Believe me, Mr de Lancey, it is not their job to solve murders. But it is mine. Your country and Germany have your war going on, I understand that, but I do not appreciate your use of my town as a substitute for a battlefield, especially when an innocent tourist gets killed. If she was an innocent tourist?’

Conrad didn’t answer.

‘Your sister spoke perfect English and perfect German. She had a French name. As do you, of course. So I suspect neither of you was an innocent tourist. Which is, of course, why you won’t answer my questions. I understand that. What I don’t understand is why I should answer yours.’

‘Actually, I don’t work for the British secret service,’ said Conrad. ‘At least not directly.’

‘So will you answer my questions?’

The policeman had a half-smile on his face. It was clear to Conrad that this was no Dutch military intelligence stooge. Nor was he a Gestapo or Abwehr agent, and he didn’t work for Stevens or the British secret service. He was just a detective trying to do his job, and his job was finding out who killed Millie on his patch.

‘All right,’ said Conrad. He shrugged. ‘Why not?’

The detective’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘I’ll answer your questions now. I won’t sign a statement, and I won’t guarantee that I will testify in a criminal court; somehow I think someone will find a way to stop me, don’t you?’

The detective grunted, stubbed out his cigarette in one of the ashtrays, lit another, and as an afterthought offered Conrad one, which Conrad took. He pulled out a torn notebook.

‘Very well. Take me through what you did since you arrived in Holland on the seventh of November.’

Conrad answered all the detective’s questions. Van Gils’s English was good, although Conrad had to pause from time to time to clarify some of his responses. Conrad realized that he was giving away information that was supposed to be secret, but it was information that he was pretty sure both the British and German intelligence services knew already, as did the Dutch probably. He told van Gils about meeting Theo in Leiden, then about travelling to Venlo with Payne Best, Stevens and Klop, about the kidnapping of the British agents, about his return to Holland to see Theo again, and his travel onwards to Paris to check up on one of Theo’s agents. Van Gils didn’t ask him to be specific about the agent, or about the peace negotiations, and so the issue of plots to overthrow Hitler, real or fake, didn’t come up.

The detective asked some questions about Constance Scott-Dunton: who was she, what was her relationship with Millie, why were they travelling together? Conrad told van Gils what he could, including that Constance was a friend of Sir Henry Alston, who was an ally of his father in the quest for peace with Germany.

Then Conrad asked something himself. ‘Why all these questions? I thought you had evidence that Millie’s killer was Theo von Hertenberg.’

Van Gils snorted. ‘It all depends what you call evidence.’

‘What do you call evidence?’ Conrad asked.

The detective took a pull at his cigarette, examining Conrad. ‘You really don’t know much about all this, do you?’

‘No,’ said Conrad.

‘Well. Firstly, Mrs Scott-Dunton says she saw Hertenberg heading towards the tram stop from the sand dunes a few minutes after she had discovered Millie’s body. She was confident, and seemed to have convinced my military intelligence colleagues, but not me. She might have seen someone who looked a lot like Theo, but she cannot be certain it was him.’

‘But then another witness came forward?’ said Conrad.

‘Yes. A walker says he saw Theo hurrying through the dunes with blood on his hands.’

Conrad’s heart sank. ‘That sounds convincing. Constance told me Theo had arranged to meet Millie in the dunes that morning.’

‘It doesn’t sound convincing to me,’ said the inspector. ‘I haven’t interviewed the walker — I wasn’t allowed to — I just have a copy of his statement.’ Van Gils reached into the file and extracted a sheet of paper. ‘A Mr Frank Donkers. He’s not a local, he’s from Eindhoven. Apparently it was only after he returned home that he heard about the murder and got in touch with us, which explains the delay in coming forward. Or it’s one explanation.’ Van Gils snorted. ‘And that detail about his hands being covered with blood. Really! I think Mr Donkers has been watching too many Shakespeare plays.’

‘You said that’s one explanation. What might another be?’

‘It took them a day or two to manufacture him.’

‘“Them”? Who are “them”?’

‘I don’t know. Our people. Your people. Maybe even the Germans’ people.’

‘But why would they manufacture evidence?’

‘Who knows?’ said van Gils. ‘Perhaps it was just convenient to blame the German secret service, and then diplomatically forget what happened. I don’t know. But I do know that Hertenberg being the murderer does not fit with the one piece of hard evidence we do have.’

‘Which is?’

Van Gils puffed at his cigarette, clearly turning over in his mind whether to pass on to Conrad what he knew.

Conrad waited as the detective stubbed out his old cigarette and lit the fifth of the interview.

‘The knife in your sister’s chest,’ he said at last.

‘It had fingerprints on it?’ Conrad asked.

The inspector shook his head. ‘No, it was wiped clean. But an identical knife had been taken the day before from the kitchens of the Hotel Kurhaus, where both your sister and Mrs Scott-Dunton were staying.’

‘Really?’ said Conrad. ‘Is that why you were asking me about Constance?’

‘Absolutely. It certainly raises questions about her. Did she have a motive? Did she dislike your sister? Was she jealous of Hertenberg? Constance mentioned that Millie and Hertenberg had some kind of romantic attachment.’

Conrad shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. I have no reason to think so. Did you question Constance?’

‘Oh, yes. She denied all knowledge of the knife, which was hardly surprising.’

‘Could someone else have taken the knife from the kitchens?’

‘It seems unlikely that a professional spy like Hertenberg would do that. He would have his own knife, one would think.’

‘Unless he was trying to put blame on Mrs Scott-Dunton?’

Van Gils shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘You must have seen plenty of suspects lie in the past,’ Conrad said. ‘Was Constance lying? Perhaps she never saw Theo after all?’

‘I certainly have,’ said van Gils. ‘But actually, she was quite convincing. She is a strange woman, Mrs Scott-Dunton, very strange. She comes across as a naive, innocent English girl. She is very young, only twenty-three, and yet there is something else there, a kind of suppressed excitement. Passion. Most un-English.’

‘So you couldn’t arrest her?’

Van Gils smiled. ‘No. I couldn’t even keep her in the country. Remember “my colleagues”, as you called them, had informed me they had evidence that Miss de Lancey had been murdered by a German spy. Hertenberg.’

‘And you don’t believe them?’

‘Not one bit. They let her go back to England. The investigation died. Our spies are happy and I suspect yours are too.’

Could it have been Constance? Conrad wondered. There was certainly something distinctly odd about her. But why would she want to kill Millie? That was something Conrad could try to find out back in England, perhaps with Anneliese’s help.

‘There isn’t any chance that they could be right after all? That Theo von Hertenberg murdered her? Did you speak to him?’

‘In theory there is a chance. We did ask to see him at the German Embassy. He wouldn’t cooperate; he invoked diplomatic immunity, unsurprisingly. He was staying at the Hotel du Vieux Doelen in The Hague that evening, and flew to Berlin the following morning from Schiphol Airport. He has been flying back and forth a lot in the last few weeks. No one whom we spoke to, including the hotel staff on duty, saw him leave his hotel early that morning. Just this mysterious Mr Donkers whom I am not allowed to interview. And of course, if Hertenberg never left the hotel, then it implies he never arranged to meet Millie in the dunes in the first place.’

As Conrad considered the detective’s words, a surge of relief flooded through him; he had hated the idea that Theo could have murdered Millie. He much preferred the possibility that Constance had stabbed her. But perhaps that was too much to hope and he was fooling himself.

He would have plenty of questions himself for Theo when they met the following day in Leiden.

‘I have a favour to ask,’ he said.

‘Yes?’ The detective’s eyes narrowed again.

‘Can you arrange for Millie’s body to be sent back to England? I assume you have already performed a post-mortem.’

‘We have,’ said van Gils. ‘It shows what one would expect: your sister died from stab wounds to the chest. But I am sorry. Technically the case is still open and the investigation is continuing, although in practice they expect me to do nothing more. But it means we cannot release the body, at least for now.’ The policeman sounded genuinely regretful.

‘Inspector van Gils. I am sure I have broken lots of rules I don’t even know exist to tell you what I have told you. Can you not do the same for me? It sounds as if your superiors would not be unhappy to see evidence related to this particular investigation leave your country.’

