Sunstroke

by Madge Swindells

  Unbelievably, he said, ‘You’re free to go at once.’

  I began to shake. My knees felt wobbly and, for a moment, I thought I would fall, but I hung on to my self-control.

  ‘I have to ask you if you require the services of a social worker, but as far as I’m concerned, you can—’ He broke off warily. ‘The likes of you and your husband have destroyed this country. If I had my way the traitors would be necklaced. All those in power—’

  Once again, he closed his mouth, looking uneasy. I knew about the pain of betrayal and I felt a glimmer of understanding.

  ‘May I say goodbye to my cellmates?’ I stammered.

  He flushed with anger, while his eyes blazed with contempt. ‘That won’t be possible.’

  Moments later, I walked down a corridor thronged with newly freed prisoners, who were laughing and embracing. In one way or another they had all fought for freedom. I had not. I tried to blank my mind until I was alone in the shower. Then I gave way to joy, and the release of pain, beating my hands against the tiles until they hurt, screaming, Tree, free, I’m free,’ until the scalding water washed away my tears.

  Half an hour later, dressed in clothes that were much too large for me (had I ever been this wide?), and still feeling light-headed and unreal, I staggered out of the prison gates into the arms of Joy.

  ‘Heavens! Joy! Why…?’ I hugged her tightly and bit back angry memories of her earlier betrayal.

  ‘Thank God,’ Joy said. ‘Oh, Nina! Thank God! That’s all I can say.’ She hung on until she was gasping. Then she stepped back and gave me a critical once-over. ‘God, but you’re thin. How you must have suffered. Oh, my poor Nina. You don’t have lice, do you?’ She flushed and grabbed my arm as I shook my head. ‘Sorry! Rightie-ho! Let’s get out of here. I had no idea whether or not you’d be freed. We tried to find out, but we couldn’t get a firm answer. It was always “maybe”, or “there’s a possibility”. I came along in the vague hope… Every morning for a week, to tell the truth. Nina! I’m so sorry about… you know. I’ve missed you. Well, here you are. Let’s go.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Our home, of course. Not as grand as the last one, but we’re happier. I’ve booked you on the evening flight to London, plus your connection to Inverness. Your father insisted that you leave the country at once.’

  ‘Father?’ I asked wonderingly. ‘I thought he’d written me off.’

  ‘Oh, Nina,’ Joy said. ‘You will never know how hard your father has lobbied to get you this pardon. To read his letters to the government you’d think you were Britain’s leading Commie out here to fight for freedom.’

  ‘Good God. That doesn’t sound like Father.’

  ‘You’re his daughter, aren’t you?’

  A lump came into my throat so big it was hard to swallow.

  Chapter 35

  Inverness, 18 May 1994

  I peered through the taxi window and tried to prepare for the moment I had dreaded: coming face to face with my father. I felt such a failure, not so much because of my prison sentence and the publicity but because I had lost my son. I should have listened to my intuition and Father’s fears that Wolf was crooked. If only I had guarded Nicky better. Father must despise me for my foolishness. I should never have come home, but I had no choice. I needed his help.

  It was unusually cold for May. The branches of the trees had not yet unfurled their leafy buds, leaving a stark, pristine winter beauty that I had always loved. The loch shone like a sheet of burnished steel, and above, the snow-capped Liathach mountain peak looked sombre and forbidding against the grey sky.

  The trip had passed with bewildering speed. I still felt shocked. It was hardly twenty-four hours since I had been released so unexpectedly. I needed more time to pull myself together. I could not stop shivering and not only because of the cold. ‘Almost there,’ I whispered to the taxi driver.

  No one was waiting. Saddened by a sense of anticlimax, I paid the driver, picked up my case and opened the front door.

  Nothing had changed. There was the grandfather clock I used to hide in, the old Afghan rug that our first Brigit once chewed and Maria had sent to be invisibly mended, the picture of Grandmother on the wall, the homely smell of polish. Everything was shockingly familiar, except for the darkness. I had grown used to brilliant light, space and sun, and had quite forgotten about the gloom.

