‘Please do come in, Miss Berners. Will you have breakfast? Fenton can run you up eggs and bacon or a kipper.’
‘No thank you, Lord Edward. I have had breakfast.’
‘A cup of tea or coffee then?’
‘Coffee, please, if it is no trouble.’
‘And a cigarette?’ He held out his cigarette case and she took one. Edward lit it for her and she sank back in her chair. ‘You needed that,’ he remarked, seeing her take a second lungful of smoke.
‘I did, yes. You see, Lord Edward, it is difficult for me to be here.’
‘You had to start very early?’
‘Not that. I mean I did start early but that signifies nothing. I do not sleep much, you understand. No, I mean it is difficult to go behind my employer’s back.’
‘It is easier than going to the police?’
‘Yes, that is right. The police . . . even in England we Jews do not go to the police. They come to us.’
Edward looked at her attentively. He thought she might be thirty but it was difficult to be certain. She was thin – almost gaunt – her high cheekbones giving her face a handsome if severe expression like some bird of prey. Her nose was prominent, her black eyes large in her pale face. Her black hair was cut short and hidden beneath a small black hat. Altogether, she appeared to be typical of the ‘repressed spinster’, so often the butt of cruel jokes.
‘I don’t quite know why I chose to confide in you, Lord Edward,’ she said frankly, ‘but when you were at Swifts Hill I heard it said you investigated crimes and . . . and you were an honourable man.’
It was a surprising statement and he was absurdly pleased. ‘Take your time, Miss Berners. If there is anything I can do . . .’
‘First of all, I must tell you that I am Mrs Berners, not Miss.’
‘Indeed, and your husband . . .?’
‘He is still in Germany.’ Her coffee cup rattled the saucer as she replaced it.
‘He stayed behind because of his work?’ Edward hazarded.
‘He’s an engineer. They took him away. I didn’t know where.’
‘Who took him away?’
‘The authorities. They said he was required for special work.’
‘You don’t know who he works for?’ he said gently.
‘Thanks to Sir Simon, I do now. When he disappeared, all they would say was that he was doing secret work . . . for the fatherland and I was not to look for him. They said he might be able to write to me but I could not write back.’
‘And did you get a letter?’
‘One letter only . . . after one month – when I had given up hope. He said he was safe and well and that I was not to worry about him.’
‘That must have been a relief.’
‘He is a Jew . . . I am a Jew. His letter means nothing. Of course I must worry,’ she said vehemently.
‘The letter was in your husband’s writing . . . You recognized his hand?’
‘I did but he may have been forced to write it. I think it is unlikely he could write what he wanted.’
‘Of course you are right. Is he a very good engineer? They will not hurt him if they need him.’
‘He is a fine engineer . . . turbine engines. I do not know what a turbine engine is exactly, but it is important.’
‘That’s good,’ Edward said, trying to get her to look on the bright side.
‘I think I shall never see him again,’ she said flatly.
After a long minute of silence, during which both of them thought about the horror of a world in which a man could be removed from his wife and made a slave without there being any redress, Edward said, ‘So how did you come to England?’
‘I knew my life was worth this if I stayed in Germany.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘They were rounding up Jews – we had no rights . . . no future.’
‘You had no children?’
‘No, it was my great regret but now I am glad.’
‘What work did you do?’
‘I translated into French and English . . . books, plays . . .’
‘So where did you go?’
‘I went first to France . . . to Paris and then to Cannes, where I had friends.’
‘There was no difficulty about a passport?’
She looked at him with amazement. ‘Of course it was difficult. I had to sell everything and pay the money over to . . . to the man who issued passports. I had to pretend it was for work and that I would return. I had a publisher friend in Paris for whom I had translated the novels of Hesse and Mann.’
‘And what happened when you got to Paris?’
‘My friend helped me to find work translating French into German. I had to go to Cannes to help with a film script they wanted translating. There I met a met a friend of Sir Simon’s – a film actress – and she introduced me to him and he said he would help me.’
‘Was that Natalie Sarrault, by any chance?’
‘Yes, do you know her?’
‘I have met her. Sir Simon has many friends in France and Germany, I know. You said he has been able to find out . . . ?’
‘He has. He was very kind. It took time but he has learnt that Heinrich is working in the Ruhr in a factory owned by IG Farben. You know them?’
‘Of course. They own factories across Europe. Can he get your husband released?’
‘He is trying but it is not easy. My husband is an expert in his field and they will not let him go if they still need him. There are no troublesome trade unions any longer at IG Farben. And he is a Jew. He is not important,’ she said bitterly.
‘But surely Farben is a respectable company . . .?’
‘You think so? They finance the Nazi Party.’
‘I did not know . . . Are you sure?’
‘I am sure. With Sir Simon’s help, I have done research. Georg von Schnitzler – he runs the company, you understand? – he is one of Hitler’s closest allies.’
‘But if Sir Simon cannot do anything, how can I help?’
‘You have friends in the Foreign Office . . .’
Edward sighed. ‘I will do my best but I am not hopeful. My influence is very limited, I am afraid, Mrs Berners.’