‘You are right about that.’ Van Gils allowed himself a gruff smile. ‘I will see what I can do.’

28

Kensington, London

Alston walked briskly through Kensington Gardens on his way back from a luncheon at the Savoy with Freddie Copthorne, a newspaper proprietor and a general. It was late afternoon, dark, but not yet pitch black, and he could still see his way.

Luncheon had gone well. There was no doubt that Alston was widening his circle of influential admirers, to whom he knew he came across as someone who was sound, reliable yet astute. Not a hothead, but one who would take difficult decisions to do what was best for his country.

He was buoyed by The Times leader of that morning, which had floated the idea of a Cabinet shake-up, perhaps involving the War Office, and named him as one of two or three able men with experience of business as well as Parliament capable of providing an injection of vigour into the government.

It was becoming increasingly clear that in war the normal rules of political advancement didn’t apply. Alston might only have been in Parliament since 1935, and he was barely forty, but he was indeed a man of energy and vigour, and his country needed him. More importantly, he could see things clearly — he always had been able to. For him the issues of the day were unobscured by sentiment or traditional patterns of thought. The world was changing in ways that very few of his colleagues in Parliament understood. Modern Germany pointed to the future; Neville Chamberlain, with his frock coat, winged collar and furled umbrella, tugged Britain back to the past.

When the crisis came — and Alston was sure there was going to be a crisis at some point in the future — Alston wanted to be the one important figures such as the newspaper proprietor and the general turned to. He wasn’t at that point quite yet, but he was getting there.

It wasn’t just luncheon and The Times article that were responsible for lifting Alston’s spirits. Constance had said she would drop round to his flat to report on what had happened in Holland. This would be his first opportunity to see her since she had returned to England; Alston had spent the previous few days at his castle in Berwickshire with his wife and son. Alston was worried about Constance: it must have been shocking to discover Millie’s dead body like that. And he felt very sorry for poor old Arthur Oakford. Who had killed his daughter? he wondered.

Of course, what he really wanted to do with Constance was fuck her. It was less than two weeks since Alston had taken Constance to his bed, or perhaps it was the other way round. That afternoon had been a revelation. Alston had just told his wife he might not get a chance to return to Berwickshire until Christmas, citing important affairs of state in London. But really he just wanted to see Constance. And fuck her.

But he would have to be gentle with her. She would be upset. He would have to be patient, wait until she had recovered her strength.

As he strode down Ennismore Gardens in the near darkness, he saw what seemed to be the silhouette of a woman on the pavement outside his building.

It was her!

She approached him. As he drew closer, he saw that her face was flushed with excitement, rather than grief.

‘You must be cold,’ he said, touching her cheek.

She smiled and pecked him on the lips. In the dark street, no one could see. ‘I am. Can I come in? Perhaps you could warm me up?’

Alston felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he pulled Constance’s naked body close to him. Fucking had been, if anything, wilder than before, as if Constance’s experience in Holland had inflamed some primeval passion. Alston, that paragon of culture, intellect and rational thought, had felt like a caveman.

‘Could you tell I was pleased to see you?’ Constance said, running her hand over his chest.

‘Yes.’ He squeezed her. ‘I was worried in case… Well, in case you were distressed about Millie. Are you going to see her brother?’

‘I’ve seen him. In the Russian Tea Rooms, over the weekend.’

‘How is he?’

‘Rather upset, I’d say.’

‘I’m not surprised. Do they know who killed her?’

‘They think it was Theo von Hertenberg. The German spy. Millie’s friend.’

‘But why would he kill her?’

Constance unhooked herself from Alston’s arm and sat astride him, pinning him down against the bed.

‘He wouldn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because he didn’t kill her.’

‘He didn’t kill her? But you just said he did.’

‘They think he did. But I know who really killed her.’

‘You know?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘Because it was me.’

‘You!’ Alston struggled to sit up, but Constance pushed him down on his back and kissed him. At first he struggled, but then he responded.

She came up for air.

‘Why? How?’ Alston demanded.

‘When I telephoned you from Scheveningen you said I should stop Millie telling anyone what Theo had said about the Duke of Windsor. So I stopped her.’

‘I didn’t say to kill her!’

‘No. But it was pretty clear to me that that was the only way to shut her up, and I had to do it quickly, too, before she had a chance to talk to anyone. I don’t know what exactly is going on with the Duke of Windsor, but it must be desperately important. Isn’t it desperately important?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Alston admitted. ‘So what did you do?’

‘I told her that Theo wanted to meet her out on the dunes before dawn. I sneaked into the hotel kitchens and borrowed a knife. Then I got up even earlier than her, and hid in the bushes in the dunes.’

‘You stabbed her?’

‘Yes. And then I pretended to discover her. I left the knife in her chest, but I wiped the handle clean. To get rid of my fingerprints. And I told the police and the intelligence people that I had seen someone who looked like Theo leaving the dunes. I couldn’t sound too certain about it in case it turned out he could prove he was somewhere else, but it was enough to point them in his direction.’

‘Good God!’ said Alston. He wriggled out of Constance’s grasp and sat up, reaching for a cigarette.

‘Aren’t you pleased with me?’ Constance said, smiling.

‘No, of course I’m not!’ Alston snapped. ‘That’s murder!’

‘No, it’s not,’ said Constance. ‘This is war. People die. In horrible ways.’

‘On the battlefield.’

‘This is as important as the battlefield. More, probably. Millie’s death will have a bigger effect on who wins the war, or how the war ends, than a single soldier on the battlefield. Won’t it?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘But what? I did it for you, Henry.’

‘I didn’t tell you to kill her!’

‘No. But I read today’s Times and I was so proud. You can do it, Henry. You can join the government. And then you can become Prime Minister. Chamberlain is useless. Halifax is a coward. Oakford is a pacifist. Churchill is a warmonger. Mosley has some good ideas, but he’s a snake. You can do it, Henry; you can lead this country to a just peace and a glorious future. With no Jews.’

Alston could tell Constance really believed what she was saying. But she had killed a young woman, a woman her own age. Stabbed her in the chest. How had she done that?

Constance seemed to sense his unspoken question. ‘There are times when you have to act, to take steps. When doing nothing is the wrong thing to do.’

Alston remembered Constance talking about ‘taking steps’ before.

‘Have you killed anyone before, Constance?’

Constance gave a small smile. ‘I couldn’t possibly say.’

‘Who? Not your father?’

‘Of course not my father!’ Anger flashed across Constance’s face. ‘No. Definitely not my father.’

‘Who then?’

‘I can’t say,’ said Constance. ‘But I did the right thing then, and I’ve done the right thing now.’ She knelt naked next to Alston and stared deep into his eyes. ‘Can you forgive me, Henry?’ she said. ‘You have to forgive me.’

Alston’s brain was in turmoil. Millie’s murder horrified him, yet what Constance had done and the reason she had done it exhilarated him. She had ignored the petty constraints of petty English morality to act, to be bold. If ever there was a time for boldness it was now.

Her eyes were deep dark pools of intensity.

She put her hand between his legs. ‘Forgive me, Henry.’

29

Leiden, 23 November

Kriminalkommissar Wilhelm Neuser approached the porter’s lodge of the old Academy building in Leiden. It was just a few minutes past nine o’clock in the morning. He was a short, barrel-chested young man dressed in a scruffy overcoat, and had donned some clear-lensed spectacles. He spoke to the porter in slow, clear German.

‘Dr Fuhrmann of the University of Hamburg to meet Professor Hogendoorn.’ He handed the porter a passport bearing his photograph in the name of Dr Heinrich Fuhrmann. After some head-scratching and telephoning on the part of the porter, a man with a thick grey moustache appeared and introduced himself as the professor. He led Neuser up the stairs of the Academy building.

And then up some more stairs. And then up a steep spiral staircase and through a heavy oak door, which the professor unlocked.

They were in the attic of the old building. It was a large space, framed with a network of thick wooden beams; it was clear in the middle, but around the walls was stacked a jumble of ancient academic detritus: boxes, chairs, desks, boards, group photographs, even a couple of sculls. Thin grey light filtered in through narrow windows.

The professor switched on an electric light. ‘I plan to take Lieutenant von Hertenberg up here to meet de Lancey,’ he said in good German. ‘From their point of view it should feel safe; they are out of view and earshot of passers-by. But it is easy for you to hide somewhere and listen.’ The professor gave a little laugh.

