A return to Germany in the Spring of 1939.
Chapter 9
After breakfast next day, as the wind began to make the tall firs dance, Hilda telephoned Dynes. He asked her to meet him at the entrance to the churchyard at 10.15 that morning.
She could not get over the near miss at the performance the previous night; her British handlers – she supposed she must now call them that – had so very nearly come face to face with her German contacts. She played through the evening in her mind. Why could she see the Browns at the concert, but not Dynes and Thornton? At least she had some forewarning of the Germans. It had thrown her a little off balance; anyone with more than a smattering of musical knowledge would have noticed the nervous trill as she played her second solo.
At ten o’clock she asked her mother for a shopping list and set off with her basket. It took only five minutes or so to get to the church, and as she approached the open gate to the cemetery, she saw Dynes seated underneath an oak tree.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning. Shall we walk down this line of gravestones?’ he suggested.
The ash walkway had a white covering of snow, which contrasted with the grass edge. A dusting of frost sparkled on the gravestones tops and the path, but there was not enough to make the walkway slippery. She read each stone as she passed by; the 1850s were well represented, and included a great many children.
But Dynes was not interested in the graves. ‘Why were the Browns in town?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘They brought me my fee. Some intelligence for you as well.’
Dynes laughed. ‘This espionage pays well,’ he said, bringing a brown envelope from his jacket’s breast pocket. ‘Here, your earnings from us. I hope they are at least comparable.’
‘What a coincidence. Perhaps you should stagger my next payment, or better still, let my bank manager... Ah. There won’t be another payment, will there?’
Dynes chose to ignore the question.
‘When are you going back to Germany?’
‘In three weeks’ time.’
‘Three weeks, eh? Have you told your mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘I am not sure if she appreciates the gravity of the situation. In her eyes I’ve made my bed in Hamburg, and I must sleep in it. She sees my return home as a need to be closer to Otto, Karl and Renate.’
‘Your return home?’
‘When you live in two places, both are home, surely?’ It seemed obvious to her, but Dynes clearly needed to give it some thought. As usual, though, his expression didn’t betray what was in his mind.
‘You mentioned some intelligence?’ he said after a short while.
‘The Browns are heading north, they said. I imagine they will be heading for Scapa Flow.’
‘They won’t leave it alone, will they? Homage to the last war. Perhaps they are going to resurrect the German navy.’
‘Perhaps they have already. My understanding is that they are going to assess Orkney’s use for their air force,’ she said.
‘Leave that one to me. We will be monitoring them closely.’
They proceeded down a second line of tombstones. Dead leaves scurried around their feet in the breeze. An occasional posy of winter pansies and holly berries brightened up the graveyard. She stopped at one gravestone to pay her respects.
‘Your family?’ Dynes asked.
‘No, a soldier friend of my father who was killed in the Ashanti wars in the West African Gold Coast.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘Just a little. I would have been about ten or eleven years of age when I last saw him. As you can see, he was killed in 1901.’
‘So military service is ingrained in your family,’ suggested Dynes. He wrapped his arms around his body to stave off the cold.
‘Yes. So it would seem.’ He was right; it was chilly. She gave her scarf an extra turn around her neck.
‘How would you feel about some combat training before you return to Germany? It has been on my mind. You may find yourself in some tricky positions.’
Tricky positions. Things were becoming more serious than she had envisaged. Perhaps combat training would be in her best interests. ‘Can you arrange it?’ she asked cautiously. ‘As soon as possible?’ They could not afford to delay.
Long walks and swimming provided an explanation for her daily absences from the hotel, and she told Eicke the same thing. He was pleased to learn she was keeping herself fit, and told her that getting out and about was sure to produce information. The 'information' she gave him was of little consequence: some appropriate but ambiguous newspaper headlines kept him satisfied. He permitted her an extra two weeks before her return to Germany. The truth was the training proved gruelling, exhausting and at times painful. She would need time to recover.
She was taken south to Cultybraggan camp near Comrie in Perthshire, where she crawled through bogs, climbed ivy roots to gain entry into an empty house, learned to use a handgun, route-marched and orienteered up hills and down glens. The ten days seemed long, and she began a countdown towards the end. There were several other people, both men and women, who kept well to themselves and were probably trained not to ask questions. She did detect they were not all British; one had a distinctive Nordic look about him. No one asked why she was there, a woman of almost fifty-one years of age, hardly an active servicewoman. But she felt much fitter after the training.