‘But that is not why I have come to you, Lord Edward,’ she said, suddenly eager. ‘Sir Simon . . . I owe him so much. He has been most kind but . . .’
‘But what . . . ?’
‘You know I am his personal secretary?’
‘Yes.’
‘So I see all his private papers.’
‘And you have seen something which worries you?’
‘What should I do if . . .? Is it wrong of me to say what I have seen in my confidential position?’ She literally wrung her hands.
‘Anything you tell me I will keep secret unless or until you give me permission to repeat it or until I discover the same information from other sources.’
‘You promise? Your word as an English gentleman, Lord Edward?’
‘You have my word on it.’
She seemed satisfied.
‘The Castlewood Foundation has a board of governors and Sir Simon is the chairman. One of his closest friends is an American, John Dulles, who is also on the board of IG Farben and Standard Oil of New Jersey.’
‘I fear many American businesses have links with the Nazis.’
‘I must tell him,’ she said suddenly resolute, ‘I cannot work for him if he helps the Nazis. They are doing terrible things to my people . . .’
‘Yes, you must tell him how you feel. Perhaps he will have some explanation . . .’
‘And there is more,’ she said slowly. ‘When I was in Cannes I heard . . .’
‘About the Institute of Beauty? I have been round it. There is nothing wrong with it that I could see.’
‘You have already suspected . . .?’
‘I have found nothing.’
‘Natalie told me in confidence – which I am now breaking because I feel I must – that the horrible man you met at Swifts Hill, Mr Montillo . . . he runs a laboratory and
a hospital and they do . . . experiments.’
‘What sort of experiments?’
‘Natalie would not say exactly but she cried when she told me. She said they took babies away from their mothers and . . .’
‘And did what . . .?’ A chill struck Edward and he wished he did not have to hear what this woman was about to tell him.
‘They make experiments to see why races are different and why the Jews and races from the south . . . from Africa are inferior to the Aryans.’
‘Experiments on babies . . .?’ His voice was icy cold.
‘Natalie would not tell me very much but she said, when she slept, she had nightmares.’
After a minute Edward said. ‘You were right to tell me. I shall go back to France and see what I can find out. Perhaps there is some . . . some explanation . . .’
But what explanation could there possibly be, he thought, if what this woman was telling him was true, and what reason had she to lie? She owed Simon Castlewood her life and perhaps her husband’s life. She had struggled with her conscience and decided to confide in him. He wished she had not. He did not want to know, but now that he did, he had to know it all. It might be the evidence Churchill needed to get the Castlewood Foundation closed down.
As she was getting up to go, he tried to reassure her, ‘You did right to tell me, Mrs Berners.’
She took his hand and looked into his eyes. ‘Lisel. That is my name. Call me Lisel. No one else does in England. You will go on . . . finding out about the Foundation?’
‘I shall. If it is, as you suspect, corrupt, Sir Simon must somehow be shamed into seeing the error of its ways.’
‘And if he does not?’
‘Then the Foundation must be smashed. I will smash it.’ Edward spoke in a low voice but she did not for a moment doubt his resolve. ‘If you think of anything else, Lisel, which might help me, I hope you will let me know. And if . . . if you have to leave Swifts Hill, please let me know where you are. We may be able to help one another.’
He suddenly remembered that he wanted to ask her about Maud’s murder. It seemed almost trivial now.
‘Before you go, there is one question I must ask you about the day Miss Pitt-Messanger was murdered.’
She looked at him and a tiny smile curved about the corners of her mouth. ‘You think I killed the poor woman?’
‘No, but someone did. Did you see anything strange that day?’
‘It was all strange. That cricket. It is a game without proper rules, I think.’
‘Stop playing with me, Lisel. You know what I mean. Someone saw you come out of the pavilion just after Mah-Jongg was released.’
‘The old woman? I thought she had seen me. Yes, I did release him. I wanted him to escape his chains. It is cruel to keep him – a wild animal as a pet.’
‘He was quickly recaptured,’ Edward said drily.
‘Yes, as I knew he would be but, at least for a short time, he was free. My husband is a captive. Maybe he will never be free – not even for a moment.’
‘So, you did not release him to create a distraction? You see, while everyone was chasing Mah-Jongg, it seems likely Maud Pitt-Messanger was murdered.’
She looked dismayed. ‘It was my fault she was murdered?’
‘I am not saying that, but did you see anyone down by the stream after you left the pavilion?’
‘I saw Mr Montillo and I saw Sir Simon. They were talking together.’
‘You could not have seen Montillo – he was in London that afternoon.’
‘I saw him, I tell you.’
‘Did they see you?’
‘I don’t think so. They were talking too much.’
‘Did you see anything else . . . anyone acting suspiciously?’
‘I saw Mr Cardew but he was not doing anything suspicious. He was just walking.’
‘Did he meet Montillo and Sir Simon?’
‘Maybe. I did not see. I went up to the house.’
‘Did you see anyone there . . . Lady Castlewood, for instance?’
‘No, only the butler, Mr Lampton.’
‘Did you speak?’
‘No. I do not think he likes me. I think he says “bloody foreigner” behind my back.’
