Shadows of War

by Michael Ridpath

  Millie looked up to see Theo standing over their table. The sight of him made her heart skip, and she could feel her face flush. She got to her feet. Theo reached for her hand, and in her confusion she thought he was going shake it, rather than hold it to his lips with good old-fashioned German courtesy.

  ‘This is Constance Scott-Dunton,’ Millie said.

  She saw a flicker of interest in Theo’s eyes as he turned to her companion and kissed her hand as well. A preposterous surge of jealousy flashed through Millie’s veins. Constance was attractive, there was no doubt about that, but she was also an idiot. There was no chance that Theo, with his intellectual depths, would be interested in her. Besides which, Constance was married. She had prattled on at length about her glamorous husband Peter who was serving on a cruiser somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.

  ‘Would you like some coffee, Theo?’ Millie asked, chastising herself for being so foolish.

  ‘I would love some,’ said Theo. They were speaking English: Theo was fluent, of course. ‘And I like the look of those cakes over there.’

  They talked politely of the women’s journey, Millie confessing that she had been sick in the aeroplane, and also that she had been terrified of being shot down by German fighters.

  ‘Isn’t it good to be in a neutral country, though?’ said Theo. ‘Here people aren’t afraid of being bombed at any time. Or not yet.’

  ‘Do you think Holland will be brought into the war?’ asked Constance.

  Theo hesitated.

  ‘You can speak to Constance as to me,’ said Millie. ‘My father chose her to accompany me. He trusts her.’

  As she said it, she wasn’t absolutely certain that was true. But she knew that her father trusted Sir Henry Alston, and it was clear that Alston trusted Constance, even if Millie herself wasn’t quite sure that was wise.

  ‘Well, Mrs Scott-Dunton, I believe it likely that Holland will be drawn in sooner or later.’

  ‘Ooh. Is your army planning to invade?’ asked Constance with a lack of subtlety that appalled Millie.

  Theo waited to reply as a waitress delivered some cakes. ‘I can’t really answer that question. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Constance.

  Theo smiled quickly. ‘Well, Millie, I presume you have a message for me from your father?’

  Millie reached into her bag and withdrew a plain envelope, which she handed to Theo. He opened it and pulled out a two-page letter.

  ‘Should I read this now?’

  Millie nodded, and watched as Theo scanned the note. Millie had read it herself and discussed it in detail with her father. It said that since Britain was at war with Germany, it was very difficult for the British government to negotiate directly with the leaders of a possible replacement regime to Hitler’s, should Hitler retire suddenly. But, it went on, Lord Oakford was confident that should a new German government wish to discuss peace terms, then he, personally, would ensure they would have a sympathetic hearing from the British Cabinet, a much more sympathetic hearing than they had received the year before.

  ‘My father asked me to add a couple of things,’ Millie said. ‘He knows about the talks between Captain Schämmel and British representatives here in Holland, and he says that the Cabinet was prepared to take Schämmel seriously, before they found out he was a fraud. He is a fraud, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He’s a Gestapo agent.’ Theo glanced at Millie. ‘You know what happened at Venlo? Your brother was there.’

  ‘I know. I saw Conrad in London a couple of days ago. Apparently he’s trying to meet you here.’

  ‘He succeeded,’ said Theo. ‘I spoke to him yesterday. He doesn’t know you are here, does he?’

  ‘Oh, no. And please don’t tell him. He would be furious if he found out.’

  ‘I’m sure he would,’ said Theo dryly. ‘What would you like me to do with this?’

  ‘Can you show it to your friends? I’ll wait for a response.’

  Theo examined the letter again, nodded, folded it, and put it in his breast pocket. ‘I will do as you ask.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Millie, finishing her coffee. ‘We’ll be here. We’re staying at the Kurhaus.’

  ‘I’ll walk part of the way back with you,’ Theo said.

  Millie couldn’t help grinning.

  Constance noticed. ‘Look here. I think I’ll just have a root around the harbour for a bit, and then take a stroll through the town. I’ll meet you back at the hotel later, Millie.’

  ‘Right oh,’ said Millie, thinking that Constance wasn’t so stupid after all.

