Michael Ridpath - Shadows of War

Fruity was a bit befuddled, Conrad was glad to see.

‘Ex-husband,’ said Conrad. ‘So does that make Isobel an ex-sister-in-law? Somehow I don’t think it does, does it?’

Fruity pondered the question. ‘Don’t know,’ he decided eventually. ‘De Lancey, you say? Is your wife Veronica de Lancey?’

‘That’s her,’ said Conrad. ‘And she’s my ex-wife.’

‘Oh, I see. I met her once. Sat next to her at dinner somewhere. Charming woman.’

‘You could never accuse Veronica of lacking charm,’ Conrad said.

Fruity laughed. ‘Can I get you another?’ he asked Conrad. Conrad’s glass was half full; Fruity’s was entirely empty.

‘Why not?’ said Conrad, finishing his.

‘What’s it like, being divorced?’ Fruity asked.

‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’

‘Was it your idea, or hers? I hope you don’t mind me asking, old man, I know you are a stranger, but there are some things it’s easier to ask strangers.’

‘Hers,’ said Conrad. ‘I fought it for a year or so, then I gave up.’

‘Was Alec Linaro involved in any way?’ Fruity asked.

‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘I take it he was at that dinner party too?’

Fruity nodded. Conrad felt the anger rise inside him, the humiliation of the cuckold. While he was scrabbling around in the dust and blood of Spain, his wife was openly flirting with other women’s husbands in front of total strangers.

‘Don’t let it get to you, old man,’ Fruity said. ‘It happens to all of us.’

‘Oh?’

‘My wife is beautiful. Wealthy. The daughter of an earl. And I have no idea which man she is with at this precise moment. But I would be very surprised if she was alone.’

Conrad raised his eyebrows.

‘Are you wondering why I admit that?’ Fruity said. ‘Why shouldn’t I? I mean, she flaunts it. Why should I never mention it, just because no one ever mentions it to me?’

Conrad nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’

They stared at their drinks for a moment.

‘Do you love her?’ Fruity asked.

‘I did,’ said Conrad.

‘Do you now?’

Conrad looked at Fruity sharply. ‘No. Maybe. I don’t know.’

‘I love her,’ said Fruity. ‘That’s the problem. I’ll always love her.’

Conrad liked Fruity. He bought him another drink. They changed the subject. They talked about Paris, the phoney war, the army, Fruity’s service in India, the Duke of Windsor, the French army, Fruity’s trips around northern France.

It was several whiskies later and well past midnight before Conrad left the Ritz and made his way over the Seine to Warren’s flat, thinking he now knew why Theo wanted him to track down Bedaux.

His Royal Highness the Duke of Windsor had been passing secrets to the enemy.

And if Theo was right, in only a few hours’ time the Germans might be making use of those secrets to attack Belgium and Holland.

Time to go back to London.

Scheveningen

It was about ten o’clock. Millie was in her nightgown having ordered a light supper from room service. She lay with the lights out and her eyes open, listening to the sound of the surf outside and thinking about what Theo had said.

There was a light knock at the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Constance.’

‘Go away!’

‘Let me in, Millie! I want to apologize.’

Millie sighed, got out of bed and opened the door a crack. Constance was standing on the landing looking sheepish. ‘Can I come in?’

Millie hesitated, and then opened the door wider. Constance sat on the small chair by the desk, and Millie parked herself on the bed.

‘I just wanted to say I am sorry, Millie. I’ve been thinking about it and you are quite right. It’s wrong to negotiate with the Nazis when we are at war with them. We should have told your father and Henry that.’

Millie was surprised, but gladdened that Constance seemed to share the doubts that were growing in her own mind after her conversation with Theo.

‘It’s just so difficult when people you trust ask you to do something,’ Constance went on. ‘And I do wish someone would do something to stop this dratted war.’

‘So do I,’ said Millie. ‘But I wonder if we shouldn’t leave it to our government.’

‘Probably,’ said Constance. ‘I don’t think Henry is a Nazi, though.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Millie.

Constance looked as if she was going to argue, but seemed to think the better of it. ‘Oh, and I saw Theo earlier this evening.’

‘You did?’ said Millie. ‘Why didn’t you send him up to see me?’

‘I tried to, but he said he just wanted me to leave you a message. He wants you to meet someone tomorrow morning. Early.’

‘Who?’

‘He wouldn’t tell me,’ said Constance. She dropped her eyes. ‘I think he doesn’t trust me.’

‘When? Where?’

‘Half past six. In the sand dunes just beyond the beach. Below the watchtower up there. You know. We walked up there yesterday afternoon.’

A mass of low sand dunes covered in scrub stretched along the coast for several miles to the north east of Scheveningen, and Millie and Constance had explored them the day before. ‘Yes, I know where you mean. That’s frightfully early, though. It’s still dark then.’

‘It must be someone quite important,’ said Constance. ‘I asked if I could come with you, but Theo said no.’

‘All right,’ said Millie. She looked at her companion. Constance’s apology seemed genuine enough, but Millie didn’t even begin to understand her. At one moment she seemed to be impossibly naive, but she clearly understood more about international politics than she let on. With Otto Langebrück she had appeared firm and businesslike. And her relationship with Alston was a mystery. She said she was a friend of Alston’s niece, but it was odd that Alston trusted her so much.

‘Thank you, Constance,’ she said. ‘Good night.’

After Constance had left her, Millie rang down to the hotel reception to book a wake-up call.

Scheveningen, 15 November

The phone woke Millie before six, and she was out of the hotel by ten past. It was still dark, although a lighter shade of grey framed the Kurhaus to the east. The breeze was steady rather than strong, and the Dutch flag flapped jauntily from the cupola of the hotel.

The promenade was empty, but one man was walking his dog on the beach down by the pier. Crows and seagulls huddled on the sand. Most of the guesthouses and hotels along the front were dark.

Millie wondered whom Theo wanted her to meet. Her best guess was either someone high up in the conspiracy against Hitler, or someone with evidence against the Duke of Windsor. Millie still found it hard to believe that the duke could possibly be a traitor, but she had to trust Theo. It was odd: she trusted Theo more than her own father.

She wished she could talk to her brother about the pickle she seemed to have got herself into. He would be furious, of course, but then he would be constructive. He would know what to do.

But there was no Conrad, so Millie was left to her own devices. She should have confidence in herself; she could cope.

She lifted her chin as she came to the end of the promenade, where beach met dune. The sand there was soft and had drifted in the wind, but she trudged up to a small footpath that snaked up the dune. The sky was lightening all around now, although sea, sky and dune were still shifting shades of grey and black.

She remembered where she had walked with Constance a couple of days before. There was a Napoleonic watchtower on the highest dune with a view of The Hague to the east and Scheveningen to the south. To get there, one had to climb and descend a couple of times. She assumed that Theo and his companion, whoever he turned out to be, would be waiting for her in one of those hollows.