Angel From Hell, page 9
part #1 of Anna Fehrbach Series Series
Anna wriggled her body under his. ‘You are certain of this?’
‘Absolutely. Anyway, you know, my darling, between you, me, and that wall over there, we have nothing to defend Czechoslovakia with. We may have a navy, but we don’t have an army capable of fighting a European campaign, and we certainly do not have an air force capable of defending Britain.’
‘So if Hitler is intransigent . . .?’
‘Neville will have to find some face-saving device, probably something like having the Czechs accepting German inspectors to prove the Sudeten Germans aren’t being ill treated after all, and perhaps give up a border post or two. Something acceptable to both sides.’
Anna gave a great sigh, inflating her breasts against his. ‘You have made me so happy.’
‘So will you marry me?’
‘Of course I want to marry you, Bally. But I must ask my Papa.’
‘Oh, yes. When will you be able to do that? I leave in two days’ time.’
‘I will try to go down tomorrow. But it is a long journey, and I cannot go and come back in two days. But it does not matter. I am sure he will agree when I tell him about you, and then I will write to you, and we will arrange our wedding.’
‘That sounds tremendous. I only wish I could come with you. But if you’re sure he’ll say yes . . .’
‘I am certain of it.’
‘Well, then . . . I say, my boy is ready again. Can you feel him?’
‘It is entrancing,’ Anna said. ‘But, Bally, I am so tired. I had virtually no sleep last night, and now it is past midnight, and I need to take that long journey tomorrow . . . Do you think you could leave me now, to get some sleep?’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. But . . . Will I see you again before I go?’
Not if I can help it, she thought. ‘I’m afraid not, my darling, if you are leaving the day after tomorrow. But we have all of our lives together, have we not?’ She kissed him.
Chapter Four – The Bride
The tape clicked to a stop, and for a moment the large office was absolutely silent. Anna, seated before the huge desk, found that she was holding her breath as she stared, not at the full-length portrait of Hitler that hung on the wall behind the desk, but at the man seated at it. She had never even seen Heinrich Himmler in the flesh before today, much less spoken with him. But she knew that he held her life, as perhaps he held the lives of everyone in this room, in the palm of his hand.
Everything about him was immaculate. His black uniform was neatly pressed and fitted at every joint; his black boots, which she could see beneath the desk, as well as his black belts, were polished to a high sheen. His slightly thinning hair was brushed straight back on his head and his rimless glasses sat on the centre of the bridge of his nose. The reflecting light made it difficult to see his eyes, but perhaps the most disturbing thing about him was the utter lack of expression in his rather plain face. His voice was equally lacking in character.
‘That is remarkable,’ he said. ‘If it is true. Heydrich?’
‘I believe it is true, Herr General,’ the handsome colonel said. ‘Our estimation of this man is that he is a pompous fool.’
‘Well, he must be, seeing that Widerstand first of all tells him she did not know that Chamberlain is coming here, and then proceeds to tell him exactly why we suppose he is making the visit. That was careless of you, Fraulein.’
‘I understand that, Herr General. The heat of the moment . . .’
‘For which reason you got away with it. There is no fool like an old fool, eh? Or even a reasonably young fool, when he is in love. I congratulate you. I was told that you revealed exceptional promise, and this estimation has been proved to be correct.’
‘Thank you, Herr General.’
‘There is just one thing you need to be careful of. You went rather overboard in your denunciation of the Reich and the Fuehrer.’ He held up his finger, as she would have spoken. ‘I understand that you must have considered this necessary to win the confidence of your subject, but you should know that I intend to play this tape to the Fuehrer, as it will supply him with the knowledge he needs to conduct a successful negotiation. I cannot say what his reaction to your remarks may be, although I do promise that I will do my best to protect you.’ He smiled. ‘In any event, you will be out of the country by then, and I am sure you will find sufficient information for us over the next few years to earn his forgiveness.’
Anna had been breathing very deeply to stop herself from openly panting. Now she swallowed. ‘You are sending me away, Herr General?’
