‘I think we should take a break,’ said Dynes. She thanked him, wiped the last of the tears from her face and held out his damp handkerchief.
‘I think you’d better keep it,’ he grinned. ‘A small gift from the British government.’
Dynes left the hut briefly and brought back a tray bearing three cups of tea. By the time he returned, Hilda had composed herself and it felt good to hold a warm cup of tea in her hands again.
‘The sinking of SS Athenia was not your fault, Hilda,’ Thornton said gently.
‘You don’t understand. I was not diligent enough. I did not interpret the numbers in time,’ she said, her guilt still showing in her forehead’s worry lines.
‘Yes, but what did you do when you did discover what they meant?’
She exhaled and her shoulders slumped. ‘I sent false coordinates to Berlin on my next transmission.’ Too little, and much too late, she thought.
‘You gave Berlin a false reading to save another ship from the same fate. Think of the people you saved.’
‘That was why I had to cut short my time in Portugal and get out of there before I sent more ships to the bottom of the Atlantic.’
Both men nodded their approval. ‘You left at the right time,’ said Dynes. ‘You did the right thing.’
‘That was when I drowned. Let me explain,’ she said and then gave a moment-by-moment recollection of her disappearance.
‘It was a good ruse to let them suspect you had drowned. That was quick thinking,’ said Thornton.
‘I have left behind a confused cat, a treasured bicycle and a radio, all of which I had become very fond,’ she said.
‘I expect the radio and the transmitter is back in German hands by now.’
She gave wry smile. ‘That would have been the first priority of the German Ambassador in Portugal. They knew where I kept it hidden. I’m sure they were in there like a foxhound.’
‘So, it looks as if you succeeded in disappearing without trace,’ Dynes said. ‘What else can you tell us?’
There was very little more to say. Nevertheless, she described her journey to Lisbon, and what she had seen during her brief time in the city before reaching the embassy. She also mentioned the gossip the driver had passed on, and, for good measure, Marco the Swiss pilot.
‘And that’s the end of my story,’ she concluded, leaning back in her chair.
‘Not quite.’ Thornton turned the page of his notebook. ‘Tell me about Eicke, again.’
She thought carefully. ‘Eicke won’t leave Hamburg. He’s now in charge of cleansing the city. I assume you know what that means?’
‘Deporting Jews?’ asked Dynes.
‘Exactly. That must have been why he was meeting with Heydrich that day. He was the director of “cleansing” the whole of Germany of Jews. That also means he had less control over where Otto might be sent.’
‘No bad thing, perhaps,’ said Dynes.
‘By now Eicke may have been told I drowned in the Atlantic. That would suit me fine. Of course, if he did think I had drowned, he might get word to Otto that I had died. That would worry me.’
‘As you say, Eicke has his hands full and dirty in Hamburg. He’ll probably not even know where Otto is,’ said Dynes.
A glazed look came over Hilda. ‘Then there is no way I can return to Hamburg, I suppose?’
‘No, we have no intention of sending you back to Germany,’ said Thornton.
She took on board what he said and was relieved. She knew it was not practical. ‘Then it seems my work with you is over.’
‘Almost, I’d say Hilda.’ Dynes approached Hilda. ‘I have some bad news for you.’
She could not think what this could be; her mind focused squarely on Germany.
‘I’m so sorry to have to have to tell you this. It is your mother. I’m afraid she died six weeks ago.’
The news had a strange effect on her. Her head began to spin dizzily, but she was still able to think clearly. In one way it was not entirely bad news; at least Mother would not have to bear the anxiety of the war anymore; her fears for Hilda and her grandson were at an end. That was a small compensation. However, her death would probably make Hilda the owner of the Commercial Hotel in Forres: a prospect that left her with mixed feelings.
Then she realised exactly what Thornton had said.
‘Oh dear. Six weeks ago. She will have been buried by now, of course.’
‘Yes, she was buried next to your father in the Forres graveyard on Clunny hill. Hilda. Go up there, sort things out. I suppose you can either sell the hotel or let someone else take it over.’
She lingered on his last suggestion. Perhaps they were right.
‘I’m not really a hotelier. When the war is over I may even return to Germany to live. I have spent half my life there, after all. First, though, I suppose I’ll have to sort everything out with the family lawyer.’
‘When you have decided, Hilda, please get in touch. I have some work which I think would suit you. You could make a substantial contribution to the war effort,’ said Thornton.
‘What would that be?’ she asked partly curious and partly flattered that he rated her highly enough to offer her yet more work.
‘Not today. That is for later. Highly secret work is all I can say at the moment.’
The following day, with a generous supply of back pay in her handbag, she took the overnight train to Inverness. In the morning she went straight to the Commercial Hotel. It had not changed, and its vestibule seemed to welcome her home as was always the case. Fergus was not around. A cleaner told her he had left more than four months earlier to join the Highland Light Infantry.
She called a meeting of the hotel staff. She told them she had decided to put the hotel up for sale with a provision that the present staff remain in post. She gave the longstanding housekeeper, Mrs Creanor, the responsibility of keeping the hotel running in the interim period. Poor Mrs Creanor received the news in a fluster, and Hilda had to reassure her that her bookkeeping skills and pleasant nature rendered her well suited to take on Mother’s role.
The following day she made her way to the legal office of the family lawyer, Mr Gates. She did not have to wait long. Mr Gates gestured for her to enter his office without as much as a greeting. He seemed to be a dour individual.
‘It was disappointing that you could not attend your mother’s funeral, Frau Richter,’ he began.
‘I was out of the country. I did not hear of her death until a couple of days ago, Mr Gates,’ she replied crisply, rather resenting his tone. She was still the client, after all; and who was he to judge her?
‘I tried to contact you of course, but out of the country…umm… Germany, you mean, Frau Richter?’ He peered at her over his glasses.
‘No, not Germany.’ Her pulse rate rose, along with her temper. No matter where she had been, it was none of his concern. ‘May I please ask you not to refer to me as Frau Richter? I am Miss Campbell from now on. I have come here to give instructions and receive information, not answer personal questions.’
He sat back in his chair, barely acknowledging that she had spoken. She took a deep breath and continued.
‘Regarding the hotel, it is my wish to sell it as a going concern and to retain the current staff. Can that be arranged?’
‘It can be sold of course, but your conditions would be difficult to enforce. The buyer could employ whomsoever he wishes, even knock it down and build another more modern hotel. Or something else entirely.’
‘Even so, my request is for the hotel to be sold as it is and that the same staff remain in post. I make this decision in good faith. I trust our employees who have been with us for many years, and I wish to do the right thing for them.’