A Season of Secrets (64 page)

It was Margarete Himmler, wife of the chief of Germany’s police force, who enabled her to shake free of Schultz. Seeing Kripo’s second-in-command standing in an island of isolation,
she made a beeline for him and Schultz had no option but to transfer his full attention to her.

Aware that she was no longer under Schultz’s scrutiny, Violet did a swift about-turn, not wanting him to be able to find her easily again. She also needed a quiet, dark room in which to
recover from her headache, and she had been a guest often enough at Carinhall to know where she would find one.

Threading her way through the crush of guests, she made her way up the opulent staircase and along a corridor, until she came to the door of a room too far from the head of the stairs to be a
magnet for couples seeking a little privacy.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Gratefully Violet felt her way towards the bed and lay down on it, closing her eyes. Under normal circumstances at a party such as this she would have been
circulating, listening for careless gossip about the Führer’s plans.

She had already furnished her contact at the US Embassy with the information that, in March, Hitler intended marching his armies into what remained of Czechoslovakia. Goebbels had told her that,
with Czechoslovakia under his belt, Hitler was then going to invade Poland – and that was why Violet was still in Berlin, for if she could get documentary proof, it would, she knew, finally
put an end to the British government’s disastrous appeasement policy.

There came the sound of footsteps weaving unsteadily down the corridor, and of feminine giggles.

Violet held her breath, but the footsteps came to a halt not at her door, but at the door of the room next to hers.

She sat up and swung her legs from the bed. Listening to two people making love was not, in her book, the best way to defeat a headache.

There came the sound of someone stumbling, and then a woman’s voice said, ‘
Es ist hier dunkel. Wo ist der Lichtschalter?
’

There came a click as the light-switch was found, and then another voice, also female, said, ‘
Dieses Kokain ist das beste, Hedda. Vertau mir.
’

Aware now that the privacy of the room had been sought in order to snort cocaine, Violet lay down again. If that was what Hedda and her friend wanted to do, it was fine by her. All she wanted
was to be left in peace.

There was more giggling from next door and the faint sound of a line of coke being cut on a clear surface.

Then she heard a different voice – Hedda’s voice – say, ‘
Warum wurden die Verräter im Auswärtigen Amt nicht verhaftet?
’

Violet’s eyes shot wide open, every nerve-ending in her body jangling. What Hedda was asking was why certain criminals at the Foreign Office were not being immediately arrested for
treason.

There came the sound of one of the women snorting coke, and then the woman who was in the know said, ‘
Der Führer will wissen
,
ob irgendwelche Genërale in der
Verschwörung verwickelt sind. Es soll keine Verhaftungen geben, bis das volle Ausmaß der Verschwörung bekannt ist.
’

Perspiration beaded Violet’s forehead. Because the Führer wanted to know if members of the army were also in the plot, there were to be no arrests until the full extent of the plot
was known. What the woman hadn’t said, but what was obvious, was that the men in the Foreign Office were being used as small fish to catch much bigger fish.

Hedda’s next question was to ask if all the plotters would then be beheaded.

‘
Ja. Natürlich
,’ was the answer.

Feeling as if iced water had been poured down her spine, Violet rose unsteadily to her feet. Somehow she had to leave the room without the women being aware they had been overheard – and
she had leave Carinhall immediately and speak to Dieter.

Twenty minutes later she was at the wheel of her little BMZ Roadster, speeding south in the darkness through low-lying, thickly wooded countryside, her brain teeming with questions.

Would Dieter know who the plotters in the Foreign Office were? If he didn’t, how could he warn them? Was Dieter perhaps one of the plotters himself? If he was, then not only was he in
grave danger, but so was Olivia.

An hour later, thinking of first one plan of action that Dieter and Olivia might have to take and then another, she entered the northern outskirts of Berlin, heading for the Tiergarten and
Bellevuestrasse.

It was ten-thirty when she drew up outside the house. Though the curtains were drawn, chinks of light indicated that at least one of the downstairs rooms was occupied, and the hall light was on.
There were no other cars in the street: no Gestapo black Mercedes sedans; no sign of any surveillance.