  They left the café and Millie took Theo’s arm. He led her along the harbour wall past the long line of boats. The wind had picked up and Millie pulled herself close against Theo for protection. There was a strong smell of fish, coming from the boats themselves and the nets neatly stacked on the quay. Three or four hardy seagulls battled against the breeze, searching out scraps of fish that they might have missed from the day before, their cries snatched from their beaks by the wind.

  ‘It’s nice to see you again, Millie,’ Theo said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘And me you,’ said Millie. ‘Thank you for your letters. It’s horrid to think we are at war now.’

  ‘Very horrid,’ said Theo.

  ‘Are you staying in The Hague?’

  ‘I was last night. But now I will have to fly back to Berlin to discuss this letter. I should be back soon, perhaps the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I was rather hoping you would be able to stay here while we waited. Like we did in Zurich.’

  ‘I wish I could,’ said Theo. They were coming to the end of the wall by the small lighthouse. They looked back along the narrow strip of sand, grey rather than yellow in the gloomy November light. The grandly decorated Kurhaus with its distinctive dome preened itself behind the beach, and a little beyond that, the pier jabbed out into the sea.

  ‘Last time I was here they still had bathing machines,’ Millie said. ‘Do you remember those?’

  ‘You came here as a girl?’

  ‘For a couple of summers. It was fun. I loved the seaside, and it brought back memories for Mother, who used to come here herself when she was little.’

  ‘Now beaches are for fighting on,’ Theo said.

  ‘They are putting up all sorts of gruesome things on ours,’ Millie said. ‘Oh, I probably shouldn’t tell you that. Since you are a spy.’

  ‘I will send a message to Berlin by carrier seagull immediately. I just need to catch one.’

  ‘I think you will find the seagulls here are on our side,’ said Millie. ‘They have flown in from Suffolk.’

  One of the birds a few yards from them squawked, wheeled and was swept back towards the town.

  ‘Sounded Dutch to me,’ said Theo.

  Millie was tall, but she looked up at Theo. His cheeks were red in the wind, his dark hair flopping over his forehead. She had a strong desire to kiss him. He bent towards her.

  And she turned away.

  Theo stood back abruptly, stiffening. It was as if a wave of awkwardness had burst over them and the sea wall.

  A wave Millie was determined to brush off. She turned back to Theo and reached for his hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, squeezing it. ‘I just think I shouldn’t kiss a German spy.’

  Theo grinned, taking the opportunity to lighten the mood. ‘I suppose it’s not very patriotic. But we are allowed to enjoy each other’s company, aren’t we?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Millie. ‘We are.’ And she left her hand in his.

  Amsterdam

  Spuistraat 210 turned out to be a stylish modern building called the ‘Bungehuis’ in the centre of Amsterdam. Bedaux International occupied the second floor. Conrad approached the young woman behind the desk in the reception area and asked her if she spoke English.

  ‘Yes, certainly I do. How can I help you, sir?’

  ‘My name is de Lancey. I work for a merchant bank in London,
Gurney Kroheim, you may have heard of us?’

  The woman shook her head.

  ‘Ah, well. I am visiting the Netherlands on business. A colleague asked if I would drop by and collect some information on your company. Do you have some brochures, by any chance?’

  The woman smiled. ‘One moment, sir, take a seat.’

  Conrad sat in the waiting area and listened as the receptionist spoke rapid Dutch on the phone to someone. Fortunately there was a pile of brochures on the table in English, Dutch, German and French. Conrad grabbed one and began to scan it. It extolled the ‘Bedaux System’, which seemed to be a scheme that improved factory productivity. There were photographs of cheerful workers in Holland, France and Britain. There were graphs. And there was a photograph of a short burly man with shiny dark hair brushed back and large jug ears, smiling as he shook the hand of a French company chairman.

  Charles Bedaux.

  ‘Mr de Lancey?’

  Conrad looked up to see a slim woman of about forty wearing a dark suit.

  ‘My name is Mrs ter Hart. I am the General Manager of this office. Can I help you?’ Her English was good; her accent, though slight, sounded to Conrad’s acute ear more Eastern European than Dutch.

