Potty had contacted Tim at his office a few days before James had arrived home, asking him to return his call at his convenience, as there was a problem with his laundry. Tim telephoned him back from a public telephone, feeling ridiculous. Potty told him that they had located Dr and Mrs Gerber, the previous occupants of Heine and Millie’s apartment. Plans were being drawn up for their exit from Germany. ‘Is that sufficient?’ Potty asked. ‘Or would you prefer them to be safely ensconced on our shores?’
Tim had thought of Sir Anthony’s invitation on the mantelpiece in his bedsit. ‘I trust you.’
‘Thank you,’ Potty replied.
Tim explained that he had received yet another black tie invitation from Sir Anthony, which he would accept. It was a bit late in the day, but he was such a nice bloke, he wouldn’t mind. Tim still had his fascist badge and was attending not only Hawton BUF Meeting House but the one in Newcastle. They were pleased to have him because membership was down, apparently. The violence of the marches in the East End had put people off.
‘Indeed, though we know without a shadow of a doubt that their friends, the Nazis, are still donating funds. Is this to support them if – well, if it comes to fisticuffs between Germany and us, one wonders, dear heart?’
Tim’s grip tightened on the receiver. One did indeed wonder.
Potty was still talking. ‘So we must continue to keep them under very close surveillance. Remember, you are re-injected with enthusiasm by your time in Berlin, and the excellent people you’ve been meeting, the help they’ve given you with James. Remember also that you speak no German, if any should slip into that language. Just listen, and report.’
Someone tapped on the window of the telephone booth. ‘Just a moment,’ Tim said into the receiver.
He opened the door to an irate elderly woman. ‘So sorry, it’s my mam. She’s worried about my da so I’m having to talk her through the process. She’s rather a grumpy old soul, but I must do this. Would you mind waiting, just a moment.’
The woman standing there in her headscarf smiled. ‘Aye, lad, you help her. I’ll wait.’
‘Hello,’ he said into the receiver, feeding coins in for more time.
‘This is your grumpy old mam talking.’
They laughed. ‘So, off you go to Sir Anthony’s little soiree, and though I cast no aspersions on his good intentions, knowing him of old – at school together, we were – I have severe doubts about the paths some others might be treading. Eyes and ears, dear boy. Incidentally, we have an account at Norton’s in Newcastle. Nip along for a decent dinner suit.’
‘We?’
‘Don’t be obtuse, dear heart. The SIS, of course. Secret Intelligence Service. Report, please, soon.’
The dinner was at Sir Anthony’s club in London on 13 March, and Tim enjoyed the food, but not the company. He sat next to Lady Margaret and opposite Herr Bauer, who was a guest – again. Somehow he wasn’t surprised and felt sorry for his da, who must have no idea of his friend’s connections. Or was this indeed still a Peace Club? He looked at Sir Anthony, so good and kind. Yes, surely it was, or at least from this philanthropist’s point of view, and perhaps from Bauer’s? Perhaps.
Lady Margaret was in full neigh, and Tim brought himself back to the point, fixed admiration on his face and dripped it over her, as she toasted the latest donation from ‘our friends’. At the end of the table Sir Anthony smiled at her, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. He looked as though he’d lost more weight. Tim toyed with his food, as Lady Margaret asked about Berlin.
‘Wonderful,’ Tim said. ‘So exciting. The flags and banners, the night clubs. Though I haven’t been for a few months.’
Lady Margaret patted her hair, which was going grey at the temples, and perhaps it was thinning a little? She had put it up in some sort of bun. Tim couldn’t get the picture of Fanny’s mane out of his head. Bridie would laugh if he told her. James too. He found the thought grounding.
Lady Margaret was talking, ‘Such a fine body of men, so blonde and tall. It must be so much purer in Berlin now that all – for surely it is all – the Israelites have left. One does so wish,’ she stopped, lifted her glass of German hock at Tim, and then Herr Bauer, ‘that we find the will to similarly cleanse our country.’
Tim lifted his glass and touched it to his lips, but he couldn’t drink to it. Across from him Herr Bauer toasted Lady Margaret. ‘Perhaps you will be able to visit Berlin soon, Lady Margaret.’ He replaced his glass. Sitting next to Herr Bauer was a faded older woman, and next to her was a man Tim thought he recognised, but he didn’t think they’d been introduced. Perhaps he just hadn’t heard in the hubbub of chat.
