The Diplomat's Wife

by Ridpath, Michael

  ‘Oh, yes. I am sorry, Kay. I’m here to talk to you about Lothar. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Lothar? But he’s dead.’

  That’s what Phil thought too.

  Emma frowned. ‘But you told me in Brussels that you had seen him. On an operation in Geneva a few years before. Must have been the early sixties. You said he was an art dealer operating under an assumed name.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I? But I was mistaken.’

  ‘How could you be mistaken about that?’

  ‘Easily. This man looked a lot like Lothar, or what you might expect Lothar to look like in his sixties. We learned later it wasn’t him. It was just an Austrian art dealer.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, Kay.’

  Kay shrugged. It was a shrug that said: I don’t care what you believe. I may be lying to you, but so what?

  ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about Lothar recently,’ said Emma. ‘And about Hugh.’

  Kay listened.

  ‘It makes no sense at all that the British government would have killed Hugh, even if they suspected him of being a spy. That’s just not the way they behave. They might have arrested him, or they might have tried to turn him, or they might simply have watched him, but they wouldn’t have executed him.’

  ‘How can you know?’ Kay asked.

  ‘I was a senior diplomat’s wife. Over the years I have met people I can ask. I asked them, not specifying Hugh of course. And they all said the same thing. The British didn’t kill spies on their own territory. They didn’t kill Hugh.’

  Kay didn’t reply.

  ‘Which means Lothar did,’ said Emma. ‘Or if not Lothar, then someone working for him. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Lothar didn’t kill Hugh,’ Kay said. ‘I am one hundred per cent certain.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Like you, I have had contact with people in Lothar’s line of business over the years. And they have confirmed that Lothar didn’t kill Hugh.’

  Phil could see Emma trying to contain her frustration.

  ‘You and I were good friends, Kay,’ Emma said. ‘Back in 1939. You were my one reliable ally when everyone else was letting me down. I know you were as upset as I was about the Russians’ pact with the Nazis. I know how fond you were of Hugh. What happened back then was wrong.’

  Kay listened impassively.

  ‘I don’t have long to live,’ Emma said.

  ‘I guess none of us do,’ said Kay.

  ‘No, I mean I have very little time to live.’ Emma tapped her forehead. ‘There’s something growing in here, and it’s going to kill me. But before it does, I want to see Lothar. Confront him with what he did to Hugh. I need to do this before I die.’

  So that was what all this was about, thought Phil. But as a plan it did rather rely on Lothar still being alive, and as far as he could tell, that wasn’t the case.

  Kay and Emma stared at each other. They both had equally intense brown eyes. Something was passing between them, Phil thought. Not just memories of fleeting meetings in pre-war Europe, but their lives since. What had been important to them then. What was important to them now.

  Then Kay raised her index finger slowly. She moved it in front of her lips in a shush signal.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Emma. But I really can’t help you. Lothar is dead.’

  Emma kept quiet.

  ‘But it is good to see you. Let’s have some coffee, and you can tell me what you have been up to. Philip, can you help me?’

  Phil followed Kay through to the kitchen, where she prepared a metal pot of coffee and stuck it on the stove. ‘Can you get the cups, please, Philip?’ she said, pointing to a cupboard.

  Then she picked up a notepad on the kitchen counter, and a pen. Holding a finger to her lips, she began scribbling as they waited for the coffee to brew, its gentle gurgling hiding the scratch of pen on paper. Phil read over her shoulder as she scrawled left-handed, with spiky, backward sloping letters.

  * * *

  This apartment is almost certainly bugged.

  Lothar is alive. He didn’t go back to Moscow in 1938. He escaped to Switzerland. The KGB found him in the 1960s under the name Werner Strobl. I was sent to Geneva to track him down. I think the KGB intended to kill him. I met him. He got scared and disappeared again before the KGB could get to him.

  For a long time I never believed he killed Hugh, or rather I believed his denial. But you must be right. Hugh was a threat. He knew who Lothar was and also some of the other people the KGB had recruited, probably including Philby and Maclean. Lothar didn’t want Hugh to tell MI5 this. There is no other explanation. It’s obvious. I just refused to believe it.

  Lothar killed Hugh.

  Fifty

  The coffee pot emitted a triumphant final gurgle, and Kay poured out three cups, asking Phil to take them through to the living room. She handed the notepad with her scribblings to Emma.

  As Emma read, Kay spoke.

  ‘I apologize for the lousy quality of the coffee. It’s never been very good here, but it’s gotten a lot worse in the last year or two. They call this Kaffee-Mix. I dread to think what it’s mixed with; it’s only fifty per cent genuine. Think of it as an experience.’

  Phil sipped the brown liquid: unpleasant, with a strong taste of chicory. He was watching Emma for her reaction to Kay’s note. Her eyebrows rose as she read. She glanced quickly at Kay and then Phil, her face setting in determination.

  She began scribbling a response. Phil could read the words from where he was sitting.

  * * *

  I thought so! Do you know where Lothar is now? And what is his current identity?

  * * *

  ‘So, Philip,’ Kay said, reading the note. ‘Tell me about yourself. Are you at university?’