By the time she shared her last day at home with her mother, Madge was beginning to suspect that there was more going on than Hilda was admitting. They spent the day playing rummy and drinking tea; her luggage was already packed and her one-way ticket was secure in her purse.
‘We may never see each other again,’ Madge said suddenly.
‘Let’s not talk that way, Mother. There are good people around.’
‘And there are some whose ambitions are out of control.’
Hilda nodded. The winter sun was out, casting long tree shadows on the lawn. ‘What about a walk in the garden?’
Mother donned a winter coat, gloves and a scarf chosen more for warmth than style. Hilda took her Brownie box camera.
‘Let me take a snap of you over here beside the plum red flowering berberis. Don’t stand too near or it will prick you,’ she warned with a laugh. ‘Now over here, with the hotel as the backdrop.’
She saw Fergus looking out at them from the hotel back window. He disappeared, and arrived at the door seconds later, very much out of breath. He must have run down the staircase at speed, probably missing every second step, then sprinted along the corridor to the back door.
‘Here... let me take a... picture of you both. How many... pictures have you left... in the spool?’ he panted.
‘Catch your breath first, Fergus. It’s a twenty-four picture film and I’ve got ten left to take.’
Fergus placed them shoulder to shoulder, and again in the same position but in close-up. He snapped away from various angles and against different backdrops till there were only three photos left. Hilda insisted on taking one of him with her mother, then he completed the reel with two of her alone.
Darkness fell soon afterwards, and she went outside once more after supper to gaze at the stars. She wondered if Otto was seeing the same stars, and if Karl and Renate would see them this night too. She told herself they would.
When would she return to Elgin? Would her mother still be here? If the hotel was sold, where would she find herself? She felt as if an embracing, protective Scottish arm was slipping from her shoulders. Or was it that she was already adjusting to being back in a Germany full of fear?
The ship which would take her back to Hamburg lay in Aberdeen harbour. It was the Columbus, and the swastika was flying on its stern. From the moment she stepped on board, she would resume her Frau Richter persona and be a German widow once again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr Thornton appear. He greeted her.
‘A final farewell?’ she asked
‘I hope not. I hope you will be back in a year, if not before. We need to know what’s happening in Germany, and you are in a prime position. You must stay alert, and note every detail. Make room in your memory. Do you have your radio with you?’
‘No, I deliberately left it hidden in the hotel, to tempt the German Abwehr to let me return to use it.’
‘Will Eicke not be annoyed?’
‘Not at all. Eicke sent a message to say I would be given a new set in Hamburg, to contact German agents in Britain. He told me to destroy my set. It would not get past British customs.’
‘And did you?’
‘Of course not. It may come in handy one day. I assure you I will stay loyal to Britain. I know it will not be easy, but I will do the best I can. You have my word.’
‘Of course, I expect nothing else. All that's left, then is for me to wish you well and pray you will be safe.’
She suddenly felt a shiver down her spine. Not just because of the gravity of Thornton's tone, but because she had forgotten something important. She opened her handbag and gave him the film. ‘Can I ask you to have this spool developed? Send me a copy of each picture, and another set to my mother. You don’t mind?’
‘And not one to me or Mr Dynes?’
‘Not unless you want photos of the hotel grounds and its occupants.’ They both laughed, and the tension eased.
She was about to thank him when he lunged forward. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he gave her a firm hug instead. When he released her they exchanged awkward gazes, and she thanked him, then gathered her hand luggage and made her way to the gangway.
No sooner had they left the sanctuary of Aberdeen harbour than the sea began to make itself felt. Fortunately her cabin was mid-ship, which minimized the effect, but winter sailings never seemed to be calm. Her nerves began to get the better of her, and her thoughts began to race and tumble. Had she made the right decision? How would she find Germany now that its ambition seemed to know no bounds? Would she be able to cope with being a foreigner in the face of such rabid nationalism? Yet having spent most of her life in the country, should she not share that fervour?
That night her bed rolled from side to side along with her thoughts, and sleep refused to come. Only thoughts of seeing Otto and her family again gave her any comfort. She looked at her black box, but knew her precious oboe was safer cocooned in its case. Playing it was unthinkable for the time being, though she hoped she would be able to do so again soon.
The nervous energy and anxiety eventually subsided, and sleep overcame her. When she opened her eyes and looked at her watch, it was seven thirty in the morning.
