‘What, that conceited little poop?’ exclaimed Erika.
Kuporovitch half-closed his eyes. ‘It is a mistake to underrate that Quisling man because he appears to be only an empty-headed swaggerer. He has a finger in every pie.’
‘Yes,’ Gregory added. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work if ever there was one, but he’s up to the neck in this thing. I can hardly recall a party at which he hasn’t been present and I’m quite convinced that he’s the fellow who produces some new Norwegian general or statesman every time another blonde arrives from Germany. What have you decided to do?’
‘I should like to go to Holland, as it is no great distance from France, and once I am in possession of a Norwegian passport I could easily get to Paris; but I would not say anything definite without consulting you, so I told Paula that I would think matters over and let her know.’
‘That’s fine. Now, d’you think that you could get Erika a passport in another name and take her with you?’
‘That sounds an extremely tricky proposition. How d’you suggest that I should set about it?’
Gregory lit a Turkish cigarette and replied quietly: The story that you will tell is this: Erika has also been ordered to Holland, but she’s afraid to go there in her own name because a young Dutchman fell in love with her when she was there about eighteen months ago and as she refused to have anything to do with him he practically went off his rocker and threatened to kill her. Even if he doesn’t attempt to do that, he may make an appalling nuisance of himself and seriously interfere with her duties should he learn that she has returned to the country. In consequence, it would make things ever so much easier if she could go there as a Norwegian. The Gestapo people here could, of course, fake a passport for her, but it would be much simpler and sounder if the Norwegian Foreign Office could be persuaded to grant her one instead. Naturally, she’s in no position to apply for this officially, but if Major Quisling can get you a passport I see no reason why he shouldn’t wangle one for Erika at the same time.’
‘So far, so good,’ Kuporovitch nodded. ‘But you seem to forget that this business has to be negotiated through Paula, and I hardly imagine that she will look kindly upon my proposal to take another woman to Holland with us.’
Gregory grinned. ‘That, my friend, is where your devastating sex-appeal comes in. As you have known Paula barely a fortnight you are still in the first hectic flush of your love-affair with her. That gives you the whip-hand, and it is pretty certain that although she may treat you to a pretty scene she will give in and do what you wish when you make it clear that it is conditional upon your going to Holland with her. To still her jealousy you can say that Erika once did you a great service and that you wish to repay her in this way, but that otherwise you have no interest in her at all and not the least objection to her travelling in a different ship from Paula and yourself. That, I think, should put matters right.’
Kuporovitch stubbed out his cigar and stood up. ‘Very well; I’m seeing her this afternoon and I will let you know tonight what happens.’
When the Russian had gone Erika smiled rather wanly at Gregory. ‘So you’re determined to get rid of me?’
‘Yes, darling. If only Stefan can do his stuff this opportunity is much too good to miss. Apart from the risk you’re running here already, Oslo is such a small place that Grauber would be certain to spot you when he turned up—as he always does wherever the Nazis mean to make a kill.’
‘You’re convinced that it will be soon, then?’
He nodded. The rats are leaving the sinking ship, so these stupid Norwegians who have been playing with fire will, very soon now, find their flirting and dancing replaced by bloodshed and famine.’
4
Up Goes the Curtain
Paula pouted, wept and swore—but she had fallen completely under the spell of the sardonic Russian, who treated her with the utmost brutality but made love to her with more vigour than any man she had ever known; so eventually she agreed to put up to Major Quisling the matter of obtaining a Norwegian passport for Erika. Stefan left her with the conviction that she was really frightened of him and so would do as he said, but it was an anxious time waiting to hear the result of her endeavours.
On the Wednesday night that she was to tackle Major Quisling news came through that there had been a reshuffle in the British Cabinet, but its results were disappointing. The only definitely good thing which came out of it was the appointment of Lord Woolton as Food Minister. The other leeches clung on to their jobs in spite of the fact that both Press and public obviously considered them incompetent to fill them.
On the Thursday morning Paula telephoned to say that she thought that things would be all right, and that if Erika had any preparations to make she had better get on with them, as, subject to the arrangements going through, they were to sail in a boat which left two days later—Saturday, April the 6th.
On Friday they learned definitely that the matter had been settled. That afternoon Erika received her passport in the name of Yonnie Rostedal, and Kuporovitch his in the name of Odo Assburg. Both passports had been duly visaed by the Dutch Legation and each was accompanied by a note to say that special accommodation had been reserved in the ship which was sailing for Rotterdam on the following day.
‘Such,’ remarked Gregory cynically, ‘is the power of the Nazis in this so-called neutral country.’
Ever since their discussion with Kuporovitch on Paula’s projected departure Gregory and Erika had realised that the possibility of their own separation was once again imminent, but they did not take the thought by any means so hardly as they had done before. Then it had been their own affair and a voluntary act which might result in their not seeing each other again as long as the war lasted; now it was dictated by policy and they could part with a reasonable hope of being reunited in the comparatively near future. There was no longer any question of Erika’s leaving for the United States, as in Holland she would now be able, under a new identity, to continue her work against the Nazis with some degree of safety.