  ‘I’m going to Edinburgh in September,’ Phil said.

  Kay made a circling motion with her hand, urging him to continue talking as she wrote. Which Phil did, with Emma making occasional proud grandmotherly interjections to keep him going.

  * * *

  I don’t know his current ID.

  * * *

  Kay hesitated. Emma mouthed the word ‘Please.’ Kay took a breath and began to write as Phil gave a blow-by-blow account of his A-level papers.

  * * *

  Three years ago, the Stasi sent me to look for him again. And I found him. I found where he lived. I visited him. The Stasi and the KGB don’t know. He persuaded me not to tell them. So I decided to tell the Stasi I had checked and he wasn’t there.

  * * *

  Emma wrote:

  * * *

  Where?

  * * *

  Kay scribbled:

  * * *

  Spain.

  * * *

  Phil started talking about hockey.

  * * *

  Where in Spain?

  * * *

  Kay hesitated.

  * * *

  A town called Jávea. I forget the precise address. His house was at the end of a road, on top of some cliffs overlooking a cove. I think the road is called Calle Cabo Negro. Small place, but there is a large stone lion outside the gate.

  * * *

  Kay quickly asked Phil whether he had been to West Germany before, and how he liked it. She began writing again:

  * * *

  It’s really important the Stasi don’t discover I found him. They know I went to Jávea to look for him and believed me when I said he had moved. So make sure they don’t follow you there.

  * * *

  Emma glanced at her sharply.

  * * *

  Do you think the Stasi are watching us now?

  * * *

  Kay wrote:

  * * *

  Probably. A man came here yesterday to say you might be visiting, so I expect they will be watching this apartment now, and they will listen to the surveillance tapes. If you go to Spain, you must lose them. They must not realize I told you where Lothar is. Of course, he might
have moved since I saw him.

  * * *

  Emma nodded. Kay glared at Phil, who nodded also.

  Then Kay wrote two more words:

  * * *

  Good luck!

  * * *

  Emma put down her cup, which was still almost full of the dark brown liquid. ‘Thank you for the coffee. As you say, an experience.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with Lothar,’ Kay said. ‘He’s dead, Emma. You just have to accept that.’

  ‘I find that difficult,’ said Emma stiffly.

  As they moved to the door, Kay grabbed Emma and pulled her into an embrace. They stayed like that for several seconds.

  ‘So Lothar’s still alive,’ Phil said as they emerged from the building entrance out into the street.

  ‘And he killed Hugh. I knew it! I spent three years of my life spying for the filthy murderer!’ Emma glared at her grandson, her eyes alight with fury. ‘I tell you, Philip, it makes me so angry I could . . .’

  ‘You could what, Grams?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘Nothing. Let’s find a bus back to Friedrichstrasse.’

  But Phil couldn’t help thinking once again of the gun in Emma’s suitcase, the gun that was now safely out of reach in the woods above Lake Annecy.

  Fifty-One

  Back at the Bristol, Phil followed Emma to her room while the hotel was getting a new one ready for him. She sank into an armchair and closed her eyes. She looked exhausted.

  ‘Do you think they were following us?’ Phil asked. ‘The Stasi?’

  Emma sighed. ‘Probably. I expect they were on the lookout for us when we crossed at Checkpoint Charlie.’

  ‘And was Kay’s flat really bugged?’

  Emma opened her eyes, suddenly alert. ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘But . . .’ Phil was stopped in his tracks by Emma raising a finger to her mouth in exactly the same way Kay had. Phil realized what she meant, and let his gaze wander around the room, examining the telephone, the nightstand, the ceiling.

  He nodded to show he understood.

  ‘I fancy a cup of coffee in the bar,’ he said. ‘Do you want to join me?’

  ‘I’m tired,’ said Emma.

  ‘Please, Grams. I have some questions I need to ask you. We could discuss them here?’ He looked around the room meaningfully.

  ‘Oh, all right. Let’s go downstairs.’

  It was early afternoon, and the bar was emptying of those having coffee after lunch. They found a quiet corner, and spoke in tones barely above a whisper.

  ‘So you think your room might be bugged?’

  ‘It might,’ said Emma. ‘I suspect bugging a West Berlin hotel is easy for the East Berlin secret police. Best to assume it is.’

  Once they had crossed back into the West, Phil had believed they were safe. Wrong.

  ‘Kay said they warned her we might visit, didn’t she?’ Phil said. ‘They could have arrested us on the other side, or worse, if they wanted to.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wonder why they didn’t?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Emma.

  ‘Now we know Lothar is alive, we are looking for him, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Emma examined her grandson. ‘Are you coming with me to Spain?’

  ‘I am,’ said Phil. ‘Even if you don’t want me to.’

  Emma closed her eyes. Phil wasn’t sure whether she was thinking or resting. She smiled, and then opened them. ‘Thank you. I shouldn’t let you do it, but I am grateful. I need your help.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ said Phil. ‘But I really would like to know what’s going on.’

  Emma nodded. ‘I owe you an explanation.’

