‘That is a brilliant piece of work, Roess. I shall commend you. And you think the parents knew all of this?’
‘No, sir, I do not. If they did, Amalie would not have had to act so clandestinely and in such haste. But with the written evidence I have we can certainly implicate them if you wish to do so.’
‘Hm. Do you have any idea where the two women have gone?’
‘No, sir. They have not been sighted since.’
‘But you think the parents may know?’
‘No, sir. As I have said, I do not believe they were implicated.’
‘What about the brother?’
‘I think that is also unlikely. Pierre de Gruchy only went down to Paulliac after he learned of his sister’s death. There is no evidence of either sister having contacted him before then. In fact, according to the servants, he and his sister were estranged.’
‘Therefore we will not gain anything by arresting the senior Gruchys.’
‘Well... there is the matter of satisfaction. And there is also the point that if they are arrested and the fact is published, it may well bring the sisters out of the woodwork, as it were.’
‘It will also bring Helsingen breathing down our necks. I think we will leave things as they are for the time being, Roess. I would say that these women will eventually wish to get in touch with either their parents or their brother. As long as we keep them under surveillance we will get them in time, and with irrefutable evidence that the family is trying to protect enemies of the Reich. Who knows, we may even be able to involve the other sister, and her bastard of a husband.’
*
‘Pierre?’ Jean Moulin frowned. ‘He was reported missing back in May.’
‘He has since returned,’ Liane said. ‘And is manager of the Paris office of Gruchy and Son.’
‘That must be a great relief to your parents. And to you. But I do not see why he should wish to place himself, and the rest of the family, in danger by attempting to arm us. Equally, I do not see where he can obtain such arms. Certainly sufficient high explosive to blow up anything of importance.’
‘Where do you think Pierre spent the two months before going missing and reappearing in Paulliac?’ Moulin frowned. ‘Let me tell you what I think he was doing.’
She did so, and both Moulin and Amalie listened with growing interest. ‘If that could be true,’ Moulin said.
‘Oh, Pierre!’ Amalie cried, and clapped her hands. ‘And I thought he had defected, like Madeleine.’
‘Madeleine has defected?’
More explanations. ‘But she is irrelevant now,’ Liane said. ‘It is Pierre who matters. If he has really been sent back to France by the British, for whatever purpose, he must have some means of keeping in contact with them. And if he tells them he is also in contact with a group of patriots who are prepared to take the fight to the Germans, providing they can be given the necessary weapons, they will surely cooperate.’ Moulin stroked his chin. ‘He would be taking a terrible risk.’
‘By coming back at all, if he is working for the British, he was taking a risk.’
‘Hm. I take your point. But the difficulties... Pierre is in Paris. We are here. How do we contact him?’
‘I will go to Paris to see him.’
‘You? That is impossible.’
‘Why? I still have several blank travel documents, taken from Biedermann, stamped by the Gestapo. They are undated, so that is not a problem.’
‘The problems are two. One is that you are a wanted woman; just about every German policeman knows your face. And even if they don’t, your identity card will give you away.’
‘Can you people not steal an identity card for me? Or forge one?’
‘It would still be too risky for you.’
‘But not for me,’ Amalie said.
‘You?’ Moulin and Liane spoke together.
‘No one is looking for me. I am supposed to be dead. If you can get me an identity card, with Liane’s travel vouchers I will have no trouble at all.’
Moulin and Liane looked at each other. ‘I could not permit it,’ Liane said.
‘You talk about fighting for France. Am I not entitled to fight for France? My husband was killed fighting for France. My mother-and father-in-law have been put in prison. This is something I must do, and something I can do.’
Again Moulin looked at Liane. Who stared at her sister for several seconds, then nodded. ‘It will take a great deal of organizing,’ she said.
Eight
The Agent
‘Well, my darling? What do you think of it?’
Madeleine von Helsingen looked from the cafe table up the length of the Unter den Linden towards the Brandenburg Gate. As so often in the past month, she had a sense of unreality. It was partly that she should be here at all, sitting on a sunlit street, beneath the huge limes, surrounded by laughing, carefree people basking in the sense of euphoria induced by their Fiihrer’s sensational victory over the democracies.
Equally unreal was that she should be sitting next to this handsome, confident man, so romantic in his uniform... with whom she had sex every night. She had wanted to explore the joys of sex since she had been a teenager, without ever having the courage to go out and get it, as Liane had done. She could not stop herself from wondering if what had happened to Liane had not been some kind of divine judgement for the life of unashamed hedonism she had adopted. But for her it had been worth the wait, because Frederick was so very gentle, and yet so very knowledgeable, able to give her as much pleasure as he was clearly experiencing himself, whispering sweet compliments and words of love into her ear, making her happy. She could never do otherwise than wish to make him happy in return. So she said, ‘I think it is stupendous.’ Almost as stupendous as the Arche de Triomphe, she thought.
‘But you are not happy.’
Madeleine reached across the table to squeeze his hand. ‘I am happy when I am with you. I just wish the war would end.’
‘So that you could go home? This is your home now.’