Neuser scanned the attic. ‘This will work very well,’ he said.

‘I had my suspicions about Lieutenant von Hertenberg,’ the professor said. ‘And the Englishman he saw last time.’

‘You were quite right to warn us,’ Neuser said. ‘This meeting is unauthorized. I will listen to what they have to say, and if Hertenberg is indeed a traitor, I will tell my superiors back in Germany and he will be dealt with.’

‘And my part in this will be kept quiet, I trust?’ the professor said.

‘Naturally. Although I will make sure that when our two countries become closer, your loyalty to the Party will be remembered.’

Professor Hogendoorn giggled unnecessarily. ‘They won’t be here for another two hours. With all the comings and goings, no one will be surprised if the porter doesn’t remember seeing you leave, and a new man will come on duty at lunchtime. Probably best if you don’t go until after that. I’ll come up and fetch you about two o’clock.’

Neuser shifted some tea chests around near the entrance to the attic, and created a little nest for himself, from where he should be able to hear any conversation. He had been selected for the task because he spoke English, although his command of that language was not very strong and he was hoping that Hertenberg and de Lancey would speak in German.

He pulled out his weapon and fixed a silencer. He distrusted silencers, they were never really silent and they hampered accuracy. But it was unlikely that even if the students and professors below heard two muffled shots they would identify them as such. And accuracy shouldn’t be a problem at a range of two metres.

Neuser turned off the light, made himself comfortable and waited in the gloom.

Conrad strode rapidly from the station at Leiden to the Rapenburg Canal. He hoped the cynical Dutch detective was right about the evidence against Theo being fabricated. But who would do that and why? Conrad knew, because he had seen it, that although Holland was neutral, Dutch military intelligence had contact with their British counterparts. Maybe they were just trying to smooth over a tricky diplomatic incident. Or maybe they knew who really had killed Millie and were trying to cover it up. Why would they do that? Did Van know what had really happened? Did his father?

But Conrad knew he should guard against being complacent. There was still a chance that Van was correct, and that Theo had stabbed Millie, in which case there was also a chance, a good chance, that he might try to kill Conrad too. Conrad would just have to take that risk and keep his wits about him. Second-guessing the spies would never give Conrad the answers he needed; he had to speak to Theo face to face to do that. Only by knowing for sure whether Theo had killed his sister could he begin to make any sense of this damned war and his place in it.

Conrad slowed as he approached the Academy building and strolled past the gates, before turning abruptly and looking behind him. He didn’t think he was being followed, but he couldn’t really be certain. He hadn’t spotted any middle-aged men in raincoats and hats on his tail, but the place was buzzing with students on bicycles and he couldn’t keep track of all of them.

Theo would probably have some scheme planned to shake a tail. Perhaps another walk in the Botanical Gardens.

But this time Professor Hogendoorn led Conrad up a spiral staircase within the Academy building itself. ‘I thought this would be a good safe place for your conversation,’ said the professor as he opened a heavy door at the top of the stairs. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Conrad pushed open the door to reveal Theo waiting for him, standing alone in the middle of a large attic. A thin shaft of sunlight from one of the windows brushed his pale face.

He was unarmed, as far as Conrad could see.

‘Hello, Conrad,’ Theo said in English.

Conrad ignored the greeting. ‘Millie’s dead,’ he said in German.

‘I know,’ said Theo. ‘And I’m sorry for you.’

Conrad let the words hang there for a moment.

‘Did you kill her? Dutch intelligence thinks you killed her.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Theo said. ‘Why do they think that?’

‘Constance Scott-Dunton says she saw someone who looked like you walking away from where she found Millie’s body. And then a walker saw you coming out of the dunes wiping blood off your hands.’ Even as he said it, Conrad was reminded of van Gils’s line about Shakespeare. But he couldn’t just choose to agree with van Gils’s claim that Theo was innocent. He needed to know.

‘That’s crazy. You can’t believe that, surely? That I would kill Millie?’

‘Prove to me you didn’t.’

‘I didn’t leave my hotel until about nine when I went straight to Schiphol to fly back to Germany.’

‘So you never asked Millie to meet you in the dunes that morning?’

‘Who said I did?’

‘Constance.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Can you prove it?’

‘Of course I can’t prove it, Conrad! You have to take my word for it. There is too much going on now for you not to trust me. We’ve been through so much together, we can’t afford not to trust each other. Besides…’

‘Besides what?’

‘I could never kill Millie. I… I liked her. I liked her a lot.’

Conrad studied Theo. His friend. ‘All right. But tell me why.’

‘Why is she dead? I don’t know.’

‘Why were you seeing her? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see her? Why did you allow her to be caught up in my father’s stupid schemes? Why did you use her? Why didn’t you look after her, for God’s sake?’

Theo put his finger to his lips, and it was only then that Conrad realized he had raised his voice.

‘I owe you an explanation,’ said Theo.

‘You certainly do.’

Theo pulled out a cigarette from his case and lit it. The tip glowed in the gloom. Then he told Conrad about how he and Millie had met in Switzerland in the spring, and how they had arranged to meet again in Scheveningen, using the same Danish intermediary as Theo had used with Conrad.

‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this?’ Conrad protested. ‘You saw me at the same time. Was it the same day?’

‘The day after. And I didn’t tell you because Millie asked me not to. She said you wouldn’t approve of what she and your father were doing. Knowing you, that didn’t surprise me.’

‘But didn’t you consider you were betraying me?’

‘I didn’t like doing what I was doing, but it wasn’t up to me. If the coup had gone ahead, then the new German government would have needed a channel to speak to the British government right away.’

‘Was there ever really going to be a coup? And what happened to that offensive you told me about? Germany and Holland should have been at war for a week by now.’

‘The offensive was called off. Bad weather. And so was the coup. Cowardice on the part of the generals.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Conrad said.

‘I’m telling you the truth, Conrad,’ Theo said, weariness touching his voice. ‘You deserve that. Whether you believe me or not is entirely up to you.’

‘So what happened to Millie? Who killed her?’

‘I don’t know.’ Theo paused. ‘I had seen her that afternoon, in Scheveningen. It had come to my attention that it wasn’t only me that she was seeing in Holland. She also met a man called Otto Langebrück.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s a crony of Ribbentrop. Used to live in Paris. He’s clever and he’s a Nazi.’

‘Why was she seeing him?’

‘She, and her little friend Constance, were negotiating with Ribbentrop as well. Or in other words with Hitler.’

Conrad glared at Theo. He could feel the fury building up within him, and it was all he could do to prevent it from erupting. It wasn’t just Theo who was betraying him, it was his father, and for that matter Millie. They were all talking to Hitler’s regime. And it was his father’s fault. His father, the supposedly sophisticated ex-government minister, had been a fool — an utter, total, complete fool! ‘No wonder they didn’t want to tell me where they were going!’

‘If it makes any difference, I think it was Constance who was responsible for talking to Langebrück. Constance and Sir Henry Alston.’

‘But my father knew all about it, didn’t he?’ Conrad said.

Theo shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I assume so.’

Conrad’s mind was whirling. He wanted to slug Theo. And then he wanted to fly back to England and slug his father too. But this might be his only opportunity to speak to Theo about his sister’s death and he wanted to make the most of it.

‘Do you think Langebrück might have killed Millie? Or was it the Gestapo?’

‘Possibly,’ said Theo. ‘But I don’t know why they would. It could be the British secret service.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Conrad protested. ‘Why would they do that?’

‘I don’t know. To stop Lord Oakford’s discussions with the enemy?’

Theo was suggesting that his father was a traitor and that his own country would murder his sister. It was outrageous. But possibly true. It would explain why the secret service would manufacture a witness to place Theo in the sand dunes. Conrad was convinced now that van Gils was right to doubt their evidence. But that was about all Conrad was convinced of.

Theo could sense Conrad’s distress. ‘I repeat, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I was fond of Millie, very fond of her.’ Theo swallowed. ‘I’m sorry I let her die; I don’t know how it happened. I’d like to know.’