Edward smiled. It was a joke but he knew that, for many people in England it was not a joke – Jewish refugees were just ‘bloody foreigners’.
11
The blades clashed and sang. The sweat rolled down Edward’s face behind his mask but Adam von Trott, seemingly tireless, lunged and lunged again until Edward cried, ‘Kamerad.’ He lifted the mask from his face, took a towel from the chair and wiped himself.
‘That was humbling,’ he admitted wryly. ‘I thought I was fit but you are fitter. Where did you learn to fence?’
‘At the University of Göttingen. I was elected a member of the Göttingen Saxons, the best student corps. I fought several duels.’
‘I thought duels were illegal in the new Germany?’
‘They are but we still fought them. The scar on the cheek was as much a mark of honour as it was in the old Prussia.’
‘No wonder you can make mincemeat of me. Mind you, you are still a young man. I am having to accept middle age. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I was twenty-eight last week.’
‘Did you celebrate your birthday?’
‘Verity helped me celebrate it,’ he replied flatly.
Edward laughed. ‘So we are fighting over a girl! How romantic. Please. Adam, neither of us owns Verity. She will do what she likes whether we approve or not.’
‘She loves me,’ he said belligerently.
‘Kam der neue Gott gegangen, hingegeben war ich stumm,’ Edward quoted.
‘You speak German?’ Adam said, surprised.
‘I’m learning. Know thine enemy.’
‘Touché! When a new god approaches, I surrender without a word,’ he translated. ‘That sounds defeatist to me.’
‘Realistic, I would say.’
‘Am I right in saying that Hofmannsthal goes on, “halb mich wissend und halb im Taumel, betrug’ ich ihn endlich und lieb’ ihn noch recht!” Unable to stop myself, I basely deceive him though loving him still.’
‘That’s too dramatic,’ Edward shrugged his shoulders.
‘Die Grenzen meiner Sprache bedeuten die Grenzen meiner Welt. The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.’
‘Who said that?’
‘The philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein. Have you heard of him?’
‘I heard him lecture once at Cambridge. I hardly understood a word even though he was speaking English.’
Adam laughed. ‘He’s a great man – Viennese, you know, not German – and a friend of my family.’
After they had showered, they sank into armchairs, Edward feeling limp and lethargic after his exertions.
‘What is it that makes you tick, Adam?’ he inquired.
‘What makes me tick?’ He looked puzzled.
‘What drives you – what is most important to you?’
‘Oh, I understand! Patriotism of course.’
‘My country right or wrong?’
‘I suppose so. I hate the Nazis and I will never rest until they are expelled from government – from my country – but that makes me love my country more. If you see your pet lion being torn to shreds by jackals, you hate the predators but not the lion.’
‘Tell me, Adam, is it true you are joining the Foreign Office when you get back to Berlin?’
‘I cannot without joining the Party.’
‘Which you won’t do?’
‘Never, but it is my duty to rid my country of these vermin from the inside. I could never go into exile.’
‘So what will you do?’
‘I have been offered a job at IG Farben by a friend of my family, Ministerialrat Dr Buhl.’
‘But IG Farben is controlled by the Nazis!’
‘I know. It is very difficult. I probably won’t take the job but I must
do something to help my country.’
‘So, if there’s a war, you would never go to England or America?’
‘I am a patriot, Lord Edward. Surely you can understand that. Would you leave England and fight against your country even if you hated the government in power?’
‘No,’ he agreed, without having to think about it. ‘I would not.’ He paused and then asked, ‘The Jews – how is it possible to treat them as if they were not human?’
‘We don’t all treat the Jews that way,’ he said gruffly, obviously uncomfortable. ‘As a child, I lived for some time with an old Jew and loved him dearly. Do you know the expression Schutzjuden?’
‘Protected Jews? Who are they?’
‘Ever since the Middle Ages, we nobles have protected the Jews on our estates and we will continue to do so.’
Edward thought it would be unkind to press him further. He must know it was impossible for him and his aristocratic friends to protect the Jews. However, he thought he might as well mention Lisel Berners’ husband and see if Adam could use his influence to bring him to England.
‘When you were at Swifts Hill, did you meet Simon Castlewood’s secretary, Miss Berners – a Jew?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’
He explained the situation and Adam said he would see what he could do.
‘Why did you want to see me?’ Edward asked, when it seemed they had nothing more to say to one another.
Adam roused himself. ‘I had two reasons for inviting you to fence. No, three – I heard you were a good fencer and they were right.’
‘I had a good tutor – Fred Cavens. Do you know him?’
‘Of course, one of the best.’
‘And your two other reasons . . .?’
‘First of all, I felt instinctively that I could trust you. We are two of a kind with the same background. We play the game by the same rules, shall I say. I wanted to be sure that you understood me and that – what is the expression? – I was not being a cad.’
‘By taking my girl?’ Edward smiled ruefully. ‘I told you before that we both have to accept that Verity is not some ordinary girl but her own unique self. God – or whoever in the Communist Party fills in for God – made only one of her. As I said, no one owns her. She is a free spirit.’
‘I believe she still loves you,’ Adam said naively.
A Grave Man Page 21