For a long time I never believed he killed Hugh, or rather I believed his denial. But you must be right. Hugh was a threat. He knew who Lothar was and also some of the other people the KGB had recruited, probably including Philby and Maclean. Lothar didn’t want Hugh to tell MI5 this. There is no other explanation. It’s obvious. I just refused to believe it.
Lothar killed Hugh.
Fifty
The coffee pot emitted a triumphant final gurgle, and Kay poured out three cups, asking Phil to take them through to the living room. She handed the notepad with her scribblings to Emma.
As Emma read, Kay spoke.
‘I apologize for the lousy quality of the coffee. It’s never been very good here, but it’s gotten a lot worse in the last year or two. They call this Kaffee-Mix. I dread to think what it’s mixed with; it’s only fifty per cent genuine. Think of it as an experience.’
Phil sipped the brown liquid: unpleasant, with a strong taste of chicory. He was watching Emma for her reaction to Kay’s note. Her eyebrows rose as she read. She glanced quickly at Kay and then Phil, her face setting in determination.
She began scribbling a response. Phil could read the words from where he was sitting.
I thought so! Do you know where Lothar is now? And what is his current identity?
‘So, Philip,’ Kay said, reading the note. ‘Tell me about yourself. Are you at university?’
‘I’m going to Edinburgh in September,’ Phil said.
Kay made a circling motion with her hand, urging him to continue talking as she wrote. Which Phil did, with Emma making occasional proud grandmotherly interjections to keep him going.
I don’t know his current ID.
Kay hesitated. Emma mouthed the word ‘Please.’ Kay took a breath and began to write as Phil gave a blow-by-blow account of his A-level papers.
Three years ago, the Stasi sent me to look for him again. And I found him. I found where he lived. I visited him. The Stasi and the KGB don’t know. He persuaded me not to tell them. So I decided to tell the Stasi I had checked and he wasn’t there.
Emma wrote:
Where?
Kay scribbled:
Spain.
Phil started talking about hockey.
Where in Spain?
Kay hesitated.
A town called Jávea. I forget the precise address. His house was at the end of a road, on top of some cliffs overlooking a cove. I think the road is called Calle Cabo Negro. Small place, but there is a large stone lion outside the gate.
Kay quickly asked Phil whether he had been to West Germany before, and how he liked it. She began writing again:
It’s really important the Stasi don’t discover I found him. They know I went to Jávea to look for him and believed me when I said he had moved. So make sure they don’t follow you there.
Emma glanced at her sharply.
Do you think the Stasi are watching us now?
Kay wrote:
Probably. A man came here yesterday to say you might be visiting, so I expect they will be watching this apartment now, and they will listen to the surveillance tapes. If you go to Spain, you must lose them. They must not realize I told you where Lothar is. Of course, he might have moved since I saw him.
Emma nodded. Kay glared at Phil, who nodded also.
Then Kay wrote two more words:
Good luck!
Emma put down her cup, which was still almost full of the dark brown liquid. ‘Thank you for the coffee. As you say, an experience.’
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with Lothar,’ Kay said. ‘He’s dead, Emma. You just have to accept that.’
‘I find that difficult,’ said Emma stiffly.
As they moved to the door, Kay grabbed Emma and pulled her into an embrace. They stayed like that for several seconds.
‘So Lothar’s still alive,’ Phil said as they emerged from the building entrance out into the street.
‘And he killed Hugh. I knew it! I spent three years of my life spying for the filthy murderer!’ Emma glared at her grandson, her eyes alight with fury. ‘I tell you, Philip, it makes me so angry I could...’
‘You could what, Grams?’
Emma shook her head. ‘Nothing. Let’s find a bus back to Friedrichstrasse.’
But Phil couldn’t help thinking once again of the gun in Emma’s suitcase, the gun that was now safely out of reach in the woods above Lake Annecy.
Fifty-One
Back at the Bristol, Phil followed Emma to her room while the hotel was getting a new one ready for him. She sank into an armchair and closed her eyes. She looked exhausted.
‘Do you think they were following us?’ Phil asked. ‘The Stasi?’
Emma sighed. ‘Probably. I expect they were on the lookout for us when we crossed at Checkpoint Charlie.’
‘And was Kay’s flat really bugged?’
Emma opened her eyes, suddenly alert. ‘I doubt it.’
‘But...’ Phil was stopped in his tracks by Emma raising a finger to her mouth in exactly the same way Kay had. Phil realized what she meant, and let his gaze wander around the room, examining the telephone, the nightstand, the ceiling.
He nodded to show he understood.
‘I fancy a cup of coffee in the bar,’ he said. ‘Do you want to join me?’
‘I’m tired,’ said Emma.
‘Please, Grams. I have some questions I need to ask you. We could discuss them here?’ He looked around the room meaningfully.
‘Oh, all right. Let’s go downstairs.’
It was early afternoon, and the bar was emptying of those having coffee after lunch. They found a quiet corner, and spoke in tones barely above a whisper.
‘So you think your room might be bugged?’
‘It might,’ said Emma. ‘I suspect bugging a West Berlin hotel is easy for the East Berlin secret police. Best to assume it is.’
Once they had crossed back into the West, Phil had believed they were safe. Wrong.
‘Kay said they warned her we might visit, didn’t she?’ Phil said. ‘They could have arrested us on the other side, or worse, if they wanted to.’
‘Yes.’
‘I wonder why they didn’t?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Emma.
‘Now we know Lothar is alive, we are looking for him, right?’
‘Right.’ Emma examined her grandson. ‘Are you coming with me to Spain?’
‘I am,’ said Phil. ‘Even if you don’t want me to.’
Emma closed her eyes. Phil wasn’t sure whether she was thinking or resting. She smiled, and then opened them. ‘Thank you. I shouldn’t let you do it, but I am grateful. I need your help.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Phil. ‘But I really would like to know what’s going on.’
Emma nodded. ‘I owe you an explanation.’
She took a deep breath and paused for the waiter to serve them their coffee. ‘During the war and afterwards I came to believe that Lothar must have had Hugh killed, or done it himself. But I also believed that Lothar had been executed by Stalin in 1938. So when I met Kay in Brussels fifteen years ago, and she told me she thought Lothar was still alive, it brought everything back.
‘Of course, there was nothing I could do about it, so I just tried to forget it. Roland retired, we moved to Cornwall, Roland died. And then I got this diagnosis. I am going to die. I asked myself, what do I want to do before I go?