The plan was that she should live there very quietly, so as to run as little risk as possible of meeting any Germans who might know her as Erika von Epp, but keep in touch with Paula through Kuporovitch and transmit, by carefully-worded letters to Sir Pellinore in London, all the particulars that could be obtained about the operations of Hitler’s secret weapon in Holland. Gregory, meanwhile, would remain in Norway and continue his endeavours to ascertain the date of the projected invasion until either he was found out or the balloon went up; but he meant to join her in Holland as soon as his work permitted.
On the Thursday evening Paula was giving a farewell party to which they were all invited. When they arrived about half-past nine they found her big apartment already crammed to capacity. The women were nearly all Germans, Austrians or Hungarians who came from good families and had been specially picked for their looks. The men were Norwegians or pro-Axis members of the Diplomatic Corps in Oslo. No secret was made of the fact that Hitler was regarded as the master of them all and they laughingly ‘heiled’ one another as though the party were being given in Germany. But although Gregory cautiously sounded everyone there to whom he talked about the date of the anticipated German take-over he drew a complete blank; none of them seemed to know anything definite.
Major Quisling was there; an arrogant-looking man with fair hair that was turning grey, and heavily-lidded eyes. He quite obviously considered himself cock of the walk and many of the Norwegian officers who were his senior in rank openly deferred to him.
At one period of the evening, when Gregory was exchanging playful badinage with a plump, dark-haired, bright-eyed little Hungarian girl, Quisling was standing just behind him talking to the dashing German Air Attaché, Captain von Ziegler. Straining his ears Gregory endeavoured to listen to their conversation but he could catch only scraps of it. They were planning something for which Quisling said that the airman would receive the personal thanks of Hitler, but what, was by no means clea
r. Then Quisling said, ‘If you succeed you must fly him straight to Germany,’ which gave Gregory the cue that a kidnapping was on foot.
Von Ziegler had a sense of humour, and he replied with a laugh: ‘I shall need an outsize plane for that, because he’s six-foot-two in height, you know.’ But immediately afterwards they moved away towards the buffet so Gregory heard no more, and there were so many people in Norway on whom the Nazis had designs that he knew he might puzzle his wits indefinitely without getting any farther, so he dismissed the episode from his mind.
As it was their last night together in Oslo he and Erika left the party early and were back at the hotel shortly after midnight. For a long time they talked quietly together while she lay in his arms, but at last he managed to soothe her fears that they might never meet again and she dropped off to sleep.
Next morning he took her down to the dock, but they had already made their farewells as both had decided that for him to hang about until the ship sailed would only prolong the agony. During the time that he had been with them Kuporovitch had grown extremely attached to them both, but the Russian was such a cynical devil that Gregory was both surprised and touched when, just before Erika went up the gangway, he drew him aside, and said:
‘Keep in good heart, my friend. I will postpone my trip to Paris until you can join us in Holland, and you may sleep soundly with the knowledge that I will tear the throat out of any man who attempts to lay a finger on her.’
Gregory knew that the Russian had a lion’s courage and a serpent’s cunning, and that when he said a thing he meant it, so he could not have asked a better protector for Erika. For once he was almost at a loss for words and could only murmur: ‘That’s good of you, Stefan—damned good of you.’
That week-end of April the 6th and 7th proved a trying one. He was not unduly worried about Erika as, although her change of name was only a comparatively slight protection against her being traced sooner or later by the Gestapo, her new Norwegian nom-de-guerre coupled with her removal to another country would almost certainly secure for her a fresh period of immunity from their unwelcome attentions; but he was restless and uneasy.
He now had many acquaintances in Oslo but that Saturday none of them seemed to be available. They had left the city without warning or were busy arranging to depart on all sorts of different excuses. Even the Norwegian officers whom he had met no longer seemed to have time to spare to amuse themselves; they either had urgent duties or had gone up-country to various military stations, so Gregory decided that zero hour must now be very near.
Having sent to Sir Pellinore all the information that he could secure there was no more that he could do about it, but he was hoping that the Allies would forestall Hitler by a sudden coup. It was common knowledge in Oslo that the Germans had an armada of troopships all ready to sail from their Baltic ports and British Intelligence must be aware of that. In addition, there were his own reports which conveyed the fact that a large section of the ruling caste in Norway had been so seriously undermined that the country would almost certainly capitulate after only a show of resistance. It seemed, therefore, the obvious thing for the Allies to act first and invade Norway before Hitler could get there.
By evening the curious quietness of the city had affected him so strongly that he decided to risk sending an almost open telegram direct to Sir Pellinor. It read:
RATS HAVE ALMOST UNDERMINED FOUNDATIONS OF ENTIRE HOUSE STOP SEND RAT POISON BY AIR AND DISPATCH PESTOLOGIST BY FIRST SHIP STOP MOST URGENT.
He had no idea what, if any, plans the War Office had made for the invasion of Norway in such an emergency, but he hoped that due notice had been taken of the entirely new tactics which the Germans had used with such success in their conquest of Poland and that the Allies would first seize the Norwegian air-fields then follow up as swiftly as possible with troop-landings.
