‘I just wanted to say I am sorry, Millie. I’ve been thinking about it and you are quite right. It’s wrong to negotiate with the Nazis when we are at war with them. We should have told your father and Henry that.’
Millie was surprised, but gladdened that Constance seemed to share the doubts that were growing in her own mind after her conversation with Theo.
‘It’s just so difficult when people you trust ask you to do something,’ Constance went on. ‘And I do wish someone would do something to stop this dratted war.’
‘So do I,’ said Millie. ‘But I wonder if we shouldn’t leave it to our government.’
‘Probably,’ said Constance. ‘I don’t think Henry is a Nazi, though.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Millie.
Constance looked as if she was going to argue, but seemed to think the better of it. ‘Oh, and I saw Theo earlier this evening.’
‘You did?’ said Millie. ‘Why didn’t you send him up to see me?’
‘I tried to, but he said he just wanted me to leave you a message. He wants you to meet someone tomorrow morning. Early.’
‘Who?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me,’ said Constance. She dropped her eyes. ‘I think he doesn’t trust me.’
‘When? Where?’
‘Half past six. In the sand dunes just beyond the beach. Below the watchtower up there. You know. We walked up there yesterday afternoon.’
A mass of low sand dunes covered in scrub stretched along the coast for several miles to the north east of Scheveningen, and Millie and Constance had explored them the day before. ‘Yes, I know where you mean. That’s frightfully early, though. It’s still dark then.’
‘It must be someone quite important,’ said Constance. ‘I asked if I could come with you, but Theo said no.’
‘All right,’ said Millie. She looked at her companion. Constance’s apology seemed genuine enough, but Millie didn’t even begin to understand her. At one moment she seemed to be impossibly naive, but she clearly understood more about international politics than she let on. With Otto Langebrück she had appeared firm and businesslike. And her relationship with Alston was a mystery. She said she was a friend of Alston’s niece, but it was odd that Alston trusted her so much.
‘Thank you, Constance,’ she said. ‘Good night.’
After Constance had left her, Millie rang down to the hotel reception to book a wake-up call.
21
Scheveningen, 15 November
The phone woke Millie before six, and she was out of the hotel by ten past. It was still dark, although a lighter shade of grey framed the Kurhaus to the east. The breeze was steady rather than strong, and the Dutch flag flapped jauntily from the cupola of the hotel.
The promenade was empty, but one man was walking his dog on the beach down by the pier. Crows and seagulls huddled on the sand. Most of the guesthouses and hotels along the front were dark.
Millie wondered whom Theo wanted her to meet. Her best guess was either someone high up in the conspiracy against Hitler, or someone with evidence against the Duke of Windsor. Millie still found it hard to believe that the duke could possibly be a traitor, but she had to trust Theo. It was odd: she trusted Theo more than her own father.
She wished she could talk to her brother about the pickle she seemed to have got herself into. He would be furious, of course, but then he would be constructive. He would know what to do.
But there was no Conrad, so Millie was left to her own devices. She should have confidence in herself; she could cope.
She lifted her chin as she came to the end of the promenade, where beach met dune. The sand there was soft and had drifted in the wind, but she trudged up to a small footpath that snaked up the dune. The sky was lightening all around now, although sea, sky and dune were still shifting shades of grey and black.
She remembered where she had walked with Constance a couple of days before. There was a Napoleonic watchtower on the highest dune with a view of The Hague to the east and Scheveningen to the south. To get there, one had to climb and descend a couple of times. She assumed that Theo and his companion, whoever he turned out to be, would be waiting for her in one of those hollows.
There was no one around, and although at the top of the dunes she could see for miles, in the hollows she was sheltered from the wind and the sound of the surf.
Scrub encroached: gorse and stunted trees. First one bird and then another announced the dawn from deep within the bushes. The path she was following was not straight, but wound through the humps. She came to a narrow section where it plunged downhill with scrub on either side.
She heard rapid footsteps behind her and the sound of feet sliding on sand.
‘Theo?’
She turned.
She saw the knife and opened her mouth to scream.
No one heard.
Part 2
November 1939
22
Bedaux International
Bungehuis, Spuistraat 210
Amsterdam
16 November 1939
Dear Sir Henry,
It is a few years since we met, but I remember that stimulating discussion over lunch with Baron von Schroeder and Pierre Laval at Banque Worms in Paris.
A mutual friend, with whom you have recently been in contact, suggested I get in touch with you. Gurney Kroheim has a venerable history of banking on the continent of Europe. I hope that some day my own firm will be able to emulate yours with a reputation in management consulting. Both our businesses rely on trade to thrive. This recent war is a disaster for trade.
Your former king the Duke of Windsor is an old friend of mine. You may recall that he and the duchess were married at my chateau. Like ourselves, the duke has a wide understanding of Europe. While there can be no more patriotic Englishman than him, he understands that his country’s best interests are not necessarily served by the slaughter of its youth on the battlefields of France.
These matters are sensitive, which is why I am sending this letter by hand. I should like to discuss the European situation and the duke with you face-to-face. I will be in London for a couple days at the end of next week and perhaps we could meet on the 23rd? Please confirm care of Mrs ter Hart at Bedaux International in Amsterdam.
Sincerely yours,
Charles E. Bedaux
23
Kensington, London, 16 November
‘What the hell was Millie doing in Holland, Father?’
Conrad’s voice was quiet, but full of menace. They were in the library. There had been no invasion of Belgium the day before, no coup against Hitler. But there was other more immediate and far more shocking news. When he had arrived home from Heston Airport half an hour earlier, he was surprised to see his mother up in London from Somerset. One look at her face told him something was dreadfully wrong. It was. Millie had been murdered in Holland.
He hadn’t understood for a moment: there was no conceivable reason for Millie to be in the country he had just returned from; it must be some strange mix-up.
But it wasn’t. His mother’s face told him it wasn’t. And although the idea of Millie’s death still seemed unreal, a moment’s thought gave Conrad a possible reason.
Conrad hugged and comforted his mother, when all the time he just wanted to scream at his father. As soon as he decently could he insisted that he and his father withdraw to the library.