‘Of course. You are going to England, are you not? As the Honourable Mrs Bordman.’
Anna gulped, and looked at Glauber, who was also present. He gave her an encouraging smile.
Himmler was addressing Heydrich. ‘How long will your people require to complete her training?’
‘It should not take more than a week, Herr General. It is simply a matter of teaching her to use the micro-camera and to memorize a few things.’
‘Excuse me, Herr General,’ Anna said. ‘Are you saying I am to marry this Englander?’
‘That is what you are going to do, yes.’
‘But . . .’
‘I am giving you the assignment of your career. Of any woman’s career. This man is wealthy and well known, and high up in the British Government. He refers to Chamberlain as Neville. He is also desperately in love with you. You will be at the very centre of the English establishment. You will meet important people, you will talk with them, you will bewitch them, and you will listen to them. In England you can be as anti-Nazi as you wish. You will also encourage your husband to bring important documents home from the office, and these you will photograph with the camera you will be taught how to use. You will be given a contact to whom you will deliver your information. It will be . . . What do the English say? A piece of cake.’
‘But . . .’ I don’t want to marry that tub of lard, she wanted to shout. Having sex with him was repulsive. To have to do it every night for . . . My God!
Himmler might have been able to read her mind. ‘Now, Anna, I would be very disappointed if you were to come over all feminine and start talking about love, or the lack of love. We don’t expect you to love him: he is an enemy of the Reich. But you are an agent of the Reich, and there can be no higher calling. We expect you to please this man, and use him. Understood?’
‘Yes, Herr General,’ Anna said faintly. ‘For how long . . .?’
‘For as long as your relationship is productive. When we feel that it has ceased to be so, you will divorce him, and return to Germany.’
‘Suppose he finds out what I am doing?’
‘Then he will divorce you, I would say. But, Anna, we would prefer it if he did not find out. We would look unfavourably on that.’
‘Yes, sir. Suppose I get pregnant? He will hardly wear protection when in bed with his wife.’ He didn’t last night, she remembered ruefully. ‘Nor will he expect me to.’
‘Well then, you will bring the baby, or the babies, back to Germany with you.’
Oh, my God, she thought. Babies!
‘Now,’ Himmler hurried on. ‘We have a lot to do. You told him that you are going down to Bavaria to see your father. But he is leaving tomorrow. We want this thing sewn up before he leaves, just in case he goes off the boil, eh? So you will telephone him and say that just as you were about to leave, who should turn up at your apartment but your father, thus saving you the journey. You would like him to meet your father, and formally obtain his permission for the marriage, therefore you would like him to come to lunch today. There you will arrange the marriage. I would suggest a civil ceremony here in Berlin.’
‘Just like that? I have only known him two days.’
‘Love at first sight, my dear. On both sides, as it says on the tape. However, should there be any difficulty, your father will remind the gallant Englishman that he has virtually raped you, an innocent young virgin. On the other hand, again judging by the tape, I do not think that will be necessary. But of course you will have to make it clear that it will be impossible for you to accompany your husband back to England immediately, as you have to pack things up here.’
‘But my father . . .’
‘You go on home now to make that phone call. Your father will join you very shortly so that you can get acquainted. Well, I think that covers everything. I imagine the Englander will wish to see as much of you as possible before he leaves, so you will accommodate him in this, and report to Colonel Heydrich the moment he departs. Are there any more questions?’
Anna drew a deep breath. You have just delineated my life for the foreseeable future, she thought. A future in which I am to have no say, in which I am required to submit entirely to the whims and desires of a man I do not like and hold in the most utter contempt, but who I am also required to betray at every possible opportunity. But there can be no questions, because it is for the Reich. Yet she could, perhaps, slightly mitigate her position. ‘Am I allowed to take Elsa with me?’
Himmler looked at Heydrich. ‘Of course,’ the colonel said. ‘That is imperative. Frau Mayers is your senior officer and will be your controller.’
