White steam followed the train like a bride’s veil as the coast disappeared from view. Hilda relaxed in her eight-seat compartment and contemplated her unexpected encounter in Aberdeen. She could see why Dynes and Thornton had been suspicious of her, but hopefully, they were now satisfied that the only way Germany would feature in her plans in the near future would be the sharing of any useful information she had about the country. She resolved to co-operate as fully as possible with her British contacts; in fact, beneath the apprehension and misgivings regarding the whole idea of becoming a spy, she was beginning to feel a little anxiety but also excitement.
An hour and twenty minutes later the Aberdeen to Inverness train pulled into Forres. Steam hissed along the side of the train as she stepped down into familiar territory with her suitcase in one hand and black box in the other. She proceeded through the station, walked down Gordon Street and turned into the High street. There before her was the welcome sight of the Commercial Hotel, her family home.
She climbed the steps to the reception desk and rang the bell. The door opened and her mother appeared.
‘Darling, you’re home!’ Madge Campbell stuffed a dishtowel into her apron pocket and opened her arms wide. Hilda put her bags down and they hugged, both talking at the same time. There would be plenty of time for questions and answers, but not at that moment.
‘Welcome home,’ said the bellboy who had appeared in the hallway. ‘I’ll take your luggage.’
‘Thank you, Fergus. My, you have grown into a handsome young man now.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Richter. If you say so, I am pleased. Not many girls do,’ he replied with a note of mischief in his smile. ‘Anyway, it’s good to see you again. Is Otto here too?’
‘No, Otto has just finished school and is kept very busy,’ she replied, beaming at him with a wish to speak of Otto. However, his romantic misadventures preoccupied her mind. ‘And get away with you. I’m sure the lasses have an eye for you.’
Fergus grinned but his mind was elsewhere. ‘What’s his work? Otto, I mean.’
‘In Germany, we have national service; that’s what Otto is doing. It’s compulsory.’
Madge hopped from one foot to the other, becoming impatient.
‘Wheesht Fergus. Take Hilda’s bags upstairs,’ she told him, waving her arm to shush him on his way. ‘It’s wonderful to have you back home, darling, just wonderful. I have been so worried. However, you are here. I almost can’t believe it.’ She took a pace backwards and admired her daughter. ‘You are looking so well.’
‘I suspect it’s the sea air. I’m not getting any younger.’
‘Well, neither am I and that is a fact,’ she said with a robust laugh.
Hilda laughed too. ‘Where am I sleeping?’ she asked. ‘My usual room?’
‘No, you’re in the attic if you don’t mind. We’ve got a few guests this week, travelling salesmen. Moreover, your father is in the back bedroom these days. He can’t get upstairs now.’
‘Oh. How is Father?’
Madge’s face said it all. ‘He’s not well… not well at all, dear. The Doctor says his heart is weak, and of course, you know he had a stroke last year. He has little movement down his left side. That is why I hoped you would come. You had better go and see him while I will organise a cup of tea for us. There’s some gingerbread I made yesterday.’
‘Mmm, gingerbread. That’s a treat.’
Hilda went through the corridor to the back bedroom, passing the wood-panelled walls festooned with pictures of the town in its former days. They seemed to smile as if she was their long-lost friend as she passed by. She opened the door of the bedroom, but her father seemed to be asleep. She approached and bent forward to kiss him, and he opened his eyes. A faint smile curved his lips and his eyes shone a welcome as he recognised her. His voice was soft but stronger than she had expected.
‘Hilda… darling… my little girl. I’m so pleased to see you again,’ he managed to say through his half-paralysed mouth.
‘You have been in my thoughts all the time, Dad,’ she replied with a lump in her throat.
‘But… Herr Hitler… he worries me.’ It was clearly an effort for him to speak.
‘He worries me too but not today. I’m home with you.’
Mother arrived with a tray and placed it on the dressing table. She poured out two cups of tea, and half-filled a mug for father. Hilda recognised the same friendly teapot, which had been there in the family home throughout her childhood, though it had lost some of its shine. One day, she reflected, it would be hers. The thought of her using it daily would perpetuate a family tradition.
