Shadows of War (18 page)

Because if they didn’t, hell would be let loose on the Low Countries and northern France. Again.

That would be a disaster. Conrad was convinced that the Munich peace talks were a colossal error, that the appeasers like his father were wrong, and that the only thing to do was to stand up to Hitler. That was, after all, why he had joined the army. But things were not that simple. Perhaps he should have helped his father negotiate with Theo, if it led to a genuine peace with honour. He knew his father’s motives were noble: if your aim was to preserve peace, why start a war? Conrad’s argument had always been that you had to show your willingness to stand up to Hitler if you wanted to stop him. If the generals did get rid of him, then Conrad would have been proved right.

But what if they didn’t? Conrad wouldn’t have stopped Hitler after all. And hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of people would die, soldiers and civilians. Lord Oakford would at least be able to say that he did everything he could have done to prevent the massacre.

It would all become clearer one way or another the next day.

So, where did Bedaux fit into all this? Perhaps he was involved in some way in the coup preparations? Or in thwarting them?

Conrad wasn’t sure how the hell to investigate the American. He had no official reason to be in Paris, no means of accessing government records, no credentials with which to approach officials. Despite what Warren thought, he wasn’t a spy. What did Theo expect him to do?

He had learned from Warren that Bedaux was working for the French Armaments Ministry. That must mean he was in possession of all kinds of arms-production data, which would no doubt be useful to the German government. But that couldn’t be what Theo was driving at. If Warren knew it, the British secret service would know it, as would the French secret service, for that matter. The British already knew that Bedaux was talking to Theo. So Bedaux’s role working for the French government could not be the whole story.

At ten o’clock, Conrad left his little café and strolled down to the Seine, crossing it by the Grand Palais. Paris seemed to be less overwhelmed by the war than London. There were uniforms and a few sandbags, but the river made its sedate way beneath the city’s beautiful bridges in much the way it had done for the last couple of hundred years.

Conrad found Isobel Haldeman’s apartment in a little
place
off the avenue Montaigne. He had always liked his wife’s younger sister, although he wasn’t sure what she thought of him. Isobel was much less flamboyant than Veronica: small, with a pointed chin, a pretty mouth and kind eyes, she tended to think before she spoke, something that Veronica would never have been caught doing. The fact that Isobel was the first sister to marry, and that she had snared a rich American, had infuriated Veronica. Marshall Haldeman was the son of an insurance magnate from Hartford, Connecticut, who had been placed in charge of the family firm’s European operations first in London and then in Paris. Veronica thought him dull in the extreme; Conrad thought him a decent enough chap.

Isobel welcomed Conrad into her enormous apartment warmly, although she was clearly surprised to see him. A maid served them coffee as they sat in the drawing room overlooking the fountain in the middle of the
place.

‘Have you seen Veronica recently?’ she asked.

‘Not since we were divorced. Over a year ago.’

‘Poor you,’ said Isobel. ‘You always seemed much too nice for my sister. I could have warned you, but by the time I met you, you were smitten.’

‘I was,’ said Conrad. ‘Veronica was someone I could never see clearly. I probably can’t now.’

‘No one can,’ said Isobel. ‘Or at least no one male. Did you know she had split up with Alec?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Conrad. Alec Linaro was the motor-racing driver whom Veronica had met while Conrad was in Spain. He was married, of course, but that only seemed to encourage her.

‘Alec wanted to stay with his wife after all. Veronica was furious, poor lamb.’

‘So what’s she doing now?’

‘Driving a general around London, I think. Oh, God. I hope it’s an old and ugly general.’

Conrad laughed.

‘I’m sorry I’m so wicked. I adore Veronica really.’

Conrad stopped himself from agreeing. Veronica was trouble; always had been and always would be. He was much better off without her. He knew that, he just had to remind himself of it at regular intervals.

‘And what are you doing in Paris?’ Isobel asked.

‘Trying to find out about someone,’ Conrad said. ‘An American. Charles Bedaux.’

‘Dreadful man,’ said Isobel. ‘And an awful wife. Fern. I can’t bear her.’

‘From Kalamazoo, I understand.’

Isobel laughed. ‘I know. Isn’t it too wonderful? What do you want to know about him?’

