Family death back home and then to London,
Chapter 19
At breakfast next morning Hilda was the only woman in the dining room apart from the kitchen staff. The sky-blue-clad airmen at the other tables cast curious looks in her direction from time to time. She tried to ignore them, but it wasn’t easy. Perhaps she reminded them of their mothers? Many of them were Otto's contemporaries.
She had had a restless night despite Dynes’ tot of whisky. She had deliberately lain awake for a while, trying to create some kind of order out of everything she had observed in Germany and Portugal, in preparation for her debriefing. She was certainly not at her best in the morning; what little sleep she had was hardly refreshing when she sat with cupped hands over a cup of tea the following morning at breakfast. The only washroom she had found was full of shaving airmen. She wondered how long they would keep her here, and what would happen next. Much as she longed to see Otto again, she was certain they would not send her back to Germany
She sat in the dining room with her a mug of tea, keeping an eye open for the arrival of Dynes and Thornton. It was some twenty minutes after nine when they appeared. They exchanged pleasantries, then Thornton led the way to a hut in the grounds.
It was a well appointed hut, carpeted, with toilet facilities on the right as they entered, and a room with a table in the centre and a blazing coal fire which must have been lit an hour or so ago. A full coal bucket lay beside the fireguard.
They sat down at the table, Hilda on one side and Dynes and Thornton on the other.
‘I must say finding you were in Portugal was a surprise. I look forward to you telling us about that,’ said Dynes. 'But let's go back to when you left Elgin to return to Germany, that should be a good place to start.'
Her memory of the early days of her return to Hamburg was a little unclear. It was the atmosphere she recalled first: the way National Socialism had grabbed the nation’s attention and Hitler seemed to have the answers. His annexation of the Sudetenland was popular among Germans, as was the invasion of Poland. Many Germanic people lived in both countries and that was their excuse to invade. At that time they felt Britain was all bluff, more interested in protecting its own commonwealth than in coming to the defence of small European countries.
Her nose suddenly itched, and she opened her handbag and took out a handkerchief. She apologized that it was not too clean.
‘German or British handkerchief?’ asked Dynes.
She laughed. ‘Portuguese of course.’
The next thing she told them was how she had been awarded the Eagle Civilian Cross. Both Dynes and Thornton were open-mouthed in utter astonishment.
‘Presented by Reinhardt Heydrich himself, I might add.’
‘Heydrich, by God,' Thornton exclaimed. 'Do you know about Operation Anthropoid?’
‘Anthropoid? No, can’t say I’ve heard of it.’
‘In June, Heydrich was assassinated on the instruction of the exiled Czech government.’
‘Marvellous. I detested that man,’ she said with venom.
‘It was not a wholehearted success, Hilda. The reprisals have been brutal. They killed all males over sixteen at Lidice in Czechoslovakia.’
A chill seemed to fall over the room. Heydrich could make his influence felt from beyond the grave.
‘Anyway, you seem to have been appreciated by the Reich. How the hell did that come about?’ asked Dynes.
She recounted the tale Heydrich had told her, about how her late husband had served the Heydrich family. ‘He also intended the honour to ensure I stayed loyal to them.’
‘Think twice about who you show it to, won’t you?’ warned Dynes.
She nodded. ‘For the moment it remains in the hall cupboard in Hamburg,’ she assured them. 'And when the war is over, it will be for your eyes only. Imagine if I had brought it with me and not shown it to you, and it fell out of my bag, or you searched my things and discovered I had it?'
‘Yes, best to cover your tracks’ smiled Thornton. 'You're good at that. The medal can stay in Hamburg.'
Next she told them about the training camp at Bautzen, where she had met Nancy Krause the New York airline office official, Carl Jaeger the Baltimore taxi driver and Max Becker the Bronx cafe owner.
‘It was from them I was receiving signals to relay to Berlin,’ she said.
Her voice cracked towards the end of the sentence, and without warning her shoulders began to shake and tears filled her eyes. She could stave it off no longer and began to sob. For the first time over two stressful years, it seemed she had no fight left in her.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Thornton solicitously, patting her arm. She groped for her grubby handkerchief, and Dynes offered his immaculately pressed white one.
All the pent-up anxiety became unravelled: the strain of living under a false identity was only a small part of it. She knew she had embarrassed them. They had no idea what to do with her, but she could not stop the flow of tears. ‘I’m a murderer,’ she sobbed, shaking her head. ‘A murderer. I murdered so many people. I sank the SS Athenia... It was my fault... I murdered the crew.’
