by Allan Jones
Wessendorf was listening attentively. “I will order them to come straight back here after they drop you at the station; then I will have them both shot!”
Paul regarded him, marvelling at the man’s casual callousness. “That will do,” he said coldly.
“But is this all?” Wessendorf pleaded. “Surely there is something else?”
“Apart from your silence, there is nothing,” Paul said, “besides offering me your hospitality for the night; and, of course, we’ll need to concoct a story to quell the raised eyebrows my presence here will cause.”
Wessendorf thought for a while.“You come at a most opportune time. I am giving a ball tonight: full orchestra, food, drinks, beautiful women. I shall say you are my nephew paying a courtesy visit on his way back to Berlin from the south. I have nephews, people know this; you will not be questioned, and you will get to meet my latest conquest, a strikingly beautiful woman, Miss Du-Clos. French, though: you can’t have everything.”
Paul’s heart lurched at the mention of her name, but he kept his face impassive.
“Excellent,” he said. “Do I address you as uncle?” he grinned.
Wessendorf laughed. “No, I don’t somehow think that will do. You will have to appear very respectful.”
“I think I can manage that,” Paul replied. “It will be a formal occasion? I don’t have my dress uniform with me.”
Wessendorf eyed Paul’s uniform .“No matter; you’re on a flying visit after all. I could arrange to have your uniform valeted if you wish.”
“That would be most kind; it needs pressing,” Paul replied.
“I shall put you in the Green Suite, one of the best. I’ll have your uniform collected and you can relax until tonight. The ball begins at 8 o’clock. You shall enjoy yourself: there will be many pretty girls, have your pick.”
“I may do so, though I have an early start tomorrow and I will need my wits about me, eh!”
“Quite so. I wish you good luck, my friend,” Wessendorf said, refilling their glasses. “A toast to the success of your enterprise.” They drank the brandy in one gulp, Paul rose and retrieved his coat and picked up his briefcase.
He held out his hand. “Then we are agreed,” he said. “I will be sure to sing your praises to Herr Himmler on my return.”
Wessendorf’s hand was sweaty and pudgy in Paul’s grip. “We are agreed. Give him my warmest regards,” he said, as he guided Paul to the door.
* * * *
Amelia had finished dressing and sat waiting, dreading the evening ahead. The strain was getting to her; one slip, one mistake, always having to be on guard. Each day it was getting more difficult.
Wessendorf came into the room. She spoke to his reflection in the mirror. “Don’t you know that it is very rude to enter a lady’s room without knocking?” she shouted at him angrily.
His tone was conciliatory. “Forgive me, my dearest, I forgot myself,” he said.
“Never do it again!” she said coldly.
“Again I am sorry; it won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” she snapped. “Is it time to go down? I’m not quite ready.”
Wessendorf sat himself down in a chair. “No matter, they will wait. Nothing will start till we make our entrance.”
Amelia put the finishing touches to her eyes, then applied her lipstick, finally standing and turning to face him.
“Will I do?” she asked.
He stood and regarded her. “Beautiful, enchanting, you will do very well,” he said, adding, “How do I look?” He was in his finest dress uniform, replete with numerous medals on his chest.
She regarded him critically. “Very imposing,” she said finally. She picked up her clutch purse and took his arm. “Shall we go?” she said, smiling at him for the first time.
He guided her out of the door and along the corridor till they stood at the top of the grand staircase. Down below the lobby was full, the men in smart uniforms, the ladies in glittering costumes. A hubbub of small talk drifted up the stairs as they all waited to be led into the ballroom. A watchful sentry drummed his rifle butt on the floor and all eyes drifted to the top of the stairs. Wessendorf paused, relishing the moment, and then they began to slowly descend. At halfway down a round of polite applause struck up. Amelia was aware of the eyes upon her and kept her face aloof. She could see the naked lust and hatred in some of the men’s eyes as they appraised her, thinking to herself that these were the very wolves to which she would be thrown when he saw fit to do so. She shivered. He paused and looked at her.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She gave him her warmest smile. “No, just a little nervous; so many people!”