  A woman hurried towards me. Plump and matronly, with iron grey hair and rosy cheeks, she looked the part of the housekeeper. She had fine grey eyes, and a kindly aura lay about her, but she could not disguise her unease. Perhaps she was afraid that I might change her routine or take her place.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘No doubt you’re Miss Nina Ogilvie. I’m Rosemary Peters, the housekeeper.’ She was a local woman, I could hear. ‘Your father will be pleased to see you. He’s been fretting.’

  Ogilvie? Not Moller? Is that what Father preferred?

  ‘Commander Ogilvie is in his study,’ Mrs Peters said. ‘There’s a nice fire there. Would you like coffee before lunch?’

  ‘Yes, please. That would be very welcome.’

  I pushed the door open and saw my father sitting in an easy chair, pushed close to the window for light. He was studying a book of sketches. When he looked up, I was shocked to see how he had aged. His hair had turned white, his face was paler and thinner than I remembered, yet his eyes burned with vigour and his glance was as keen and decisive as it had ever been. I forced myself to walk towards him, even to smile. So many hurts came to mind, but then I remembered what Joy had told me.

  ‘Thank you for lobbying to get me out of prison, Father.’

  He shrugged and rose unsteadily, using the strength of his arms to push himself up on two sticks.

  ‘And thank you for putting money in my account. I only found out at Heathrow.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Nina. You’ll be thanking me for procreating you next.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘Was it that bad?’

  ‘Not prison. But losing my Nicky… No, even worse is my baby’s loss of me. I can’t bear to think of his pain.’

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to get into any situation I couldn’t handle.

  ‘It’s so cold, yet it’s May. I’m not used to the cold. My blood has thinned.’

  Father gave an awkward laugh. ‘The man’s a scoundrel. I tried to warn you.’ He balanced on one stick, leaned the other against a table and shook my hand. No mean feat.

  ‘Come over here and sit down, Nina. You’re standing like a soldier on parade.’

  It was painful to watch Father negotiate the four yards and struggle to control his slow descent into a chair, but he would not let me help him. I sat opposite him, moving as close as I could to the fire roaring in the hearth.

  ‘Ah, that’s better. You look thinner, Nina. There’s a nasty scar on your arm, I see. Otherwise there’s no change. The worst scars are inside, of course, but you endured. That’s the main thing.’ He was making an effort to sound happy, but I could see that he was hurting.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father.’

  ‘I’m sorry, too. You were set up by Wolf and imprisoned by the government to try to draw Wolf out. It didn’t work and you suffered deeply, I’m sure. I wish I could have helped you in time. Thank God you’re home. I was afraid some right-wing zealots might take a pot shot at you at the airport.’

  ‘Oh, come, Father. That’s going a little over the top.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Wolf made a fool of the former government. That’s why they gave you such a stiff sentence. The President’s pardon could be taken by some to mean that you, too, were working for the Russians. The irony is that Wolf was a freelancer selling to the highest bidder. Clive Wattling, my former colleague at the department, backs up my opinion. D’you remember Clive, Nina?’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘His research paints Moller as a specialist in minerals and military hardware, subjects he knew well. He sold to the highest bidder,
oil to the South Africans, missile-tracking systems to the Russians, whatever he could lay his hands on. His scheme to use Armscor and sanction-busting to get the help of right-wing US manufacturers was nothing short of genius.’

  It was a long speech for Father, but it explained his anxiety. He cared. The knowledge gave me a warm glow. I took his hand, although I couldn’t remember ever doing that before, but he gently pulled it away.

  I voiced the question I had been longing to ask. ‘You were the only person to recognize that something was wrong with Wolf. How did you know? At the time I felt so hurt. Everyone else was taken in, as I was. If you remember, you said Wolf had hidden agendas.’

  He continued to stare at me, in his curiously intent, yet remote manner. He, who was so expert at reading every expression, had shuttered his soul. No one penetrated that cool, amused expression. Did anyone really know my father, I wondered. Certainly not my mother, who had given up trying and run for cover. Mother had died while I was in prison and I knew that this was another topic I must avoid, if I was to remain calm and composed.