‘The Dutch police think Constance killed her,’ said Conrad. ‘Or at least the man in charge of their investigation thinks so. Millie was stabbed with a knife taken from the kitchens of their hotel. He thinks Constance was the most likely person to have taken it.’

‘Have they arrested her?’

‘Oh, no. Dutch military intelligence sent her back to Britain. Remember they claimed you killed her, whatever the policeman in charge of the investigation thinks.’

‘But why would Constance want to kill Millie?’

‘The police inspector has no idea. He suggested that Constance might have been jealous of the relationship between you and Millie.’

‘It’s not that,’ said Theo.

Conrad was about to question Theo’s denial, but he kept quiet. Theo seemed distracted, as though he was thinking, weighing something up.

There was silence in the attic. The two men were still standing several feet apart, but for the first time Conrad felt closer to Theo, to his friend. He waited.

Eventually Theo spoke. ‘In that letter you wrote to me at the beginning of the war, you reminded me how at Oxford we swore we wouldn’t let anyone make us fight each other as they had made our parents fight last time. How we owed our allegiance to the human race, not to our country. How it seemed so simple then.’

Conrad nodded. He remembered. ‘Algy.’

Algernon Pemberton was the man who had inhabited Conrad’s rooms in 1914 and died at Ypres in 1915. His name was on a wooden plaque on the wall; Conrad and Theo had talked about the doomed undergraduate many times.

‘Then it turned out not to be so simple for either of us,’ Theo went on. ‘You decided to fight for socialism, or at least against Fascism, in Spain. I became involved in trying to rid my country of a madman. You helped me. And now I am fighting for my country and you for yours.’

Conrad wanted to interrupt, to point out that he was fighting as much against Hitler as for Britain, but he kept quiet. He knew what Theo was saying was important to him, and he didn’t want to interrupt his flow.

‘Well, you would think that as a German officer fighting for my country, I would want my country to win this war. But I’m not sure I do. If Germany smashes France, Hitler’s control of power will be total. The only people left who can stand up to Hitler are the generals, and if they achieve a great victory in France, they won’t do it. You can see how success in Poland has gone to their heads. If Hitler maintains his control of Germany, that will be disastrous. A thousand years of darkness.

‘So, as a good German, as a good German officer, as one of those von Hertenbergs who has served his country for generations, I do not want a successful blitzkrieg in the west. Can you understand that?’

‘I can understand that,’ said Conrad.

‘Good,’ said Theo. ‘That’s why I told Millie something when I saw her in Scheveningen. That’s why I told you about Bedaux. Did you look in to him?’

‘I went to Paris. I discovered he has been talking to the Duke of Windsor. I discovered the duke has been inspecting the French lines. I guessed that Bedaux has been telling you about it.’

Theo smiled. ‘Well done. Did you tell your government?’

‘I did,’ said Conrad.

‘Did they listen?’

‘I think so. I’m not sure. The Duke of Windsor is a tricky subject.’

‘All right, then. Let me tell you some more. The duke is no fool, it turns out, at least when it comes to military matters. He has identified a significant weakness in the French line, in the Ardennes around Sedan. He has also made clear that the most powerful French forces have been earmarked to push northwards into north-west Belgium when we invade, which we will do, by the way. Now the German general staff knows these weaknesses, they will be able to alter their plans to take advantage of them.’

‘Bedaux told you all this?’

‘He did. Also…’ Theo hesitated. Conrad waited. ‘Also there are people in the Nazi Party who believe that the Duke of Windsor would make an excellent leader of a British government that was sympathetic to Germany. That he is a man that Germany could do business with.’

‘People? What kind of people?’

‘Ribbentrop. Hitler.’

‘I see. And do you know what the duke thinks about this?’

‘That’s a good question,’ Theo said. ‘The truth is we don’t. According to Ribbentrop, the duchess would like it and the duke does whatever his wife wants. But Ribbentrop is not nearly as astute a judge of the British as he thinks he is. Do you know?’

‘No idea,’ said Conrad. ‘Frankly, it’s hard to believe that a man who was king only a couple of years ago would behave in the way you have described.’

‘Believe it,’ said Theo. ‘And tell your government.’

‘I will,’ said Conrad. He swallowed. The information Theo had just given him would shatter the people who ruled Britain. Van would have to take notice. The government would. So would the present king, George. It seemed so fantastic, could it possibly be true?

Conrad now realized why Theo had taken the time to explain why he was telling him about the duke. To convince him that he was speaking the truth. And Conrad was convinced.

‘Good,’ said Theo. ‘Now you had better be going. You leave first. Don’t look for the professor, just go straight down the stairs and out of the building. I will wait and follow you.’

He held out his hand to Conrad.

Squatting behind a tea chest only three metres from the two men, Neuser had heard and understood every word, since they were fortunately speaking in German. He was astounded. He only hoped he could remember it all.

It was absolutely clear that Hertenberg was a traitor. The slight qualm Neuser had felt when first ordered to kill a fellow officer was gone. Hertenberg had to die. They both had to die.

He was glad he had waited to hear so much of the conversation, but now it was time to move. He risked a peek from behind the chest, and saw the Englishman moving towards his German friend, hand outstretched. Neuser ducked back behind the chest and raised his pistol, ready to act.

Just before Theo shook his outstretched hand, Conrad noticed a flicker of movement in the glass of a framed photograph behind his friend. Then it was gone. In the reflection he could see his own legs and the fuzzy silhouette of the tea chests behind him. Something thin and rounded briefly appeared above the tea chest and then it too was gone.

Was that the barrel of a gun?

Possibly. Possibly not.

He would take no chances.

Theo let go of Conrad’s hand. Conrad had lost track of what Theo was saying.

‘Conrad?’

He had to play for time. Give himself time to think. Toss something to make whoever was behind the tea chest pause and listen.

‘Göring,’ he said.

‘Göring?’ said Theo, puzzled.

In similar situations when dealing with Nazis in Berlin the year before, Conrad had alighted upon Göring as the perfect name to intrigue and confuse them. The fat Luftwaffe chief was one of Hitler’s oldest allies, but he had his own power base and the SS did not trust him.

‘I should have told you before. About Göring.’

‘What about Göring?’

Good question, Theo, Conrad thought. ‘I’ve got a message I need to show you. Van gave it to me in London.’ Conrad put his hand in his jacket pocket. There was nothing there. ‘But we’ll need a little more light.’

It was gloomy in the attic.

‘That’s all right. I’m sure I can read it,’ said Theo, holding out his hand for the non-existent message.

Conrad ignored him and turned away back towards the door and the light switch. He was now facing the tea chests. He couldn’t see any sign of anyone lurking, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t there.

When he reached the door he yelled: ‘Down, Theo!’ and dived at the tea chests.

There was a cry, and a muffled crack. Conrad found himself on top of the legs of a man holding a pistol with an attached silencer pointing towards Theo. Conrad stretched out and struck the man’s elbow as he pulled the trigger for a second time. Both shots seemed to have missed Theo.

The man struggled to his feet and turned to face Conrad, bringing his gun around in a wide arc. He was short, almost completely bald, broad-shouldered and tough. Conrad dived at him again, hitting him full in the chest, and the gun was sent spinning. The man writhed and wriggled and broke free of Conrad’s grasp. He scrambled to his feet.

‘Freeze!’

It was Theo. He had the gun and he was pointing it at the man.

The man froze.

‘Kill him, Theo,’ said Conrad.

‘We don’t know who he is,’ said Theo. ‘Who are you?’

The bald man didn’t reply.

‘Kill him!’ said Conrad. ‘Doesn’t matter who he is. You know what he heard. Pull the damn trigger!’

The man’s eyes were wide. He turned and ran, away from Theo deep into the attic.

‘Shoot him, Theo!’ Conrad shouted and then set off after the killer. Whether because Theo had doubts who the man was, or was struck by indecision, or just hadn’t fired a gun in anger before, there was no shot.

A short flight of wooden steps led up to a small door. The bald man leaped up the stairs, threw open the door and climbed outside on to the roof. Conrad followed him.

The Academy roof had a double gable with a valley in the middle, on to which the door opened. The bald man slid down a couple of feet and then into the bottom of the valley, which consisted of two feet of lead where the two roofs met. He turned, saw Conrad following him, and set off along the valley.

