The fingers were inching slowly onwards; her legs were now totally exposed. Perhaps this was his way of reducing his female victims’ ability to think. She was determined that he was not going to accomplish that with her. But she did need to know in which direction she should be thinking.
‘This morning,’ Goebbels said, ‘I received a visit from Bartoli’s wife, a woman named Edda.’
Anna could not prevent a sharp intake of breath, but he had to suppose that was because his fingers had reached her camiknickers.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘you would be more comfortable if you took your skirt right off. The tie and the shirt as well.’ Anna looked at the door, and he gave another smile. ‘I do assure you that no one is going to come in that door without a summons from me.’
Anna sighed, but she did not see she had much choice, and what he had just said had to be followed up. She stood up, pulled off her tie, unbuttoned her shirt and laid it on a chair, then slipped down her skirt. She made to step out of her shoes, but he said, ‘No. Leave the shoes. Sit down.’
Anna obeyed.
‘Frau Bartoli had a most interesting tale to tell. She said that Antoinette’s Boutique is just a front for an agency her husband claims to be operating on behalf of Mussolini’s government. Do you know of this?’
‘Of course I do not, Herr Doktor. But I suspect that the woman is fantasizing.’
‘Of course that is possible.’ His finger left her crotch, to her relief, but began to draw little patterns on the bodice of the camiknickers. ‘But actually she appears to agree with you.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Anna said, fervently hoping that she did not, indeed.
‘Frau Bartoli has made a deduction, from recent events, that her husband has not actually been working for Mussolini at all’ – Anna found that she was holding her breath, and got it back under control; again, that could be put down to what he was doing to her nipples – ‘but is actually working for the Badoglio clique, who have now taken over the Italian government.’ He paused to peer at her.
‘It all sounds very far-fetched to me,’ Anna said.
‘It is a woman’s logic, perhaps a woman’s intuition. She observed that, while he has always professed, at least to her, the most fervent loyalty to Il Duce, he showed not the slightest emotion when the news arrived of Mussolini’s arrest. She found that disturbing.’
Oh, what a fool that man is, Anna thought. But if she had always known that, and tried time and again to convince London of it, he was now becoming a positive danger. ‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps she is right. But why is she so anxious to get her husband into trouble?’
‘Oh, well, because of you.’
‘Me?’
‘She suspects you of conducting an affair with her husband.’
‘She has got to be joking. Bartoli is—’
‘A repulsive little man? And he does not even have a club foot.’
Anna swallowed. ‘I did not mean . . .’
‘Of course you did not. I think you should take this garment off as well.’
Anna pulled herself together. ‘Do you intend to have sex with me, Herr Doktor?’
‘Certainly. But in due course. Are you going to object?’
Shit, Anna thought. Shit, shit, shit. But she got up and slid the straps of her camiknickers from her shoulders and let the garment slip down her thighs to the floor. Then she unfastened her suspender belt.
‘No, no,’ Goebbels said. ‘There is no more evocative sight in the world than a beautiful woman naked except for black silk stockings and black court shoes. And when she is blonde . . . Release your hair.’
Today she was wearing a bun. She reached up to pull out the pins and allow her hair to fall past her shoulders.
‘Exquisite.’
‘You were telling me about Frau Bartoli,’ she reminded him. ‘And her husband.’
‘And you denied any involvement with him. But you were speaking sexually. What about as regards Mussolini or Badoglio?’
‘I know nothing of Signor Bartoli’s affairs, Herr Doktor.’
‘Hm. As I told you, I have a file on you. I have kept a file on you since your marriage to Bordman. And according to that file, when you left England in May 1940, it was by an Italian ship bound for Naples. Why did you take that route, if you had no links with the Italian government?’
