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Liddle hummed tunelessly for a moment as he reviewed the dossier. There was a possible redoubt beyond the Urals and no-one to verify it. He trusted Chainbridge’s views; he wouldn’t have come to him with this without due consideration.

Chainbridge and De Witte had broken several Communist rings operating within the Oxbridge universities. Now B5B section’s focus was Oswald Mosley and his bunch of thugs. Mosley could yet be a British Hitler or Mussolini in the making should a war ever break out. The section was juggling the forces of the extreme right and the extreme left, both Leviathans heading on a collision course across Europe. B5B was underfunded and understaffed, and Liddle seemed to be the only one, apart from Chainbridge and Churchill, who could foresee that Germany might disregard any kind of peace treaty.

Added to his woes, the Admiralty was vying for the counter-espionage brief and the glamorous tars seemed to have the upper hand with the current government. Liddle sighed inwardly. The shinier the brocade on the epaulettes, the more likely counter-intelligence would be moving off his desk. He was a policeman at heart, which meant hard graft and footwork, and the pain-staking gathering of evidence.

‘
I’ll pass it up the chain of command, but don’t get your hopes up. Chamberlain believes he’s got Hitler where he wants him.’

Chainbridge turned to leave, Liddle rose also. The rain seemed to be increasing in volume outside, the din almost drowning out his voice.

‘
Henry, as you know we’re struggling to improve the network. With too few operatives in the field that we can trust, we will need Miss Molinaar back in mainland Europe. The Polish authorities have requested that she be returned to them and that suits our purposes too. De Witte will have to remain here. I need the two of you to start putting feelers out across the country for operatives. You and I know there’s a war coming and that maniac in Berlin wants to set the world alight. We need to be prepared,’

Chainbridge nodded slowly. Liddle handed him a dossier,

‘
Supplied to us by the Yanks. Mister Donald T Kincaid will be in Berlin a week from today depositing some of his considerable fortune into Hitler’s coffers. Miss Molinaar is to strike up a relationship with Kincaid as a joint mission between ourselves and the Poles, and remain with him as his companion. He has transferred an enormous amount of money lately and we don’t have the why’s, where’s or how’s. He’s an open supporter of Hitler and stands on the first amendment in all of his outbursts when questioned about it.’

Chainbridge skimmed the first few paragraphs: D.T. Kincaid, film magnate, many media interests - newsreels, newspapers, periodicals and advertising. Some of the photographs were from London where he was searching for his next big star. Amid all the doom and gloom of the papers, a man of this magnitude was bringing the Technicolor razzmatazz of Hollywood to Britain. A very, very rich man; political too.

‘
I’ll talk to Miss Molinaar.’

Liddle dialled the Foreign Office extension as Chainbridge left.

‘
Hello, yes, I’d like to talk to the Minister. We have a bit of an oddity here, might be worth following up on. Something our friends the Russians might be up to.’

Chapter 5

Oswald Mosley was in his element, surrounded by journalists, hangers on and well-wishers. Despite the waning fortunes of the British Union of Fascists, he still managed to be newsworthy and pull a crowd. It was more of a banquet than a rally, with long benches and tables stretching the length of the converted cellar down along the London’s docklands. It reminded Eva of a German beer hall.

A podium stood on a stage at one end, flanked by the red, white and blue flags of his party. Granite-faced Blackshirts formed a line in front of the stage, with matching black batons resting between their hands, a necessity after the last rally was broken up by rampaging Jews, Communists and Irish Dockers in protest at his extreme right wing manifesto.

Eva and De Witte were introduced to him by Diana Mosley and Eva noted that he and Peter had similarities. Mosley was dashing, rake thin and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He appraised Eva in a single glance, slowly exhaling his cigarette smoke as he did so.

'Hello again,' he smiled. 'Munich a few weeks ago? I never forget a pretty face.'

She held his gaze to Diana’s discomfort and allowed him to kiss her hand which he did as smoothly as a libertine. In his black uniform, webbing and jodhpurs, he resembled a lounging fighter pilot or suave Hollywood leading man. Eva produced her camera, a German Leica, and took a few shots. He posed gallantly, his eyes never leaving her.

De Witte cleared his throat and pushed his way through the press corps. He held a leather-bound board with blank paper clipped to it. A long stylus chained to it made grooves into the paper as he jotted in shorthand. Discreet wires running across the board allowed him to ensure straight lines as he wrote, using his thumb to tell him where to place the next line.

Mosley observed he, like most of the aristocrats attending, was sympathetic to King Edward’s plight in Spain, that he might in fact be the rightful King of England.

De Witte retorted, ‘So if war was declared, a more sympathetic monarch to the Fascist crusade may be more acceptable to the British population?’ He then followed on, ‘How do you plan to depose the current monarch? A French or Russian style revolution perhaps?‘

Ignoring De Witte, Mosley introduced his Italian and German SS guests beside him who saluted straight armed in the flash of bulbs. He told the press he believed that the United Kingdom, Germany and Italy were potential allies against the rise of Communism. His Fascist brothers from Europe were here tonight attending the dinner in solidarity with the BUF and the people of the United Kingdom. They shared his belief that Germany and England would not go to war against each other again, citing the willingness of Westminster to appease Hitler.

Then in a sudden flare of anger Mosley launched into a diatribe against the Soviet Union, the Communists and repeated the ‘fact’ that he, Hitler and Mussolini were bulwarks in Europe against this menace.

