Although it was mid-March snow still capped the tops of the Norwegian mountains which stood out white and clear against a pale, frosty sky. But the sun shone in the valleys and dappled the wavelets of the greenish sea as the little Baltic tramp steamer puffed its way into Oslo Fjord.
On the tramp’s foredeck a man and a woman sat in a pair of rickety old basket chairs that they had carried out from the tiny saloon. The woman was golden-haired and very beautiful. Her proud profile and the lazy grace with which she half-reclined in the easy chair marked her at once as an aristocrat. The man was a loose-limbed fellow in the late thirties; dark, lean-faced, and sinewy by nature, a recent bout of fever had given him an almost wolfish look, but it was relieved by a pair of smiling eyes and a cynical twist to his firm, strong mouth.
The woman was the Countess von Osterberg or, since she preferred to be known by her maiden name, Erika von Epp. The man was Gregory Sallust or, as he preferred to be known by the name under which he was travelling, the Colonel-Baron von Lutz. It was March the 19th—six days since the Russo-Finnish War had ended and five days since they had escaped across the ice, which was beginning to break up in the Gulf of Finland, to the little tramp that was now just completing the first journey of the year south to her home port.
For the first two days of the voyage they had lain in their narrow quarters almost comatose, gradually recovering from utter nervous and physical exhaustion; the result of the ten days’ ordeal through which they had passed before escaping from Herr Gruppenführer Grauber, the chief of the Gestapo Foreign Department, U.A.—I.
From the third day they had staggered out on deck to continue their convalescence in the fresh air and wintry sunshine. Gradually they were getting back to normal, but they still spoke little and slept from dusk to dawn each night, just content to be in each other’s company.
Had it not been for their third companion, the Bolshevik General, Stefan Kuporovitch, who had decided to shake the dust of the Soviet Union off his feet with them, they would have talked even less, but the Russian was a talkative person and he had passed through no such ordeal as theirs.
It was he who had made arrangements for the three of them with the captain of the little tramp, but as they had approached the coast of Norway they had realised that he could not enter another country without a passport. In consequence, he had been landed from the ship’s boat, in the early hours of that morning, on a desolate stretch of the Norwegian shore, with the understanding that if he could evade the police he was to meet the others in Oslo. So Erika and Gregory were at last alone.
While the tramp chopped its way down the Baltic, they had avoided any discussion about the future. The war had reached a stalemate; for many months the British had appeared satisfied to blockade Germany, while the French accepted the Siegfried Line as impregnable and did not even attempt to test it by attacks in force, and Hitler seemed content to remain blockaded indefinitely, only playing upon the nerves of his opponents and neighbours by threatening a Blitzkrieg on the Balkans, the Low Countries and Scandinavia from week to week in rotation. It looked as though things might go on in that way for years; which was not a happy prospect for the two lovers in view of the fact that she was a German girl and he an Englishman.
If Erika returned to Germany the Nazis would promptly execute her, but she refused to seek sanctuary in Britain or France, so her only course was to live in a neutral country where she might still work for Hitler’s overthrow. Gregory, on the other hand, was perfectly free to return to England although, as a lone wolf, working entirely outside the Secret Service, there was no compulsion for him to do so. But Erika knew her man; he would never be content to settle down with her in Norway or Sweden while his country was still fighting for its existence.
With every mile that the tramp came nearer to its destination that thought had troubled them both more and more. They had been in love for over six months and when Erika could get a divorce from her husband they intended to get married. It seemed utterly tragic that now that they were free and together again they must part so soon.
He had tried desperately hard to persuade himself that he was entitled to remain in Norway with her for a few weeks at least. Old Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust, who had sent him out on his strange mission, already knew the results of his wanderings, so there was no one to whom he felt bound to report. Even when he got home he might be kept kicking his heels for months before he was offered another job which really suited his unusual capabilities. Yet he knew that it was no good. Britain was at war and it was up to him to find a way of taking a new hand in the game without an hour’s unnecessary delay.
‘We should be in by about three o’clock,’ he murmured.
She nodded. ‘Yes; but they may keep us hanging about for hours before they allow us ashore.’
‘That depends on how soon we can get hold of your friend at the German Legation, and how long it takes him to secure entry permits for us.’
‘Yes, it’s a bore our passports not having Norwegian visas but I’m sure Uli von Einem will soon fix matters up.’
‘I only hope to goodness he doesn’t happen to know that you’re wanted by the Gestapo or that the real Colonel Baron von Lutz was killed while resisting arrest by the Nazis last November.’
Erika shrugged. ‘As I said last night, it’s not easy for any legation to keep track of what has happened to eighty million Germans while a war is going on and, even if they do know, they can’t do anything to us while we’re on a neutral ship. We’ll just have to think up some other method of getting ashore or transfer to a ship that will take us round to a Swedish port and try our luck there.’
‘I can always get in touch with the British Legation,’ Gregory said slowly, ‘and I might be able to wangle some way of getting you into Norway; but if I can continue to pose as a German it will prevent a lot of unwelcome speculation as to why we’re always together while we are in Oslo.’