  She took a deep breath and paused for the waiter to serve them their coffee. ‘During the war and afterwards I came to believe that Lothar must have had Hugh killed, or done it himself. But I also believed that Lothar had been executed by Stalin in 1938. So when I met Kay in Brussels fifteen years ago, and she told me she thought Lothar was still alive, it brought everything back.

  ‘Of course, there was nothing I could do about it, so I just tried to forget it. Roland retired, we moved to Cornwall, Roland died. And then I got this diagnosis. I am going to die. I asked myself, what do I want to do before I go?

  ‘My thoughts kept on coming back to Hugh, and what had happened to him. I didn’t want to die and him to be erased from history. I wanted to revisit the places I had lived just before the war, when I was trying to make sense of his death, and do something about it. And then Dick sent me that postcard from Crete.’

  Emma sipped her coffee. ‘I realized I might have a chance of finding Lothar – if I could find Kurt and Kurt knew where Kay was. I hoped Kay would confirm what I suspected: that Lothar had killed Hugh.

  ‘Once I’d had that thought, it wouldn’t go away. I knew Dick was coming to Paris on business, and I thought I could perhaps meet him there. I wasn’t confident of finding Kay by myself, especially with the tumour, but I also wasn’t sure I could ask Dick to help me. I was dithering about what to do.

  ‘Then, at Sunday lunch at your house, you mentioned you had had to cancel your hitch-hiking holiday in Europe, and I realized I could go after all if you went with me. I liked the idea of passing on what had happened to Hugh and to me to the next generation. That is to you. So I asked you to join me.’

  ‘To help you find Lothar?’

  ‘To find Lothar.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this?’

  ‘I intended to tell you most of it. Bit by bit as we travelled around Europe. But then when Kurt was killed so horribly . . . well, I realized it was a lot more dangerous than I had thought, and I should keep you out of it.’

  ‘What do you think the KGB have to do with this?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Emma. ‘Presumably Lothar has managed to evade them for decades, and they still want to find him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He still has secrets. He may have been the one who recruited Burgess, or Philby, or any of the other Englishmen who spied for the Russians. Or if he didn’t recruit them directly, he might know about them.’

  Like Swann’s mole, Phil thought. It seemed unfair that Emma didn’t have the knowledge that there was still another mole burrowing underneath the British establishment and that MI6 thought Lothar knew his identity. Phil considered telling her right then. But he wasn’t sure, yet. Swann had been adamant that he shouldn’t.

  He would wait and see.

  ‘What are you planning to do if we find Lothar?’ Phil asked.

  ‘Look him in the eye and ask him whether he killed my brother.’ There was iron in Emma’s voice.

  ‘And when he denies it? He’ll deny it.’

  ‘I’ll know,’ said Emma.

  She sounded certain. But . . .

  ‘Is that why you brought that gun with you, Grams?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To shoot Lothar.’

  Emma was about to deny it but then decided not to.

  ‘I don’t have the gun any more,’ she said. ‘You made me throw it away.’

  Thank God for that, Phil thought. ‘So. Spain next?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll follow us? The Stasi or the KGB or whoever they are?’

  ‘Let’s hope they don’t know what Kay told us. In which case they might not. But, yes, I think they probably will try to follow us. And we will try to lose them. We have a whole continent to do it in.’

  ‘As long as they don’t decide to stop messing about and just kill us.’

  Emma frowned. ‘I know. You can still back out, Philip. In some ways, I wish you would.’

  She lifted her eyes to Phil, her expression a mixture of fear, hope and pleading.

  Phil grinned as reassuringly as he could. ‘No, Grams. I’m coming too.’

  Emma gave a small smile of relief. ‘Philip?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Promise me you won’t be in touch with Heike befo
re we go?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say this, but I fear she might be working for the East Germans. For the Stasi.’

  ‘But she’s only twenty!’

  ‘She’s older than that, Philip. She’s twenty-five at least.’

  ‘No she’s not.’

  ‘And it was quite a coincidence she found you at the Hollow-Tooth Church yesterday.’

  ‘She said she was looking for me,’ Phil said. ‘She likes me.’

  Emma raised her eyebrows. ‘I wonder why a gorgeous twenty-five-year-old German woman would travel across Europe to meet an eighteen-year-old schoolboy.’

  That hurt. That hurt a lot. It was true that Heike was way out of Phil’s league, but he felt that he and she had had a real connection. She understood him. And she wasn’t twenty-five, she was twenty. And why did his grandmother have to be so bloody offensive, when Phil had done so much for her?

  ‘You just don’t understand, Grams,’ Phil muttered, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’

  Fifty-Two

  Phil was fuming as he went down to reception to get the key to his new room. He knew he had only met Heike a couple of times, but he really really liked her. They understood each other. Sure, she was a couple of years older than him, but she got him. It was nice to talk to a girl like that. And there was the sex. He wanted more of that. He just did.

  There was a message waiting for him in an envelope. He opened it as soon as he got up to his room. Inside, there was a note, handwritten on the headed paper of another Berlin hotel, the Hotel Zoo.