James Benn - A Blind Goddess

Kaz topped me off, not needing to ask. We knew each other pretty well. I’d bunked here with Kaz since I first arrived in England, back in ’42. Well, bunked might not be the right word. Kaz kept a suite at the Dorchester, and had invited me to use one of the bedrooms. Kaz needed the company of the living. His family had visited him here before the war, while he was at school, and spent the last peacetime Christmas in that suite. Daphne, Diana’s sister, had lived with him there before she was killed. Scandalous, yeah, but there was a war on, so who cared? Not the staff of the Dorchester, that’s for sure. Kaz was a big tipper with a heart of gold, and everyone from the dishwashers to the concierge treated him like royalty. Not because he was a minor baron from central Europe, but because of his loyalty to his family’s memory, and to the Dorchester, his home for the duration.

“I’m sorry your visit didn’t go well, Billy,” Diana said. “People change, don’t they? It can be disappointing.” She raised an eyebrow in my direction, inviting a response. I’d caught her up on the story I’d told Kaz on the train, and left it there. They’d both been trying, in a nonchalant sort of way, to drag more out of me.

“Whoever said you can’t go home again knew what he was talking about,” I said.

“Thomas Wolfe,” Kaz said. Kaz knew everything.

“But it wasn’t home Tree was asking about,” Diana said. “It was a favor over here. Far from home. Wasn’t it?” Again that eyebrow. I was saved by the arrival of the Dover sole. Kaz ordered another bottle of wine.

“Our cellars will be empty of Bordeaux blanc by summer,” the wine steward said as he popped the cork. “But the invasion should take care of that, unless the Germans carry everything off with them, don’t you think, Baron?”

“I am sure every soldier in the Allied armies will be diligently searching for French wines. Do you know the date of the invasion, Charles?” Kaz asked with a grin as the bottle settled into its ice bucket.

“One hears things, Baron. One does not repeat them. I can tell you we have some delightful Italian wines now, but they must sit for a time after their long voyage. Enjoy,” he said, and was gone.

“He probably knows more than we do,” I said between mouthfuls of buttery sole. “Wouldn’t be a bad spot for a German spy, with all the brass talking shop at dinner.” Looking around the dining room, it was packed with senior officers and the much younger ladies that accompanied them. Another good opportunity for a spy.

“England is so different now,” Diana said. “In only a few months, it’s become crowded with Americans. They’re everywhere. Between the tanks, trucks, and jeeps, it’s a miracle anyone can travel anywhere. I’m amazed this island can hold all of them.”

“And the majority are here in the south of England, grouped all around London,” Kaz said. “But that is the extent of our knowledge.”

“Really?” Diana said in a low voice, inviting our confidence.

“Really,” I said. “Kaz and I have been close enough to the shooting war that we can’t be trusted with secrets. No one who might be captured by the Germans is let in on much of anything these days. It’s understandable, but frustrating. There are three kinds of people in England right now, those who are going, those who are planning, and those who are left out in the cold.”

“Yes,” Kaz said with a grin. “Billy would certainly like to lead the charge from the first landing craft, wherever that may be.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” I said. “I just don’t like being sidelined.”

“Then why not look into the murder Tree told you about?” Diana said, spearing another potato. “It will give you something to focus on.”

“I have my leave,” I said. “We might not get another chance to get away. Either of us might get an assignment.”

“I have a month’s leave,” Diana said. “Perhaps you can get yours changed.”

“I thought we had everything planned out,” I said. “You were eager to visit your father at Seaton Manor.” A day ago, she’d been excited at the prospect. Her father had recently been made an earl, and was now known as the Earl of Seaton, a step up, I guess, from Sir Seaton. The honor had been given for unspecified service to the Crown, which I knew to mean something to do with naval intelligence. Whatever the reason, Diana had been excited about it. Now, her eyes told a different story. I looked at her, then Kaz, who busied himself looking around the room. Then I recalled Diana had set up this dinner with the three of us. Not unusual, but now it looked like she wanted company when she delivered the bad news.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” she said. “I know you probably cannot get your leave rescheduled at this late date, but something’s come up. I have finally got an appointment with someone at the Foreign Office.”

“About the camps,” I said.

“Yes, the camps,” Diana said. “The extermination camps.” Diana’s undercover mission in Rome had brought her into contact with both Germans and Italians who had witnessed the death camps in Eastern Europe. We knew there were concentration camps, where Jews from Germany and the occupied nations had been sent. We also knew the Nazis were beating, shooting, and working to death Jews and others they judged to be undesirable in forced labor camps. But the extermination centers existed for a single purpose. Wholesale industrialized death. It was mind-boggling, difficult to fathom, hard to believe. Which was the problem.

“You’ve been debriefed by the SOE, right? I know you told Kim Philby about what you learned,” I said. Kim Philby was an SOE spymaster, and Diana’s boss.

“Yes, of course. But I don’t know what Kim did with the information, if anything. He seemed more interested in military and political data. So I asked my father to arrange for an off-the-record meeting with someone at the Foreign Office.”

“With whom are you meeting?” Kaz said.

“Roger Allen,” Diana said. “He is apparently close to Anthony Eden, the Foreign Secretary. Allen works for a group called the Joint Intelligence Committee.”

“What do you hope to accomplish?” Kaz said.

“I’m not sure,” Diana said, setting down her fork. “I don’t know what can be done, but I am certain we can and should do more.”

“There are a lot of men getting ready to do more,” I said.

“And in the meantime, how many thousands die each day? There must be something that can be done now. Moral outrage expressed by our leaders, perhaps.”

“Good luck,” I said, holding my tongue. If Diana was counting on morality from politicians, she was going to need all the luck she could get.

“Moral outrage has done little for the Poles, what there has been of it,” Kaz said.

“I know, Piotr, I know,” Diana said, taking his hand in hers. “But I must try. You understand, don’t you?”

“All too well, my dear. Do not let them break your heart.”

“Hearts may be beyond mending, those that survive,” she said. We sat in silence, remembering crushing sadness and empty places.

“Well now, my friends, how about dessert?” our waiter intoned, oblivious to the sudden depression that had settled over the table. “Something sweet?”

Surprised by his sudden appearance, we stared at each other, waiting for someone to speak.

“Yes,” Diana said, slamming her palm on the table as if making a momentous decision. “The sweeter the better!” We laughed, the riotous laughter of those at the end of the world.

Later, as we left our table, Diana stopped to chat with a friend who was dining with an RAF pilot. Kaz and I walked to the lobby and waited.

“Did you know about this?” I asked.