Conrad had realized that if he wanted to get a useful answer, he couldn’t just ask an innocent question.

‘I’m not sure, precisely. A friend of mine suggested that he might be dangerous in some way. To the Allied cause. Now, I know that Bedaux is working for the French Armaments Ministry, but I think it might be something more than that. Do you have any idea what that might be?’

Isobel looked blank. ‘No. But it doesn’t surprise me. He’s very clever and he has a finger in every pie.’

‘Who are his friends?’

‘He’s the kind of person who has heaps of friends,’ Isobel said. ‘Marshall would have a better idea of who the important ones are. But Mr Bedaux hasn’t been in Paris very much over the last couple of years. He arranged a trip for the Duke of Windsor to the States, and it all fell apart. The American unions hate Bedaux and they made a real stink. Bedaux took it rather badly, I believe. Had a breakdown. I think he went to Germany for a cure. Then he did something glamorous like driving across Africa from Cairo to Cape Town. Or was it the other way? He appeared back in Paris a month or so ago: I saw him at an American Embassy do the week before last at his chateau. He seemed in good spirits, although I didn’t talk to him myself.’

‘Does he still see the Duke of Windsor?’ Conrad asked. ‘I understand the duke and duchess got married there.’

‘I haven’t seen Bedaux with them for years,’ Isobel said. ‘Not since the duke went to Germany.’

‘You see the duke yourself?’ Conrad asked.

‘From time to time,’ said Isobel. ‘We have mutual friends among the Americans here.’

‘Do you happen to know where Bedaux is living?’ Conrad asked. ‘Somewhere in Paris, or does he stay at his chateau?’

‘No, he has leased Candé to the US Embassy for the war. I’m pretty sure he is staying at the Ritz.’ Isobel frowned. ‘Why are you so interested in him?’

‘A friend wanted to know.’

‘And I suppose I can’t ask what kind of friend?’

Conrad smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’

The frown deepened. Something didn’t sound right to her. ‘I thought Veronica said you were in the army?’

‘I am. I’m on leave.’

‘You fought for the Reds in Spain, didn’t you, Conrad?’

‘I fought for the government, yes.’

‘The communists?’

‘The socialists. There were communists there. Some of them shot at me; they killed two of my friends. If you are wondering whether the friend I was talking about is a communist, he isn’t.’

‘But is he British?’

It was a good question, and one Conrad wasn’t going to answer. ‘Look, I really must be going. I don’t want to take up any more of your morning. Lovely to see you, Isobel.’

With that he escaped, leaving behind a very suspicious sister-in-law.

Scheveningen

Millie and Constance sat in silence, drinking their tea in the grand ballroom of the Kurhaus. Even on a gloomy Tuesday in November, the brightly painted frieze around the dome that rose high above the ballroom floor hinted at the gaiety of summer dances.

Theo was late. Although Millie knew she should be calm and businesslike, her heart was racing. It had only been forty-eight hours since she had seen him, but it had seemed far too long. Constance had caught Millie’s mood, and was nervously silent in sympathy.

There he was! He looked so grave, so handsome as he approached them. Millie smiled broadly, but Theo’s expression was frozen as he sat down next to the women. ‘I have an answer for you,’ is all he said, and handed Millie an envelope.

‘What does it say?’ Millie asked.

‘It gives some idea of what a new German government might expect from the British and French in return for peace.’

‘Can I read it?’ said Millie. She had hoped to be something more than a mere messenger.

‘No,’ said Theo. ‘I’d rather you didn’t. But it doesn’t really matter. There’s no point now.’

‘Why not?’ said Millie. Theo was making no attempt to hide his anger.

‘Because it’s not going to happen. Hitler is not going to be deposed.’

‘Have they called it off?’

‘Yes,’ said Theo. ‘We have been ordered to burn all our plans. The generals are too cowardly to take action.’ Theo looked directly at Millie. ‘We’re stuck with him. We are all stuck with him.’

‘I’m sorry, Theo,’ Millie said. Unthinkingly she reached out her hand over the table. ‘I know how hard you have worked for that.’

Theo stared at her hand and made no effort to take it. Embarrassed, Millie withdrew it. ‘Theo? What is it?’

‘Did you see a man named Otto Langebrück yesterday? At a café in the Passage in The Hague?’

