The Diplomat's Wife

by Ridpath, Michael

  ‘We both were,’ said Phil. ‘But it was fun.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She smiled – simply, not slyly. ‘I’m glad I bumped into you. And I’m glad I’ve got rid of that scumbag.’

  ‘How long had you been together?’

  ‘Not long. Only a couple of months. But shagging my best friend? Unforgivable. On both their parts.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m better off without him. And without her for that matter. I have a whole life ahead of me to enjoy.’ She smiled up at him.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Phil asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Explore Paris. Maybe see a bit more of France by myself. Or I might just go home and try another trip in a few weeks with a friend. Where are you off to next? What does your grandmother have in store for you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m pretty sure we’ll go to Berlin. But we may be going to a lake in France first.’

  ‘Which lake?’

  ‘No idea. She said she’d tell me at breakfast. But I do know we’re leaving tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. Just ‘Oh’. But it seemed to Phil to signal disappointment.

  ‘Shall we go somewhere else?’ he said. ‘It’s getting crowded here. My guidebook says that there are clubs around here called caves, which are a good place to go. Lively, you know.’ The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide had actually implied they were good places to meet people of the opposite sex, but Phil was planning on bringing his own.

  ‘Yeah, I went to one with Jürgen a couple of nights ago. That’s a good idea – let’s just make sure it’s a different joint.’

  So they left the bar, and walked along a narrow street thronged with students. Unlike the previous night, Phil felt part of the crowd, not a schoolboy looking on from the outside.

  He started telling Heike all about the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide. She listened with mild amusement at his enthusiasm. ‘Does it say anything about my home town – Braunschweig?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ll check. Don’t you have a duke there? We call it “Brunswick”.’

  ‘I know you do. We were big allies of the British. Soldiers from Braunschweig fought for your Duke of Wellington at Waterloo. Unlike more recent times.’

  Phil grinned. ‘I’m definitely in favour of more friendly relations.’ The moment the words were out of his mouth he worried that they might seem creepy, but Heike seemed not to take offence.

  They found a likely place: dark, smoke-filled, with low, arched ceilings. Phil shelled out twenty francs each to get in, and was grateful when Heike shoved a note into his hand to pay for her half. They were near the back and could only just see the tiny stage, on which a black woman with an amazingly sultry voice sang blues in English.

  They drank slowly – the drinks were expensive – listened to the music and chatted. Phil found Heike easy to talk to, and soon relaxed. The conversation was in German, but he managed very well, and if he got stuck over a word, Heike patiently guided him to the correct choice. They ordered food: chicken and pommes frites, the cheapest thing on the menu.

  ‘Is your grandmother enjoying your trip?’ Heike asked.

  ‘I think so,’ Phil said. ‘It’s bringing back memories, not all of them good.’

  ‘What kind of memories?’

  ‘She was a diplomat’s wife before the war. And a communist.’

  ‘A communist? She sounds like an interesting lady. Tell me more about her.’

  So Phil did. He told Heike about her marriage to Roland and about how Roland had cheated on her with her mother. Heike looked suitably horrified. Then he told her about Kay and how Kay had asked Emma to spy for Russia.

  And then he told her that Emma had agreed. Phil didn’t think it mattered. It was ancient history, and what difference would it make if a twenty-year-old German student knew about it? It was a great story, it was good to tell it to someone, and Heike was definitely impressed.

  ‘She certainly is an interesting lady,’ she said. ‘I’d love to meet her.’

  ‘I’m sure she would like to meet you too.’ But Phil wasn’t exactly sure she would. He had no idea what Emma would think of Heike. He did know that she would be unimpressed that Phil had told her so much. ‘Trouble is, we are leaving tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Do you think where you are going has something to do with the story she has been telling you?’

  ‘I’m sure it has. I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t try to find a German diplomat she knew back then. And Kay, the woman who recruited her as a spy. She’s in East Berlin, apparently. Which makes some sense, I suppose, for a spy for the Russians.’

  ‘And that’s why you think you’ll be going to Berlin?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Heike was silent, staring at the stage. She glanced sideways briefly at Phil and then looked straight ahead. A smile crept across her lips.

  ‘What is it?’ said Phil.

  ‘Look. This is a long shot, but do you think I could join you and your grandmother? It sounds fun, and I don’t have anything else to do. Would she mind?’

  Phil’s heart leapt. At that moment there was nothing he would like more than to spend the next few days with this girl. But the truth was, his grandmother would mind. Emma hadn’t chosen Phil to go with her on this, the final trip of her life, so that he could bring a strange German girl with him, however much he fancied her. Although Phil couldn’t see any harm in telling Emma’s secrets to a stranger, Emma would definitely have a different view.

  He searched for arguments he could use to persuade Emma, but he knew the idea wasn’t going to fly. Plus there wasn’t room in the TR6.

  It was still an encouraging sign that Heike wanted to come.

  ‘It’s a nice idea,’ he said. ‘But there isn’t room in the car. It’s a two-seater.’

  Heike nodded. ‘Yes, it was a silly idea. I’ll just travel around by myself. Maybe go south to Avignon and Arles?’