  ‘Nothing specific, Nina,’ he said eventually. ‘In my line of work one develops a sixth sense. Most people try to disguise their weaknesses by covering up. A clever man might take pains to look idiotic and vice versa. You should have asked yourself why he worked so hard to impress everyone with his loving nature. Of course, we were all prospective marks in one way or another.’

  Despite my hatred of Wolf, I still squirmed to hear him so despised.

  ‘That’s enough of that bounder,’ Father said, as if he sensed my feelings. ‘Ah, coffee. Thank you, Mrs Peters.’ He waited while the housekeeper poured it.

  ‘You need to forget Wolf, Nina. Never use your married name. It’s only an alias. I doubt it was ever real. God knows what his name is.’ He laughed curtly, and again I was wounded. ‘Around these parts no one has connected the jet-set spy Baroness Moller with Nina Ogilvie. Let’s keep it like that, shall we?’

  Suddenly, I recalled my wedding. How beautifully Wolf and Joy had planned their surprise. How stunned I had been when I signed the register. And later Wolf had held me in his arms and teased, ‘Can a baroness be fucked? Or do I beg for an audience from now on?’ How he must have laughed at me. Cruel! Deep down, the flames of my anger were scorching my heart. I frowned at nothing in particular.

  ‘Take my advice. Put it all behind you, Nina.’

  I stared at him in shocked silence. Then I leaned forward and gripped his arm. ‘Never!’ I had spoken more vehemently than I had intended. ‘Forget my son? What sort of a woman could do that? Wolf is cruel and evil, and Nicky must be found and brought home, just as quickly as I can. If only I knew where to start.’

  Father came down hard and fast on my inadequacy. ‘Is that what you plan, Nina? D’you want to leave right now? I’ll give you all the money you need. I’m not exactly a pauper. Will you start searching the world, probing every haystack?’

  An icy blanket of despair settled on me and I shuddered. I had only a vague idea of how to begin.

  ‘Well, I haven’t been entirely idle,’ he went on. ‘I’ll brief you after lunch. Can it wait until then?’

  ‘Of course. Yes, really.’ Despite my tension, I forced a smile to prove it.

  Chapter 36

  We lunched as strangers, groping for trivial topics: the state of the crops, the poor rains, the size of the trout, anything except feelings. Out of habit Father ate frugally, but I had no appetite for steamed trout and spinach, my father’s favourite food. My unease filled the dark dining room.

  We arranged to meet at three in Father’s office. I knew that to be late for a meeting at Ogilvie Lodge would be tantamount to treason. I spent an hour going through the cupboards where Mrs Peters had packed away my old clothes. In view of my prison sentence I guess the mothballs were understandable, but I doubted I’d ever lose the stench of them.

  The fifteen cartons of clothes, household effects and the suitcases the freight company had shipped were in the attic. As I gazed at my inventory, vases, photo albums, clothes, cutlery, kitchen equipment, Nicky’s clothes, I almost gagged. Oh, God! One day I might have the strength to unpack them, but not for a long time.

  *

  Father was standing with his back to the fire, balancing on his walking sticks.

  ‘Well, here you are. Shut the door, Nina, and listen carefully,’ he began, without any preamble. ‘While you’ve been away, three of the world’s top missing persons’ agencies have been searching for Nicholas over three continents.’

  Hope must have dawned in my eyes for he added quickly, ‘Don’t get excited. I have absolutely no good news at all, but their work is well documented here.’ He pointed to a pile of bulky folders on his desk.

  ‘From the moment Wolf left the aircraft at Walvis Bay, there is no further news of him or Nicky. Nor any records of a man and a young child leaving Namibia. I’m sure that he was picked up by the Fisheries boat, as Barnard believes.

  ‘You will remember that I sent you a cryptic reply to the note you scribbled on the plane with Major Barnard. The Lubeck account had been closed before our man got there, probably before you even wrote the letter. There is no trace of a Wolf Moller at Dresden University, nor anywhere else. That is why I feel sure that was not his name.’

  I felt shamed by the memory of so many shared intimacies, and fought to smash the rising image, but failed. We were lying in bed, my head on his shoulder, having made love with sensuous abandon. We were at peace with each other and utterly content. ‘My dear wife,’ he had murmured, ‘one of these days we’ll save enough to restore our home in Germany and the estates. You will be famous for your beauty – the regal Baroness von Moller. Only I shall know that you’re the best fuck in Europe.’