‘Y-yes,’ Millie stammered.

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘He works for the Foreign Ministry, doesn’t he, Constance?’

‘He works for Herr von Ribbentrop,’ Constance said.

‘He doesn’t work for the Foreign Ministry, he works in the Ribbentrop Büro, Ribbentrop’s private office.’

‘But Ribbentrop is the Foreign Minister, isn’t he?’ Millie said.

‘Yes. And he’s a dyed-in-the-wool Nazi. He’s one of Hitler’s biggest supporters. He’s not one of us; he’s one of them.’

‘From the point of view of those of us who want peace, it makes sense to speak to people in the current German government,’ Constance said. ‘You said yourself it now seems unlikely Hitler will be overthrown. In that case the British government will have to negotiate with the existing regime.’

‘You went behind my back, Millie.’

Looking at the expression of disappointment and anger on Theo’s face, Millie felt miserable. ‘I’m sorry, Theo, but we had to.’

‘You didn’t have to. You mean your father told you to.’

Millie felt tears springing to her eyes. She had to control them. She
had
to control them.

‘It was Sir Henry Alston’s idea,’ said Constance. ‘Sir Henry got to know Herr von Ribbentrop on bank business in Germany before the war.’

Millie was grateful for Constance’s support, but Theo seemed unimpressed.

‘I can see why you are upset, Herr von Hertenberg,’ said Constance. ‘But you must understand that this is too important for considerations of personalities to play a role. We are talking about war or peace here.’

‘By “considerations of personality”, you mean trust, don’t you?’ said Theo.

‘I trusted my father,’ said Millie.

Theo stared at her, his eyes cold. Then he looked up at the high dome above him. A grand piano played a waltz inappropriately in the background.

‘Come with me,’ Theo said to Millie. ‘Not you, Mrs Scott-Dunton, just Millie.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Outside.’

‘I’ll get my coat.’

‘No you won’t,’ said Theo. ‘There is something I want to tell you. Come on.’

There was a cold wind outside, and Millie started shivering. Theo led her down some steps on to the beach and she hurried after him as he strode towards the waves crashing on to the beach.

He turned to her. His composure had gone, replaced by a mixture of pain and determination.

‘I’m sorry, Theo,’ Millie said, the tears streaming hot down her wind-bitten cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘We
have
to trust each other, Millie,’ Theo said. ‘People like you and me and Conrad are on the same side. The side of reason. The side of peace.’

‘I know. But so is my father. And Sir Henry Alston, and Constance. That’s why they got in touch with Herr Langebrück. To bring peace.’

Theo turned his back on Millie to stare out at the grey North Sea, flecked by white foam in the stiff breeze. Millie wrapped her arms around her chest. She was cold. But she couldn’t abandon Theo.

At last he turned to her. ‘All right, Millie. I’m going to tell you something. I hinted at it to your brother when I saw him a few days ago, but I should stop playing games with myself. The British government needs to know.’

‘Needs to know what?’

‘The Duke of Windsor, your former king, is attached to the French general headquarters and over the last couple of months he has inspected the French lines. He is a surprisingly acute observer. And he has been passing his observations on to someone who has been passing them to me. Vital information about the French deployment and in particular its weak points.’

‘Edward is a traitor?’ Millie said. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. He was our king three years ago.’

‘I can’t be sure if he is doing this intentionally or if he is just indiscreet. But I can assure you he is doing it. And it is very useful information to our intelligence people.’

‘That’s not right, Theo. Someone is lying to you.’

Theo reached out and grabbed Millie’s arms. ‘I said we
have
to trust each other, Millie. I am not lying. Your government has to do something about it; they have to stop him. And you must tell your father this – not Alston, your father. Do you understand?’

Millie met Theo’s intense stare. There was no doubt he believed what he was saying. She nodded. ‘I will tell him,’ she said. ‘But do you have any evidence? I mean, he might believe me, but will the government believe him? There are all sorts of rumours flying around at the moment, Father says.’

Frustration flashed in Theo’s eyes, but then he seemed to see Millie’s point. ‘Very well. I will try to get you some evidence. I’m not sure what yet, but I will think of something. How long are you staying in Holland?’

‘Another three or four days,’ Millie said. ‘We are waiting for a response from Herr Langebrück.’