It never ceased to amaze Anna how these people lived in such an atmosphere of plot and counter-plot they could find something suspicious in the simplest of actions. ‘I chose that route, Herr Doktor, because it was the only one available to me. I had been warned by the local Gestapo agents that the Special Branch were closing in on me. I had to be out of England within hours. And here was a neutral ship, as Italy then was, leaving Southampton that night. I seized the opportunity.’
‘And the agents who warned you did not. And then just disappeared. Do you have any idea what happened to them?’
I left their bodies in my flat, Anna remembered. ‘I’m afraid I do not, Herr Doktor.’
‘They perhaps lacked your ability to make instant decisions,’ Goebbels mused. ‘Now tell me about your trip to Switzerland, last month.’
‘Sir?’
‘Oh, come now, Anna. No prevarication. We are both too adult for that. You went to Geneva, for one night, on the instructions, I presume, of Herr Himmler. What was it about?’
Anna felt that she was standing on ice which was cracking beneath her feet and about to send her plunging into a bottomless lake. But she kept both her voice and her expression under control. ‘I was travelling on secret business for the SS.’
‘Which involved the deaths of two Gestapo agents?’
‘Sir?’
‘Anna, when two of our agents are discovered in Geneva, lying dead on the floor of a hotel room, which had been occupied by a mysterious young woman named O’Brien . . . I assume that was your mother’s maiden name?’
‘My mother’s maiden name was Haggerty.’ At last he was giving her time to think.
‘No matter. The coincidence was too great. I wish an explanation. The Führer will wish an explanation.’
Anna took a deep breath. ‘I was sent to Geneva, as you say, to make contact with a top foreign agent.’ Which, she reflected, was perfectly true. ‘He was bringing information about Allied plans for a possible invasion of Europe. Unfortunately, he had apparently been tracked by these two Gestapo agents, who broke in upon us, and refused to accept my explanation that I was on official business for the Reich. They appeared determined to shoot my contact, and me, so I had to make an instant decision.’
‘As you are so good at doing. I suppose it is no bad thing for one’s last moment on earth to be spent looking into your eyes above the barrel of a gun. What were you wearing?’
‘I was wearing nothing, Herr Doktor. I had just had a bath.’
‘Well, you see, they must have died happy. What was the reaction of this agent of yours?’
‘He was . . . disturbed.’
‘I can imagine. And what was his information?’
‘I have no idea, sir. It was in code. I returned it to our cipher department, but have not seen the transcript.’
‘Let us hope that it was worth two lives. Now, I think we have talked business long enough.’ He stood up and began to undress. ‘You must make me as happy as you did those two men you shot.’
You have told me nothing that I really want to know, Anna thought. And now she was stuck. Goebbels removed his drawers. ‘Have you ever seen anything to compare?’ he asked.
It was certainly the largest she had ever seen. And in a matter of moments that was going to be inside her! ‘No, Herr Doktor,’ she said faintly.
‘I am unique.’
Anna supposed he might be telling the truth. He sat beside her, kissed her mouth, more gently than she had feared, massaged her breasts and then seized her legs to upend her so that she was lying on her back on the settee, and he was inside her, kneeling with one of his legs on the carpet. She had no
t been treated like this, at least on a one-to-one basis, since she had found herself in the back seat of Chalyapov’s car, three years ago. Of course she had been both younger and less experienced then. But it was satisfying to recall that when the commissar had tried to stop her escaping from the Lubyanka, she had shot him dead.
Mercifully, Goebbels was very quick; she had felt he was splitting her in two. Then he was sitting down again, panting, stroking her calves. Anna let him get on with it for some moments; she also needed to get her breath back. ‘We must do that again,’ Goebbels said. ‘I will send for you.’
Shit! Anna thought – and reminded herself that she was working. ‘What are you – we, going to do about this woman?’ she asked, carefully freeing her legs and easing herself upwards.
‘Does she worry you?’
‘I do not like people making untrue assertions about me.’
‘That is annoying, isn’t it? I have told her that I will look into the matter.’
‘And . . .?’
‘So far I have found nothing to substantiate her claim.’
