At ten to eight he strolled back to the Ritz. He was disconcerted to see Charles Bedaux standing in the lobby, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. Conrad decided he had better not hang around there, and so made his way over to the far side of the square, outside an American bank. But it was dark in the blackout, and from that distance he couldn’t make out the occupants of the cars that pulled up at the entrance. He would have to get closer.
He moved over to the shadows outside a jeweller, only a few yards from the entrance to the hotel, confident that no one could see him in the blackout.
At twenty past eight a large Buick rolled up and two faces he recognized emerged. The appearance of the couple seemed to energize the doorman, who ushered them into the hotel. Conrad decided he could risk one more turn though the lobby himself.
Sure enough, as he passed through the blacked-out doors, he saw Bedaux fussing over his dinner guests.
The Duke and Duchess of Windsor.
He span off to the left and found himself in the bar. He ordered a whisky and soda to give himself time to think.
Could that be what Theo was getting at? Charles Bedaux’s relationship with the Duke of Windsor. Was Bedaux giving Theo secret information about the duke? And if so, what? Something about Wallis Simpson? Surely that scandal had played out.
Conrad remembered Warren mentioning Fruity Metcalfe, the duke’s ‘sidekick’. Well, here Conrad was, in the bar of the Ritz. Conrad had no idea what Metcalfe looked like; he scanned the room for likely suspects. There was really only one candidate, a tall middle-aged man in a double-breasted suit, propping up the bar, sipping a whisky and looking glum.
Worth a try.
Conrad moved over to him. ‘I say,’ he said to the man. ‘Are you English, by any chance?’
‘Irish,’ the man replied, looking up.
Conrad perched on a stool next to him. ‘I think I just saw the Duke and Duchess of Windsor in the hotel lobby. Is that possible?’
‘I’d say it’s a racing certainty,’ the man replied. ‘He’s having dinner here tonight.’
‘Oh,’ said Conrad. ‘I didn’t realize he was in France.’
‘Been here over a month,’ said the man, in soft Irish tones. ‘As have I. In fact I spent all day with him.’
‘Really?’ Conrad looked impressed. ‘I’ve never met him, myself. They say he’s charming.’
‘He is that,’ said the man, whom Conrad was now certain was Fruity Metcalfe. ‘You could never accuse the duke of lacking charm.’
‘Are you dining with him tonight?’ asked Conrad. He knew it was a stupid question, because the duke had been wearing a dinner jacket and Fruity wasn’t.
‘No. I work for him. I’m his equerry.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said Conrad. ‘The name’s de Lancey, by the way.’
‘Metcalfe,’ said Fruity. He was clearly slightly drunk, but seemed happy with the idea of talking to Conrad. The company seemed to be lifting his air of gloom. ‘What are you doing in Paris, Mr de Lancey?’
For a moment, Conrad almost panicked. What the hell was he doing in Paris? He couldn’t tell Fruity he was trying to find out about Bedaux, and from what he had heard it was difficult for a British officer to get leave in the city. ‘Seeing my sister-in-law. She lives here and she needs some help with something.’
‘Oh, who’s that?’ Fruity asked.
‘Isobel Haldeman.’
‘Oh yes, I know her. Marshall Haldeman’s wife. Must be a rum business for you to come all the way here to sort it out.’
‘I suppose it is, rather,’ said Conrad. ‘I shouldn’t really have told you her name. Didn’t think you would know her.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Fruity. ‘I promise I’ll forget all about it.’ He took a sip of his drink and looked Conrad up and down. ‘Sister-in-law? That makes you Isobel’s brother’s… No, sister’s husband.’
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.