Her fur coat had a hood and she pulled it up over her distinctive hair before stepping out of the car. Then, praying that Dieter would be home, she ran up to the colonnaded front door and rang
the bell.

It was two or three minutes before the door was opened and, when it was, it was opened by Dieter himself.

He stared at her in complete stupefaction.

She didn’t wait for him to recover his power of speech and, as he was making no move to invite her in, she pushed past him.

‘Do you have staff within earshot?’ she demanded as the door closed behind her.

‘No. What’s this about, Violet? Are you in trouble?’

‘I’m not. Colleagues of yours at the Foreign Office are – and it’s quite possible you are as well.’

He sucked in his breath, his nostrils whitening.

It was a reaction that told her just as clearly as words that he was one of the men of whom Hedda’s friend had been speaking.

‘Let’s talk in the library,’ he said. ‘There’s no telephone to worry about in there.’

Both of them had momentarily forgotten about Olivia, and when she opened the drawing-room door and stepped into the hall they spun to face her, as if caught in a romantic assignation.

Olivia was just as stunned at seeing Violet in her home as Dieter had been when he opened the door to her, but she recovered her power of speech far more speedily.

‘You
bitch
!’ Sobs rose in her throat. ‘How
dare
you desecrate my home by coming into it? Dieter doesn’t want to speak to you! He never wants to see you or
speak to you again, and neither do I!’

Dieter swung round, gripping her tightly by the arm. ‘This isn’t what you think, Olivia. Violet is here with information.’

‘Information?’ Olivia stared disbelievingly from Dieter to Violet and back again. ‘What kind of information? The only thing Violet is carrying with her is the scent of
Hitler’s henchmen!’

‘My scent is Mitsouko,’ Violet snapped. ‘And I’m not here for the good of my health, Olivia. I’m here for the good of yours!’

Aware that a sister-versus-sister fight of mega-proportions was about to break out, Dieter said curtly, ‘Let’s go to the library. And not another word until we get there.’

Still holding Olivia so firmly by the arm that she was bruised for days, he marched her, with Violet hard on their heels, across the marble-floored hall and into a book-lined room furnished with
a sofa, two matching wing armchairs and a large desk.

‘Now,’ he said when the door was firmly closed behind them. ‘What the devil is all this about, Violet?’

Still in her fur coat, and without sitting down, Violet said swiftly, ‘The Gestapo know there are traitors in the Foreign Office. They have names – but in the conversation I
overheard the names weren’t given. The reason for no arrests as yet is that Hitler wants to know who else is in the conspiracy: he especially wants to know if any army generals are also
plotting against him.’

‘Christus!’
Dieter thought of the army generals in the conspiracy: General Halder, General Beck, General von Witzleben, who was commander of the Berlin Garrison, General von
Brockdorff, who was commander of the Potsdam Garrison. He sought strength from the fact that so far none of their names were known to Hitler. Somehow every army member in the plot had to be warned,
as had his two superiors in the Foreign Office.

‘I don’t understand.’ As if her legs would no longer support her, Olivia sank onto the sofa and looked bewilderedly towards Dieter. ‘Why are you letting her know there is
a conspiracy? Don’t you see she’s just fishing for information? Don’t give her any names. If you give her names, the Gestapo will know them within an hour of her leaving
here.’

‘I’m not here to be told names,’ Violet said curtly. ‘I’m here so that Dieter can warn whoever in the army needs to be warned, and so that he and the others in the
conspiracy at the Foreign Office can get out of the country before they are arrested.’

Olivia, who was always slow to see where a conversation was leading, gave a cry of alarm.

Dieter said grimly, ‘I’m not the only one who is going to have to leave the country. Olivia is going to have to leave with me. Your father thinks her British passport will protect
her, but it won’t. If I’m arrested on a charge of treason, she will be treated as being guilty by association.’

Aware it was going to be a long night of plan-making, Violet shrugged herself out of her fur and sat down in one of the wing armchairs. ‘You are already under surveillance, Dieter. The
chances of both of you successfully leaving the country together are as close to nil as it’s possible to get.’

‘But if, as you say, I’m already under surveillance, won’t Olivia leaving for England alert the Gestapo that I’m about to follow her?’