‘Is she to continue working at the boutique?’
‘Well, she is Bartoli’s wife, is she not?’ He handed her her camiknickers: an act of dismissal.
‘And he knows nothing of her betrayal?’
‘As far as I know. Are you going to tell him?’
Anna stood up, pulled on the camiknickers. ‘Do you wish me to?’
‘It might be amusing.’
Anna put on her shirt and skirt, knotted her tie. ‘It would be catastrophic for their marriage. And perhaps even for her.’
Goebbels himself got up, and went behind his desk. ‘That might solve every problem, and without the involvement of any state department, do you not agree? However, as an accusation has been made, even if with very little apparent substance apart from a woman’s jealousy, I think it should be followed up. I intend to turn the matter over to Herr Himmler, but I felt you might like to see what you can find out, first.’
Anna opened her handbag and took out her compact; a quick look determined that there was very little she could do about her hair but it gave her time to consider her options. Was this wretched little man trying to help her out of a possibly dangerous situation, or was he laying a trap? ‘Is that a directive, sir?’
‘It is a recommendation.’
‘Yes, sir. May I ask a question?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Am I now working for you?’
‘Unofficially, and privately.’
‘Herr Himmler is certain to find out.’
‘Does he fuck you, Anna?’
‘He does not.’
Goebbels shook his head. ‘I always knew there was something odd about that man.’
‘But he does regard me as his personal possession.’
‘As I have explained, Anna, he, you, I are all the personal possessions of the Führer. And I can assure you that I am closer to the Führer than is Herr Himmler. Indeed, I intend to recommend you to him.’
‘Sir?’ Anna could not control a squeak.
‘He has severe problems, you know. He works too hard, and he is in his fifties, an age when many men have personal problems. That quack Morell fills him full of pills so that he always appears in public in the best of health and vitality, but that is not the case in the privacy of his bedroom. Sometimes he nearly goes mad at his . . . incapacity.’
‘But . . . Fräulein Braun . . .’
‘Eva Braun is a very valuable, soothing companion, who manages to relax the Führer, make him laugh. However, she is not, unfortunately, a very highly sexed woman, and in any event he sees little of her nowadays, as he spends so much of his time in Rastenburg, directing military affairs. I think that you would be very good for him. I cannot imagine any man, save perhaps Herr Himmler, being unable to erect when in your intimate presence.’
Oh, God Almighty! Anna thought. She had the strongest impulse to rush straight to the boutique and send a message to Clive that she wanted out. If only she could do that.
‘So you see,’ Goebbels went on, ‘if, or when, Herr Himmler inquires into our relationship, you will tell him that I am interested in you as a possible companion for the Führer. I do not think he will pursue the matter very closely. There will be a car waiting for you downstairs to take you home. And I will be interested to hear from you as to the state of affairs in the Bartoli household. Heil Hitler!’
*
‘Countess?’ Birgit was anxious as she peered at her mistress. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Draw me a very hot bath,’ Anna told her. ‘And then open a bottle of champagne.’
But getting drunk, even on champagne, was not the answer. In fact, she found it impossible to get drunk, even with a full bottle to herself while sitting in a hot tub. There were so many considerations leaping about her brain that she found it difficult to determine which was the most important. But that had to be contacting London. Save that London was as usual dragging its feet. ‘Contact will be made.’ When? For God’s sake! Everything was coming up very fast, and all she could do was swim with the tide until someone threw her a lifebelt. But now she couldn’t even do that. She was not standing on ice any more; she was sitting on a powder keg with the fuse burning. If she was going to survive, there was only one course of action she could take, whether London wanted it or not.
Birgit was hovering in the bathroom doorway. ‘Would you like to see the mail, Countess?’
‘Mail?’ She never received mail.
‘It came this afternoon. By hand.’
‘Give it to me.’