She soon settled back into a routine, helping her mother in the kitchen and staffing the reception desk. She brought her father his meals and received each time a loving smile. In fact, she picked up on the life of her youth very easily – until one day, a letter arrived.
She found it propped up on the reception desk, held in position by the bell. The postman never left letters there; he always placed them in the middle of the desk, face down. Hilda was immediately suspicious. She lifted it up and saw distinctive German script on the envelope. There was no postmark, and she realised right away, who had left it. It seemed the German agents in the north of Scotland were here in her town.
She moved smartly to the front step of the hotel and looked both ways, but saw nothing untoward. People in the street seemed to be attending to their own business, and no one was moving away in a hurry.
She stood at the top of the steps for a few more minutes, until Fergus appeared.
‘Can I get you anything, Mrs Richter?’
She turned and smiled at him. ‘No, I’m just getting some fresh air.’
‘I see you have a letter. Is it from Otto?’
‘No, not this one,’ she replied, holding it so that he could not see the address.
She retired to her room and slid a sharp metal comb handle through the top of the letter. A small booklet fell out, which on closer inspection proved to be a codebook. She flipped through it and read the instructions, which were in German, of course. Was she to memorize all these symbols? Moreover, where was the accompanying radio? Then she slid the enclosed letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. The message was quite brief.
It was late, well after ten that evening, when she called the number Mr Dynes had given her.
‘I’ve heard from an agent.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘I’ve to ask for Mr and Mrs Brown, but I suspect that’s false. I have been asked to go to the Bunchrew Country hotel near Inverness on Friday.’
‘Then you must go. Have you been asked to stay overnight at the hotel?’
‘No, the meeting is at twelve noon.’
‘I’ll send a money order to cover your costs. I’ll be waiting to hear from you on Friday night.’
‘And if I’m not home at a reasonable hour?’
‘Then, Saturday morning, of course.’
She replaced the receiver feeling reprimanded for not thinking the obvious answer. Her mother came into the lounge in her dressing gown at the same moment.
‘Are you still up?’
‘Yes, I had to make a telephone call. I’ve arranged to visit a friend I’ve not seen for a while, Mother, in Inverness this Friday.’
‘A school friend?’
‘No, someone I met when I was studying in Aberdeen.’ It was only half a lie.
‘I see. Why not bring her here, then?’
She hesitated, not wishing her mother to know anything about the role she had undertaken.
‘Maybe some other time, Mother.’
It was the first time since she became an adult that she had lied to someone close to her. Was this something she might have to do regularly to keep that part of her life secret? Could she retain all the information she gathered and keep her lies from tripping her up? Was espionage full of lies? Somehow, she had to protect her family in Germany without harming her native Scottish land. She was walking a tightrope, one that might not hold her weight, let alone allow her to keep her balance.
Never had four days dragged so much. On Thursday, a postal order arrived from London. She somehow felt Dynes and Thornton were based nearer, perhaps in Edinburgh. She supposed they had superiors, and they would be in London. She cashed the order at the post office in Forres and stowed the money away in her purse.
When she returned from the town, she sat in the back garden with her mother, drinking lime cordial and gazing over the town to Clunnyhill.
Mother’s eyes followed her stare. ‘You remember walking there, beyond the cemetery?’
Hilda shaded her eyes and nodded.
‘That was some time ago. I am sure I can’t do that any longer. I suppose I am just not fit,’ she said. Her mind unwound the years and took her back to those days of her youth when everything was so peaceful.
‘We get older; less wise – and then we die.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Mother. You have many years ahead of you.’
‘Perhaps, but your father has not. I see him fading almost every day. Do see him before you go to Inverness tomorrow, darling.’
‘I will.’ She reached for her mother’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
True to her word, on Friday morning after breakfast, she entered her father’s bedroom. All his vitality seemed to be slipping away. She placed her hand on top of his and tapped it lightly. His eyes opened and a wicked smile came her way: one of the few ways he had left of acknowledging that she was there. She could not stay long. She had a train to catch and she told him so.