She covered herself and went on deck to see if any land was in sight, but there was none. Only one other man had taken to the deck, and he was out of earshot. A crew member approached and stopped in front of her.
‘Heil Hitler, madam. Breakfast is now being served in the dining room.’
She raised her hand. ‘Heil Hitler. I’ll be there in a minute. Thank you.’ The salutation she had almost forgotten came back to her with ease and a measure of fear. She’d soon get used to it of course, and learn not to think about it, yet it symbolized the regime, and failure to give the salute had consequences.
After breakfast she returned to her cabin. She had only been there a few minutes when she heard a long blast of the ship's horn. She went out on deck once more, and saw the battleship Scharnhorst glide past at speed and at close range. Then like a school of porpoises, the Unterseeboot fleet described a regular pattern at the battleship’s stern.
The Columbus dropped speed to permit the convoy to pass. Each U-boat had a white ensign bearing the swastika. The power of the German navy was on display, though of course that would only be a fraction of the force. Where could it be heading? To challenge the British Empire, straining as all its colonies fought to break free from colonialism, perhaps? Would Britain be Germany's ally as decades of colonial history dissolved? It seemed that the world order was being shaken up with no thought for how the chips would eventually fall.
Four hours later the Columbus slowed down and was taken under line by two port tugs. Hilda returned on deck to see Hamburg reappear, that friendly city which had taken her to its heart all those years ago. Everywhere she looked, she saw official cars and men were in military or naval uniform. There were few women; she assumed they were continuing their domestic duties.
The ship tied up, and she exchanged pounds for deutschmarks before disembarking, in order to pay for a taxi to the family home. She opened the front door and smelt fustiness, dryness too, and also the familiar vague scent of the Richter household. She opened the shutters in the sitting room, then the windows in the kitchen and bathroom.
She looked in the kitchen cupboards. It seemed Otto had cleared out all the tinned fruit and most of the tinned fish and meat. She did discover one tin of corned beef, but there were no vegetables and no milk. She needed to replenish the larder, and set off for the local shops.
She was recognized at the butchers and the dairy shop; they inquired about her family, and said they were pleased to see her again, making her feel welcome. She was not far from Karl’s dental practice, so despite being laden down by two baskets, she made for his clinic.
Renate was in the reception area, sitting with her back to the door, writing notes. Hilda approached the desk and put her bags down on the floor.
‘I have dreadful toothache. I need to see the dentist, immediately,’ she said in her best Hanoverian accent, smiling broadly.
‘I’ll be with you in a—’ Renate spun round in her chair. ‘Hilda!’
Renate came from behind the desk and gave her a long hug. When she moved back Hilda saw her eyes were filled with tears.
‘Whatever’s the matter, Renate?’
‘It’s Karl.’
‘Karl? What's happened?’
‘He has been ordered to report to the army and serve as a dentist to the troops. I have no idea where he is at present.’
‘Oh dear, what is life coming to? What’s happening here? How are you managing?’
‘You will remember Anton Huber?’
‘Yes, he retired some time ago. I do remember him.’
‘He was asked to take over here, against his better judgement I’d say. His eyesight is not as it once was, nor does he have a steady hand. But Hilda, that's unimportant – no more than is happening everywhere.’ She paused, and took a gulp of breath. ‘You know Karl is forty-eight. Had he been fifty he’d have been given lighter work, but I'm scared that when the war starts he’ll be in the forefront of battle. It really frightens me.’
Pins and needles ran through Hilda's body. ‘You said when the war starts. Will it? And when?’
‘It certainly will. No one can stop it, I am sure. But when? It depends. We are taking over countries which have German minorities. If any of these countries react, it could be the flashpoint. Remember 1914?’
‘I certainly do. How could I forget?’
Renate's eyes were full of pain, but there was one more question Hilda needed to ask ‘And Otto, have you seen him recently?’
‘Yes, not so long ago. You won’t recognize him. He’s grown. All that food and exercise he’s getting at Baden Baden. But tell me, when did you arrive?’
‘This morning. I’ve been shopping and thought I’d come here to surprise you. But you have shocked me. I do hope you will see Karl again soon.’
Renate's sigh seemed to come from the depths of her lungs. ‘You will not get settled in a day. Why don’t you come over to me this evening for a meal? Shall we say, seven p.m.?’
‘That’s very kind of you, Renate.’