‘But if Mr Bordman . . .’
‘He cannot possibly object,’ Himmler said. ‘A countess should have her own maid.’
Anna wondered what Elsa would make of England.
*
‘If you’ll forgive me, sir,’ Clive said, ‘you look as if you had a heavy night.’
It was eleven o’clock, and Ballantine had just emerged from his bedroom into the suite’s sitting room, still wearing his dressing gown and looking distinctly bleary-eyed. ‘Heavy night,’ he grunted, sinking into a chair. ‘By golly!’
Clive hastily poured both coffee and juice, and presented them. ‘The party went on rather late, then? But you must have enjoyed it.’
Ballantine drank juice and coffee in rapid succession. ‘Enjoyed it? I’m getting married!’
Clive, who had finished his breakfast but had poured himself another cup of coffee, spilt some on the tablecloth. ‘Would you repeat that, sir?’
‘She is the most marvellous girl in the world,’ Ballantine said dreamily. ‘But you know that.’
Clive drank the last of his coffee. ‘You wish to marry that woman we met at the ball?’
‘I do not wish to do so, Clive. I am going to do so. As soon as she has spoken to her father.’
Clive’s brain was doing handsprings; his charge had obviously flipped his lid. ‘Forgive me for appearing obtuse, sir. But if I may just get my facts straight: you attended a party thrown by a woman you had met just once before, and during the course of the evening you proposed marriage? And she accepted? It must have been some party. Would you like me to telephone her and explain that it was all a joke? Or at least a mistake?’
‘What on earth are you jabbering about? It wasn’t like that at all. She asked me to stay on after the party and have supper with her. It was just her and me, and we got talking, and one thing led to another, and then she sent her maid home, and, well . . .’ He gazed at Clive, eyebrows arched.
‘Oh my God! You mean you went to bed with her?’
‘A gentleman does not talk about these things,’ Ballantine said pompously. ‘We talked, and we discovered that we loved each other.’
‘She told you this, did she?’
‘Well, she confessed that she had fallen in love with me at first sight, at the ball.’ He buttered toast. ‘She calls me Bally,’ he said dreamily.
She got the initial wrong, Clive thought absently; she meant Wally. ‘You do realize, sir . . .’
‘No, no, Clive. You must realize that everything you have said, or are about to say, is slander against a beautiful and virtuous young woman who I have grievously wronged.’
Clive scratched his head.
‘I even,’ Ballantine went on, ‘took your strictures so much to heart that I asked her about her unusual name, and she told me the whole story.’
Clive poured more coffee as he listened.
‘And then,’ Ballantine said, flushing as he contradicted his own ethical declaration, ‘one thing led to another, and, well, Clive, I know you think she is some kind of a tart. But she was a virgin.’
Once again the tablecloth suffered.
‘I thought that would shake you up,’ Ballantine said triumphantly. ‘So there we were. I couldn’t let her down after that, even had I wanted to. But I didn’t want to. I’m the happiest man in the world. Now come, Clive. Be a man and apologize.’
‘It certainly seems that I was wrong, sir. May I ask what happens now?’
‘Well, she obviously has to obtain her father’s permission, and that means a trip down to Bavaria to see him. She can’t possibly be back for a couple of days . . .’
‘By which time you’ll be back in England,’ Clive said with great relief.
‘Oh, she is quite sure her father will go for it. As soon as he gives his formal permission, she’ll come over and join me. I intend to arrange all that and get her visa as soon as we’re home. Now, what’s the programme for today?’
‘Ah . . . there’s a meeting at the embassy this afternoon, and a reception at the Wilhelmstrasse tonight.’
‘What a bore. Still, I suppose duty calls.’
The telephone jangled.
‘Maybe something is being cancelled.’
Clive was on his feet to pick up the receiver. ‘Mr Bordman’s suite.’
‘Bally?’
‘Ah, no, Fraulein. This is Clive Bartley. Would this be the Countess von Widerstand?’
