Maisie felt a pressure behind her eyes. She had lost her first love, and her second. It’s always a lost love.
“You were very brave to help, Papa.”
“Papa. How I long to hear my Dina say my name.” Donat moaned, as if even his daughter’s name caused him pain. “That I wasn’t caught is a mystery to me, and how they managed to help me away is beyond my imagination. I can remember being in a dark place, Ulli and his friend dragging me away, and then not having enough air, not being able to speak; not a word would come out. My ankle hurt, and I had no control . . .”
“Now we must get you out of here, and home, Mr. Donat.”
“Have they been looking for me? I am sure they knew I was there, and . . .” He began to choke on his saliva. Maisie held up his head and wiped his mouth. It was a minute before he could continue. “There are businessmen here who would have loved to see me imprisoned by their government.” He tried to laugh, but only a choking sound emitted from his throat. “I have many commercial interests, as I am sure you know, and each one is able to carry on very well without me—but there are men who run everything themselves, their fingers in every pie imaginable, and they are the ones who, I am convinced, thought that if I was investigated, well, something might be found. When I was asked to bring the money to Elaine, none of us knew that. Nor when I was seen with Ulli—and by the way, I wasn’t giving him money at the time we were seen. The police were just lucky, I suppose. But they don’t seem to be looking for me now.”
“Another man was arrested in your stead.”
“What has happened to him?”
“I don’t know. In my estimation he was suffering from a type of neurasthenia, so he’ll be considered mentally deficient, and—”
“And the Nazis don’t like that, do they? He will be executed, or subjected to some sort of medical experimentation. I have heard about what goes on in those prisons. Ulli and Anton have told me—they know people.”
“They know far too much for their own good, if you ask me,” said Maisie. “Now then, I have to make arrangements to get you home.”
“How would you have managed to get me out of the prison?”
“Ah, that’s a story my superiors will have to tell you. Suffice it to say, Papa, you are a very valuable man, and the British were willing to pay for you to come home. Now it’s a bit more tricky. We’ve paid our dues to release you, but you are supposed to be dead. That’s what the Nazis believe, according to Ulli and Anton. And though they are not looking for you—they have other fish to fry—we don’t want to slip up when it comes to extracting you from this country.”
“How will you get me out of here?”
“Can you move?”
“I’m dragging my foot, and my arm hangs like a broken sparrow’s wing, but I can get by with help. I’ve been trying to get myself up and about, if only to walk to the window and back.”
“You’ve done the right thing—you could have been struck down in a much more serious way. Now let me see how you move.” Maisie reached for the two walking sticks propped against the bed. “Here. Come on—I know this might be a push.”
“It’s all right. I understand. You don’t need a deadweight, do you?”
Maisie helped Donat bring his legs to the side of the bed, lever himself up, and come to his feet.
“I used to be a nurse, so this is easy for me. Now then—I wish we had crutches, that would give you something more stable to lean into, but let’s see how you do.”
With one small step after the other, Maisie supporting him with a hand around his waist, Donat managed to walk to the window, dragging one foot and stepping forward with the other.
“I’m too slow. You should leave me behind, let them find me.”
“No, that’s not part of my brief, Papa. Let’s walk back now.”
Maisie helped Donat step toward the bed again and made him comfortable. She poured a half glass of water from a carafe next to the bed and supported him as he sipped until the glass was empty. She reached into her bag.
“Here—some aspirin. I want you to take one every day. You twisted your ankle in the escape, but it’s your circulation I’m more worried about. I only have a few of these—you never know when they will come in handy. So, one per day.”
“How will I get home?”
“We can’t risk the train. I’m afraid that, against my better judgment, you will have to fly.”
“I don’t mind aeroplanes.”
“Trouble is, I do. But needs must, and I know who I should be in touch with to plan your departure.”
“Who? Who can help us?”
“Once more against my better judgment, Elaine’s father can help us.”
Donat tried to laugh again. “Now there’s a man with a finger in too many pies for comfort.”
“I know.” Maisie took Leon Donat’s hand. “Trust me, Papa. I will have you home within a day or two.”
“I wish I knew your real name, dear woman. For now, I will continue to call you Dina. It will remind me of what I have to return to. What I have to live for.”
Maisie pressed her lips together and forced a smile. “I’ll come back for you, and soon—probably tomorrow. All right?”
Donat nodded, his eyes heavy, his mouth becoming slack. “All right. I will be ready for you each day until you come.”
Just as Maisie reached the door, Donat spoke again. “You know, this is a lovely country, Dina. But it is also quite terrifying, when I think of what it might become. My visit here now has made me wonder what it is to be a free man. It’s something I have always taken for granted.”
“I’ll get you home—I promise. You’ll be a free man again soon.”
Ulli Bader asked to be dropped off as the countryside gave way to the city proper. He instructed the driver to take Maisie wherever she wanted to go, and before they parted, he gave her a telephone number where she could pass a message on to him, and he would return her call within minutes. The person who would assist her was trustworthy. She looked at the number, memorized it, and tore the slip of paper into shreds. As the motor car moved off into traffic, she looked out the windows on each side. There was no sign of Bader. It was as if he had vanished. She asked to be taken to the Schwabing district. She could not ignore her instinct: she needed to return to Elaine Otterburn’s old stomping ground.
