The Best of Our Spies (61 page)

‘When Germany invaded France, it was a terrible shock. Deep down, I must have thought that would never really happen. I knew that I would now have to become involved. So I escaped, Owen, I promise you I did. Ask my mother, she had no idea what had happened to me. Ask Georg Lange. I left Strasbourg and headed west. The French authorities had evacuated much of the civilian population from the city once the war started. I was only allowed to remain because the hospital where I worked remained open. It was the only one that was. I was not sure where to go, so many people were on the roads, sometimes it was hard to move. I made two mistakes. The first was that I headed north and walked straight into the German invasion. They found me in a town called Abbeville. It’s in Picardy. The second mistake was that I used my own identity. That’s how the Germans found me. You ask Lange if you don’t believe me.’

She was beginning to lose her composure again and started to weep. Owen handed her a handkerchief from his top pocket. Their fingers brushed very slightly again as he handed it over.

‘I was trapped, Owen. And I was a coward. When the Germans caught me I told them a story about how I had to flee Strasbourg because I thought the French police were after me. They must have believed me. It worked out well for them because people were being evacuated from Dunkirk to England at the time and thousands of French civilians were escaping too. It was not difficult for me to join them. The Abwehr spent a day or two briefing me on my new identity and then I was taken near to Dunkirk. It was not difficult to join the people escaping.’

‘What did the Germans ask you to do?’

‘My mission was to get to London and do nothing other than establish myself as a nurse. I had nothing incriminating on me. In time, I was to find a job in a military hospital. Then I was to make contact with my radio man. Once I had been cleared in London after my arrival, I thought it was too late. I was a German spy by then. So I just did as I had been instructed. It was purely by chance that I met you, Owen, but when I did... there was nothing I could do. I had my instructions. Please understand, Owen.’

He snorted. ‘Do you know that you were used? And so was I, as it happens. British Intelligence knew all about you, long before you came to Calcotte Grange. They found out about you, they discovered that you had requested a transfer to a military hospital and then set the whole thing up. They even arranged for you to meet me. They even guessed I would fall for you. Of course, I never realised what was going on, so you can imagine how I feel. And all the information that you got through me was deliberately false, although I never realised that. It was intended to mislead the Germans into thinking that the Pas de Calais would be where the main invasion was. That is why you were sent there. You were used.’

‘I didn’t realise all that. Of course, once the Allies landed in Normandy, I wondered about the information, but...’

‘Ask yourself this. Was there an invasion in the Pas de Calais? No. It was only ever going to be Normandy. So, you played your part. You helped the Allies.’

‘Owen, if that is true, maybe it is not a bad thing. By the time I left London, I did not want to be a German spy. I was having your baby. I liked people in England. I had developed feelings for you, Owen!’

‘Do you know what happened to your group in Boulogne.’

She shook her head vigorously. She held up her hand as if she didn’t want to know.

‘Françoise escaped. Lucien was tortured but is still alive, although he is crippled. Their children were burned to death along with her mother by your Nazi friends. Pierre killed himself before they could arrest him and Jean was tortured to death. Lucien was in the cell next to his. He took a whole night to die. Lucien said he even heard him calling out your name that night.’

She was frightened now. Owen noticed that she was trembling.

‘You said you had feelings for me,’ he said. ‘What are those feelings?’

Owen was trembling now. ‘I don’t know what to say any more, I don’t know what to think. I want to see my son now.’

‘Of course, I want you to see him. Tell me something. You must have had feelings for me. What has happened to them?’

‘You know that I loved you more than anything else in the world. And I will tell you something else that I did not realise until a few minutes ago. I continued to love you. I loved you when I found out that you were a German spy, even though I tried very hard not to. I still loved you when I found out what had happened in the Pas de Calais. I loved you when I saw you walking into the hospital this morning and I still loved you when I walked into this apartment a few minutes ago. All along, I hoped to reach a point where I could finally stop loving you, but...’