“You will be fine,” he said; “they are all friends and colleagues, they all love you.”
They continued the descent, the crowd parted to allow them passage and they led the throng into the lavish ballroom, which was ablaze with light from the many chandeliers. An orchestra awaited them on a raised stage at the end of the room, and both sides held tables heaving with food and bottles of wine and champagne. Waiters and waitresses stood in a line, trays at the ready, for the festivities to begin. Soon the tables were lined with the throng, who helped themselves to titbits and accepted the glasses offered them from the trays. The leader of the orchestra kept his eyes on Wessendorf for the signal to begin.
The Sturmbannführer took his time, moving among the crowd, greeting some of them warmly and introducing Amelia. She could sense the impatience of the crowd to begin, and the nervousness lest any of them should commit a faux pas. He kept them waiting for about ten minutes, till conversations waned and an awkward silence threatened to descend. Then, finally, he nodded to the conductor and the orchestra struck up a waltz. Still Wessendorf kept them on edge: no-one would dare to take the floor before he did.
The waltz was halfway finished before he exaggeratedly proposed a dance to Amelia. They took the floor alone and danced under all the watchful eyes. The bravest of them seemed about to take the floor, but were restrained by warning looks from the more prudent. Finally, Wessendorf beckoned to a nearby couple and the drift to the floor began, until the room was full of twirling couples. Then, as he had calculated, the dance finished and the embarrassed couples looked hopefully to the orchestra. The conductor was again looking earnestly at Wessendorf, who ignored him for a full minute, chatting small talk to Amelia, before giving the necessary permission.
He danced with Amelia for two more dances, then relinquished her to a captain while he went to hold court amongst his usual sycophants. Amelia chatted small talk to the captain, who would be one of the many partners she would have to dance with. Gunther would enjoy watching her from the sidelines; she was on display, a symbol of his power. She glanced towards the doorway and caught her breath as she saw Paul standing there, about to enter. He was scanning the room and then their eyes met briefly as, once he saw her, he looked quickly away and moved into the room and drifted towards the buffet tables.
Her heart began to beat furiously and she fought to keep from staring at him, contenting herself with the briefest of glances from time to time. He was accepting a drink from a waiter’s tray as once again their eyes met briefly. He turned his back and began to pick at the delicacies on offer; clearly he was staying put where he was. She subtly, without leading, guided her partner closer, hoping to be near when this dance ended. She had been on the floor for some time now and could plead a rest. Sure enough, when the music ended, she was nearby, and excused herself from the captain, who left in search of another dance partner. She moved to stand next to Paul.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said under her breath. “Christ, I thought you’d never get here!”
Paul turned to her, clicked his heels and nodded, holding out his hand. “Major Hans Krueger, at your service,” he smiled warmly.
She took his hand and shook it, revelling in his touch. He was real! “Amelia Du-Clos. Nice to meet you, Herr Major,” she said formally.
Amelia turned her back to the room, studying the fare on the table .“Yes, please,” she said, then dropped her voice and added, “Ask me for the next dance; we’ll be able to talk more openly.”
He gave an almost imperceptible nod, as he spooned some caviar onto a cracker, added it to a plate and handed it to her. They both ate and Amelia expressed her delight at the taste, declaring it “divine”. He smiled at her and, under the cover of small talk, said, “I’m posing as Wessendorf’s nephew, no less. I’m here for this night only.”
She kept her composure at his announcement as she sipped her wine. He handed her a napkin as she used a fingerbowl to clean her hands. The current dance was ending and he made a show of formally asking her for the next; she accepted and as soon as the music struck up he guided her into the throng on the dance floor.
He was holding her stiffly and she hissed at him. “For God’s sake, make it look good; you can do better than that!”
He pulled her closer, keeping his eyes in the middle distance, as they twirled round the floor. She took the opportunity. “Are you staying in the house or the barracks?”