Hilda walked home, seeing military uniforms and vehicles on all sides. Was this a permanent feature now? It was like a boil expanding all the time. When would it erupt, and when it did, who would it affect?
She had no sooner opened the door when the telephone rang. She put her shopping down in the hall and lifted the receiver.
‘Hello.’
‘Welcome home. Eicke here. I hope the crossing was not rough. I want you at my office at ten a.m. tomorrow, Gestapo Headquarters. Come smartly dressed. I look forward to seeing you once more. I’m pleased you have returned promptly.’
‘Thank you, Herr Eicke. I... look forward to our meeting again too.’
She replaced the receiver but held on to the phone to steady herself. Only a couple of days ago she had met with Thornton, and now she was to encounter her German spymaster again. Was she really cut out for this? Espionage, being a double agent – it was so far from any turn her life had taken before. She recalled the error she had made in regarding the Browns. Eicke was a professional interrogator, far more likely to trip her up. The one thing she must not forget was that here she was known as a spy for Germany; it was vital that she did not mix up her roles in any way.
She chose to walk to her morning meeting with Eicke. The streets had not changed, and she knew every inch of the way. Only the atmosphere which pervaded the city was different. Lampposts were draped in flags; even the square where she had brought Otto in his pram on sunny afternoons many years ago had been marked out for troops to drill to the rhythm of military brass bands. The public were required to support these highly trained men. There was no doubt that they looked extremely smart, and they certainly made an impact on everyone.
Chapter 10
As Eicke had instructed, Hilda had dressed more formally than usual, in a navy blue suit and white blouse. She wore the necklace that Willy had given her on the night they became engaged. She had no idea why Eicke had asked her to dress like this. Perhaps she would be meeting officials, grateful for her efforts to locate Scottish airfields on their behalf.
Or perhaps they had found her out.
Outside the Gestapo headquarters in Hamburg two armed guards stood at ease. Their outsized riding trousers were immaculately creased at the front, and they stared straight ahead. Their helmets almost covered their eyes. Guard duty when the nation was not at war struck Hilda as a rather menial role, but they performed their duties with exemplary efficiency, coming to attention smartly and simultaneously as she approached.
She was about ten steps away from them when they unsheathed their ceremonial swords and presented arms as she turned to walk between them. She did not look back, but judging by the boot stamping which followed, they were once again at ease. She, on the other hand, was not.
She reported to the reception desk where a young woman greeted her.
‘I have an appointment with Herr Eicke this morning at ten a.m. I appreciate I am a few minutes early.’
‘Your name please.’
‘Frau Hilda Richter,’ she said, keeping her voice firm.
Without saying another word, the receptionist lifted her telephone and held it to her ear. There was no one else around, but Hilda heard the sound of boots, stiletto heels and metal studs drumming importantly on the marble floors above. She had visited this building frequently in the past; it used to be the city's main post office. Now it had been commandeered by the state police, but the marble floor and most of the many paintings remained. On each floor, however, space had been made for a portrait of Adolf Hitler; they were clearly visible when she looked up to the top of the building through the staircase.
‘Frau Richter, SS-Gruppenfuhrer Eicke is ready for you now. Proceed to the third floor and you will be met by someone to take you to him.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. SS-Gruppenfuhrer. Either he had promoted himself, or he had been seen to be a valued cog in the frenzied state machine. Major Eicke gave him increased authority, but would it be beyond his capabilities? She had her doubts. She made her way up the carpeted steps, counting the floors. Not everyone was in uniform. Men dressed in double-breasted suits and brown leather shoes walked purposefully with files under their arms. Everyone seemed to have files. Was she the subject of one?
As she cleared the last step, a man in military uniform stepped smartly in front of her and clicked his heels.
‘Frau Richter?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Follow me, please.’
He took her to the end of the corridor, then they turned left, stopping at the third door on the right. The nameplate caught her eye: SS-Gruppenfuhrer Gerhardt Eicke, District Commander.
Her escort knocked on the door and entered, still holding the door knob in his left hand. Hilda was not yet invited to enter.
‘Frau Richter, mein Gruppenfuhrer.’
‘Bring her in please.’ He rose from his chair and moved forward to greet her with a formal handshake, and they exchanged cautious smiles.
‘I am very pleased to see you again, Frau Richter, especially this morning. But first tell me, are you well?’