She turned suddenly and looked him full in the face. ‘For how long is that to be, Gregory?’
‘Not very long, darling—worse luck,’ he replied quietly. ‘You know how things are, so we needn’t go over it all and add to what we’re feeling. As soon as we land I must find out when there’s a plane that will take me home, so we’ve now got only a few days together at the most.’
Erika could have screamed with the frightful injustice of it all. Through his crazy ambition this mountebank, Hitler, had sown the seeds of misery, poverty and death broadcast throughout half the world. The foul crop was barely visible as yet, but in time it would strangle innumerable beautiful things, and already the shoots of the filthy weed were forcing apart the roots of countless loves and friendships. But she was a splendidly courageous person so she did not seek by a single word to dissuade Gregory from his decision, and her intense distress was shown only by a slight moistening of her very beautiful blue eyes.
An hour later the tramp had berthed and by six o’clock Uli von Einem had joined them with papers enabling them to go ashore. He was a thin, fair man, who in the past had been one of Erika’s innumerable admirers, and he possessed all the tact of a born diplomat. Privately, he thought it a strange business that his lovely friend should arrive, without even a beauty-box for baggage, on a tramp steamer that had come from Leningrad, but the one lesson that Freiherr von Einem had learnt since the Nazis had come to power was that the less one knew officially about anything the less likelihood there was of finding oneself carted off, without warning, to a concentration-camp. The passports of both Erika and her friend were in perfect order except that they lacked Norwegian visas, and Erika had intimated that they were both on urgent secret business connected with the prosecution of the war, so von Einem had accepted her statement without comment.
Gregory had thrown overboard the Gestapo uniform that he had stolen from Grauber so he was dressed in a ready-made suit which he had bought off the first Mate of the tramp, but its poor quality was concealed under his rich furs. Erika also was still in her furs, and their only belongings were contained in a single handbag that Gregory had brought out of Russia with him, so they were not long delayed by the Customs. Von Einem drove them to the Grand Hotel in the Karl Johansgt and, having accepted an invitation to lunch with them on the following day, left them there.
On going into the lounge they saw, to their delight, that Kuporovitch had succeeded in evading the Norwegian coastguards. He was sitting with a long-stemmed glass in front of him but as soon as he caught sight of them he disposed of its contents and came hurrying over with a wave of his hand.
The Russian was a clean-shaven man in his early fifties. His grey hair was brushed smoothly back and, strangely contrasting with it, his eyebrows, which were still black, ran thin and pointed towards the temples of his smooth white forehead. Under them were a pair of rather lazy blue eyes, but their glance was apt to be deceptive as behind them lay an extremely shrewd intelligence. Up to the age of twenty-nine he had been an officer of the Imperial Russian Army, but when the Revolution had broken out a strange set of circumstances had resulted in his joining the Bolsheviks. After the Civil War he had come to loathe and despise his new masters, yet with the laudable desire to keep his head on his shoulders he had concealed his antipathy for many years with superlative skill. For a long time past he had been hoarding foreign currency with the idea of escaping from the dreary, depressing land of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics so that he might spend his old age among civilised people, and his great ambition was to see the Paris of his youth again.
Greeting his friends in French—which was their common language—he said with a smile: ‘I’ve booked rooms for you—two bedrooms with a bathroom in between, so that you can preserve the proprieties of this charming old world into which I am so delighted to have returned. Come upstairs and I will show you.’
Upstairs, perched on Erika’s bed and smoking a long cheroot, he told them, with many chuckles, of his adventures that day. It had all been too easy. He had walked to the nearest village, found its school and routed out the village schoolmaster, to whom he had said: ‘I am a member of the French Legation in Oslo and was returning there after a visit to Kristiansand. When the train halted in the station here I got out to get some hot coffee in the buffet and the train went on without me. Unfortunately, too, it carried on my baggage and a small attaché-case in which I had some papers and my ticket. Would you oblige me by acting as interpreter at the station so that I can buy another ticket and take the next train on?’ The Norwegian had been most polite and helpful, so Kuporovitch had arrived in Oslo without the least difficulty.
Having washed and tidied themselves they went down to the grill-room. The head waiter was nearly guilty of raising an eyebrow when he saw them approaching, for Kuporovitch was in shoddy ‘ready-mades’ that he had bought at an old-clothes shop in Leningrad, Gregory was in the first Mate’s second-best suit and Erika’s tweeds showed obvious signs of the hard wear they had sustained; but as the man’s glance swept across their faces he noted Erika’s regal beauty and that in spite of their shabby clothes both her escorts had the air of men who were used to being obeyed. With a swift bow he led them to a sofa-table.
The under-waiter who took their order brought the maître d’hôtel scurrying back again, his face now wreathed in smiles. The strangely-dressed trio had ordered a superb meal and some of the best wines that his cellar boasted. He did not know that the broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with the black, pointed eyebrows had been cooped up in Russia for nearly a quarter of a century and that it was many months since the others had had a meal in a good restaurant. They were speaking French but he put them down as rich Germans who had been suffering from the Nazis’ impoverished larder and had somehow managed to get away to Norway.