‘You can take me to Inverness,’ he suggested ‘I love it there… the river…’
She held his hand in both of hers. ‘Not this time, father. Let’s make it next summer when it’s much warmer.’
‘That’s a deal, darling,’ he managed to say.
The train was on time and she saw the station master wave his green flag and blow his whistle. The train began to chug along and slowly build up speed. There was something about the greenness of the land. It calmed her: the same damp green she recalled in northern Germany. Rural Scotland and rural Germany had their similarities; why could the people not be the same too? It was becoming far too late for compromises.
She was aware that this was a seismic development in her career as a double agent. Could she retain all that she would hear today? Moreover, how soon could she safely communicate with Thornton or Dynes, and with Eicke?
The train arrived at Inverness station after forty minutes. No one explained why it was six minutes late or apologised. Her watch showed it was 11.36 a.m. She took a cab to the hotel, which overlooked the Black Isle on the Beauly Firth. The taxi drove up to the stately hotel and she entered.
‘Good morning. I have arrived to meet Mr and Mrs Brown.’
‘You are Miss Richter?’
‘You will find them having coffee in the gazebo in the garden. Perhaps you might like to join them?’
‘Rather,’ she said, trying to sound as if she was pleased to know dear friends were waiting.
‘Then let me take you.’
The receptionist came out from behind her desk and instructed a passing bell boy to bring an extra coffee to the gazebo and fresh tea.
They crossed the gravel driveway and proceeded onto the unmowen grass. ‘How long have Mr and Mrs Brown been at the hotel?’ Hilda asked, trying to sound casual.
‘They arrived yesterday. They are tourists, as you know. Heading up to Dornoch tomorrow, they said. It would have been warmer in June.’
The gazebo was behind a privet hedge, out of sight of the hotel. It was south facing. A closed door came into view, presumably trapping the heat from the bright autumn sun. A man rose from his chair and opened the door as she approached. He left the gazebo. He wore a tweed suit with a green shirt and mottled brown tie. He was not tall, a little overweight, and his hairline was receding. His moustache twitched as he smiled at Hilda’s approach. He looked the quintessential Scottish country gent. Seated behind him was a woman, but the angle of the sun prevented Hilda from seeing her properly.
‘Hilda, delighted to see you,’ Mr Brown said, extending his hand. She could already detect a Swabian accent mixed with a South African shade. He was definitely not from any of the Hanseatic ports of the northern coast; he was from south-west Germany, an area whose residents had a reputation for meekness. Perhaps he was the exception to the rule.
‘Good afternoon. I apologise for being a little late.’
‘Not at all. I appreciate you have travelled quite a distance this morning,’ he said.
‘Your coffee will be with you soon, madam,’ informed the receptionist. She swivelled on her heels, lifting them to avoid sinking into the soft grass.
Mr Brown held out his hand to invite Hilda into the summer house. It was a heat trap but pleasantly shaded from the bright sun by cane blinds. Mrs Brown stood up to shake her hand. She was a much older woman, which surprised Hilda. She even wondered if she might be the man’s mother. Her grey hair was twisted into a knot at the back of her head. Her spectacles lay on the table beside her coffee cup. She wore a dark suit with a white ruff at her neck and black shoes. A brooch sat over her Adam’s apple. Hilda wondered if the green stone was real jade, and waited to hear whether she spoke high or low German. When the woman did speak, she deduced it must be a precious stone; her accent revealed she was from the upper classes.
‘Frau Richter,’ said Mr Brown in quiet German. ‘We revert to English as soon as we see your coffee arrive. You understand?’
‘Of course,’ she replied.
‘Greetings from Herr Eicke,’ he said.
‘Ah, thank you. I wish I could return the compliment.’
‘You will do so before very long.’
Her throat tightened. Was he suggesting an immediate return to Germany? She was not ready for that.