But there was nowhere to go. Beyond the end of roof was air. The building was one of the highest in Leiden, and Conrad could see countryside, windmills and, beyond that, the North Sea.

Conrad slowed, ready for a fight. The bald man stopped and faced him. Conrad was tall, but the other man had muscles and looked like he knew what to do with them.

Theo emerged from the doorway on to the roof and took aim with the pistol. The bald man saw him and launched himself at the roof, clambering up it crabwise, sending slates clattering. This time Theo let off a couple of shots, but he missed. The angle was difficult and the silencer didn’t help accuracy.

Conrad set off up the slope of the roof after the bald man. He got into a rhythm and was gaining. At that point, a slip wouldn’t be fatal: he would just end up back in the valley.

But the bald man reached the ridge of the roof before Conrad. Gingerly he stood upright and began walking back towards the bell tower.

Conrad hauled himself up on to the ridge. The ridge was narrow, perhaps two inches wide, and it was a long way down on the outer side. Now a slip in that direction would be fatal. The Academy building was high, at least sixty feet, and there was nothing to break a fall down to the street below.

Conrad stood upright. He had done some mountain climbing in Switzerland and Scotland with his older brother Edward when he was a boy, so he had a good head for heights, but nevertheless it was difficult not to look down.

He saw there was a small door in the side of the bell tower leading out on to the roof. The man was heading for it, stepping gingerly, arms outstretched for better balance. If the door was unlocked he would be through it and away. Given what the man had overheard, Conrad and Theo would be in big trouble, Theo especially.

Conrad couldn’t let him get away.

So he began to run slowly along the ridge. The speed gave him some balance, although he wasn’t quite sure how he would eventually slow down. He also wasn’t sure what he would do if he caught up with the man — perhaps drag him off to the left down into the valley where Theo had his pistol?

He didn’t look down, just kept his eyes looking steadily forward.

The man turned. Saw Conrad jogging towards him. Lengthened his steps into strides, and then he too broke into a run.

And slipped. The wrong way.

With a cry he slid down the roof, rolled twice, and then bounced into the air and fell out of sight. If he made a thud when he hit the ground, Conrad didn’t hear it, but he did hear the shouts of passers-by.

Conrad almost lost his own balance as he watched the body fall. He carried on running until he reached the bell tower and grabbed hold of the door handle for support. He twisted it; it was unlocked and opened inside on to a ladder.

He scrambled down it into the attic and then back to the other doorway leading out into the roof valley. He beckoned to Theo.

‘Time to go!’

30

The Dorchester Hotel, Park Lane, London

‘Cheers, Henry!’

They were at the bar. Freddie Copthorne raised his glass and gulped his beer and Alston sipped his pink gin. It irritated Alston that Freddie insisted on drinking beer in the most inappropriate of places. All right, his family’s fortune was based on the stuff, but Freddie’s loyalties seemed to stretch to any old brew.

‘Do you think we will hear back from Herr Langebrück?’ he asked.

‘I expect so, somehow or other,’ said Alston. ‘The important thing is that Rib knows we are ready to talk. It’s a shame Constance couldn’t have stayed longer in Holland to get a reply.’

‘I can’t get over what happened to Millie de Lancey,’ Copthorne said. ‘Poor old Oakford.’

Alston didn’t answer. He too couldn’t get over what had happened to the de Lancey girl, but for very different reasons. Of course it was a shame that she had had to die, but he had come to realize that Constance was absolutely right: the girl was a war casualty, and when you thought about it, she was a casualty for the enemy. Alston was on the side of peace and sanity. Millie de Lancey had declared herself to be on the side of war.

Alston would have liked to explain all that to his friend, but he couldn’t. Freddie wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have the balls.

Whereas he, Alston, did have balls. He suppressed a smile.

‘Sir Henry! Lord Copthorne! It’s great to see you!’

The French-tinged American accent was instantly recognizable. The two men turned to see Charles Bedaux holding out his hand. He looked like a spruced-up boxer, Alston thought. His face was battered, his ears verged on the cauliflower, but his thick dark hair was brushed back with brilliantine and he was wearing a smartly buttoned double-breasted blazer and two-toned brogues. Not exactly the way one would dress in the dining room of a City merchant bank, but Bedaux was certainly not a City merchant banker. Alston smiled and shook the American’s hand.

‘Do you mind if we go straight in to lunch?’ Bedaux said. ‘I’m not in the country for long, and I have a lot to do.’

‘Of course not,’ said Alston. Some might have found Bedaux’s direct manner rude, but Alston liked it. The man had energy, and energy was good. It got things done. And it was Bedaux who had asked to see Alston. They knew each other from mutual business acquaintances before the war. There were quite a few British firms who used the Bedaux System in their factories and Gurney Kroheim’s money to finance them.

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 seen 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.’

Conrad smiled. ‘She liked Millie.’

‘She’s in the drawing room,’ said Lady Oakford. ‘I think she has things she wants to tell you. I’ll leave you alone.’

Conrad went into the drawing room where Anneliese was curled up on a sofa by the window. It was a shock to see her, in his own house, looking so delectable. She was wearing a skirt and green blouse Conrad recognized from their days in Berlin; it brought back all those days, and nights, spent together. She smiled brightly when she saw him, a warm, amused smile at once familiar and yet unseen during the past year.

‘Any luck?’ she asked.

‘I hope so,’ said Conrad. ‘We’ll see. At least I know now that Theo didn’t kill Millie.’

‘I’m so glad to hear that,’ she said. ‘As must you be.’

Conrad moved towards the drinks tray. ‘I really need a drink. Do you want one?’

‘Why not? A gin and It, please.’

Conrad poured her one, and himself a whisky and soda. He wanted to sit on the sofa next to Anneliese, but decided she might prefer some distance, and so took an armchair.

‘I’ve been busy too,’ said Anneliese. ‘I’ve visited the Russian Tea Rooms. Twice.’

‘Did you meet Constance Scott-Dunton?’

‘I did the second time. The first time I went was Tuesday. I spoke to a girl called Marjorie Copthorne. I told her I was a German, that I was living here with my family, and that I was stuck in this country because of the war. I made out I was a committed Nazi and I had heard that the Tea Rooms had English people who were sympathetic to modern Germany. So I had come there to meet some of them. Marjorie had all sorts of questions about Germany, which of course I could answer.’

‘Did she believe you?’

‘She did. But then a Russian woman sat with us. Her name was Anna Wolkoff; she is the daughter of the owner. She asked me right away if I was Jewish; she claimed I looked Jewish. She said that she had become an expert in Russia at identifying Jews.’

Anneliese didn’t look particularly Jewish to Conrad, but then he had never set himself up as an expert on racial matters. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said my father was an atheist who was racially Jewish, but my mother was Christian and so was I. I told them I hated my father for running away from our country, and I wanted to return to Germany, but my parents insisted I work in London to pay for their keep. I was planning to return anyway, if the German authorities would let me back in, when the war broke out.’

Conrad raised his eyebrows. Like all good lies, the story had an element of truth to it, but knowing Anneliese, she must have found it painful to publicly denounce her father, for whom she had done so much.

‘I know,’ said Anneliese, noticing Conrad’s reaction. ‘I didn’t like it. But I almost convinced Anna and I definitely convinced Marjorie. So I decided to have another go. I returned to the Tea Rooms last night, and this time I met Constance Scott-Dunton.’

‘What did you think of her?’

‘You are right, she is queer. I mean, she is lively and friendly, but she has such intense dark eyes, they unsettle me. She seemed to like my stories of modern Berlin. Then Anna Wolkoff arrived again, with a good-looking American man named Kent, I think. She was clearly still suspicious of me.’

‘I assume Constance didn’t tell you about her trip to Holland?’ Conrad asked. Even Anneliese couldn’t get that out of a stranger on first meeting.

‘No. But I did talk to her about Henry Alston and Captain Maule Ramsay. I had read back copies of the newspapers in the Golders Green Library with my father to learn something about their backgrounds. It turns out that Marjorie is the niece of a good friend of Alston, and that she introduced Constance to him. Constance seems to think that Alston is a great man. It was almost as if she was in love with him, although he has a terribly damaged face, doesn’t he?’