She slit the envelope, soaking it with her wet hand: Countess! I should be honoured if you would accompany me to the opera on Thursday night. It is Wagner. I will call for you at seven thirty. Friedrich von Steinberg.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’
‘Countess?’
The bastard wasn’t even giving her the opportunity to decline. And as an Austrian she was no great admirer of Wagner; he was far too loud. Steinberg would want to know if she had reached a decision on approaching Himmler. So he would have to be stalled yet again. On the other hand, he might be bringing word of a meeting with Johannsson.
But first of all there was Bartoli to be seen, and taken care of. As the matter could not wait, London would have to accept whatever happened.
*
She visited the boutique the next morning before going to work. Edda was there, looking totally surprised to see her. Anna wondered if she had assumed her treachery would result in her arrest? ‘Good morning, Edda,’ she said brightly. ‘Will you inform Luigi that I wish a word? Tell him that I shall be in the office?’
‘But—’
‘Just do it.’ Anna went into the office and closed the door, but was soon joined by Bartoli.
‘I wish you wouldn’t upset Edda,’ he complained. ‘She is in a very delicate frame of mind. She actually shouted at me just now, in front of a client.’
‘What do you intend to do about her?’ Anna asked.
‘She is my wife.’
‘She is also trying to get you into a Gestapo interrogation cell.’
His head jerked. ‘What? That is ridiculous.’
‘Listen very carefully,’ Anna suggested, and recounted the relevant parts of her conversation with Goebbels, while Bartoli’s face gradually became more and more contorted with mingled anger and apprehension. ‘Now,’ she said at the end, ‘I have tried to persuade Dr Goebbels that she is inspired simply by jealousy.’
‘Well, then . . .’
‘However, he refused to be diverted. Dr Goebbels has a hobby.’ Apart from sex, she thought. ‘He keeps files. He claims to have files on everyone in the Reich who is of the least importance, either socially or politically, and to have the ability to call any of their past actions into question whenever he wishes.’
‘He has nothing to do with the Gestapo.’
‘He does not command the Gestapo. Himmler does that. But Goebbels is very close
to Hitler, closer than anyone else in Germany. If he wants something done, it is done. And now your name is in his files. He intends to hand the file over to Herr Himmler.’
Bartoli gulped.
‘Thus I feel that you should do something about your wife.’ She was giving him a last out. Much as she disliked the man, they had been colleagues for the past three years.
‘But . . . if I confront her, she will beat me up.’
‘Oh, really, Luigi, are you a man or a mouse? This woman has tried to have you locked up. At the very least.’
‘I will divorce her. But I cannot divorce her. I am a good Catholic. Are you not a good Catholic, Anna?’
‘I do not pretend to be a good anything,’ Anna said, ‘in a moral sense. I am fighting a war. So are you. Anyway, divorcing Edda will be more dangerous than having her around.’
Bartoli produced a handkerchief and wiped his neck. ‘I know what you would like me to do. But I am not a killer, like you. They would hang me.’
‘They are equally likely to hang you if it gets back to the Führer that you may have had a hand in the downfall of his great friend Mussolini.’
Bartoli stared at her, his face white. ‘They would hang you too.’
‘I have powerful friends,’ Anna reminded him. ‘Both Reichsführer Himmler and Dr Goebbels.’
‘Then you will be able to protect me. If you do not, and I were to be arrested . . .’ He paused to lick his lips.
Anna gazed at him. ‘Are you threatening me, Luigi?’
‘I . . . Of course I am not. But if the Gestapo arrested me, and subjected me to torture, I do not know what I might say.’
That was it. He had sealed his own fate. ‘Then I recommend that you make sure the Gestapo do not arrest you,. You do have a capsule?’
‘You . . . you . . .’
‘I estimate that your file is at this moment on Herr Himmler’s desk. That means that the Gestapo will be here in under an hour.’
‘But you . . . I will have to tell them everything.’
Angel in Jeopardy_The thrilling sequel to Angel of Vengeance Page 10