  My face contorted with pain. ‘He was real enough. Real flesh and blood. What does it matter what he calls himself?’ I felt myself flushing. Why did I have to fight back? Why was I rekindling an old, rebellious pattern of behaviour?

  Father opened one of the files. ‘You’ll see here that a man using the alias of Gunther Mannheim operated in America during the early eighties and conned several people out of a great deal of money. He also claimed to be East German. There are similarities in his and Wolf’s modus operandi, I feel. We have a few vague descriptions of him. Nothing conclusive.’

  He leafed through a bulky file. ‘In the early eighties one hundred and sixteen mineral frauds were documented with Interpol that were similar to Wolf’s type of operation. I have examined them all and it seems to me that some of them bear his fingerprints. It’s possible that our young fledgling con was learning to fly, but he always had a bolt-hole and no one knows where that is, or who he is. That’s the problem, Nina.’

  He turned the page and shot me a troubled look. ‘I was able to draw on old contacts to obtain this one. It’s a copy of the CIA’s data on Moller. They want him very badly. He’s a very rich man, he’s very astute, and shows immense daring and cunning. Not one of the intelligence forces has got near to finding his real identity, or his whereabouts.

  ‘My advice to you must be to give up your quest for your son. If the experts can’t trace him, then how can you?’

  My fury surged. ‘Of course I won’t give up. Whose side are you on?’ It was a cry straight from my heart.

  He ignored my outburst. ‘Read the files, then put them away and start again, Nina. Start a new life, create a new family. Of course, you won’t be able to go back to asset management or banking after a prison sentence, however unjustly given, but many other openings exist. Or you could stay at home and do nothing, or run the farms perhaps, or start your own business. You’re still young. Your life is ahead of you. We are not poor by any means. Be sensible, Nina.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this, Father.’ I struggled to stay calm as my temper got the upper hand. ‘What sort of man could abandon his grandson?’

  ‘I have never seen my grandson.’

  Briefly, I saw his pain, and gu
ilt struck home hard. Why had I never brought Nicky home? Because of Wolf, of course. He had always thought of a thousand reasons why Scotland was out of the question whenever I mentioned a visit, but I should have insisted. I didn’t because I had dreaded another dismissive confrontation between my father and Wolf.

  ‘You were so set against Wolf,’ I said to him again. ‘You were right, of course.’

  He shrugged. ‘Water under the bridge, my dear.’

  ‘Nina,’ he called, as I walked out, cradling three bulky files, ‘I’d like to know what you plan to do by midnight. Would that be possible?’

  ‘Yes.’

  As if I needed time to decide! Nevertheless, I spent a depressing evening going through the files. So many experts, all with professional training and back-up, yet there was virtually nothing to show for their efforts.

  *

  Midnight. I heard Father in the kitchen making hot chocolate and burst in on him without planning exactly what I would say.

  ‘I shall search for Nicky, I can never abandon him. You must see that. I don’t expect you to agree with my decision, but you can surely understand how a mother feels about her baby. If necessary I’ll spend my whole life searching for him. I’ll never give up. Never.’

  ‘Have some hot chocolate, Nina.’ Father had a way of bumping one down to earth.

  ‘Thanks.’ I sat at the kitchen table and pushed the files towards him. ‘I’ve never seen so much data saying nothing.’

  ‘Exactly my diagnosis. Do you have any plans on how to begin?’

  ‘Some. I’ve had a year and a half to think about it.’

  He watched me inquiringly, but I was reluctant to put my ideas into words. Dreams have a habit of dissolving when pure reason touches them. Father wasn’t short of pure reason. So what could I say? The silence was becoming painful.

  ‘Listen, Father. Wolf has two weaknesses. One is time. Whenever he embarks on a fraud he has to get out fast before his victim or the authorities latch on to him. His second problem is laundering his cash in such a way that it will not lead his pursuers back to his base. Nowadays, governments and banks are tightening up on cash transactions. Running loot round the globe is becoming hazardous and it takes time and expertise.