‘It would be nice to be able to visit.’
‘And you shall, soon. Until then, you must not worry. Pierre says your parents are as well as can be expected.’
‘But they will not write me, personally.’
‘They will get over it.’
‘When, Frederick? When? You said the war would be over by now.’
Helsingen sighed. ‘I know. The British are proving difficult. They have to be the most irrational people on earth. They must know that there is no way we can be defeated, yet they go on fighting. You know that we have been flooding them with leaflets, pointing out the hopelessness of their position, asking them — no, begging them to get rid of warmongers like Churchill and make a sensible and dignified peace. We are not asking them for anything more than the return of the colonies taken from us in 1918, and for them not to interfere in European affairs.’
‘And they won’t accept those terms?’
‘It seems not as long as Churchill remains in power. Sadly, the Führer’s patience is running out. So far we have only been nibbling at them to remind them there is a war on, bombing their Channel traffic and the odd port or industrial site. But I can tell you that the orders have been given. Britain’s capacity to defend herself will now be destroyed.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Of course. It will be a carefully planned campaign. Starting now, all the airfields in the south of England will be bombed out of existence. This will effectively ground the RAF. This should not take more than a couple of weeks. Once that is done, we shall obliterate her seaports. Then, next month, when we have control of both the air and the sea, our army will cross the Channel and complete the job. We are realists. We know the British will not easily accept invasion; we expect there to be hard fighting and we anticipate that there are elements who will wish to continue resisting us in the mountains of Wales or Scotland, but their elimination will only be a matter of time.
Once we control London and the gr
eat industrial centres, the war will effectively be over. This will be before Christmas.’
‘Oh, Frederick, when the army crosses, will you have to go?’
‘I do not have to go. I am on the Führer’s personal staff. But I have applied for a field posting.’
‘Frederick!’ She could not, she dared not, envisage life without him at her side.
‘That is the way to high command. Don’t you want your husband to be a general? And it has to be done now, before the war ends. Once peace is restored, promotion will become a matter of dead men’s shoes, and that can take a very long time. Now stop looking so gloomy and finish your champagne. We have an appointment at Gebhardt’s.’
‘What is that?’
‘Berlin’s leading boutique. We are going to buy you a dress.’
‘But I have lots of dresses.’
‘There is always room for one more. And this is for a very special occasion. A grand ball, at the Chancellery.’
‘And we are invited? You never told me.’
‘It is a surprise. But you must look your best: the Führer will be there.’
*
Madeleine was more nervous than ever before in her life, this despite the fact that her deep red gown with its black sash — Nazi colours — was the most outstanding outfit in the room, if one overlooked the dazzling uniforms of the men, which ranged from several different shades of blue through to the sinister but so dashing black of the SS officers. But none of them had the exposed beauty of her face, as she wore her hair upswept with just a pearl necklace to break up the flawless sweep from her forehead to the first swell of her breasts. Yet her dress no less than her face contributed to her feeling of being an outsider, and of everyone knowing that she was an outsider, accentuated by the fact that her German was still far from perfect. They were polite, but cold.
Hitler was not cold. He greeted her warmly, but was clearly preoccupied — indeed, he only visited the ball for half an hour before hurrying off — while she reflected that he was a somewhat disappointing little man. Not so Hermann Goering, a towering and dominating figure, with a booming voice, who enveloped her in a bear hug and slid his hands up and down her back. ‘I know he is a pain,’ Frederick said. ‘But he is the man who is going to conquer England.’
Poor England, Madeleine thought, and as usual when she thought of England, found herself thinking of James. But she simply had to stop thinking of that, and a moment later did so as she was introduced to another German officer, and his partner of the moment, and found herself staring at Joanna Jonsson.
It was difficult to decide which of them was the more surprised. ‘Joanna?’ Madeleine asked.
‘Madeleine?’ Joanna spoke English. ‘Say, you’re looking swell. But... here?’ She looked at Frederick.
‘You mean you know this lady?’ Frederick asked.
Joanna switched to German. ‘Sure we do. I don’t get it.’
‘Frederick and I are married,’ Madeleine explained.
‘Holy sh —... Married?’
‘That is what people do when they are in love,’ Frederick said, somewhat coldly.
‘Oh, sure. Forgive me for being surprised.’
‘And you are...?’
‘Joanna Jonsson,’ Madeleine said. ‘She’s American, and an old friend of my family. But - ’
‘I remember,’ Frederick said. ‘You were involved - ’
‘Water under the bridge,’ Joanna interrupted. ‘I got a bit uptight when the invasion started, I guess.’
Madeleine stared at her. A bit uptight! She wondered if she knew about Liane?
‘We were told you had returned to America,’ Frederick said. ‘That was the idea, but my editor talked me out of it. So here I am, reporting on the war for our readers, from a German point of view.’
‘Well, I am sure that is very gratifying,’ Frederick said. ‘Both for your readers and for Germany. You’ll excuse us.’
‘It’s been great seeing you again,’ Joanna said. ‘We must get together, and you can bring me up to date on the family news.’