She had not appreciated the extent to which the Athenia's fate had been preying on her mind. But in the back of her mind she realized she had chosen the right time and place to fall to pieces; they now had a grandstand view of the stress she had been under. She hoped they would see her breakdown in a favourable light.
‘I think we should take a break,’ said Dynes. She thanked him, wiped the last of the tears from her face and held out his damp handkerchief.
'I think you'd better keep it,' he grinned. 'A small gift from the British government.'
Dynes left the hut briefly and brought back a tray bearing three cups of tea. By the time he returned Hilda had composed herself, and it felt good to hold a warm cup in her hands again.
‘The sinking of SS Athenia was not your fault, Hilda,’ Thornton said gently.
‘You don’t understand. I was not diligent enough. I did not interpret the numbers in time,’ she said, still showing the guilt in her forehead’s creased rows.
‘Yes, but what did you do when you did discover what they meant?'
She exhaled and her shoulders slumped. 'I sent false co-ordinates to Berlin on my next transmission.' Too little, and much too late, she thought.
'You gave Berlin a false reading to save another ship from the same fate. Think of the people you saved.’
‘That was why I had to cut short my time in Portugal, and get out of there before I sent more ships to the bottom of the Atlantic.’
Both men nodded their approval. ‘You left at the right time,’ said Dynes. 'You did the right thing.'
‘It was a good ruse to let them suspect you had drowned. That was quick thinking,’ said Thornton.
‘I have left behind a confused cat, a treasured bicycle and a radio, all of which I had become very fond,’ she said.
‘I expect the radio and the transmitter is back in German hands by now.’
She gave wry smile. ‘That would have been the first priority of the German Ambassador in Portugal. They knew where it was hidden. I'm sure they were in there like a shot to seize it.’
'So it looks as if you succeeded in disappearing without trace,' Dynes said. 'What else can you tell us?'
There was very little more. She described her journey to Lisbon, and what she had seen during her brief time in the city before reaching the embassy, and she mentioned the gossip the driver had passed on, and Marco the Swiss pilot.
'And that's the end of my story,' she finished, leaning back in her chair.
'Not quite.' Thornton turned the page of his notebook. ‘Tell me about Eicke again.’
She thought carefully. ‘Eicke won’t leave Hamburg. He’s now in charge of cleansing the city. I assume you know what that means?’
‘Deporting Jews?’ asked Dynes.
‘Exactly. That must have been why he was meeting with Heydrich that day. He was the director of "cleansing" the whole of Germany of Jews. That also means he had less control over where Otto might be sent.’
‘No bad thing, perhaps,’ said Dynes.
‘By now Eicke may have been told I drowned in the Atlantic. That would suit me fine. Of course if he did think I’d drowned he might get word to Otto that I had died. That would worry me.’
‘As you say, Eicke has his hands full and dirty in Hamburg. He’ll probably not even know where Otto is,’ said Dynes.
‘Then there is no way I can return to Hamburg, I suppose?’
‘No, we have no intention of sending you back to Germany,’ said Thornton.
She took on board what he said and gave a sigh of relief. ‘Then it seems my work with you is over?’
‘Almost, I’d say. Hilda... I have some bad news for you.’
She could not think what this could be; her mind was still focused on Germany.
‘I'm so sorry to have to have to tell you this. It’s your mother. I’m afraid she died six weeks ago.’
The news had a strange effect on her. Her head began to spin dizzily, but she was still able to think clearly. In one way it was not entirely bad news; at least Mother would not have to bear the anxiety of the war anymore; her fears for Hilda and her grandson were at an end. That was a small compensation. However, her death would probably make Hilda the owner of the Nethybrig Hotel in Elgin: a prospect that left her with mixed feelings.
Then she realised exactly what Thornton had said.
‘Oh dear. Six weeks ago. She will have been buried by now, of course.’
‘Yes, she was buried next to your father in the Elgin graveyard. Hilda go up there, sort things out. I suppose you can either sell the hotel, or let someone else take it over.’
She lingered on his last suggestion. Perhaps they were right.
‘I’m not really a hotelier. When the war is over, I may even return to Germany to live. I’ve spent half my life there, after all. First, though, I suppose I’ll have to sort everything out with the family lawyer.’
‘When you have decided, Hilda, please get in touch. I have some work, which I think would suit you. You could make a substantial contribution,’ said Thornton.
‘What would that be?’ she asked partly curious and partly flattered that he rated her highly enough to offer her yet more work.