  Phil almost offered to lend her his Hitch-Hiker’s Guide. But although he fancied her, he didn’t fancy her that much.

  They left the cave around midnight. They were standing in shadows on the side of the street just outside the club. Heike rummaged in her bag. She pulled out a biro and an old envelope and tore the envelope in half. She scribbled furiously on one half, and gave it to Phil.

  ‘OK. Here is my home address in Braunschweig, and my address in Bonn next year. Write to me, OK? And maybe we can meet up somewhere in Europe next year? I could show you Braunschweig, although that won’t take very long.’

  She waited while Phil wrote down his home address in Buckinghamshire – with difficulty because of the darkness.

  He handed her the scrap of paper.

  She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Bye, Phil.’

  ‘Bye.’

  She was about to turn away when she paused. She reached up and kissed him again. On the mouth. Slowly.

  ‘Write,’ she said, and she was gone.

  * * *

  Heike took a cab back to her hotel. A tall man with longish dark hair was waiting for her a few metres up the street from the entrance.

  She ignored him, went up to her room, and let herself in. Two minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. She opened it.

  ‘How did it go?’ the man asked her in his accented German once he was inside the room. He was supposed to sound like a Yugoslav guest worker, but Heike thought she could detect a Russian tinge to his accent.

  ‘Good. He told me a lot about Emma Meeke. For a moment I thought he would try to bring me with him, but he didn’t go for it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He said there wasn’t enough room in the car. What kind of car is it?’

  ‘It’s a sports car. British. A TR6.’

  ‘Right. Well, that idea of yours was never going to work then, was it?’ Sometimes Heike had her doubts about Marko, even though technically she reported to him. She would much rather be working with a colleague from the Stasi than the KGB, bu
t this was their operation and they had asked for her, or someone like her. She was sure Phil had spotted him in the bar the evening before.

  Her comment stung the man. ‘Did you fuck him?’

  ‘No, I didn’t fuck him,’ she said. ‘There was no need. He has fallen for me anyway. He’s very naive; I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a virgin. He seems to think I’m only twenty.’

  ‘You do look young. How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘Well, if you need to fuck him, fuck him.’

  Heike really didn’t like Marko. She got the impression he would quite like to fuck her. That certainly wasn’t happening.

  ‘I’ll brief you on everything that Phil told me about his grandmother, and then you can be on your way.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Emma was waiting for Phil in the Ritz dining room the next morning, yesterday’s copy of The Times resting on her Michelin road atlas of Europe.

  ‘Did you have fun last night?’

  Phil grinned. ‘Yes, I did. And I managed to drink a lot less than the night before, you’ll be glad to hear.’

  ‘What’s she like, this Heike?’

  ‘She’s um . . .’ Phil could feel his face getting hot. ‘She’s really nice. She’s a couple of years older than me – she’s studying engineering at Bonn. She comes from Brunswick.’

  ‘Oh, I know Brunswick. I visited it before the war. Nice place. I don’t know how badly bombed it was.’

  ‘She didn’t say. It didn’t make it into my Hitch-Hiker’s Guide. I checked.’

  ‘Philip. One of the things I will hope you will learn travelling with me is that there are places in Europe worth visiting that are not in your guidebook.’

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ said Phil with a grin. ‘But I’m willing to see for myself if Brunswick is one of them.’

  ‘Is she pretty?’ Emma asked.

  Phil nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah. She’s very pretty.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ said Emma. ‘I’m sorry to tear you away from her.’

  Phil shrugged. He was sorry too. There was no point denying it to himself. It seemed such a shame not to see her again after that kiss. He wondered whether he should have asked her if he could go back to her hotel with her. Was that what she wanted him to do?

  Probably not. She had walked briskly away from him. If she had wanted him to come too, she would have dawdled. She hadn’t really given him a chance.

  But what if he had asked her? And what if she had said yes?

  The waiter brought some croissants, and Phil helped himself to one.

  ‘Did you have dinner with Dick last night?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. We went to a simple little bistro near the Latin Quarter I remembered from before the war. The one I told you about. It’s still there, although it’s much cleaner and a lot less rowdy than it used to be.’

  ‘He seems like a nice guy.’

  ‘He is. He always was.’

  ‘I assume the Frances he married is the one he met here at the Café de Flore?’

  ‘That’s right. I went to their wedding in Durham – a rush job. There were a lot of those during the war. As he told you, they moved to America afterwards, Hollywood and then Washington. We’ve exchanged the occasional letter over the years, and we send each other Christmas cards; in his card a couple of years ago he told me Frances had died. But this is the first time I’ve seen him for nearly forty years.’

  It occurred to Phil that Emma was looking much livelier this morning than she had so far on the trip.

  ‘So we both had good evenings last night?’

  Emma grinned. ‘It sounds like it.’

  ‘Dick’s postcard mentioned Kay was living in East Berlin. Is that who we’re looking for?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Hang on. I didn’t realize Kurt knew Kay?’

  ‘Ah. Very perceptive. No, I haven’t told you that yet.’

  ‘So we’re going to meet Kurt next? To ask about Kay?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘And why do you want to find Kay?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Phil grinned. ‘I can be patient.’ He wouldn’t be at all surprised if it had something to do with Lothar.