‘Give me that!’ Ballantine took the receiver from Clive’s hand.
Oh, pray to God she’s about to give him the brush-off, Clive thought.
‘My darling! How wonderful to hear your voice. But I thought you were on the way to Munich . . . What? Oh, good heavens, how splendid . . . Oh, yes. Twelve o’clock? I’ll be there. My dearest girl, I can hardly wait.’ He hung up. ‘Her father’s turned up in Berlin. He wants to meet me. Today. I feel like a small boy again.’
Did you ever stop being a small boy? Clive wondered. ‘There’s the meeting at the embassy at three, sir.’
‘Oh, bugger the meeting. I’ll be there if I can. If I can’t, you’ll have to make my excuses. Tell the ambassador I have a chill or something. Now, I’m off to have a bath.’
‘Yes, sir. Would you mind if I stepped out for a while?’
‘Of course I don’t mind, my boy. Enjoy yourself.’ He burst into song as he entered the bathroom.
*
‘Von Widerstand? You’re pulling my leg.’ Gottfried Friedemann had managed the library of the Berlin Embassy for years, and was their acknowledged expert on German history; a short man who wore a goatee beard and horn-rimmed spectacles, his thick black hair somewhat carelessly brushed, he was the picture of a savant.
‘Let me tell you a story,’ Clive said, and did so.
Gottfried burst out laughing. ‘The young Fraulein is having you on.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘As sure as can be. The period is very well documented, and I can assure you that there was no army colonel made Count of Resistance. That is the dream of a romantic novelist.’
‘I would like you to put that in writing.’
Gottfried stroked his beard. ‘You think this girl is a fortune hunter?’
‘No, I do not. I think she is a plant.’
Gottfried frowned. ‘I do not understand.’
‘I think – I am certain – that she is an agent for the German Government, meant to seduce visiting diplomats or military experts and see what she can find out, who just happens to have sunk her claws into Bordman. I mean, Gottfried, be reasonable, can you imagine any young woman, much less a real beauty, going for someone like Bordman? He’s old enough to be her father, and he has the charisma of a frog.’
Gottfried gave a brief smile. ‘I think you fancy this girl yourself.’
‘Well . . .’ Clive could not suppress a flush. ‘As I said, she is very good-looking. But I’m a one-woman man, and I happen to have a woman. In any event, I’m not susceptible to a come-on quite this heavy, and blatant.’
‘Do you think she has got anything worthwhile out of Bordman?’
Clive merely nodded.
‘My God! You mean he does have knowledge which could be of use to a foreign power? This power? And she got it out of him in two days? She must indeed be a remarkable young Fraulein. Couldn’t you warn him?’
‘He’s not susceptible to warnings, certainly not when there’s the best pair of legs he has ever seen on offer.’
‘You are making me wish to see this prodigy for myself. But it would appear that the damage is done. And if you are taking him back to England tomorrow . . .’
‘You haven’t got the picture, old boy. He has asked her to marry him, and needless to say, she has said yes.’
Gottfried whistled. ‘She is a fast worker.’
‘So she is going to be at the very centre of our establishment. And with her looks and charisma she is going to be the sensation of the season. He has got to be stopped from committing virtual suicide. And the only way I can stop him is by providing written proof that she is a fake. So . . .’
‘You wish me to provide that proof. I do not think I can do that, Clive.’
‘What?’
‘Clive, if I were to come to you, as a friend, and ask you to discredit a British agent here in Berlin, would you do it?’
Clive stared at him.
‘There is another point,’ Gottfried went on. ‘If, as you say, she is working for the Reich, then it has to be for one of our secret services. It does not matter whether it is the Abwehr, or the SS, or even the Gestapo – my own bet would be the SD – these gentlemen all have very long arms and fingers which can get into every household. Even this embassy. If I gave you a signed document proving that this woman is not what she is pretending to be, my life would not be worth a pfennig.’
Clive continued to regard him for several seconds. Then he said, ‘We would, of course, look after you.’