She handed his handkerchief back to him. This time, their brushing of fingers was accidental.

‘I’ll ask my mother to go for a walk. Then we can be alone when you meet Philippe. What about your friend?’

‘He could do with a walk too.’

‘Does your mother know the truth?’

‘Of course not. She thinks I was in Paris during the war. She learned from my father that it is best not to ask too many questions.’

Ginette moved into the hall and addressed her mother through the closed door of the back room. ‘Please could she leave her in the apartment for a while? Everything is fine, no really. Please, mother. I’ll explain later.’ Her voice was shaking and she was gripping the side of her nurse’s uniform.

Owen spoke quietly to André. He would wait in the car.

When they had both left, she took Owen to his son.

He was a tiny little thing, with his own fair hair but his mother’s jet black eyes, which brightened up when they entered the room. Owen sank to his knees and picked him up, holding him close to him. He could feel the baby’s warmth against his chest and his own tears rolling down his face. Gently, he pressed the little boy’s head under his chin. Nothing had prepared him for this moment. His son’s hair felt like silk brushing against his face.

Ginette was sobbing behind him, pacing up and down the room.

‘What are you going to do with him, Owen? He is the most precious thing to me. Please, Owen, I will do anything. Don’t take him, Owen. Don’t take him. I am sorry, I was wrong, I…’

Owen sat down in an armchair, holding the baby in an unsure manner.

‘I don’t know. I have really no idea. I need to think. What can we do? The British authorities are after you. Don’t forget, you’re a German spy. We can’t pretend that nothing has happened. ‘

‘Maybe they would understand, Owen.’

His son was studying his face, wriggling his tiny fingers as he did so.

He laughed. ‘I very much doubt that. Do you know what they do to German spies? They hang them. Even repentant ones. We can’t go back to England and think that everything will be sorted out. I can hardly live here, as if nothing happened. We will have to work something out. I’m still not sure what I want to do, to be honest. I don’t know what I want to happen to us.’

She came over and knelt by the armchair. The baby was staring into the face of his father, his jet black eyes darting around to take in every feature. Her arm stroked his and for a while all was silent and serene. Owen was totally captivated by the baby.

The tranquillity was shaken by knocking at the door.

She hauled herself up. ‘It will be my mother. I will ask her to go to her sister’s for a while so we can be alone for longer.’

He was more at ease cradling his son now. To his amazement, it felt natural. The baby was continuing to gaze into his eyes and Owen was certain that he was smiling at him. He grinned back.

He could hear her unlocking the door and then the sound of a hoarse male voice saying, ‘Ginette Troppe?’

After that, his recollection was blurred beyond repair.

There was a noise, certainly. Not too loud because he realised later that the gun must have been held straight against her body, but it was a sharp noise that echoed around the little flat. That was followed almost immediately by the sound of something falling heavily and then a much louder and far clearer gunshot.

There was a commotion on the stairs and he heard André shouting something. From the hall he heard a long groan, that didn’t stop. He was frozen in the armchair, the baby’s smile now wide and accompanied by a friendly gurgle. His little arms were reaching out.

When he found himself in the hall, the baby was in his arms.

André was kneeling by her side, his hands covered in blood. Her face was grey, her eyes open wide but darting around, having trouble focussing. Her head was moving frantically from side to side.

André was trying to stem the blood flowing from a wound in her stomach, but a dark red patch was spreading fast across her chest.

‘Talk to her, Owen, tell her to hang on.’

Neighbours had gathered in the open doorway. ‘Ambulance!’ shouted André. ‘Get an ambulance and a doctor!’

Owen took her hand, which felt like ice. Her breathing was slow and very noisy. She tried hard to focus.

‘Tell her to hang on, Owen. Show her the baby. Do something.’

He held Philippe closer to her. Very slowly, she reached out to him, her hand stopping before she could touch him. As the colour drained completely from her face her black eyes stood out in even more contrast against the white skin. A smile began to appear across her face and then froze as a groan came from deep inside her and her body seemed to sink slowly into itself.