‘He does,’ said Conrad. ‘Attacked by a lion in Africa, I believe. He’s clever; my father has always had a great deal of respect for him. They are both directors of Gurney Kroheim.’

‘From what Constance says, Alston is a strong supporter of Germany. As is the other one, Captain Maule Ramsay, although he is much more blatant about it. I said how pleased I was to hear that some British politicians had sensible views.’ Anneliese shuddered. ‘I think she likes me.’

‘The policeman I met in The Hague thinks she might have murdered Millie.’

‘Really?’ Anneliese eyes opened wide. ‘Does he have proof?’

‘Some. Not enough. The knife that was used to stab Millie was taken from the kitchen of the hotel she and Constance were staying in. Also, it appears Constance lied to Millie about Theo wanting to meet her in the sand dunes. And the policeman thinks she lied to him about seeing Theo leaving the scene of the murder.’

‘Sounds pretty clear evidence to me,’ said Anneliese. ‘Why didn’t he arrest her?’

‘He was told to send her back to England. Dutch intelligence are convinced Theo killed her. Or at least that’s what they say.’

‘Did the policeman have any idea why she would want to kill Millie?’

‘No. And that’s the key question. Perhaps you can find out?’

‘Perhaps I can.’ Anneliese frowned. ‘It’s strange to see Nazis again. Oh, I know they might not strictly speaking be Nazis, but it reminded me of the attitude of so many Germans. It’s odd how a hatred of the Jews seems to nourish people like that. It’s almost as if they thrive on it; they feed off hatred to sustain their political views, give them some shape.’

‘I’m sorry you had to pretend to think like them,’ said Conrad.

‘That’s all right,’ said Anneliese. ‘I mean, it is a vile way to think, or even to pretend to think, but it feels good to be able to do something to stop those people. It’s better standing up to them, even claiming to be one of them, than denying that they exist or that they matter.’

‘You don’t have to see them again if you can’t face it,’ said Conrad.

‘You want to find out what happened to Millie and you think Constance knows?’

‘That’s right,’ said Conrad.

‘Well, in that case I will get her to tell me. It might take a while, but she will trust me eventually.’

‘Thank you,’ said Conrad, smiling. ‘Here — take some money. You might need it if you are hanging around there trying to make friends.’ He pulled a couple of notes out of his wallet.

Anneliese hesitated but she took the money. She didn’t have any, Conrad was right that she would need some, and there was no point in pretending otherwise.

‘And thank you for whatever you said to my mother,’ Conrad said. ‘She was in a bad way. You have cheered her up.’

‘I like her,’ said Anneliese. ‘And I do feel so sorry for her.’ She got to her feet. ‘Now, I must be going back to Hampstead.’ She said it firmly, as if she didn’t want to be contradicted.

Conrad was tempted to contradict her. He would much rather take Anneliese to the cinema and have supper with her somewhere than face his own family. She seemed different this evening, different than she had seemed for months, really since she had arrived in England. But perhaps his father was right. Conrad didn’t want to risk breaking her new-found confidence. He should back off, and wait for her to come to him when she was ready.

So he let her go.

32

The Tiergarten, Berlin, 24 November

Admiral Canaris rode in the Tiergarten almost every morning, sometimes alone, sometimes with his fellow Abwehr officers, and sometimes, like that morning, with SS Sturmbannführer Walter Schellenberg.

The two men knew each other well. Like Heydrich, they lived in the wooded Schlachtensee suburb of Berlin, and they had met socially through the Gestapo chief. As effective head of the new foreign-intelligence branch of the Gestapo, Schellenberg was a rival. Although at that point much smaller than the Abwehr, Canaris knew Schellenberg’s nascent organization was bound to grow rapidly given the ambitions of his bosses Heydrich and Himmler. But rather than make an enemy of his rival, Canaris treated the younger, junior officer as a friend, something Schellenberg appreciated.

The Tiergarten had originally been preserved as a hunting forest, and in parts of its wooded heart, in the cold foggy murk of a November dawn, it still felt like one. Except one stumbled across occasional statues of dead composers rather than the odd hind or stag. Here one could think, away from the hubbub of Berlin traffic or War Ministry gossip. Here one could talk.

‘Walter, one of my top agents had an unpleasant experience in Holland yesterday morning.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. He’s an Englishman. Actually he is half-German. Conrad de Lancey. Do you know of him?’

‘I’ve seen his file,’ said Schellenberg. ‘There wasn’t much in it.’

Canaris laughed. ‘No, I suspect there wasn’t. There was some unpleasant business with de Lancey last year involving documents relating to your chief’s ancestry. I didn’t believe any of it, of course, and I am not going to discuss specifics.’

‘Please don’t.’ The last thing Schellenberg wanted to be told was that Reinhard Heydrich was part Jewish.

‘We had some difficulties with de Lancey last year, of which Reinhard is well aware, and we dropped him. But when war broke out one of our officers reactivated him. If we manage him correctly, he could become a valuable source of information for us.’

‘I see.’

‘And now we come to the unpleasant experience. Our officer, Lieutenant Hertenberg, met de Lancey in Leiden yesterday. Afterwards, de Lancey was attacked by a man with a gun. De Lancey is a resourceful fellow and managed to overcome his attacker and kill him. Chased him off the roof of a university building, I believe. Our embassy in The Hague has been informed by the Dutch police that the man’s identification suggests he was a Dr Heinrich Fuhrmann from the University of Hamburg. They are saying it was suicide: he jumped. Needless to say there is no such man on the university faculty.’

‘I see,’ said Schellenberg quietly. ‘Could this Dr Fuhrmann be a British agent?’

‘Possibly,’ said Canaris. ‘Although it had occurred to us that he might have been working for you. No need to answer that, Walter. It would be perfectly understandable if given de Lancey’s activities last year you had assumed he was an enemy agent.’

‘And you are telling me de Lancey is one of yours?’

‘Yes. He is a bit of a loose cannon, but he is our loose cannon. And please reassure Reinhard that he hasn’t divulged any of the information he uncovered, or claims to have uncovered, about Reinhard’s family history last year. Which is a good thing, because I am sure he made it all up anyway.’

‘I understand,’ said Schellenberg. ‘I’ll pass that on.’ And he would, faithfully. He suspected that the sly admiral had outfoxed Heydrich on this one. Leave de Lancey alone and no nasty rumours about Jewish ancestors would emerge. That should work. And, frankly, that was fine with Schellenberg. He still had his hands full with Payne Best, Stevens, and the man who had planted the Munich beer hall bomb, Georg Elser, who was giving every indication of being the demented loner he claimed.

They emerged from the dark woods into an open green space, shrouded in grey curtains of fog.

‘Come on, Walter!’ called Canaris as he urged his horse into a canter. Schellenberg followed him into the bank of mist.

Mayfair, London

‘Why are we here, Freddie?’

Here was Erskine’s, a club on a side street in Mayfair. Freddie Copthorne was a member, but Alston had hardly ever been there. It was a bit young, a bit chaotic for him. And now Freddie had asked to meet him there for a drink.

Alston’s doubts about Freddie were increasing. He liked the man, everybody liked Freddie, and as a result his contacts among those British nobility who were suspicious of war were excellent, especially the younger ones such as Lord Brocket and Lord Tavistock. But Alston’s reputation was quietly rising in both Houses of Parliament. He didn’t really need Freddie anymore.

They were in the club’s tiny library — it wasn’t the sort of club where one went to read — and they were alone with a pink gin and a glass of beer.

‘I want to talk to you, Henry, and I wanted neutral territory on which to do it.’

‘This is hardly neutral territory. I’d say you were playing at home.’

Freddie ignored him. ‘Ever since we met that man Bedaux, I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yes?’ Alston refrained from warning Freddie against doing anything so dangerous.

‘I have concerns about what he was suggesting. About what we are doing.’

‘Concerns about stopping a world war?’

‘No. But concerns about how we do it.’

‘We’ve been through this before, Freddie. It’s perfectly clear. If the present government won’t make peace then we need a new government. The logic is inescapable.’

‘Yes. But do we need a new king?’

‘We need a government that Hitler will talk to. That may mean a new king.’

‘But should we really be talking to Hitler’s people now? Should we be talking to someone as shady as Charles Bedaux?’

