Michael Ridpath - Shadows of War

‘Is it?’ said Theo.

Otto stared at Theo. He nodded slowly to himself. ‘Yes, Theo, it is. And to suggest otherwise is treachery against the Fatherland.’

‘I don’t believe it is,’ said Theo.

‘Well, I do,’ said Otto. ‘I don’t agree with everything Hitler does or says, but he has made Germany a great country again, and as a German I am proud of that.’

With a heavy heart, Theo realized he had misjudged Otto Langebrück.

‘Look, Theo, I like you,’ Otto went on. ‘I’m not a member of the Gestapo, and I won’t tell them what you have just said to me. But I will go and speak to the Duke of Windsor and persuade him to return to England. There will be thirty million francs held for him in Switzerland and we will promise that him becoming king and Wallis queen will be a precondition of peace talks no matter what the British government says. With those assurances and Lord Oakford’s invitation, he will return to England. And you won’t stop him.’

Otto turned to leave the cave.

Theo had retrieved his pistol from the false bottom of his suitcase, which he had left at the station. Now he pulled it out of his jacket. ‘Otto?’

Otto turned. His expression changed when he saw the gun. His eyes opened wide in fear. ‘Theo? No, Theo.’

Up until that point in his life, Theo had never killed anyone, although he had seen Conrad do it a couple of times. He believed killing people was wrong and should be avoided at all costs. And if he was going to kill someone, he would much rather it was a Gestapo officer than someone like Otto.

But the time had come. He pulled the trigger. Twice.

The bullets hit Otto Langebrück in the chest and he crumpled to the ground. The noise was deafening in the cave, but Theo hoped it would be muffled by the surf outside before it reached the ears of the walkers on the beach. He searched Otto’s neck for a pulse to confirm he was dead, and then dragged him into a dark corner of the small cave and shoved him into a crevice. The body didn’t fit completely, and he might well be spotted by a tourist closely examining the inside of the cave. But Theo hoped that wouldn’t happen for a few hours, or at least until after high tide.

Shaking, and feeling slightly sick, he left the cave, clambered along the rock to the sand, and headed back up to the beach road and the café.

There he ordered a cup of coffee and waited for Lord Oakford. He hoped to God he wouldn’t have to do again what he had just done. But he feared he would.

Veronica made good time on the drive from Bordeaux to Biarritz. She and Conrad had arrived in Bordeaux late the night before, but had somehow found a room in a pension. They had slept in the same bed; there was no choice. Early that morning they had driven up to Le Verdon, a port at the mouth of the Gironde. It was clogged with ships, one of which Conrad hoped would take him back to England.

Veronica had dropped Conrad and headed south. This far from Paris, the roads were navigable, and she reached the Atlantic resort by teatime. Biarritz was the kind of place that served tea for its many English visitors.

It took Veronica no time to confirm that the duke and duchess were staying at the Hôtel du Palais. At the reception desk Veronica demanded to see the duke, introducing herself as the daughter-in-law of Lord Oakford. The message came back that she should wait, which was what she had expected. She lit a cigarette, and observed the clientele. It was surprising how many English people had chosen to take a holiday in France in the middle of a war which was going so badly. Good room rates, Veronica supposed.

A man sat down opposite her. ‘Theo!’

‘Actually, my name is Petar Šalić,’ said Theo. ‘I’m a Yugoslav businessman looking for my wife who is trying to flee France.’

‘Are you now? Well, I’m very pleased to meet you. You’re the spitting image of a friend of my ex-husband.’

‘Do you know where Lord Oakford is?’ Theo asked.

Veronica glanced at Theo. ‘Perhaps we should go for a little walk?’

They wandered through the hotel to a door leading out into gardens overlooking the Atlantic and the beaches. It was a lovely afternoon; the sun had lost some of its midday strength and the breeze from the sea brought the smell of salt and the sound of surf into the garden.

‘Well?’ said Theo.

‘You know who is staying here?’ said Veronica.

‘I do,’ said Theo. ‘The Duke of Windsor. Lord Oakford is on his way to Biarritz to persuade him to go back to England to take the throne. And I am here to stop him.’

Veronica pulled out a fresh cigarette. Theo lit it, shielding the flame from the sea breeze. Should Veronica trust Theo? Conrad did. He had been dead right about the invasion date when they had met in that café in Holland. This was no time to be cautious; Veronica decided to trust her instinct. And her instinct was to trust Theo.

‘Lord Oakford is dead. He died on the road somewhere south of Tours. You are right: he was on his way here to get the duke to Britain.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Shot by mistake by a lunatic Englishwoman.’

‘Constance Scott-Dunton?’

‘That’s her. She’s dead too. Shot by a perfectly sane French lady.’

Theo paused to think through what he had just heard. ‘Where’s Conrad?’

‘I hope he is on a boat from Bordeaux to England to warn the government that Henry Alston plans to overthrow them.’

‘And you? What are you doing here.’

‘My plan is to try to persuade the duke not to go to England.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

Veronica told him her idea.

Theo listened, nodding. ‘Not bad. But I think we need something more. Something to do with Wallis.’

Ten minutes later, Veronica returned to the hotel lobby. A hotel flunkey of medium rank, under-manager or something, was searching for her in a state of mild agitation. He showed her up to a suite on the third floor, opened the door and announced her.

Although Veronica had met the duke two or three times in the past, he was more recognizable from the newsreels. Short, with a slender figure, thick golden hair and a small upturned nose, he was in Veronica’s estimation pretty rather than handsome. His wife looked thin, tired and grumpy.

But the duke stood up and gave Veronica one of his charming smiles. Veronica curtsied.

‘We’ve met, haven’t we?’ the duke said. ‘You’re Isobel Haldeman’s sister?’

‘That’s right, sir,’ said Veronica. ‘I stayed with my sister only three nights ago.’

‘What a shambles,’ said the duke. ‘I’m glad I’m out of Paris. I felt in the circumstances I should be with Wallis. Would you like some tea?’

He poured Veronica a cup from the tray on a coffee table. The sitting room of the suite was large with a view over the Atlantic waves. Wallis was embroidering something and ignored Veronica entirely. She did not seem happy.

‘I believe you were expecting a visit from Lord Oakford, my father-in-law?’ Veronica said.

At this, Wallis looked up.

‘Yes, I was,’ said the duke, carefully.

‘I’m afraid he can’t make the journey himself, so he sent me instead.’

‘Oh, yes? And does he have a message for me?’

‘He does,’ said Veronica. ‘He says there is no need for you to return to England, sir.’

The duke glanced at his wife. They were both frowning. ‘That’s odd,’ said the duke. ‘I would have thought that given the current circumstances in London, Oakford would be recommending I fly over there at once.’

Veronica shook her head. ‘No need, he says. He was quite firm about that.’

‘Did he say why not?’

‘Not to me, he didn’t. Sorry. Can’t help.’