Bounding athletically onto the stage as he spoke and striding to the podium, he gripped it in white-knuckled rage. The microphone carried his voice, giving it a tinny quality. Eva removed the flash from her camera and, clipping on the customised B5b wide angle lens, took discreet photographs of those attending. The room offered sufficient light she judged as she captured the German and Italian delegates speaking to the assembled guests. Lords, ladies, businessmen, some from the munitions industries, and bankers were captured on film. Some openly posed for her, believing their faces would be in periodicals across Europe the following week.

De Witte enquired as to how the BUF was being funded, the rumour being Mussolini was their big backer. Mosley laughed this off as ‘Communist propaganda’, saying it was the British working man in the street funding them, with generous private donations.

Some of the journalists scoffed out loud and Mosley’s smile, though broad, slipped smoothly to a sneer. Eva noted that’s where the similarities with De Witte ended. De Witte again raised a question as to the whereabouts of William Joyce, whether or not he was still a party member returned to America or now living in Nazi Germany? Mosley stared evenly at De Witte who inclined his head to improve his hearing. Joyce hadn’t left the BUF but was actively liaising with the German High Command on behalf of the party, replied Mosley.

There was a growing sense of suspicion creeping into his voice in his replies toward De Witte.

De Witte continued, ‘As in the case of Ernst Rohm, right hand men have a habit of coming to a sticky end in Fascist movements. Is Joyce possibly floating in the Thames somewhere?’

Some of the press laughed again. Mosley insisted that Joyce was alive and well and working with Dr. Josef Goebbels. As he spoke, several Blackshirts moved in toward De Witte, summoned with a nod from Mosley. Eva tapped De Witte’s knee with a warning code and he flashed a smile to Mosley that was both immediately disarming and charming. Naturally it’ll be off the record, he assured him. Mosley grunted into his pewter tankard and waved the men away. They dumbly obliged.

Diana and Unity Mitford stood beside her in breathless admiration of Oswald, his coconut oiled fringe flying free with every head shake. He held his audience in thrall and, at the end, all the guests raised their right arms in straight-armed salutes. Taking a deep breath he expanded his arms out in welcome and the assembly sat down to the meal. Diana was in raptures at the table and whispered into Eva’s ear like a breathless schoolgirl, ‘Please, please, Eva, come with us. Berlin is so beautiful, Adolf has done such wonders to the city. He has shown Oswald and me his plans for the New Berlin he plans to build. Really, really quite breath-taking,’

She studied Eva, a truly beautiful young woman and clearly in thrall to her older, handsome, blind companion. Eva had approached her weeks earlier asking to photograph her for a Dutch periodical. She had driven to Wooten Lodge through the rolling, beautiful countryside of Staffordshire and Diana had met her at the doorway personally. Eva glanced around at the tasteful furnishings and followed Diana into the drawing room.

Eva got the impression this frail girl spent a lot of time alone. Diana had warmed to her instantly, making her feel comfortable and remarked that she was surprised such a beautiful woman hadn’t tried for the movies. With a blush, Eva had confided she had been studying for theatre and had toured Europe and was trying to break into the German film industry.

She had sent her portrait photo and resum
é
to Dr Joseph Goebbels in Berlin, reading that he was planning to establish a European film industry to match Hollywood. He had screen-tested her a few years earlier and her resum
é
was ‘on file’.

The magazine shoot had gone well and in the process Eva and Diana had developed a friendship.

‘
Leave it to me, dear. I’ll get Unity to talk to Adolf. They’re very close,’ She leaned in toward her, patting her knee. ‘You belong on the silver screen, Miss Molenaar.’

Eva noted that Diana clipped the vowels in her name short. It sounded like ‘Milner.’ Eva decided she would use that as a pseudonym at some later stage.

Diana became a dedicated pen pal, sending letters to Eva regularly, the address a PO Box set up by M15 and B5b section. Once her letters were reviewed by Chainbridge, Eva would reply and would, where possible, slip in a direct query as to Oswald’s whereabouts and plans. Diana knew she was being monitored, so little or no new information ever featured in her replies.

Eva felt guilty using Diana like this. She was drawn to the eccentric girl and found her fun to be around. Being an only child, Eva sometimes found it hard to build friendships, especially with women. Those who weren’t intimidated by her beauty could be counted on one hand.

She watched the Mitfords with a hint of envy. She would have loved to have had a sister, be part of a big family. In time she vowed she would have one of her own as she watched the Mitfords laughing at a private joke.

Eva realised at that point she was lonely. Suddenly she wanted to flee home, a growing feeling she couldn’t shake.

The banquet finished with Mosley and his men standing to attention, straight arm saluting and singing ‘God Save the King’ at the top of their lungs.

To Eva and De Witte it meant nothing; they had seen this scene across Europe. Diana was singing the loudest with tears in her eyes. Her sister Unity ran up to her and they hugged and cried together. Wiping away the tears, they turned to Eva and pleaded with her to fly to Berlin.

Amid the chants and shouts and belligerent songs Eva told them she would. The two girls posed for a photograph for Eva, two shimmering beauties amid the sea of black, red, white and blue.

Once she had the photographs she needed, Eva left, driving the car assigned to her and De Witte, handing the camera directly to Chainbridge’s chambers for processing.

* * *

They flew into Berlin on a private charter funded by the BUF. Mosley sat a few rows ahead, flanked by his bodyguards, two beefy, shaven-headed Blackshirts. They stared straight ahead mutely while Mosley was reading the Financial Times, enjoying a brandy and a cigar. He was dressed in an immaculately cut black Saville Row herringbone double-breasted suit, French tailored shirt and patent leather shoes. In profile he resembled a hawk, with the same merciless eyes skimming the rise and fall of the money markets.

The three women had gone shopping for the visit two days earlier. Eva had enjoyed the whirl of dress shops, shoe shops and restaurants, and had to admit she got swept up in thrill of flying with such wonderful companions.