‘Yes, Freddie, we should.’ Alston fought to control his impatience. ‘Because that’s the only way we will get peace.’

‘I’ve thought about it long and hard, Henry, and I think it’s treason.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘My loyalty is to my king, who is George VI, and to my country, which is at war with Germany.’

‘But you have to look more deeply than that, Freddie,’ Henry said. ‘Nothing is straightforward—’

Copthorne held up his hand. ‘Yes, it is. That’s my point. It is straightforward. I’ve been bamboozled by your ingenious arguments, Henry, and I’ve lost track of what is really important, which is beating the Hun. And serving my king.’

Alston didn’t like the look in Freddie’s eye; he had never seen such determination in his friend before. Alston’s instinct was it was dangerous. Time to drop him.

He leaned back in his armchair. ‘All right, Freddie. I understand. Perhaps we should leave you out of these discussions. You and I can meet socially, of course — I’d like to continue to do that — but I will ensure that you remain in the dark about what I am doing.’

‘No, Henry, it’s not that simple,’ Freddie said.

Alston smiled. ‘I thought you just said you liked things simple.’

Freddie took no notice of the dig. ‘You see, if I am right and what we have been discussing is treason, it should stop.’

‘Stop?’

‘Yes. I’m not suggesting that we should stop agitating for peace. But we shouldn’t negotiate with the German government behind our own government’s back. And we shouldn’t even mention the Duke of Windsor becoming king.’

Alston held Freddie’s gaze. He was deadly serious. But Alston was not going to be threatened by Freddie Copthorne. ‘No. I’m sorry, Freddie, but no. I will not abandon this country’s best hopes for peace because of your illogical scruples.’

‘If you don’t, Henry, then I shall be duty-bound to inform the authorities what we have been doing. What you have been doing.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘I don’t know. I’m trying to tell you I’m not playing games. I will not be party to treason. And if I see treason I will stop it. I know right from wrong, and I know my duty.’

Lord Copthorne was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, his gaze unflinching. Alston could see he had chosen the role of stubborn Englishman and he was going to stick with it.

Alston knew that in his own way, Freddie was incorruptible. He had his principles and he kept to them. Until that moment his principle had been to support an alliance between Britain and Germany. But now he had dredged up what was for him a more important principle.

‘Whom will you inform?’

‘Winston.’

‘Winston! But he’s the worst of the warmongers. He’ll make a meal of this and scupper any chance of us bringing in a more sensible government.’

‘Exactly. That’s why I would talk to him.’

That wasn’t so stupid. Other more obvious people that Freddie might have chosen to speak to could have been persuaded to keep quiet by Alston or his friends. But not Winston Churchill. After years out of office, he had been brought into Cabinet as First Lord of the Admiralty at the beginning of the war. He was by no means the most senior member of the government, but he was the noisiest and the most energetic. And the one least likely to be swayed by Alston.

‘Well?’ said Freddie.

‘Well what?’

‘Are you going to agree not to negotiate secretly with the German government? Will you rule out bringing in the Duke of Windsor as king?’

‘No, I bloody well won’t, Freddie. Don’t be such a damned idiot. This is much bigger than your scruples. This is history we are talking about.’

‘I know,’ said Freddie. ‘And that is why I shall speak to Winston tomorrow unless you give me the assurance I ask for.’

‘Bugger off, Freddie,’ Alston said, slamming his glass on the table. Usually good at controlling his temper, he was furious. He stormed out of the little library, grabbed his coat from the cloakroom and headed out into the night. Unusually, he had driven to Mayfair: he had dropped Constance off at her aunt’s house in Dulwich before meeting Freddie.

He sat behind the wheel and seethed. He couldn’t possibly abandon his whole strategy to please Freddie’s scruples. Alston told Freddie and everyone else that he wanted peace, but what he really wanted was an alliance with Germany. Germany represented the future: a modern, ordered, effective society whose citizens believed in their country and in its destiny. Britain too could be such a country, but only if radical changes were made to the British government, probably including the monarch. Ideally, Alston himself would have an important role in the new government. And this government would work with Nazi Germany, not against them. That meant talking to them. That meant the Duke of Windsor becoming king. It probably meant Lloyd George becoming Prime Minister. It meant speaking to people like Charles Bedaux, Otto Langebrück and Rib. Eventually even to Hitler. Freddie just didn’t understand that.

But Freddie wasn’t bluffing. He would go to see Churchill the following morning, and once he had done that it would all be over. Britain would be stuck in the war until it was finished, probably until the Germans invaded. And what was so damned patriotic about that?

Alston regretted not playing for time. He could have told Freddie he would think about it, given himself a week to work out what to do. Perhaps he should go back into the club and have another word.

There was a little light on the blacked-out London street from half a moon, enough to see a man step out of the club and walk along the lane thirty yards ahead of Alston’s car. Although Alston couldn’t see his face, he could recognize Freddie Copthorne’s thin frame and slightly stooped posture.

Now was his chance to jump out of the car and demand from Freddie a week to think about his ‘proposal’.

Or. Or he could do what Constance had done, what she would no doubt do at that very moment if she were the one sitting behind the wheel. Seize the initiative.

This was a war. The course of history was at stake. People were dying all over Europe for causes they believed were just.

Sir Henry Alston switched on the engine of his car and put his foot down hard on the accelerator, changing up into second gear ten yards before he hit Lord Copthorne from behind and sent him flying through the air into an unlit street lamp.

33

Kensington, London, 25 November

The family, or what was left of it, were at breakfast, and they were all well behaved. Charlotte’s presence was calming. She was two years younger than Conrad, married to a banker who had just joined the navy. She had brought her nine-month-old son Mattie with her, although he was asleep at that moment upstairs in the old nursery. Reggie seemed to have run out of idiotic opinions, at least temporarily, and Conrad resisted asking him why he wasn’t in uniform.

Conrad and his father were stiff and polite to each other. Conrad had repeated to him what he had told the rest of the family, that he was hopeful that the Dutch would release Millie’s body soon, but he couldn’t guarantee it, and that they didn’t know who had killed her. Conrad hadn’t yet had the opportunity to ask Oakford more about Constance, but he would wait until they could speak privately. Then he would be on his way back to Tidworth and soldiering.

In the middle of a general discussion about arrangements for Millie’s funeral, assuming they eventually got her body back, his father’s valet Williamson appeared with a letter addressed to Conrad. Conrad opened it. It was handwritten on Foreign Office notepaper and dated the day before. What he read shocked him.

No doubt Van was a busy man, but Conrad was offended by the abrupt tone. It was at least clear; Conrad was being told to shut up and look the other way. Which was all very well, but he had put his life at risk at Venlo for Van, and again in Leiden, although admittedly that was not at Van’s request. It was to serve his country, though.

McCaigue had clearly passed on what Conrad had told him, but, as the intelligence officer had expected, the reaction had been less than enthusiastic. When Van had said ‘The matter is in hand’, did that mean he was burying it? The tone of the note suggested he was.

‘What’s the matter, dear?’ enquired his mother anxiously. ‘Has someone else died?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Conrad. ‘It’s not that.’

‘Is it about Millie?’ Reggie asked.

‘It’s from Van, isn’t it?’ said Oakford.

Conrad glanced at his father and in an instant he could tell he knew what was in the letter.

‘Come into my study,’ Oakford said. ‘Would you excuse us?’

Conrad followed his father in silence up the stairs to the small room that served as Lord Oakford’s study. ‘Shut the door.’

Conrad shut the door.

‘Can I see it?’

Conrad handed the note to him. Oakford scanned it. ‘Well, that’s pretty clear, isn’t it?’

‘Theo told me that the Duke of Windsor is effectively spying for the Germans. That the Nazis want him to be king again. That’s what I told McCaigue and that’s what McCaigue told Van. Are they burying it?’

‘Van says here that they are going to look into it,’ said Oakford. ‘It’s a sensitive issue; I’m not surprised they don’t want you blundering around. And I doubt that they view Theo as a reliable source. Neither do I. He killed Millie, didn’t he?’

‘I don’t believe he did, Father,’ said Conrad. ‘And they are burying it. They don’t like what they are hearing and so they are ignoring it.’ He shook his head. ‘I would have thought better of Van.’