‘Here she comes with the coffee. Start talking in English; don’t say anything about Germany,’ he said abruptly.
She thought quickly. ‘As I said, I have a brother on the Island of Bute and a sister, married, down in London. I do not get a chance to see her very often. The distance, you see. I have not seen Joan and her husband Ian for a few years… thank you.’ She took the cup and poured some milk into it. ‘I miss seeing my nieces and nephews, of course. You know how they grow and change so quickly?’
The receptionist left, closing the door behind her.
‘So you have a large family, Frau Richter?’ asked Mrs Brown.
Hilda peered through the glass to make sure the receptionist was far out of earshot. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact. Just one son and he’s in Hamburg.’
‘Otto?’
Instinctively she raised her eyes. Mr Brown narrowed his gaze, and she nodded quickly.
‘Yes, that’s right. He’s leaving the Hitler Youth soon to go to a motorized company in Hamburg.’
‘Yes, we know.’
‘You are very well informed,’ she said, wondering exactly how well.
‘Of course. Herr Eicke keeps us informed.’ Mr Brown took off his jacket and placed it over the arm of his chair. ‘This is a beautiful country. Your country. You must be glad to be home with your parents.’
‘Indeed I am. I had not seen them for a few years.’
‘And how are they?’ he asked politely.
‘As well as can be expected.’ Maybe she answered too quickly. ‘My father is poorly, however.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Does this mean you intend to stay a long time in Scotland?’
‘That is difficult to say.’
‘What do you mean, Frau Richter?’ asked Mr Brown with a puzzled look.
‘I have loyalties to my parents of course, but I also have loyalties to my son and my in-laws in Germany.’
‘I understand. And your national loyalties?’
Fear flickered through Hilda and she thought swiftly and carefully before replying. ‘I have lived in Germany since 1910. For twenty-eight years, I have been German in voice and culture, and I am now the widow of a German medical doctor. I am a proud mother of a fine young man in the army bringing Germany back to its rightful place in Europe and standing up against aggressors.’
Mr Brown smiled then nodded. ‘Just what Herr Eicke said you’d say.’
She found what he said slightly ambiguous. ‘I am sorry, what did Herr Eicke say?’
‘He said I’d find you loyal to Germany, and I am of that impression too.’ He nodded his head vigorously.
‘You say it’s just an impression? I am stating facts,’ she said, leaning forward and placing her fist on the table.
‘Indeed you are right,’ Mrs Brown said. ‘Remember sometimes our English is not up to a perfect standard.’
‘I am surprised, many would think you were from South Africa.’
Both Mr and Mrs Brown smiled broadly. ‘Our diplomatic post before London was in Pretoria.’
‘I see, yes I thought there was some connection. Your German is not as hard as many speak. However, I am glad you find no need to interrogate me. Herr Eicke did that before I left. I know the penalty if I let him down.’
‘And that is?’ asked Mr Brown, raising his eyebrows.
‘He’d make sure my brother and sister-in-law had a hard time.’
‘And Otto?’
She thought through his question for a moment. ‘No, my son has done well in the Hitler Youth and he is keen to do well in the army. Eicke has no concerns about Otto. As a mother, of course, I have my worries, but I know he is a good young man and I love him dearly. I can assure you I know where my interests and my heart belong, Mr Brown.’
He smiled and glanced over at his colleague, who nodded. ‘I mentioned earlier your need to be in touch with Herr Eicke,’ he continued. ‘That is why I sent you the letter.’
‘Yes, I did get it of course. I read it thoroughly too.’
‘Did you understand it?’
‘I saw it was a code and I have tried to learn it.’
‘Good.’ He stood up, and from what might have been – and originally was, in all probability – a wooden box of cricket wickets or a croquet set, he lifted out a square box. Mrs Brown took up a vantage point by the door, ensuring that nobody approaching would disturb them.