‘Not if she doesn’t leave for England. If she leaves only with a weekend-case for a shopping trip to Paris, the same suspicions won’t be aroused.’

‘And then would I catch a train to Calais and cross the Channel from there?’ Olivia asked, still not understanding quite how Violet had suddenly become someone to trust again.

It was a question so obvious that Violet didn’t even bother answering it.

Another thought struck Olivia and she said suddenly, ‘Dieter and I can’t leave without taking Judith with us, and we are still waiting for the final piece of documentation that will
allow her to travel and enter Britain.’

‘Judith is here? With you?’

Dieter nodded. ‘And Olivia is right, Violet. Leaving without her would be passing a death-sentence on her.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘In bed,’ Olivia said. ‘Have I to go and get her?’

‘Considering the added danger she’s now in, I think that would be a very good idea.’

When Olivia had left the room, Dieter said bluntly, ‘This is exile for me, isn’t it?’

‘For now. Where will you go? London? Yorkshire?’

He buried his head in his hands. He had enjoyed his time at the German Embassy in London, but that had been when it had simply been a foreign posting. He had never wanted to live permanently in
England – and he didn’t want to live permanently in England now: not in London, not in Yorkshire, not anywhere. He was German. And Germany was his home.

He dropped his hands, saying bleakly, ‘Germany will soon be at war with England. You know that. I know that. If I’m living in England when war is declared I will be interned –
possibly for years. And if the end of the war is in Germany’s favour, I’ll be shot by my own countrymen.’

Violet closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. Then she said, ‘There is a possible solution.’

‘What solution? I’m damned if I can see one.’

‘When it comes to war, I doubt if the Republic of Ireland will pitch in with Britain – and neither is it likely to pitch in with Germany. My guess is that southern Ireland will
remain neutral. It’s a beautiful country, Dieter. Parts of it are reminiscent of the Yorkshire Dales. Olivia would love it there.’

‘Ireland?’ With every second, Dieter’s respect for Violet’s unexpected clarity of thought was deepening. Ireland would be near enough for Olivia not to feel totally cut
off from Gorton. If he bought a small estate – and he could surely get enough of his money out via Switzerland to enable him to do that – he could become a gentleman farmer. They could
enjoy a country life of horses and dogs, fishing and walking; and eventually, when Hitler was a thing of the past, they could return to Germany.

The library door opened and Olivia entered, with Judith a step or two behind her.

With vast relief Violet saw that Judith was showing no signs of panic or distress. She was perfectly composed, her face full of character, her eyes full of intelligence.

She was also, and this was the important thing as far as Violet was concerned, petite and fine-boned.

Olivia said, ‘I’ve put Judith in the picture. She knows what has happened and what is under discussion.’

Violet rose to her feet. ‘Violet Fenton,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘
Sprechen Sie Englisch?
’

‘I speak it perfectly.’

‘Good!’ Violet flashed her a vivid smile. ‘That’s two obstacles out of the way.’

Once again she seated herself in the wing chair. Olivia and Judith sat down side by side on the sofa. Dieter remained standing.

‘What are you thinking, Violet?’ he asked, wondering what the first obstacle had been.

‘I’m thinking that the minute you have warned everyone who has to be warned, you are going to have to leave the country fast – and that, as Judith can’t possibly be left
behind, neither can she wait even a few days more for the return of a passport that will enable her to leave Germany and enter Britain. She’s going to have to leave immediately, with Olivia
– and on my passport.’

‘But you don’t look anything alike!’

‘We do in the things that matter. We are the same height, the same build. We are the same age, or near enough. We both have fine-boned faces. My eyes are amber. Judith’s are hazel.
And she speaks flawless English.’

‘And hair colour?’ Dieter looked from Violet to Judith and back again. ‘I know Judith’s hair can be dyed, but isn’t it difficult to dye from a dark colour to a
lighter colour? And your hair is the most extraordinary colour, Violet.’

Violet shrugged. ‘I’m an actress. I have wigs for every occasion. I can be back here in less than an hour with a Titian wig from home that will utterly transform Judith.’