‘We had a visitor here a couple of days ago,’ said Lord Oakford. ‘A Captain Hobson-Hedges of the SIS. He asked me lots of questions about you. About your political beliefs. I told him honestly about your socialism, and your pacifism, but I said that you had never been a communist, as far as I was aware. They asked about poor Joachim, how close you were and whether we knew he was a Soviet spy. I told him you were cousins and you had been close, but I had no idea he was a spy. Was he?’

‘Probably,’ said Conrad. ‘At least according to the German secret service. Theo said so.’

‘You never told me that.’

‘I only found out after the Gestapo killed him. He was on leave from the German Embassy in Moscow, and he approached Theo last year just as I arrived in Berlin. Theo thinks that the reason he contacted him was to try to find out about the conspiracy against Hitler for the Russians. The Gestapo arrested him and he died in custody.’ Joachim had been a couple of years older than his cousin Conrad, and had introduced him to socialist ideas when he had stayed with the de Lanceys for a few months while Conrad was still at school. Conrad had liked his company. And listened to his political opinions.

Conrad remembered McCaigue’s warning about suspicions about him.

‘They think I’m a Russian spy?’

‘They suspect that.’

‘Who are “they”?’ asked Conrad. ‘Apart from being idiots.’

‘You never know who “they” are,’ said Lord Oakford. ‘The SIS. MI5. Special Branch. The important thing is they have almost persuaded Van. He telephoned me last night. I insisted you were no Russian spy, but I’m sure that is why he has warned you off.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ said Conrad. ‘You know I’m not a spy, don’t you, Father? As far as I am concerned Stalin is almost as bad as Hitler. I told you how those Popular Army soldiers shot David and Harry in Spain. I’ve seen how Russian commissars corrupted the Republicans.’

‘I know,’ said Lord Oakford.

‘And even if I was a Russian spy, why would I make things up about the Duke of Windsor?’

Oakford shrugged.

‘What do you think I should do?’ Conrad asked his father.

‘Do as Van tells you,’ Oakford said. ‘And be grateful they haven’t arrested you.’

‘I almost wish they had,’ said Conrad. ‘Then I would be able to defend myself.’

‘This is wartime,’ said Oakford. ‘I wouldn’t count on your chances of a fair trial.’

‘All right,’ said Conrad. ‘But there is one other thing I learned in Holland that I should tell you.’ He explained van Gils’s doubts about Theo’s guilt, and what he had said about Constance and the knife that had killed Millie.

‘Who knows about Theo?’ Oakford said. ‘But you can forget about Constance. She is a young Englishwoman and a friend of a friend of mine. What would she have had against Millie? And you have seen how Holland is crawling with spies. My bet is that Millie was killed either by the Abwehr or the Gestapo. It’s the alternative that scares me most.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That it was the British,’ said Oakford.

Conrad remembered Theo’s speculation. ‘To put off unofficial peace talks?’

Oakford nodded. ‘I don’t think anyone in the British government would do that, but we can’t rule it out.’

Conrad closed his eyes. The idea of his own country killing his sister was too much to contemplate. He sighed. ‘You can’t trust spies, can you?’

Lord Oakford shook his head.

‘Well, I had better head back to my battalion,’ Conrad said. ‘Do what Sir Robert wants.’

He stood up. ‘Good luck,’ said Lord Oakford. ‘And — although it’s difficult in war — be careful.’

Thus spoke the man who had won a Victoria Cross and lost an arm in 1917 at Passchendaele while taking a German machine-gun post and turning the weapon on the enemy. He had not been careful then.

But it was the horror of that day that had turned Lord Oakford against war, and made him pledge that his own son would not have to repeat the experience.

‘Thank you,’ said Conrad. But he didn’t tell his father he was damned if he was going to be careful either.

Conrad headed to Waterloo for a train that was supposed to leave at 4.06 p.m. He had scribbled a quick note to Anneliese telling her he was going back to his battalion that day and asking her to keep him informed of anything she discovered about Constance. He warned her not to be too explicit in her letters and to assume his post would be read — with more attention than usual, he suspected.

At Waterloo Station he bumped into a face that was becoming too familiar. Major McCaigue.

‘What are you doing here?’ said Conrad. ‘Checking I actually get on the train?’

‘We need to have a little chat,’ said McCaigue.

‘It had better be quick then,’ said Conrad. ‘My train leaves in five minutes.’

‘Then you will have to get the next one. Come with me.’

Conrad wanted to tell him to sod off. For one thing he had no idea when the next train would be and how long it would take to make its way to Wiltshire. But he couldn’t just ignore McCaigue. He was curious what the spy had to say.

McCaigue led Conrad north towards the river, down a narrow alley between two warehouses. They emerged with a view of the Thames and the Houses of Parliament on the other side. The river was busy with boats, and a line of barrage balloons bobbed overhead. The long slender barrels of ack-ack guns could be seen along the banks, pointing skywards.

McCaigue leaned on some wooden railings overlooking the water. ‘I have two messages for you, an official one and an unofficial one. And it’s vital you remember which is which.’

‘All right,’ said Conrad, despite himself. It was strange how, for such a shady character, McCaigue’s rich warm voice, with its hint of Ulster, conveyed trustworthiness.

‘This is the official message I am required to give you,’ McCaigue said. ‘My employers have come to the conclusion that you are probably a spy for the Soviet Union. As a result they question the reliability of the information you provided me two days ago regarding the Duke of Windsor. We will attempt to verify it, but we remain sceptical. We suspect that it is a plot by Germany’s ally Russia to undermine the royal family.’

‘From what I can tell the royal family seems perfectly capable of undermining itself, or certainly the Duke of Windsor is. And I’m not a Soviet spy, Major McCaigue,’ said Conrad. ‘It’s absurd to think that I am. Do they believe Theo is a Russian spy as well?’

‘It’s a possibility they entertain,’ said McCaigue. ‘Both of you were socialists at Oxford. It would explain Hertenberg’s opposition to the Nazi regime. You both met your cousin Joachim Mühlendorf in Berlin last year.’

‘And what about Millie? Was she a Russian spy as well?’

‘It can’t be ruled out,’ said McCaigue.

‘Bollocks!’ said Conrad.

‘She was your sister,’ said McCaigue. ‘And you fought in Spain on the side of the communists. We have other evidence.’

‘What other evidence?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

‘So I am found guilty without even knowing the evidence against me?’

‘That’s my point, de Lancey. You haven’t been found guilty. In fact it has been decided to let you go. Provided you stay with your unit and don’t come back to London asking foolish questions.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Yes,’ said McCaigue. He turned to look at Conrad, his blue eyes steady. ‘That was the official bit. I trust you understood it?’

Conrad didn’t answer. Just stared across the river to the Houses of Parliament, that historic symbol of liberty, where politicians through the ages had conspired to bury awkward information.

‘Now the unofficial bit,’ McCaigue said. ‘Speaking personally, I’m not convinced that you are a Soviet spy.’

‘Well, that’s awfully big of you,’ said Conrad.

‘There is some debate within the service about the loyalties of the Duke of Windsor. We have uncovered evidence over the last few years that has brought those loyalties into question, and more has come to light since the outbreak of war. Actually “come to light” isn’t strictly accurate, since such evidence is kept firmly in the dark, but you know what I mean. Not enough to prove anything conclusively, and with the duke, we need conclusive proof before we can even begin asking him questions. So if you do happen to stumble across something, let me know, won’t you?’

‘On the off chance I’m not a Russian spy?’

McCaigue’s small eyes twinkled. ‘On the off chance.’

‘You did tell the British general staff that the Germans know about the weaknesses in the French line at Sedan?’ Conrad said.

‘I did,’ said McCaigue.

‘That’s good.’ That seemed to be what most concerned Theo, and if the Allies plugged that gap, then Conrad’s efforts would have been worthwhile.

‘Keep in touch,’ said McCaigue, handing Conrad a card.

Conrad snorted and turned on his heel back to the station. He had missed his train and couldn’t catch another until six o’clock. He didn’t get to barracks until eleven.

It was tempting just to forget all that had happened over the previous fortnight and concentrate on practising how to kill Germans.

But his sister had died and he didn’t know why. And his former sovereign was telling the enemy how to defeat the country they both shared.

Those two facts he could not forget.