Max said slowly, ‘You want me to recruit Violet Fenton, who is British and whose father is a member of the House of Lords, to be an agent for American intelligence?’
Tom Kirby grinned. ‘That’s just about the sum of it.’ He eased his chair away from his desk and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. ‘You can see what a brilliant position she would be in, as an agent? She’s a glamorous movie actress. Every high-ranking Nazi in his right mind is going to be fawning around her. The minute she arrives at Babelsberg, Goebbels will seek her out – and the only person higher in the Nazi hierarchy than Goebbels is Hitler. Add in her von Starhemberg family connection and the people they will introduce her to, couple it with her sounding like a dame who can get any man she wants eating out of her hand, and you’ve got a bullseye. With luck, probably a whole string of bullseyes. All you have to do, Max, is persuade her to play ball.’
Max realized that for the last few minutes he’d been holding his breath. Slowly he let it out.
There’d been no mention of Roz. He wondered if it was because they knew he no longer had any contact with her, or if it was because they didn’t realize that Roz’s contacts in Berlin were very similar to the kind of contacts they hoped Violet would make? Whatever the reason, Rozalind’s name not being mentioned was a vast relief.
He said, still not knowing how he felt about the suggestion that had been put to him, ‘How would Violet pass information on?’
‘She’ll be given a contact in Berlin’s US Embassy.’ Tom Kirby shifted position again, this time nudging his chair forward and resting clasped hands on his desk top. ‘Both the British and the French believe Germany is secretly re-arming. None of our agents in the field have a hope in hell of mixing in the kind of Nazi circles Violet Fenton will have automatic entrée into. We need to know what the Nazis are up to. Make sure she knows that whatever she does for us, she’s doing for Britain also.’
Max quirked an eyebrow. ‘When I tell her that will I be speaking the truth?’
‘Yes. When it comes to the re-arming question – and others like it – we’ll be sharing it with the Brits. They’re the ones at the sharp end. What we’re concerned about is having enough information to steer well clear. Involvement in one European-triggered Great War is quite enough for us, don’t you think? To hell with the thought of a second one!’
Five days later Max strolled into the lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel. He’d arranged to meet Violet by the poolside and although he was carrying a briefcase, he was dressed in cream-coloured flannels, an open-necked short-sleeved shirt and loafers.
‘Miss Fenton, sir?’ a bellboy said. ‘This way, sir.’ Max followed him through tropical gardens and down pink-walled steps to an azure pool.
Violet was reclining on a sun-lounger, wearing sunglasses, a silver swimming costume, silver hoop earrings and silver nail varnish, her torrent of Titian hair held away from her face by a silver headband.
She patted the lounger as an invitation that he should seat himself next to her beautifully shaped legs.
He grinned. ‘I’ll take a deckchair if you don’t mind, Violet. I’m in for the long haul of a presidency election. I have to mind my dignity.’
Violet gave a throaty giggle. ‘You need to let rip occasionally, Max. And why the briefcase? Have you brought your lunch with you?’
He chuckled. ‘No. I’ll explain later. What are you drinking? Would you like a Pimm’s?’
‘I’d love one, but why are you here? Have you had a reconciliation with Roz? And if you have, why isn’t she with you?’
‘No reconciliation – and I’m here because I’ve learned you’re about to leave for Berlin.’
He raised a hand for a pool-boy. ‘A jug of Pimm’s Number One,’ he said when the pool-boy came running, and then, returning his attention immediately to Violet, ‘Why are you off to Germany when you’re doing so well here, in Hollywood?’
‘My current fiancé – did you know that if you have an affair with anyone in Hollywood they have to be referred to as your fiancé, even if they’re married? He’s called Gunther Behr. He began his career at Babelsberg, and now they want him back. As I’ve fallen out with my last director, Alex Korda, and as Zsigmund Sárközy is suing me, I thought a spell in Berlin, with Gunther, would be rather fun. Gunther suggested it to Babelsberg, and they leapt at the idea. It’s so nice to be wanted.’