Sir Anthony said, ‘I suppose Germany has had to sort out its internal affairs; it was in such a parlous state, economically and politically. I do know that many communists are Jews, and that they owe their allegiance to Russia. As such, I can see that they can be considered a threat. I believe your father, Tim, has experienced some extreme action by communist union representatives, and they have been voted out.’ He sighed. ‘One must hope it truly is all for the good.’
There was a silence, which Herr Bauer broke. ‘Your cousin is home, I believe, safe and well.’
Tim smiled, and it was he who lifted his glass now. ‘Yes, my step-father arranged his release. It helps to have people who know people.’ He sipped the hock. He supposed it was good, but a beer would be better. He could take a bloody great gulp of that to wash the distaste from his gob.
Lady Margaret sipped her wine, replaced her glass carefully and said, ‘I so admire you, Tim. You seem to have escaped the Easterleigh Hall curse of celebrating the common man, and I do mean common. I had this argument so many times with your Aunt Evie and Aunt Veronica when we fought for votes. They wanted universal suffrage, whereas I agreed with Emmeline and Christabel, who felt that it should be restricted to women of a certain education. Herr Hitler sees that most clearly. Only those with breeding and education can understand what needs to be done, and have the courage to do it.’
Sir Anthony said, ‘I won’t hear a word against all that Easterleigh Hall does, any more than young Tim, I suspect.’
A silence fell. Lady Margaret flushed and looked confused. She gestured for her glass to be refilled. Tim smiled, though he actually wanted to shove Lady Margaret’s face into her veal in white wine. It wouldn’t spoil it because it wasn’t a patch on Bridie or Evie’s, but instead he said, ‘I can just imagine the battles you had, Lady Margaret, and what’s more, perhaps because times were different, you were able to overstep the mark, and live to tell the tale.’
Sir Anthony nodded. Across from him, Herr Bauer raised his glass. ‘Very adroit.’
Lady Margaret didn’t understand the irony and tittered. The conversation resumed along familiar lines, until the faded woman asked Tim if he had attended the theatre in Berlin the last time he was there? He shook his head. She was on her fourth glass of wine, though had not eaten very much. ‘We attended on our last trip, didn’t we, George?’
George said, ‘Mr Forbes doesn’t want to hear about that, my dear. All far too boring.’
But Mr Forbes did. Tim said, ‘Sounds interesting, so perhaps I should go again soon. Yes, I think I will. What did you see?’
George laid his hand on his wife’s. She shrugged him off. ‘Don’t be a bore, George.’
No, please don’t, George, thought Tim. I’d love to know when you were there and who you met, because it had come to him at last that this was Sir George Edgers, a high-up in the Foreign Office, which was where Sir Anthony also worked. ‘Do go on, Lady Edgers,’ he urged.
Lady Edgers did indeed go on. ‘Oh, what is the theatre called? Well, never mind. You go onto the Lutherstrasse, in the Schöneberg district, you know, not far from the Kaufhaus des Westens department store, which you and Herr Bauer will know as KaDeWe. My dears, on stage were girls in perfect unison doing the cancan, wearing costume after costume. Their marching matched the SS for perfection, honestly it did. Our hosts were tapping in time. So smart in their uniforms.’
Tim let her talk, but they left soon after. Lady Edgers, Sir George decided, was unwell. Tim thought, not so, dear heart. She’s absolutely drunk out of her mind. Oh God, he thought, I’m becoming Uncle Potty.
Lady Margaret’s friend, Freda Wilson, sat the other side of Herr Bauer and she was wittering about Spain, and the marvellous progress of Franco. He’d like to put her in a room with James. At the thought of James he smiled slightly. He was safe, they had shaken hands, James had told him he hated him very much, just as he had asked. But it wasn’t hate. Not any more.
On his way home from the railway station in the small hours, he asked the taxi to drop him off at the telephone box. He phoned through his report to Potty, and slept well, feeling he was fighting back, and knew where he was going.
The following evening, the wireless carried the news that the Nazis had annexed Austria. Potty wrote him a note: ‘And so it begins. Suggest a trip to Berlin, very soon. Mr Andrews will not object.’