‘Not today. That’s for later. Highly secret work is all I can say at the moment.’
The following day, with a generous supply of back pay in her handbag, she took the overnight train to Inverness. In the morning, she went straight to the Nethybrig Hotel. It had not changed, and its vestibule seemed to welcome her home much as it ever had. Fergus was not around. A cleaner told her he had left more than four months ago to join the Highland Light Infantry.
She called a meeting of the hotel staff. She told them she had decided to put the hotel up for sale with a provision that the present staff remain in post. She gave the longstanding housekeeper Mrs Creanor the responsibility of keeping the hotel running meantime. Poor Mrs Creanor received the news in a fluster, and Hilda had to reassure her that her bookkeeping skills and pleasant nature rendered her well suited to take on Mother’s role.
The following day she made her way to the legal office of the family lawyer, Mr Gates. She did not have to wait long. Mr Gates gestured for her to enter his office without as much as a greeting. He seemed to be a dour individual.
‘It was disappointing that you could not attend your mother’s funeral, Frau Richter,’ he began.
‘I was out of the country. I did not hear of her death until a couple of days ago, Mr Gates,’ she replied crisply, rather resenting his tone. She was still the client, after all; who was he to judge her?
‘I tried to contact you of course, but out of the country... Germany, you mean?’ He peered at her over his glasses.
‘No, not Germany.’ Her pulse rate rose, along with her temper. No matter where she had been, it was none of his concern. ‘May I please ask you not to refer to me as Frau Richter? I am to be known as Miss Campbell from now on. For the rest, I have come to give instruction, not answer personal questions.’
He sat back in his chair, barely acknowledging that she had spoken. She took a deep breath and continued.
‘Regarding the hotel, it is my wish to sell it as a going concern, and retain the current staff. Can that be arranged?’
‘It can be sold of course, but your conditions would be difficult to enforce. The buyer could employ whomsoever he wishes, even knock it down and build another more modern hotel. Or something else entirely.’
‘Even so, my request is for the hotel to be sold as it is, and that the same staff remains in post. I make this decision in good faith. I trust our employees, who have been with us for many years, and wish to do the right thing by them.’
‘Very well, Frau Richter, I shall make a note of that.’
Hilda was rapidly losing patience. ‘May I remind you sir,’ she said sharply, ‘that I now call myself by my maiden name, for reasons which should be obvious. If you insist on using my German name, I will have no hesitation whatsoever in taking my business elsewhere. This is not the only respected lawyers’ office in town. What's more, I require you to inform your staff and acquaintances of this.’
Mr Gates twiddled his pen between his fingers. ‘Very well, as you wish. Miss Campbell.' He cleared his throat. 'After the funeral I attended to your late mother’s will as follows. Her estate is divided; 75% goes to you and 25% to... Otto Richter. That will have to be held back, of course, for the time being. Meanwhile I can provide you with a cheque for seven thousand pounds sterling. I suggest you bank the cheque as soon as possible. It is a princely amount, so it earns considerable interest too. The sale of the hotel will be dealt with, and its completion notified to you in due course. Unless you wish to conduct the sale personally, of course.’
Perhaps she had been a little harsh, Hilda thought, but her outburst had had the desired effect; he was trying to be more accommodating. ‘Thank you, Mr Gates. I shall leave all that in the capable hands of your office and be glad to pay the fee due to you, in the fullness of time.’
The lawyer nodded, and stood up to put away a file into a wire tray on a nearby table. Was this a signal that she should leave, she thought. If so, it was rather rude. She had not finished.
He turned towards her, clearly surprised to see her still in her seat. An awkward silence ensued.
‘So you attended the funeral,’ she asked, to break it.
‘Did I attend, you ask? Who didn’t? The whole town came to pay its respects. The hotel is at the centre of our community. Not only was your mother well known, she was very well respected.’
‘I am pleased to hear that. Though of course it comes as no surprise.’
There was another moment’s silence, and Mr Gates sat down again. Perhaps he was trying to show a friendlier face.
‘Will you be staying long?’
‘No, I will be heading south soon.’
‘And you will give me a forwarding address?’
‘I will, of course, as soon as I have one.’
That should satisfy him. So too that she intended to remain in Britain, she thought. Although where that address would be was in the lap of the gods.
She rose to leave, but Mr Gates had one more thing to tell her. ‘Your mother’s grave. It is beside your late father’s.’
‘Thank you. I expected as much. That is my next obligation.’