‘This will be your equipment. A Delphin 7 secret radio direct to Herr Eicke. It has a range of just over eight hundred miles: sufficient to reach Hamburg from here. It is a crystal set with one valve. You insert the valve here.’ He pointed to a socket. ‘This is the handle key. Try it.’
She tapped it a few times.
‘Despite only eight hundred miles, will it give a good signal?’
‘Ours works adequately, with the occasional faint signal. I’m sure yours will too.’
This was the reality of espionage. She was now in the dark, alien world of deceit. A shiver ran through her.
‘This switch marks the transmit/receive position. These are the headphones. You can adjust them to make them comfortable. This is their socket. Now let me turn it around. This is the socket for the aerial. When you plug it in here, you will be ready to operate it. A four-watt battery light will come on. You start with your call sign.’
‘I see. I have a call sign?’
‘Yes, but you are impatient. I want you to go over what I have said. You must be familiar with its operation. You will be on your own.’
She spent the next ten minutes examining the function of each button and switch. Finally, both Mr and Mrs Brown seemed satisfied with her progress.
‘Now put the radio back in the box.’
She did as instructed. She hoped that was the end of the lesson, but she was wrong.
‘Sit down. Now I want you to get the radio out, set it up. Wait two minutes as if you were sending a message and then unplug the sockets as quickly as you can and put the radio away.’
She obeyed, trying not to show any nervousness, but her fingers fumbled as she inserted the aerial plug. She completed the task and returned the radio to the box.
‘That’s good. Just under three minutes, very good. You’ll get quicker over time. That is important. You realise as soon as you transmit, there might be someone trying to locate your signals, even here in rural Scotland? Speed and accuracy, stealth and calmness, these are the qualities you must possess to be a good agent.’
She gave him her best acquiescent smile. ‘I will work hard on the codes.’
‘Where will you operate?’
She had not given this matter any thought. She wondered what his ideal location might be.
‘Late at night, I could transmit from the attic in the hotel where I live. I’d not be disturbed.’
Mr Brown nodded. ‘And in the open?’
‘That would be if I could safely travel with the box. I know it is not large but it would be obvious. I would have to think that question over. Transmitting is about secrecy and I can’t sacrifice that.’
‘Good, you understand.’ Mr Brown took a deep breath. ‘You asked me about your code. It is Avalon, you are Avalon. Memorize it.’
A violin came to mind. That could be one way to remember it, just two letters different. A violin, music, seemed appropriate. ‘I can make an association,’ she told him.
‘Good. Now for Eicke… he’s Muskel.’
‘Perhaps I can write them down and keep them in my purse till they have settled in my mind.’
‘I’m not keen that you do that. If you must, destroy the note as soon as you can. Or try to learn it this way: a very able lad orders nine.’
She did not understand. ‘Orders nine what?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Think,’ he said. Then he repeated the phrase, stressing every initial letter. ‘A Very Able Lad Orders Nine. AVALON. Do you think you can work on the codes very soon?’
‘Yes, I am sure I can.’ Then almost instantly, she said… My Uncle… Sells Keys… Every Lunchtime.’ She laughed. So did the Browns.
‘MUSKEL… very good. Then I can tell Herr Eicke to expect you to send him a message next Wednesday at 10 p.m., 22:00 hours? Got that?’
‘I look forward to it.’
They smiled. They were in total accord.
‘Perhaps we can have some lunch now,’ said Mr Brown.
Lunch was a plate of soup and a salmon salad. The salmon came from Loch Cluanie, the menu proudly stated. They sat in the lounge to drink tea afterwards. The Browns felt drinking tea was quintessentially British. They would have preferred coffee, but that was one of the rules of espionage, they told her. ‘Be like the indigenous. Don’t show your roots.’
Hilda lowered her voice. ‘I presume you are not really Mr and Mrs Brown. I also don’t think somehow you will be going sightseeing to Dornoch tomorrow either.’
Mr Brown grinned. ‘Dornoch?’ he said.
‘Hmmm… You’ll make a good spy. Germany will be proud of you,’ said Mrs Brown in a whispered voice while folding her napkin.