It was still only early afternoon, allowing plenty of time to walk around—and by now Maisie had a sense of where she was and where she wanted to go. Her first stop would be the pub where she had seen Elaine leaving with Luther Gramm.
She could hear laughter and music even as she came alongside the shop selling women’s clothing. She caught the eye of the proprietress, who had stepped outside to look toward the pub. The woman shook her head, as if to communicate her disgust at having such an inconsiderate neighbor. It occurred to Maisie that the hostelry had probably been there before the shop. It wasn’t the best place to situate a business—unless, of course, one wanted to sell garments to women whose inebriate lovers had the money and willingness to indulge them.
She watched a few people emerge, laughing, and a few more enter, then took a deep breath and opened the door. Inside, it was dark, and the smell of beer and wine heavy in the air. She closed her eyes to help them adjust to the dim light. She opened them to see the landlord approaching.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked.
She replied that she was, but only needed a quick glimpse. He endeavored to bring her out of the shadows, but, insisting she was perfectly well placed to find her friends, she began to survey each table, searching for a familiar face. She found three.
In a corner to her left, Elaine Otterburn was seated at a banquette with a Gestapo officer whose back was turned to Maisie. Elaine was laughing, her head tilted, her lipstick-framed teeth catching the light. She reached for her cigarettes on the table in front of her, and the officer took a lighter from his pocket and pressed his thumb against the trigger. Elaine leaned forward, her cigarette betwe
en two fingers moving toward the flame. As Maisie looked away, her eyes caught another familiar face. Seated in another corner, Mark Scott was observing the pair. He was not leaning forward as if interested or anxious, instead he leaned back against the banquette, as if he were idly watching people while enjoying his beer. Maisie returned her gaze to Elaine Otterburn, and in that moment the officer leaned across to take a cigarette out of the packet Elaine had set down on the table, and Maisie could see his face in profile. It was Hans Berger, whom she had seen fighting tears in the Hofgarten just the evening before. Of that she had no doubt.
Maisie left the bar with the intention of going at once to the British consulate on Pranner Strasse. A brisk walking pace gave way to a run—she wanted to be away from the pub and arrange for the departure of Leon Donat for England as soon as she could, and she wanted to get Elaine Otterburn out of Germany at the earliest opportunity. It was not lost on Maisie that the latter task might be the more challenging of the two, but she had a plan. Hearing the rumble of a tram behind her, she ran to the stop and joined the queue, stepping up onto the tram and taking a seat. She closed her eyes. Elaine Otterburn. Now she was afraid for her. As she watched John Otterburn’s daughter, she had felt her heart soften, and compassion rise up for the young woman. She sighed. How would she extract Elaine from a web of her own making?
“That was a big sigh.”
Maisie recognized the voice at once. She turned to Mark Scott. “I have little respect for the game you’re playing, Mr. Scott, and the way you’re playing it.”
Scott looked around as if to search for landmarks beyond the window while trying to decide whether he was approaching his stop. Maisie knew he was taking the measure of other passengers. One or perhaps two of them might not be innocent travelers on their way to Marienplatz.
He turned back, keeping his voice low. “Never can be too careful, Fräulein D.”
“You should have been more careful when you recruited your local spies, Herr Scott. You weren’t offering jobs to gnomes to help Santa Claus pack toys and trinkets. When you approached Elaine Otterburn you knew what you had—a disillusioned party girl with a good but broken heart and a desire to do something worthwhile. You knew she had a . . . a need for atonement. You might not have known what had happened in her life, but you knew she was young enough, indulged enough, and vulnerable enough to have some mistakes behind her—and you made hay with them. So she became your mole, your source of information—utterly untrained and unprepared for the job.” Maisie turned away, then back to Scott. “You know my feelings on this matter already, but shame on you, Mark Scott. Shame on you.”
“She’s been very good—more useful than you can imagine.”
“Oh, I can imagine, considering the company she’s been keeping—so she can report back to you! Now she’s on a knife edge, and you know it. And you also know—as do I—who killed her SS officer lover, Luther Gramm. In fact, you may even have set it up to unfold in exactly that way. I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Needs must, Fräulein D. You should know that.” He raised an eyebrow and whispered, almost as if they were lovers and he was about to declare his passion for her, “You’re the one with a weapon in your bag.”
Maisie sighed. “You’ve a job to do on behalf of your government, I know, and it’s not an easy one—but for everyone’s sake, in future don’t use neophytes to mop your floors. It’s not fair to someone like Elaine Otterburn, and it’s dangerous for everyone concerned.”
“Enthusiasm can take a person a long way.”
“And it can also kill them.” Maisie turned to look at him. “Get on with that difficult job of yours, but try not to put too many innocents in the line of fire in the process.”
“My dear Fräulein D, make no mistake. There will be many more innocents taken down before Herr Hitler is done.”