  Conrad rose and shook the woman’s hand. ‘Ah, yes. I work for Gurney Kroheim in London,’ he began, hoping that Bedaux International was not an existing client of his father’s bank.

  ‘I know it,’ she said.

  ‘Good, good. I was in Amsterdam seeing a couple of the bank’s clients, and one of my colleagues asked me to pick up information on Bedaux International.’ Conrad held up the brochure. ‘This looks very useful. Do you mind if I keep it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mrs ter Hart. ‘Do you know why your colleague is interested in our firm?’

  ‘Not absolutely sure, no,’ said Conrad. ‘I think he’s interested in the Bedaux System.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mrs ter Hart was beginning to look suspicious. Keep it vague, Conrad told himself.

  ‘The system is usually implemented in factories not banks,’ said Mrs ter Hart. ‘It can often double productivity.’

  ‘So I have heard,’ said Conrad. ‘I think my colleague wants to see whether it can be applied to some of the more repetitive tasks that go on in a bank. He would like to discuss it with Mr Bedaux directly. Where is he? Is he here?’

  ‘That would be a novel application of the system,’ said Mrs ter Hart sternly. Then she seemed to consider the proposition. ‘Mr Bedaux is always very busy, but he likes novel ideas. He visits Amsterdam fairly frequently, and London occasionally. But he is based in Paris, as I am sure you know.’

  ‘Do you have his address there?’

  The Dutchwoman picked up the French brochure and handed it to Conrad. ‘It’s on the back page.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs ter Hart,’ said Conrad, deciding to make his escape before he put his foot in it.

  ‘Not at all,’ said the woman. ‘By the way, what is your colleague’s name?’

  Conrad searched for the name of an employee at Gurney Kroheim, but all he could come up with was a couple of the directors, friends of his father. ‘Alston,’ he said. ‘Henry Alston.’

  Mrs ter Hart nodded. She produced a card.

  Conrad took it and smiled. ‘I’m afraid I have given all mine away this trip. Thank you so much.’ He left, clutching the brochures.

  He found a café by a canal around the corner from Bedaux’s office. The canal was called ‘Singel’, just like the one in Leiden. No wonder Theo knew of its existence in Amsterdam if it was so close to the mysterious Bedaux International.

  Conrad had three hours until his flight left back to London. He had found out a little about Charles Bedaux. The American ran a very successful international management-consulting business with offices all over Europe. He was based in Paris. And he had big sticking-out ears.

  A start, but nothing to indicate why he could possibly be as important to the outcome of the war as Theo implied.

  If Conrad went back to London, that was where his enquiries would end. He might be able to find out a little more about Charles Bedaux from friends of friends in business, but to investigate the man properly he needed to go to Paris. And the only time he could do that was right now.

  He asked the waiter where the nearest post office was. It was only a few minutes’ walk away, just behind the royal palace. It took a while, but eventually his call was put through to Sir Robert Vansittart in London.

  Van sounded harassed, but eager to speak to Conrad. ‘Any luck?’

  Conrad remembered Van’s instructions not to be too specific on the telephone in case of listeners. Which, in this case, was very fortunate.

  ‘Yes, I would say so. It turns out our man was a fraud.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Quite certain. Our friends haven’t had a chance to chat with their hosts much, but it’s likely they will eventually. The shopping list was found.’

  ‘I see. What about the beer?’

  Conrad smiled at Van’s reference to the beer hall bomb. ‘No idea who spilled it.’ He thought a moment. ‘My old friend thinks it was the publican, but that’s just speculation.’

  ‘The publican? I think I know to whom you refer. It sounds odd. You are suggesting they spilled it on purpose?’

  ‘That’s what my old friend guesses.’ Conrad thought he had done a pretty good job of conveying Theo’s answers to Van.

  ‘You are flying home today, are you not? Come and see me straight from the airport and you can brief me directly.’

  ‘That might be difficult,’ said Conrad. ‘The thing is, I need to go to Paris this afternoon.’

  ‘Paris? For what purpose?’