‘I had a tiring voyage. It was not a smooth sail, but I have recovered now. Good German air to breathe and fresh vegetables and meat, how could I not be healthy?’
Eicke laughed. He seemed much friendlier, a less intimidating man than when she first met him after Willy’s funeral.
‘Today I am glad to be back home in Germany,’ she said.
‘I’m pleased to hear that. There was not even the slightest doubt in my mind that you would return.’
‘Of course,’ she said to placate him.
‘Can you tell me more about how things are in the north of Scotland?’
‘Certainly I can. I have met the Browns a few times now. They are very well suited to be in Britain. Their accents are really very good, excellent in fact. Some people even think they are South African, and I can see why.’
‘Excellent. The Browns are coming up to their fifth year in Britain.’
Eicke opened his silver cigarette case. He extracted one and tapped it against the packet.
‘You don’t smoke, do you?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘That’s right, I had forgotten.’
He lit his cigarette, drew in the smoke and exhaled as he turned towards her.
‘I could not help but notice your name on your door. Promotion, I see.’
He smiled proudly. ‘I began my professional life in the police, as you know. Then I was moved to the state police, the Gestapo. Now I am in charge of the Hamburg question. The SS are driving it, and I’m at the helm in this city.’
‘The Hamburg question: you mean the Jews?’
‘It’s no secret, Hamburg is home to the largest Jewish population in the country. That will be addressed. It’s going to take time, as you can imagine. But they will be removed.’ He took another draw of his cigarette and tapped it into a gleaming ashtray.
‘Does this mean I won’t be communicating with you again? Will I report to someone new?’ she asked. She wondered if she should bring out her notebook and pencil to record this encounter.
‘No, I need to know what information you will provide in the future. It will come in useful, I assure you. My superiors are in agreement.’
‘Then you have plans for me to return to Scotland to spy soon?’ she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
‘Plans for you to return, yes. But not yet.’
‘Then what am I to do in the meantime?’
‘You have done well when you were in Britain. I and my seniors are pleased with your work. Now we have a greater need for you. We’d first like to improve your communication skills. You will learn to use new and better technology. We will give you a special state pass while you are in Germany and, in time, a cover British identity card for when you return. You will need photographs taken, and that is one reason I asked you to dress smartly.’
‘I see. Why did you not mention this when you telephoned? You could have told me.’
There was a pause, and Hilda wondered if she had gone too far. Her question was on the cusp of impertinence and that was not her intention. However, Eicke was not in a mood to throw his weight around.
‘Yes, I know. That’s true but I am meeting a senior officer at noon, here in my office. I could not tell you before. It was secret. You will meet him too. More than that, he wishes to meet you.’
‘Meet me? And who is he?’
‘As I said, that remains, secret for the time being.’
She was taken to a photographic studio in the back of the building. A light shone on a plain white wall with an umbrella directing the beam. A woman attended to her hair for the first picture, then placed a brooch to hide the top button of her dress. Hilda looked in the mirror and saw it was a gemstone swastika. A flash made her blink, then a second. Two photos.
Next, she was given a slightly different hairstyle with her hair falling over her left eye, and the brooch was removed. Two more photos, and the photographer retired to the darkroom. The woman invited her to a desk and asked her to sign a document.
She was brought coffee and asked to wait. Twenty minutes later the photographer returned with her pictures.
‘Two different people,’ she said, looking at her two images.
‘Two different lives, perhaps,’ he said. He was probably in his early twenties, young and impressionable. Clearly perceptive as well.
‘I will arrange for you to receive the photos when they are cleared. They will be stamped and embossed first.’
The telephone rang and the photographer took the call. ‘You have to report to Gruppenfuhrer Eicke’s room, now. Please knock first.’
She walked back along the corridor, wondering who might want to meet her. It could be Karl, as a goodwill gesture by Eicke. Or even Otto on leave from his training. Eager to find out, she hurried to the door and knocked twice.
Eicke came to meet her, smiling. Beyond him she could see a tall, elegant, blond man who looked at her with piercing blue eyes. She had seen photos of this man in the papers, a cultured man from a family of distinguished musicians – and someone who was at the very heart of the state police. Hitler himself called him the man with an iron heart.
‘Hilda, meet SS-Obergruppenführer Reinhart Heydrich.’
She held out her hand to shake his, but he took hold of it, turned it over and kissed it.