“I’m in the Green Suite. I leave at 0800 tomorrow,” he answered.
“My room is two doors further along the corridor, same side, pale blue door,” she replied.
He nodded acknowledgement. “And Herr Wessendorf’s?” he whispered, looking across at him chatting boisterously to a group of officers.
Amelia felt a twinge of annoyance, but kept it out of her voice. “My rooms are my own, quite private. For your information his are on the top floor.” She smiled sweetly at him. They danced in silence for a while, then she said, “Come to my room at 2 am on the dot. I’ll leave the door unlocked; make sure you’re not seen, get in fast and lock the door behind you.” She searched his face to make sure he understood.
“Sure, 2 am it is,” he said quietly.
“They’ll all be snoring drunk by then; shouldn’t be any trouble. You’d better steer me back to Wessendorf now. I’ll ignore you for the rest of the evening, OK?”
Paul nodded and they began to drift over to Wessendorf, who looked up and watched their progress. “He’s watching us,” she said, her head turned away. “You’ll have to talk to him.”
“We’ve already met. I’m his nephew, remember, no problem.”
They left the dance floor and approached Wessendorf, where Amelia detached herself and took Wessendorf’s arm. “Ah, I see you’ve already met Miss Du-Clos. This is my nephew, on a flying visit before he leaves for Berlin in the morning,” Wessendorf addressed Amelia.
“Then I’m even more pleased to have made your acquaintance, Herr Major.” Amelia smiled at Paul, who was masking the sickness he felt at Amelia even touching the man.
“Thank you,” he said graciously. “You are to be congratulated, sir. Miss Du-Clos is easily the most beautiful woman in the room.” Paul turned to Wessendorf, who was beaming.
“You are too kind, nephew,” he said. “We must have a chat later; you can bring me up to date with the family news.”
Understanding dawned on the collection of officers present who were observing the exchange with interest.
“I look forward to it, sir; there is much to tell.”
Wessendorf detached himself from Amelia, pleading the need for a quick word with Paul. He took his arm and led him out of earshot. Amelia turned to the man next to her and chatted, yet kept her eyes on the retreating pair.
“Everything is prepared. The car will be at the front steps at 0700. The two I have selected know nothing of your destination, but they will follow your orders. There is a train to Paris at 1300 hours where you can connect for Berlin. This is enough time for you, yes?” Wessendorf spoke quietly.
“Plenty,” Paul replied, “more than enough, thank you; your efficiency is impressive.”
“Ah, it is nothing. Are you sure there is nothing else I can do? An aide will wake you at 0600 and bring you breakfast in your room.”
“No, nothing else. I know I can rely on your discretion. I’ll be sure to tell Herr Himmler that you have been most co-operative and generous in your hospitality. He will be calling you on the telephone once this operation is complete, by the way.”
Wessendorf inflated visibly. “Excellent! Excellent!” he said, grinning widely. “Now, I must take the lovely Miss Du-Clos on to the dance floor. She’ll think I am remiss, neglecting her. You’ll take a drink and I’ll introduce you to some of my officers.” He guided Paul back to where Amelia waited.
Wessendorf performed the introductions as Amelia, once again, took his arm. Paul fended off the more searching questions with an enigmatic smile. He asked his own questions and listened attentively to the answers, thus dominating the conversations.
Wessendorf danced with Amelia while Paul forced himself to keep his eyes away; until, presently, they were back again.
Paul ignored them, seemingly engrossed in his companion’s anecdotes. The man had recently been in North Africa and Paul was pleased to learn that his old tank regiment was among the Afrika Korps. He found himself briefly thinking of his old comrades and hoping for their safety. He brushed the thought aside.
An aide appeared and caught Wessendorf’s attention, who bent his ear to the man as he whispered something. Wessendorf straightened and brought Amelia over to Paul.
“Ah, Hans, I’m afraid I am called away on urgent business. Would you be so kind as to look after Miss Du-Clos for me? Keep her safe from these rogues!” He eyed the assembled company with a smile.