  ‘Something my old friend told me. Difficult to discuss over the telephone. But I can explain everything when I get back to London.’

  It was unlikely that concern over Conrad’s absence from his unit was high on Van’s list of priorities.

  It wasn’t. ‘All right,’ Van said. ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘Not sure,’ said Conrad. ‘Two or three days.’

  ‘Be sure to report back here when you return.’ With that Van hung up to turn to more important matters of state.

  Berlin

  There was a spring in Theo’s step as he made his way down the Kurfürstendamm. The moon peeked out behind clouds, giving the street a dim, blue, illicit glow. In the blackout, the Ku’damm had lost its bright lights and its glitter, but the pavement was crowded and there was an air of tense excitement, of danger, of pleasure snatched in wartime, which Theo found exhilarating.

  He needed cheering up. He had flown in to Tempelhof from Schiphol and delivered Lord Oakford’s message directly to Colonel Oster. There he had learned that the offensive on the western front had been postponed, and as a result General Halder had ordered all plans for the coup to be burned. A wave of disappointment had washed over Theo. He had known it all along: the general was a damned coward. All the generals were cowards.

  But tonight Theo was going to enjoy himself.

  He grinned at the image of the familiar cockatoo, drunk but happy on its sign above the doorway, and descended some steps. Inside, the Kakadu was doing great business. The trademark barmaids – brunettes alternating with blondes – were having trouble keeping to their pattern behind the bar. Theo winked at Mitzi, one of the Kakadu’s Eintanzers, wearing a typically absurd dress that laid bare her smooth pale flesh in all kinds of unexpected places. Heinie got him a table, not too far from the floor, and he ordered a bottle of ersatz champagne, a kind of fizzy alcoholic apple juice.

  Theo lit a cigarette and examined the crowd. Plenty of uniforms: the grey-green of the Wehrmacht, like his own, the blue of the Luftwaffe and the occasional black of the SS. And there were girls. Lots of beautiful girls, doing their bit to encourage their fighting men.

  He could feel her coming. There was a lull in the conversation, men’s eyes flicked to follow her, wom
en’s eyebrows knitted a millimetre or two. She was tall, she was blonde and she was cool, so cool. She wore bright red lipstick, her high cheekbones were accentuated by clever use of make-up, and she never smiled. Ever.

  Hedda didn’t need to smile to get what she wanted.

  And what she wanted, Theo was pretty sure, was him. At least for that night.

  He stood, pulled out a chair for her, poured her a glass of bubbles and lit her cigarette. ‘I’m glad you could make it,’ he said.

  ‘Günter is away for a couple of days. On exercise. A couple of nights.’

  She didn’t smile, but there was something in the way she examined him that made him feel taller, stronger, more virile. They had met on the street during an air-raid scare in Berlin in September. They had both ignored the sirens and stared upwards at the searchlights and the flashes of anti-aircraft guns seeking out phantom British bombers. Theo had offered her his umbrella, to protect her from the bombs. She hadn’t laughed at this rather feeble joke as he had hoped she would, but she had coolly looked him up and down and then accepted it. Theo knew she was married, but it was only after their third night together that he had learned her husband was a Sturmbannführer in the SS Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler. It made her even more alluring.

  ‘So where have you been, Lieutenant von Hertenberg?’

  ‘You know I couldn’t possibly tell you that,’ Theo said.

  ‘Is it a secret?’

  Theo looked straight into her cool blue eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you some kind of spy?’

  Theo’s brain tumbled. Was she joking? How the hell did she know that? He had never talked about any of his work. Perhaps that was how she knew; he wasn’t full of the usual soldier’s gripes.

  He kept his face frozen. ‘Are you?’

  She held his gaze and then blinked. Once. ‘Let’s dance.’

  Hedda wasn’t exactly a great dancer. She didn’t have much of a sense of rhythm, but she did know how and when to press her body into her partner’s. Theo delighted in the surreptitious glances of the other men on the dance floor as they looked away from their own partners towards his.

  He was horny. She was horny. This was going to be a good night. Theo deserved a good night after what he had been going through.