‘I’m not surprised Babelsberg leapt at the idea. Have you any idea of the number of actors and directors who have recently fled Babelsberg for Hollywood?’
‘Marlene Dietrich? Peter Lorre? I can’t think of anyone else. And why shouldn’t they come here if they want to?’
‘It isn’t a case of them wanting to, Violet. It’s a case of them having to, either because they’re Jewish, like Lorre, or because, like Dietrich, they are no longer willing to live under the current regime. In the last year directors such as Karl Freund, Joe May, Edgar Ulmer and Billy Wilder have all kicked the Nazi dust from their heels. You, on the other hand, are voluntarily heading into it. It doesn’t make sense.’
Their Pimm’s arrived and was poured into ice-filled glasses.
Violet took a long drink of hers through a pink straw. Finally, toying with the straw, she said, ‘I thought this meeting – when we haven’t met for so long that I can’t remember when it was – was going to be fun. Instead it’s turning into a lecture. Please don’t lecture me, Max darling. It’s so unnecessary and I can’t bear it.’
Ignoring his drink, Max said grimly, ‘You’re wrong about it being unnecessary, Violet. It’s very necessary and I’m going to continue.’
He leaned towards her, his hands clasped between his knees.
‘I know you’re criminally uninterested in politics, Violet, but if you’re going to make a film in Berlin, you have to know the state of the German film industry. For starters, it’s a far cry from anything you’ve experienced in London, or here. Since earlier this year, everything filmed at Babelsberg comes under the control of the Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda.’
‘The film I will be making is a historical romance. It has nothing to do with propaganda.’
‘It will have, in some way or another. Trust me. And there won’t be a Jewish person on the set, either in front of the cameras or behind them, because the Reich Chamber of Film officially excludes Jews from employment in the film industry. No one in Germany, if they are a Jew, can by law appear on-stage or in a film.’
‘But that’s outrageous!’
‘Glad you think so. In March the German parliament voted Hitler the right to make his own laws – and the ones he is making are all outrageous. No Jew can work for the Civil Service any more. All trade unions have been abolished and their leaders have been arrested. All political parties have been banned – which means the German people can’t get rid of Hitler, even if they want to. In July he passed a law whereby anyone deemed to be an “inferior” citizen is compulsorily sterilized. God only knows what he’s got up his sleeve for next year.’
‘My God!’ Violet’s amber eyes flashed fire. ‘Something should be done about him.’
‘America – and Britain – certainly need to keep a step ahead of Hitler. In defiance of the Versailles Peace Treaty, he’s re-arming – building up both the German army and the navy. It indicates he’s got war on his mind. The State Department needs all the clues it can get as to what he’s going to do, long before he does it. Which is where you come in, Violet.’
‘Me?’ Violet’s eyebrows shot nearly into her hairline. ‘What can I do? All I’m going to be doing is making a film. Except that I’m probably not going to be doing so now, because you’ve put me right off the idea. With what you’ve told me, I can’t understand why Olivia loves living in Berlin. She must be going around with her eyes shut.’
‘She is. And I want you to go around Berlin with your eyes – and especially your ears – wide open.’
Violet took off her sunglasses. Her black-lashed, extraordinary-colour
ed eyes held his. She said flatly, ‘You want me to act as a spy.’
He’d forgotten how quick on the uptake she was.
With a flash of amusement he said, ‘In a nutshell, Violet. Yes. Because of your movie-star status at Babelsberg, and because Dieter is your brother-in-law, you’re going to be socializing with the kind of people few intelligence agents have the opportunity of mixing with and eavesdropping on. You would have to appear either indifferent, or simpatico, to what is taking place in Germany, and you’d have to maintain that stance with Olivia and Dieter. Would that be a problem for you?’
Violet looked at him witheringly. ‘Do me a favour, Max. I’m a movie actress. Whatever part you want me to play, I can play it.’
