17
Scheveningen, Holland, 12 November
The breeze skipped in from the North Sea, plucking at Constance and Millie’s dresses as they walked along the Promenade. There were a few hardy Dutch couples taking some fresh air on a Sunday afternoon, but not many. The Kurhaus, the grand hotel overlooking the beach and pier where the two women were staying, was almost empty. Scheveningen in November was not a popular place.
The customs officer at the airport had given the women a strange look when they had told him they were going for a few days’ holiday by the sea. Scheveningen had seemed a good idea to Lord Oakford and Millie. Millie was familiar with the town — Lady Oakford had fond memories of the place from her own childhood, and the family had spent two summer holidays there when Millie was small. Also, it was only a couple of kilometres from The Hague.
The perfect place to meet Theo.
‘This is rather exciting, isn’t it?’ said Constance, threading her arm through Millie’s. ‘What’s this Theo man like? Describe him to me.’
‘He’s tall. Dark hair. He has a scar running along his jaw.’
‘How did he get that?’ asked Constance.
‘A duel when he was a student, I think,’ said Millie.
‘A duel? At Oxford? With pistols?’
‘No. At Heidelberg. With a sabre, I should imagine. That kind of German does that sort of thing at university. They think it’s terribly smart to have a face cut up like a pineapple. At least Theo has only the one scar.’
‘It sounds rather dashing.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Millie. ‘Or stupid.’
‘When you say “that kind of German”, what do you mean?’
‘Oh, you know, a Prussian aristocrat. They don’t do that sort of thing quite so much in Hamburg, where my family comes from.’
‘Is he frightfully good-looking?’
Millie hesitated. She could feel herself blushing. ‘I suppose he is.’
‘I thought so!’
‘Thought what?’ said Millie.
‘Thought you were sweet on him. Don’t deny it, I can tell. Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way.’
Millie didn’t deny it. She had first met Theo when he had visited their house in Somerset when she was fifteen and Theo had been the impossibly glamorous friend of her elder brother. But then she had seen him again in the woods around the Grunewald in Berlin the year before, while delivering a secret message from the British government to Conrad. He was still glamorous and good-looking, with a roguish charm, but this time she could see from the first glance he gave her that she had made an impression on him.
Then in April her father had asked her to meet him again, in Zurich this time. Conrad had refused to go; he didn’t trust his father to negotiate behind the British government’s back. Lord Oakford couldn’t risk being seen with a young German officer in Switzerland, but Millie could. And did.
She had spent a week there conducting negotiations through Theo on behalf of Lord Oakford. At that stage, Theo and the people whom he represented, meaning Admiral Canaris and his colleagues, wanted peace, as of course did Lord Oakford and Millie. The negotiations hadn’t come to anything; Oakford couldn’t get Lord Halifax to bend, and Canaris had no real influence over Hitler. But Oakford thought them worthwhile because of the direct channel he had opened with the plotters, if they ever did succeed in getting rid of their Führer.
And Millie had spent a whole week, a wonderful week, with Theo. Much of the time was passed waiting for responses from England. They had taken the train from Zurich up to the Walensee or to Zug, and gone for long walks through Alpine meadows. They had spent a magical day wandering around the old abbey at St Gall, where Theo had told her about Notker the Stammerer, a medieval monk with a vivid imagination and plenty of ribald stories about Charlemagne. Theo was a fascinating man; although he was arrogant, with a tendency to patronize, he did listen to what she had to say. He made her think: about politics, about history, about her family. And most of all about herself.
After that, they had sent frequent letters to each other. Once war had broken out, Theo had come up with an address in Denmark she could use. And in a few minutes, she would see him again, continuing her mission where they had left it six months before.
None of which Conrad knew anything about.
They were approaching the harbour. No longer did they encounter the good burghers of The Hague in their Sunday best suits; now rougher-dressed fishermen and their women in black shawls and white lace caps, each fastened with two prominent buckles, were enjoying their day of rest. The latest craze among the children seemed to be rolling bicycle wheels along the street with sticks.
Since it was a Sunday, the fishing fleet was crammed into port, and the wind made a racket as it strummed the rigging of the sailing vessels. Millie remembered them from her childhood: they had made quite a sight in full sail setting out to sea to scoop up herring.
Whereas most of the cafés on the promenade had been closed for the winter, down by the harbour they were bustling. They found their café, secured the last table, and ordered some coffee in German. Most of the other patrons were local fishermen.
‘Where is he?’ whispered Constance.
‘He’ll be here soon,’ said Millie.
Constance looked around the café. ‘Shall we blend in? Do you think they can tell we are foreign?’
‘I think they can,’ said Millie. ‘But that’s all right. Plenty of foreigners come here in the summer.’
‘Do they have Jews in Holland?’ Constance asked.
‘I think there are rather a lot of them,’ Millie said.
‘That’s strange. I haven’t seen any,’ Constance said.
‘How do you know?’ asked Millie.
‘Oh, I can tell.’
Millie glanced sharply at her companion. ‘Don’t you like Jews, Constance?’
Constance hesitated with her response. ‘I am sure there are many perfectly decent Jews,’ she said primly.
‘There are,’ said Millie. ‘In fact, my brother is engaged to one.’ She was exaggerating a little, Anneliese wasn’t exactly a Jew and she and Conrad were not exactly engaged, but Millie liked Anneliese and she disliked the casual anti-Semitism of so many English people. What she really objected to was the way it seemed to have become more frequent since refugees had begun to arrive from Germany, Czechoslovakia and Austria.
‘Your brother is a socialist, isn’t he?’ Constance said.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ said Millie.
‘Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,’ Constance said with a smile. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Millie. I am sure there are all sorts of decent socialists too. Really, politics isn’t my thing.’
Millie wasn’t entirely convinced. If that really was the case, why had Sir Henry Alston chosen her to accompany Millie? It was true that Millie did need someone to accompany her to Holland, and that Constance was game for any adventure, yet she seemed terribly innocent and naive. Not a natural person to select for a part in complicated diplomatic negotiations. But she had proven herself a jolly travelling companion so far, and perhaps it was better that Millie be left to deal with the discussions herself.
‘Millie!’
Millie looked up to see Theo standing over their table. The sight of him made her heart skip, and she could feel her face flush. She got to her feet. Theo reached for her hand, and in her confusion she thought he was going shake it, rather than hold it to his lips with good old-fashioned German courtesy.
‘This is Constance Scott-Dunton,’ Millie said.
She saw a flicker of interest in Theo’s eyes as he turned to her companion and kissed her hand as well. A preposterous surge of jealousy flashed through Millie’s veins. Constance was attractive, there was no doubt about that, but she was also an idiot. There was no chance that Theo, with his intellectual depths, would be interested in her. Besides which, Constance was married. She had prattled on at length about her glamorous husband Peter who was serving on a cruiser somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.