Maisie nodded. “I know, Mr. Scott. I’ve also been keeping my eyes open since I’ve been in this country. But try not to let Elaine be one of them. She has a son—and I believe that, contrary to what people might think, she loves him very much.” Maisie paused. “She is just trying to be worthy of him.”
“A son?”
“Didn’t your teachers ever tell you to do your homework, Herr Scott? Now then, this is my stop—and I think it’s yours too.”
Maisie and Scott stood up, shuffling along with other passengers leaving the tram. When they were on the street, she turned to the American and held out her hand. “I think this is good-bye, Mr. Scott. Oh, and by the way—if you want to keep anyone in your six, or whatever you call it, make it Elaine, please. I can look after myself, and she has so much to lose.”
Maisie had taken a step away from Mark Scott when he tipped his hat to her and spoke. She came to an abrupt stop when she heard his parting words.
“I take my hat off to you. Not everyone would be so magnanimous, considering what she did to you.”
For a moment Maisie thought she would ignore the comment, ignore the fact that Mark Scott knew so much about her. But then she realized she had something to say.
“You know, Mr. Scott, my old mentor, a man named Maurice Blanche, once cautioned me about the fact that I was delving into every book that came within reach. My hunger for education, for learning everything that I could possibly digest, might not always serve me as well as I imagined, he told me. He said I must endeavor to strike a balance, and he gave me a piece of advice I have never forgotten. All the books, all the lectures, all the pages of . . . of information, are as nothing against the measure of our experience—and by that he meant the experience we take to heart, that we go back to, trying to work out the why, what, and how of whatever has come about in our lives. That, he said, is where we learn the value of true knowledge, with our life’s lessons to draw upon so that we might one day be blessed with wisdom. I may not be there yet, but the better part of me is doing my utmost, and one of the elements of life I am learning the hard way is the wisdom to be found in forgiveness. It’s what is setting me free. In that regard, Elaine has been a very good lesson. Now then”—Maisie craned her head to check the stop—“I’ll be on my way. You’d better be too—you’ve a lot to report to your superiors, and I have a lot to accomplish in a short time.”
“One thing, Fräulein D—did you find your ‘father’?”
“No. No, I haven’t.”
Maisie set off, not quite knowing whether she was walking in the right direction, or if another tram might take her there faster. She was anxious to make haste. That she had a lot to accomplish was an understatement.
As she approached the British consulate, she once again reflected upon Maurice. He had never told her that she should not lie.
CHAPTER 17
“Miss Donat. How are you?” Gilbert Leslie approached Maisie across the reception area of the British consulate. “We have been liaising with the authorities here regarding the search for your father. Come with me, and I’ll let you know what they are saying—though, I might add, their efforts to find him have not met with much success.”
“Mr. Leslie, I wish to have a secure line to London to place a call, if I may.”
Leslie stopped. “Miss Donat, really . . . I—”
“Please, I don’t have time for a delay. Would you make arrangements for a call to be placed to the office of Mr. Brian Huntley?”
Leslie looked at Maisie over half-moon glasses. She had never seen him wearing them in the past. The effect was to press his chin down toward his chest, making him seem more like an overbearing headmaster rather than an official in a sensitive position within the British consulate.
“Right you are. Come with me—to the same room we used before.” He led her along a corridor and into the room whose walls were adorned, somewhat incongruously, with paintings of the English countryside, and a recent portrait of the king above the fireplace. It felt like a room in the squire’s manor house in a small village, a room in which a British visitor might feel at home.
Leslie lifted the receiver o
n a black telephone on the table at the center of the room and pressed it to his ear. “Ah, yes,” he said to an operator. “Secure line, please. Thank you.” He replaced the telephone receiver and waited for the second telephone in the room to ring. He took a key from his pocket, placed it in the lock at the side of the telephone, lifted the receiver, and handed it to Maisie.
“Thank you, Mr. Leslie,” said Maisie. She waited for him to move, but he remained in place. “I can place the call—and I would like privacy, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, yes, quite. Just press that button by the fireplace—the bell will indicate you’ve finished.” Leslie left the room.
As Maisie gave instructions to the operator, she knew that, as far as Gilbert Leslie was concerned, the game was up. He must have guessed by now that she was not Edwina Donat—in fact she suspected he had known for some time, but kept his own counsel. Or he’d had his suspicion confirmed through channels leading to Brian Huntley’s office. As she waited for the connection, Maisie felt as if the ground under her feet were becoming less stable with each passing second.
“Brian Huntley.”
“It’s Edwina Donat here. I have news.”
“Be careful, Miss Donat. Let me remind you that ‘secure’ is a rather loose term with regard to telephony.”
“I’ll have to do my best and take my chances.” Maisie paused, and looked around the room. She knew she was alone, but experience had taught her to double-check. “I have found what I was looking for, and I am ready to return. In fact I have found more than expected. I’ve an additional package to bring home.”
“Urgent?”
“Very.”
“I will arrange for passage on the first flight out to Rome tomorrow, and from there to Paris. Are documents required?”
“Yes—but only for the original package. Perhaps our friend Mr. Leslie can expedite issue of the letter of transit required to leave the country and enter another. And travel cannot be by commercial service.”
Journey to Munich Page 21