All the time they had been talking there had been activity going on around them. Bellboys delivering drinks; swimmers diving into the pool and climbing out of it; swimsuit-clad figures walking along the side of the pool within feet of them. Until now Violet had resolutely avoided eye contact with anyone, but just then a statuesque brunette strolled past, saying as she did so, ‘Hi, Violet. Let’s catch up later, okay?’
‘Okay, Joanie.’
‘Was that Joan Crawford?’ Max asked, as the brunette sashayed on her way.
‘Yes. She’s the one person I’m really going to miss when I go to Babelsberg.’
‘You’re going to go then? And you’re up for what I’m asking you to do?’
‘Why not? It’s not going to take much mental effort, is it? Besides, I’d like to help put a stop to all this Nazi Jewish nonsense.’ She put her sunglasses back on. ‘I don’t usually give a rap for what governments do, but refusing to let Jews work on-stage or in films is the living end – and being a spy in real life will be even more fun than being one in a film.’
It was then that Max very seriously reconsidered his request. He thought of the consequences if she was discovered passing information to the American Embassy. Whatever they were, they would certainly be grim. Her father was, though, a British government minister. The Brits would intervene. They’d have Violet out of the country in a twinkling of an eye.
He said sternly, ‘Don’t go into this thinking it’s a game, Violet. You’ll only be passing on gossip, not military documents, but even so, if anyone becomes suspicious of what you are up to, there is no telling what the consequences will be.’
‘Thank you for the fatherly advice. And now, are you going to tell me what you have in your briefcase?’
‘What I have in my briefcase are photographs and résumés of some of the key people we’d like you to become on chatting terms with: Joseph Goebbels, the Reich’s minister in control of film-making and Hitler’s right-hand man, being top of the list. I want you to look through them in the privacy of your room and commit them to memory. I’m assuming you’ll have no problem with that, being an actress?’
‘None at all.’
‘What else would you like to know?’
‘I’d like to know what happened between you and Roz. She’s been very close-mouthed about it. Thea doesn’t know. Olivia doesn’t know. According to Thea, Carrie doesn’t know. So why the split?’
Max sucked in his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about the ending of his affair with Roz. Considering the magnitude of what he’d just asked of her, though, Violet did deserve as much of an explanation as he could give.
Another jug of Pimm’s later, when he had told her of Roz’s phone call to him from London, she said, ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would Roz find the difference in your ages a problem now, when she never has before? Why would the two of you only having snatched, irregular meetings matter now? The reason you sometimes didn’t see each other for a couple of months at a time was her fault, not yours. She’s the one who, by choice, was always on the other side of the Atlantic.’
‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that there’s someone else. Someone who, to spare my feelings, she doesn’t want to tell me about.’
‘If there is, no one else knows about him, either. The reason she ended her affair with you is because of your decision to stand as a candidate in the next presidential election. If she hadn’t finished it, you would have had to.’
Max shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t that. Though I had been asked to stand as a candidate, at the time she broke things off with me, Roz didn’t know that; plus I’d turned the invitation down the minute it was offered. I only accepted it weeks later, after I realized there was no way she was coming back to me.’
Violet spread her hands out expressively, palms upwards. ‘Then, darling Max, I don’t understand it. All affairs have to end, but they don’t usually cause long-term heartache. When I arrive in Berlin I’ll be finishing my affair with Dieter – not that it’s much of an affair, only a catch-as-catch-can one. He’ll quite likely blow his top when I tell him that even Olivia would cotton on to it, if it was taking place beneath her own roof, but give it a week or two and he’ll be over it.’
He stared at her. Other than Roz’s last phone call to him, he couldn’t remember another time when he’d been so shocked that he felt as if he’d been slugged in the guts by a baseball bat. When he could trust himself to speak, he said disbelievingly, ‘You’ve been having an affair with your sister’s husband?’
‘Only a teensie-little one. Nothing full-blown.’
‘Nothing full-blown? Dear God, Violet! He’s your brother-in-law! Have you no morals at all?’