On the Sunday he spent his time out and about in the city, mixing with the crowd and entering into casual conversation with as many people as possible wherever he found that they could speak English, French or German. He talked to a girl in a tobacconist shop, a professional guide, a taxi-man, several barmen and quite a number of people who were having drinks in bars, and by the end of the day he was beginning to think that he had drawn too black a picture of the situation through having mixed entirely with pro-Nazis during his stay in Oslo.
Quite a large proportion of the ordinary Norwegians were sympathetic to Germany but very few of them were pro-Hitler and none at all thought that it would be a good thing if Norway were incorporated into a German-led federation under him. They had heard too much about the concentration-camps, the forced labour, the suppression of the Press and of free speech, which all went with the Nazi régime, to have the least wish to surrender themselves to it. Their one desire was to preserve their independence and they were prepared to fight for it if they had to; but when Gregory asked why, in that case, they did not take Mr. Churchill’s tip and come in with the Allies in defence of their liberties while the going was good they seemed to think that that was a crazy idea, because Germany was so much nearer to them and so much stronger than Britain. Their success in keeping out of every war for the past hundred years had convinced them that if they kept quiet and gave no offence to their powerful neighbour they would be able to keep out of this one, and some of them even showed definite ill-feeling towards Britain for what they considered her unreasonable attitude in making it difficult for them to maintain good relations with Germany.
In reconsidering the whole situation that evening Gregory came to the conclusion that the Norwegians would fight if they were given a chance, but he was extremely dubious as to what sort of show they would be able to put up in view of his private knowledge that so many of their leaders had already succumbed to Hitler’s secret weapon.
On the Monday the quiet tension of the city suddenly gave way to intense excitement. The British Navy had appeared in force off certain points along the coast and was laying minefields in Norwegian territorial waters. The official reason given for this was that the Allies had at last decided to take a strong line and close the winter route by which Germany secured her supplies of iron ore from Narvik.
With huge satisfaction Gregory bought himself a bottle of champagne and sat down to drink it. He was a clever fellow—a monstrous clever fellow—and he was used to reading the news which lies behind the headlines; the story about blocking the iron-ore route was all ‘my eye and Betty Martin’. Now that spring was here and the Baltic open again the Nazis could get all the iron ore they wanted without bringing it down the coast of Norway, so why should the Allies suddenly decide to block the winter route of the iron-ore ships when they had left it open until summer was almost here? The thing did not make sense, but was perfectly obvious to anyone. The Navy was really laying minefields to protect lanes through which troopships, bearing the British Army, could come to take over the country. Good old Winston had managed to kick some of his colleagues in the pants and Britain was at last stepping out to fight a war.
Having finished his bottle he went out to the Oslo air-port confidently expecting to see the R.A.F. sail in. There might be a little mild fighting but he doubted if the Norwegians would put up any serious resistance and thought that if he could establish contact with the British landing-force he might prove useful to them as he now had a thorough knowledge of Oslo and its environs.
Although he waited there until an hour after sunset the British planes did not appear, so he assumed that they meant to make an early-morning landing on the following day, at the same time as the troopships appeared off the Norwegian coast. Back at his hotel he found plenty of people who were only too ready to air their views over rounds of drinks in the bar, and through them he learnt that the Norwegian Press had suddenly turned intensely anti-British. In spite of the number of their ships that had been torpedoed by the Germans they appeared to resent most strongly any suggestion that the British should protect them from the people who were murdering their sailors. Then a
Norwegian naval officer came in with the startling news that German battle cruisers and destroyers convoying over one hundred troop and supply ships were reported to have left their ports.
Gregory promptly ordered another bottle of champagne. Such tidings were all that was needed to crown his happiness. The British Fleet was also either in or approaching Norwegian waters. They would catch the Germans and there would be a lovely battle in which they, with their superior numbers, would put paid to Germany’s capital ships and sink or capture those hundred transports. Allied transports and aircraft carriers were evidently lying out at sea, just out of sight of the Norwegian coast. The intention was to let the Germans make the first open act of war against Norway so that world opinion and the Norwegian public should quite definitely be swayed on to the Allied side. The Germans were to be given a chance to land a few hundred men, then the balloon would go up; the Navy would sail in and shell their ships to blazes while British forces landed farther up the coast.
He went to bed about one o’clock in a high good humour and full of impatience for the momentous events which he felt certain this Tuesday, April the 9th, would bring. At four o’clock he was wakened by the crash of guns.
He had already made his preparations the night before, so within seven minutes he was dressed and downstairs in the hall, where a little group of people—mostly in their night attire—was assembled. Nobody knew what was happening and most of the Norwegians seemed pathetically surprised—even stunned—at the thought that their policy of so-called neutrality had not saved them after all. They were as shocked and indignant at this unprovoked attack as an ostrich, considering itself hidden by burying its head in the sand, might have been upon receiving a sharp stone in the backside, aimed by a small boy with a catapult.
Police whistles were blowing, the guns continued to thunder and people were exchanging the wildest rumours, but no shells or bombs fell in the centre of Oslo and it seemed that the fighting was confined to the harbour district.
The Black Baroness Page 5