  ‘Good,’ said Emma. She touched his hand. ‘Thank you, Philip. You are being a good sport about all this.’

  ‘It’s fun, Grams. And I’m happy to do this your way.’ He nodded to the road atlas. ‘Have you figured out where this lake is?’

  ‘I can have a good guess,’ said Emma, opening the page at the east of France. ‘There aren’t actually that many lakes in France, and we’re looking for one where someone might retire to.

  ‘There’s Lake Geneva. Part of its shore lies in France, so that’s a possibility, but I somehow think Kurt would have referred to that by name. I think our best is here.’

  She stabbed the map, her finger covering a sliver of blue between mountains. ‘Lake Annecy. I remember Kurt went on a cycling holiday there, and he said he loved it. So, that’s where we start, and if that doesn’t work we may try Lake Geneva, or the Lac du Bourget a bit further to the west, here.’

  ‘OK. Have you planned a route?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  Part Three

  Annecy

  Thirty

  June 1979, Annecy

  * * *

  It was a long drive from Paris to Annecy, about six hundred kilometres. It took them longer than it might have done because Emma decided to follow the autoroute for only the first part of the journey. The weather had turned cooler – little balls of cloud spurted rain at them before hurrying on – but they managed to keep the top of the TR6 down for most of the trip.

  They stopped for a late lunch at a tiny restaurant overlooking a vineyard in Burgundy. Phil ate snails for the first time in his life, and he liked them, or at least he liked the garlic and the butter. He enjoyed the driving, although he was tiring by the end of the day. It was almost dark by the time they arrived at Annecy, the ancient capital of Savoy – as Emma informed him – guarding the foot of the lake of that name. Although she had explored much of France with Roland over the years, this was her first visit.

  Emma had asked the Ritz in Paris to book them rooms at a small hotel in the middle of the old town, right on the River Thiou. They dumped their luggage, wandered through the ancient narrow streets lined with timbered houses and covered arcades, and found a bustling restaurant for dinner, overlooking one of the canals that ran through Annecy. It wasn’t quite yet the grandes vacances in France, but the place was already full of tourists.

  It rained overnight, but the weather was crisp and clear the following morning. From their breakfast table they could see the hulking medieval prison with its high stone walls standing on a narrow island in the river, and behind it, above the rooftops, the jagged peak of a mountain.

  Phil had had an idea overnight. ‘Grams, Brunswick is near the border with East Germany, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ said Emma, a smile playing on her lips. She had read his thoughts, which wasn’t that difficult.

  ‘I assume we’re going to Berlin after this?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know, but I expect so.’

  ‘Do you think we could stop in Brunswick on our way back? By then Heike may have returned home.’

  Emma smiled. ‘I can’t promise anything because even I don’t know exactly where we’re going, but if we can, we will.’

  ‘Thanks, Grams,’ said Phil. ‘I’ll send her a postcard today to warn her.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll get to meet her?’

  ‘Maybe you will.’

  Emma pulled out a small map of Lake Annecy she had taken from the hotel reception that morning, and spread it out on the table.

  ‘How are we going to find this guy?’ Phil said. ‘There must be tens of thousands of people in Annecy.’

  ‘If you remember, Kurt told Dick he lived somewhere overlooking the lake. We needn�
��t worry about Annecy. It’s completely flat – you don’t look down on the lake from here. You see there are two roads around the lake?’

  Phil leaned over the map. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The bigger one, on the western side, hugs the shore, as do the villages, which means you don’t really look down on the lake from there either. But on the eastern side, the road climbs up into the hills. From these villages you could easily overlook the water.’

  She pointed out Veyrier-du-Lac, Menthon-Saint-Bernard and Talloires. ‘Talloires is famous – there’s an old abbey there. From the map, it looks like most of the village is down by the lake shore, but part of it is higher up.’

  ‘So what do we do? Stand in the village square and shout Kurt’s name?’

  ‘We ask around. There can’t be that many Germans living in the area, and the locals will probably know who they are.’

  Phil bought a postcard, wrote a quick note to Heike and posted it to her home address. It might well turn out that she wasn’t back in Brunswick by the time they arrived there on their way from Berlin, but it was worth a shot, and it gave him something to look forward to.

  Then they set off along the small road around the eastern side of the lake.

  Lake Annecy was indeed beautiful; Phil could see why someone might want to retire there. Clear green-blue water lay between steeply wooded slopes that higher up turned to rock. Down below, the town of Annecy stood at its foot, where the River Thiou rushed down towards the Rhône. In the other direction, the lake wound around a bulbous headland out of sight.

  The road climbed swiftly and they were soon in the village of Veyrier-du-Lac. They found a café and a restaurant, Emma asking in each if anyone knew an old German friend of hers named Kurt Lohmüller who lived locally. The proprietor of the café was wilfully unhelpful, and the waiter in the restaurant had no idea. But they had more luck at the pharmacy. The pharmacist said that a German woman popped in regularly to pick up a prescription. Emma suggested that was probably Kurt’s wife, and the pharmacist described where the lady’s house was.