André stood up, drenched in blood.

‘She’s gone, Owen. She’s gone.’

ooo000ooo

André was pushing the small Peugeot as hard as it would go as they headed north. They had made good progress since leaving Strasbourg. The lights of Metz were now fading behind them, the road ahead dark and broken only by the occasional passing lights of army convoys. He was not sure about Owen’s plan, but he agreed that they needed to leave Strasbourg fast.

Owen was slumped across the backseat, his son fast asleep in his arms.

‘You are sure it was him, André?’

‘I told you, Owen. I am not certain, but I think it was. I was sitting in the front seat of the car waiting round the corner for you when a large silvery-grey Renault pulled up in front of me. I didn’t think anything of it. I was trying to rest, to be honest. A large man got out of the car and walked past this one. I was a bit unsettled by him, I don’t know why. A minute or so later, something clicked in my mind and I got out for a proper look at the Renault. It had those very wide running boards. I am sure it was like the car that drove us to the prison to see Lange. And then I realised who the man was. Émile, the man who drove the Renault to and from the prison. The man whose family was tortured by the Gestapo, you remember? He was wearing a beret too, just like he was when he drove us to the prison. So I ran back to the apartment block. Just as I entered, I heard two shots, definitely two. As I ran up the stairs I collided with him running down. He pushed me out of the way. What more can I say?  Revenge is our new religion.’

ooo000ooo

Edgar arrived at the hospital two hours after Ginette Troppe’s body had been taken there. He had expected to find a living person, not a corpse.

He had asked for her by name at the reception and was ushered into a side room by a clearly distressed matron. ‘Are you here in connection with her death? How come the news has got out so soon?’

Edgar must have looked shocked; the matron was very understanding. He showed her the impressive sheaf of documentation that he had from the British Embassy in Paris and explained that she had done some work for the British during the war (‘She was at Dunkirk, you understand’). He had come to Strasbourg to thank her in person.

The matron tearfully explained what had happened. ‘Shot, twice. We thought that kind of thing had stopped with the Germans leaving. There had been reprisals of course, but why would anyone want to shoot a nurse? The police have no idea who it was. And she was such a good nurse. Before the war she was a cold person if I am honest with you, sir, not someone you could warm to. But when she returned from Paris she was a much nicer person. Maybe becoming a mother had changed her. I had no idea she was at Dunkirk. So many people did things in the war that they do not discuss.’

Edgar asked if he could see the body and was taken to the mortuary. He did not want to stay very long at all, especially as he was aware that his presence was beginning to attract some attention (‘If you don’t mind waiting, sir, the police may want to talk with you when they arrive… if you could give us your name’). He wanted to be absolutely certain that it was the woman he had first known as Nathalie Mercier.

The room where the body lay was narrow with a low ceiling and dark apart from a light hanging directly over the body. He had not expected her head to be exposed, so as soon as he walked in he knew for sure that it was her. The shroud was gathered across the top of her breasts with the edge of a wound just visible, her skin now a marble white and glinting in the bright light.

He had no idea what had happened and was going to have some trouble in explaining what had gone on.
Had Owen been responsible for her death? What would he have done if he had got to her first?

There was a knock on the window that separated the room from the rest of the mortuary. The matron was looking anxious. She had explained on the way down that this was most irregular and really she did not have the authority to...

He held up his hand. One minute. Thank you.

He thought of the past four years and his role in shaping the life of the woman whose body now lay in front of him. He thought of the lives undoubtedly saved thanks to her unwitting help. He thought of her husband and of what was going to become of him.

More knocking at the window.
I’m coming.

Edgar turned to look at the body for one final time. He shook his head and smiled. ‘You were the best of our spies,’ he muttered, ‘and you never even realised it.’

Minutes later, Edgar was on his way back to Paris, accompanied by an enormous sense of relief. What could have been a major problem had gone away. The outcome was messy, but all things considered it could have been far, far worse.