‘Yes,’ Madeleine said. ‘I’d like that. Perhaps...’ She felt Frederick’s hand on her elbow, tightly, as she was guided away.
‘How well do you know her?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Not all that well. She was at school with Liane. They’re both older than me.’
‘But you know the allegations she made during the invasion.’
‘I only know what you told me.’
‘She fled France, leaving Liane to face the music. With such a terrible result.’
‘I’m sure they decided what to do jointly. They were very close.’
‘And now she’s back. Here in Berlin.’
‘I’m surprised your people let her in.’
‘Our people, Madeleine. Our people. As for letting her in, her ambassador wangled that after she had made a full apology, confessed that she and Liane had made the whole thing up.’
Madeleine stopped walking to gaze at him. ‘But you said what happened was the cause of Liane - ’
‘Shhh!’ He smiled at another officer and his lady. ‘May I present my wife, Madeleine.’ It was some minutes before they were again able to speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ Frederick said. ‘But only my superiors know anything about your background, and they wish it kept private.’
‘Did you mean what you said that day?’ Madeleine asked.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘So you don’t trust her apology.’
‘I don’t trust anything about her. And now that she is here in Berlin, pretending to be a journalist - ’
‘She is a journalist. I would like to be able to have a talk with her,’ Madeleine said. ‘I could have her to tea.’
‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea.’
‘I might be able to find out what she really feels, what she really is doing. If I tell her about Liane, she might open up. Or would you rather leave that to the Gestapo?’
Frederick frowned at her, then smiled. ‘I would rather leave it to you, my darling. But be careful. And remember - ’
‘That I am a German now. It’s not something I’m ever likely to forget.’
*
‘Nice,’ Joanna remarked, strolling around the living room of the Helsingen flat, picking up ornaments and putting them down again. ‘But then, your husband seems pretty nice.’
‘He is,’ Madeleine said, pouring tea. ‘Oh, I am being thoughtless. You’d rather have a drink.’
‘Tea will be fine. I have given up alcohol.’
‘Oh. Well, I must say, you’re looking very well. Very fit. You’ve lost weight.’
Joanna sat beside her. ‘Every woman needs to lose weight from time to time. Tell me why your husband doesn’t like me. Is that because I’m an echo from your past?’
‘Perhaps. One lump or two?’
‘Oh, two. You mean you’re not yet fully accepted in this society.’
‘I am, at the moment. But of course, he doesn’t want the Liane business to become known in Berlin.’
‘Don’t tell me she’s still making waves. I must have a serious chat with her. I’m going on to Paris in a couple of weeks. She still in the same flat?’
‘No, she’s not in her flat.’
‘Don’t tell me she’s gone down to Paulliac? Shit! That’s a long way out of town.’
‘She’s not in Paulliac either. We think she’s dead.’
Joanna stared at her in utter horror. ‘Dead?!! Liane? She can’t be dead. What do you mean, you think she’s dead?’ Her voice was almost harsh. Madeleine outlined what had happened, watched the tears rolling down Joanna’s cheeks as she finished. ‘Oh, Liane! My poor, poor Liane.’ She produced a handkerchief and mopped herself up. ‘I suppose you condemn her, now that you’re a Nazi and all.’
‘I am not a Nazi,’ Madeleine said fiercely. ‘I am married to the nicest man I have ever met.’
‘Who happens to be a Nazi. Don’t you know what they do?’
‘Th
ey rule Germany. In time they will rule all Europe.’
‘And you reckon you’re on the winning side. I’m talking about what they do, to people they don’t like.’
Madeleine thought of poor, tragic Amalie. But she was not going to concede anything to this woman. ‘Do you know what your police forces in America do to people they don’t like?’
‘The people our cops don’t like are usually known criminals. What about the Jews? The concentration camps?’
‘It is necessary to lock up people like the Jews because they are known to be opposed to the state, and in time of war they could be dangerous. As soon as England makes peace they will all be released.’
‘Frederick told you all this, right?’
‘He tells me what is going on. We have no secrets from one another.’
‘So has he ever taken you to a concentration camp?’
‘I have no wish to go to a concentration camp.’
‘Try forcing yourself some time. Madeleine, don’t you have any sympathy for Liane? Your own sister?’
‘Of course I have sympathy for her. But I cannot condone her crime.’
‘Jesus! And have you any idea what the Gestapo will do to her when they catch her? Or maybe they’ve already done it, before they murdered her.’
‘I think,’ Madeleine said, ‘that you had better leave.’ Joanna hesitated, then stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. But you need to think of this: when you guys lose this war, there’s going to be the devil to pay.’
‘How can we lose the war? We’ve beaten everybody. We rule Europe.’
‘You haven’t beaten England yet. Nor, come to think of it, Russia.’
Madeleine felt thoroughly shaken, less by what Joanna had actually said, or even implied, than by the deep-seated feelings she had aroused. These were mainly guilt. She had married an enemy of her country, even if France and Germany were no longer at war. And if Frederick was indeed the nicest man she had ever met, he was still a supporter of a regime which had savagely mistreated both of her sisters.
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