He opened his desk drawer. ‘Before you go, this is your inheritance.’ He handed her the cheque, which he had obviously prepared in advance. She placed it in her handbag.
‘Thank you. Now I must not interrupt your work. I should take my leave,’ she said.
‘Will you be seeing Otto in the near future?’ he asked.
‘That depends, doesn’t it, Mr Gates?’
He nodded. 'Indeed.'
‘I can assure you I will not be returning to Germany now or in the near future.’
They parted on rather better terms, and Hilda felt she had earned his respect by refusing to let him cow her.
That afternoon she set off to the churchyard. She knew exactly where she would find their graves. Chrysanthemums lay withered by her mother’s grave. She placed them in a nearby bin and returned to stand between the two plots. Together again, she thought, at rest and oblivious to the unfolding war. This had been their community. The sadness she realized was that it was no longer hers.
She recalled her childhood with loving parents who had nurtured her curious nature; she asked questions about her father’s time in West Africa during the Gold Coast wars at the turn of the century. That had inspired her spirit of adventure, she concluded, and perhaps led to her moving to Germany. She still loved their language, their robust approach to food, song and dance. But the dance had turned macabre and she no longer wished to be associated with it. Perhaps one day Otto might find a way back to her, but for now she had no way of communicating with him. Tears filled her eyes, as she wondered if she would ever see Otto, Karl and Renate again. More tears fell, of sorrow that she had lost both her parents, and for the tender moments she had shared with her mother, which had given her a sense of security and peace. Her parents’ spirits were free now; she hoped they were following her progress, perhaps guiding her? One thing, however, was as clear to her as a mountain stream: after she had dealt with the family possessions, she could no longer live in Elgin.
Back at the hotel, she laid out her mother’s better clothes and invited the ladies of the hotel staff to take what they wished. She arranged for an auctioneer to take away some small artefacts and the heavy wooden furniture from her parents’ bedrooms. Her father’s roll top desk had to be dismantled, and as she helped to do it she came across a letter which had become wedged under the front drawer. The envelope tore a little as she eased it out.
It was not addressed to anyone, but she recognized her father's writing. It was dated 3rd January 1901. The paper was brittle and thin, and stained with water; she wondered if that was dried tears. Or maybe it was exposure to the sun which made it so delicate. She opened the letter carefully and read.
As she read, she remembered the way her father had begged forgiveness on his deathbed. The letter spoke of an incident in the Ashanti village of Bekwai, in the Gold Coast. Father had been part of a detachment seeking out Ashanti warriors bent on saving their Golden Stool. The soldiers had arrived at the village and found guns resting against the mud houses. Father gave the command to shoot at the house supporting the most rifles. No sooner had the shots been fired when a young female child came out of the house screaming and holding her younger brother in her arms. He was dead, hit by one of their bullets. It would haunt her father all his life. He had never told Hilda about this sad incident, yet it seemed clear that the forgiveness he sought stemmed from that moment. She sent up a brief prayer of forgiveness; after all, she too had innocent blood on her hands. It appeared it was the nature of war, though the thought gave her no comfort. Perhaps such pernicious decisions were made with good intentions, but the best intentions could never excuse murder.
In many ways, she would be glad to leave the town, the people, the hotel and the churchyard without looking back, though the memories would go with her. She had a future to face, and for the moment she had no idea where it would take her.
She had been in Elgin for eleven days, and was growing anxious to leave. She telephoned London.
‘Hello, Mr Dynes?’
‘Yes, Hilda. I hope you are well. So what news have you?’
‘Only that I want to leave Elgin.’
‘Well, we’ve much better news for you. I can’t tell you on the phone. Can you come to London?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Excellent. Come to our office.’
She took the sleeper from Inverness to London, a journey of thirteen hours, most of which she spent asleep, soothed by the rattle of the rails. Passengers were told there was some diversion en route, but no more information was forthcoming. In fact, the first she heard of it was when the attendant arrived with a welcome cup of tea at six thirty.
She arrived in London at eight, and immediately perceived that the city was in a state of anxiety. Gas masks hung round everyone’s necks, and the notorious London fog lent a sense of mystery to the streets. As the hour approached nine thirty, she was relieved to see it lift.
There was just enough time to grab a quick coffee and scan the newspaper at a Lyons Corner House. There was no significant news of the war in that morning’s edition, but Parliament’s condemnation of German aggression devoured entire columns. Hilda turned to the crossword, and before she had finished her coffee it was almost complete.
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