She was taken aback, but tried hard not to show it.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you,’ he said in a remarkably high voice. She recalled that the papers had commented on in this during the very early 1930s, but never since. He had clearly risen above any embarrassment the defect had caused him; he was known as a killing machine and proud of it. Hilda's knees were trembling. She was in a lion’s den.
‘Your late husband was Willy Richter, I think?’ he said, indicating that she should sit.
‘Dr Willy Richter, yes,’ she confirmed, wondering how he knew.
‘He began his medical career in Halle an der Saale, not so?’
‘Yes, I believe so, but that was before I met him here in Hamburg.’
‘Of course.’
The pause quickly became unsettling. Then—
‘My parents were very fond of him.’
‘Really?’ Surely he must have noticed her incredulity. She could hardly believe Willy could possibly have had any connection with this beast of a man whose flick of a hand sentenced men, women, even children, to death without a hint of hesitation.
‘Halle an der Saale is my home town, where I was born. My mother had been very ill, devastating for a music teacher. Dr Richter was called to our house to administer medicine. Over the weeks, my mother’s strength returned. They used to discuss their love of music too. Our family will never forget his kindness: he asked for no payment for his services, and eventually she made a full recovery. We were very sad to hear he was leaving to go to Hamburg. That was of course your good fortune.’
Hilda smiled. It was so like Willy not to ask for payment. His patients were always his priority. And Willy’s departure from his home town was indeed her good fortune.
‘I feel a debt is owed by my family to you, as Dr Richter’s widow.’
So that was why this meeting was taking place. Hilda still felt uncomfortable, however, and hoped that now Heydrich had proffered his thanks, Eicke would step in and bring matters to a conclusion. But Heydrich had not finished.
‘Flowers and chocolate came to mind momentarily, but I have decided a more special and lasting token is more relevant.’
‘That is very thoughtful, but quite unnecessary,’ she said.
‘Let me be the judge of that,’ he said abruptly tapping the table twice with his silver-topped cane. ‘I hear you have been sending reports from Scotland, meeting our agents there, and are now returning for more instructions. Espionage is a very courageous life, very demanding, and a lonely life too. I am not cut out for it myself. Spies do not always have the easiest, and dare I say the longest, of lives, and so we must be grateful for their information when it comes. I wish to show you how grateful I am to you, and to record my gratitude to your late husband.’
He lifted up his brown leather case and opened it. He brought out a black box. Once more Hilda found she was staring at a swastika.
‘Frau Richter, please stand,’ he ordered.
Eicke stood too. Clearly he saw her as one of his own protégées, and he wanted his share of the credit for her achievements. She stood up straight to receive Heydrich's gift: a brooch, perhaps.
But it was far more than that.
‘Frau Richter, I hereby award you the German Eagle Civilian Medal in honour of your service to the Reich.’
He placed the red and silver ribbon around her neck and stood behind her to secure the hooks and eyes, then stood in front of her at attention and raised his arm in salute. ‘Heil Hitler,’ he shouted.
She raised her own arm even higher. ‘Heil Hitler,’ she said firmly, though a little at a loss to know exactly how much use the scanty false information she had provided could possibly be.
If Dynes and Thornton could have known how close she was to the centre of the Reich machine at that moment, they would have been proud of her. All the same, if they had known she was receiving such a high honour they would shake in their boots and wonder whose side she was she really on.
Over a celebratory glass of sherry, she discovered Heydrich was indeed a cultured man when the topic was music. He knew about her oboe playing too. She smiled to herself as she reflected that she would not be dancing to all his tunes.
To her great relief, after fifteen minutes their glasses were empty and the social niceties were at an end and she was gently dismissed.
‘We need detain you no longer, Frau Richter,’ said Eicke. ‘Germany expects great results from you. You are a real credit to the Reich.’ She had made his day. He walked with her to the door with a self-satisfied smug grin which put her in mind of a proud father.
Her own smile was carefully pitched to maintain his confidence in her. She left the room and closed the door behind her, letting out a sigh of relief.
Her shoelace had come undone and she knelt down to tie it. Stooping just outside the room, she heard Eicke querying the award. She stayed frozen to the spot; Heydrich’s high-pitched reply was as clear as a bell. ‘She needed an incentive to stay German,’ he said. ‘Once she is back in Britain, she must not lapse.’
They certainly valued her, then. She could play that to her advantage if necessary. She moved away smartly, quietly and better informed.
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Ron