“Oh, Gunther, you promised me tonight. You’re always busy lately. You said tonight,” Amelia positively simpered, a pout on her lips. Paul felt sick!
“I know, my dear. I’m sorry, but this business cannot wait. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Wessendorf said earnestly.
“You always say that! When, then? Tell me. I have witnesses,” Amelia said, looking around her.
Wessendorf was enjoying himself. He pretended to think for a while, then said: “The day after tomorrow. I’ll clear my diary; nothing will prevent me, my word on it!”
Amelia turned to the company. “You all heard that! No escape now. I’ll hold you to that.” She turned to Gunther with a wicked smile.
Wessendorf unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation. “Nothing will keep me away, I promise.” He kissed the back of her hand, leering openly at her.
Amelia drifted over and took Paul’s arm. “Well, your nephew will have to do, I suppose,” she smiled at Paul. “I know I can rely on his honour.”
Wessendorf took Paul’s hand and held it. “I’m sorry, our chat will have to wait. Perhaps you will write to me the family news. You’ll come this way again, no doubt; call in anytime.”
Paul played his part. “I’ll be sure to write, sir; and yes, I shall be coming this way again soon. I’ll see you then. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. I’ll be sure to keep Miss Du-Clos entertained.”
They shook hands, then Wessendorf hurried to the door. “A dance then, Herr Major,” Amelia said quickly, and they took the floor. “Steer me over there,” she said, indicating the direction with a shake of her head. “I want to see where he’s off to.” Paul complied as she watched Wessendorf’s retreating back over his shoulder. She saw him go through the door that led to the basement. “I knew it! The bastard,” she hissed.
“Where’s he gone?” Paul inquired.
“He’s gone to play,” she said. “I’ll tell you later. One thing’s for sure, we won’t be seeing him for the rest of the evening.”
Paul was puzzled, but let it pass. “I’ll stay for another half hour, then plead an early start and go to my room. It’s dangerous to keep this pretence up for too long; I may let something slip, not being altogether abreast of German affairs,
” he spoke quietly in her ear.
“Yes, that’s best. I’ll have to stay for some while yet, though. With him gone, I’ll be expected to. Monopolise you till you go, that way you won’t have to talk to too many people,” she replied. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she added.
He gave her a weak smile using only his lips and looked away, saying nothing. She was discomfited.
“I’ll explain everything later. Trust me, it’s all right,” she whispered, pulling herself closer to his ear.
“Good,” he said flatly.
He kept her on the dance floor for a long time before taking her to the group that they had been with previously. They had drinks and talked for a while with the men until Paul excused himself to all, left the ballroom and found the sanctuary of his suite. He locked the door and threw his cap angrily across the room and stripped off his tunic and tossed that down in disgust as well. He poured himself a drink and stood gazing out of the window, looking at nothing, his mind in turmoil.
He knew he had behaved badly to her, but he couldn’t have helped it. When he had first spotted her, all his feelings for her had rushed back to him, but he couldn’t help the sick feeling in his stomach at the sight of her with Wessendorf. Perhaps she had changed; maybe he had made assumptions. Maybe their time back in England hadn’t been what he had thought it was; just two people with a mutual need at the time. Now maybe it was different: they were in a different place, they had their jobs to do, the past was the past.
He re-ran all the events of the evening, every looks he had given him, every nuance, every gesture, and still he was confused. He had to admit that she was still obviously on-side or he wouldn’t be standing here like this. The comfort of this thought grew in him. Soon he would know all, soon she would have to tell him. Tell him what? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If it was the worst he had imagined, he didn’t know how he would react; would he be able to rein in his temper? Could he affect detachment? Would he be able to function, to do the job, see it through, get her out?
One thing was for sure, he still loved her and for that alone he would continue, whatever she had done. He cursed himself for his weakness and more, for getting involved with her in the first place; he hadn’t meant to. He gulped his drink and turned from the window, flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He had hours to wait to get the answers, and he hoped they were the ones he wanted.