Violet regarded him in amusement. ‘Apparently not. It’s one of the reasons I’ll make such a wonderful Mata Hari. Do sit down again, Max, and stop making a mountain out of a molehill. I’m not ruining anyone’s marriage. Dieter adores Olivia. It’s just that Olivia takes things so seriously, and Dieter needs a little fun every now and then, just as I need to be naughty every now and then.’
Max put a hand over his eyes, his doubts growing as to the saneness of what he’d asked of Violet. How could Tom Kirby’s section ever be certain of her? How could anyone ever know what she was likely to do next? And why did she have to be so damned likeable about being so outrageously amoral?
Seeing how deeply perturbed and exasperated with her he was, Violet rose to her feet, closed the distance between them and hugged his arm. ‘Don’t let’s fall out, Max. I’m going to be the most marvellous intelligence-gatherer for you. Mr Goebbels – and lots of other nasty Nazis – will be putty in my hands.’
He didn’t speak. Speech was beyond him.
Laughter bubbled up in her throat. ‘Think how aghast Thea is going to be when she thinks I’ve become a Hitler admirer. Poor Daddy, too – and Roz and Carrie and Hal. It’s going to be the greatest tease ever. I’m going to have such a wonderful time in Berlin, I might never come home!’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
OCTOBER 1934
‘Home’ was a word Carrie still never used about Monskwood, even though she had been living and working there for more than twelve years. Whenever she thought of home she thought of Gorton Hall, and though she tried hard not to, whenever she thought of Gorton she thought of Gilbert.
It was a Friday at Monkswood and the last day of a three-day shooting party, which meant she was so run off her feet in seeing that the house ran like clockwork that the last thing she should have been doing was letting her thoughts wander. She hadn’t been able to help it, though, when Lady Markham’s lady’s maid had said as they passed each other on the back stairs, ‘Thank goodness my weekend off is next weekend. I haven’t been home for six months and I can’t wait to see my nieces and nephews again.’
Carrie hadn’t made a response, because for one thing a response hadn’t been necessary, and for another they had both been in such a hurry that by the time she’d made one, there would have been a flight of stairs between them. It had made her think about her own next weekend off, though, and of how, having no home to go to, she would be spending it at Monkswood as she always did.
A stab of bleakness entered her heart, to be firmly banished before it took hold. It was mid-afternoon a
nd the lunch that had been taken out to the shooting party, where it would be eaten in a marquee at tables carried out earlier by footmen and set with glistening white napery and heavy silver, would now be nearly over. This meant that the ladies who had been taken out by shooting brake to join the party for lunch could be expected back at the house at any moment.
‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Thornton.’ Briggs, Monkswood’s butler, hurried towards her, addressing her as a married woman, as all housekeepers – even under-housekeepers – were addressed, whether married or not. ‘General Elphinstone has just been brought back to the house with an injury. Nothing serious,’ he added speedily, as he saw by her expression that she was fearful it had been caused by a careless gunshot. ‘He’s twisted his ankle in a rabbit-hole. He’s been helped to his room – not an easy task for the footmen, as he weighs at least eighteen stone.’
‘Is his valet with him?’
‘Yes, and I don’t envy him – or you. According to Jack and Wilf, who half-carried him up the stairs, the general was still swearing like a trooper when he’d been heaved into a chair, and is probably still swearing now.’
‘I’ll make a mustard foot-bath mixture and take it up to him straight away.’
Not wasting any time, Carrie headed for the kitchen. General Elphinstone was a regular visitor to Monkswood. A red-faced, choleric man, he was a difficult guest even at the best of times. Now, having been cheated of finishing the last day of the shoot, she could well imagine the kind of temper he was in.
The mammoth-sized kitchen was a hive of activity, with Cook overseeing the preparations for dinner that evening. Pans were being slammed on and off giant ranges; two kitchen maids were labouring over hors d’oeuvres while another was pounding cooked chicken and cream in a mortar.
‘It’s for Cook’s Consommé à la Comtesse, Mrs Thornton,’ Ena Batty, the girl doing the pounding, said, eager to come to Carrie’s attention.
A Season of Secrets Page 32