Although they had spared no pains or expense in ordering their favourite dishes, the meal was not the success that it should have been, because the black cloud of war and the coming separation weighed heavily upon the spirits of the little party. The tables were widely spaced so they were able to talk freely without risk of being overheard, and when they had reached the coffee and brandy stage Gregory turned to the Russian.
‘The time has come, Stefan, when we must discuss plans. I shall have to leave here in a day or two—as soon as I can get a plane—for England. What do you intend to do?’
Kuporovitch smiled. ‘Now that I am a free man once more I can hardly wait until I get to Paris; but the devil of it is that I have no passport. What are the intentions of Madame la Comtesse?’
‘It would be unwise for her to remain here long. The Germans are so thorough that solely as a matter of routine von Einem will have reported our arrival in Oslo. It may take a week or two passing through the files of petty officials, but sooner or later the Gestapo will learn where she’s got to.’
‘Does that matter now that she is in a neutral country?’
Gregory grinned. ‘You don’t know the Gestapo, my friend. They’re quite capable of kidnapping Erika or arranging one of their jolly little motor-car accidents in which she would be knocked down and killed. Besides, as we told you on the tramp, by the merest fluke we happened to come into possession of the German war plan. They’ve followed it step by step so far, and Norway is the next on their list. Her life would not be worth a moment’s purchase if she were still here when they staged an invasion.’
Erika drew slowly on her cigarette. ‘What d’you suggest then?’
‘Stage 7 of the plan lays it down that Sweden is strong enough to require a separate operation, so she should be left for the time being, but that Norway and Denmark can be taken over together. Sweden would then be entirely isolated and so in no position to resist whenever the Germans consider it convenient to take control there. The plan then passes to Stage 8, which concerns Holland and Belgium, and no further mention of Sweden is made at all. As it’s quite on the cards that the Germans will be content to absorb Sweden’s entire exports without actually walking into the place for some considerable time, I suggest that Erika should move there.’
The Russian raised his dark eyebrows. ‘But surely she will be just as liable to secret attacks from the Gestapo in Sweden as she would be here?’
‘No. Here she had to disclose her true identity to get into the country. My suggestion is that she should quietly slip away from Oslo and cross the border at some place up-country; then she could settle in Sweden, under an assumed name, until I can make arrangements for her to sail to America.’
‘America!’ Erika exclaimed. ‘But, darling, once there I may not be able to get back, and I just can’t live unless I’m to have some hope of seeing you again before many months are past.’
Gregory sighed. ‘We’ll talk of that later, my sweet. Your immediate safety is the most important thing. It shouldn’t be difficult for you to keep out of trouble in some small Swedish town, even without a passport, for the next few weeks, and my idea was that Stefan could go with you.’
‘But I have no wish at all to go to Sweden,’ the Russian protested. ‘It is to see Paris again …’
‘I know.’ Gregory interrupted swiftly; ‘but you didn’t let me finish. Without a passport you haven’t got a hope in hell of getting to France, but the British Government owes me a bit for services rendered so I mean to try to get you a passport and entry permit to France at the same time as I get them for Erika to the United States. In the meantime you can take care of each other.’
‘Ah, in that case’—Kuporovitch waved his cigar—‘I shall be delighted to place myself at the disposal of Madame la Comtesse.’
‘That’s settled, then,’ said Gregory. ‘Let’s pay the bill and go up to bed.’
Kuporovitch accompanied them only as far as the lift, since now that he was back in civilisation he had other ideas as to how he meant to spend his evening.
Very reluctantly the following morning Gregory and Erika got up at eleven o’clock and went out into the clear, frosty air of the Norwegian capital. Since he was staying at the hotel as a German, they went to Cook’s, where he was able to produce his British passport, and he managed to secure a seat on the air liner which would be leaving for London two days later—Friday the 22nd; after which they bought a number of things that would add to their comfort and some new clothes to make themselves more presentable.
Uli von Einem lunched with them and, preserving the same discretion as on the day before, forbore to inquire into their private concerns but gave them the latest war news that had come through the German Legation. The Finns were submitting peaceably to the terms which the Russians had imposed upon them. The uncaptured portion of the Mannerheim Line was being rapidly evacuated and Soviet troops had already taken over Finland’s ‘Gibraltar’ on the island of Hangoe, so Russia was now the unchallenged mistress of the Northern Baltic. That was the price that Germany had had to pay to keep her eastern neighbour quiet while she dealt with her enemies in the West. On the other hand, Hitler and Mussolini had met on the Brenner Pass the previous Sunday. No details had been allowed to leak out about the matters discussed there, but it was understood that the meeting had proved highly satisfactory. One presumable result had been the withdrawal of Italy’s support from Rumania so that King Carol had been compelled to lift the ban on the Rumanian Iron Guard, which was definitely a victory for the Nazis. Gregory took it all in with the glib appreciation which might have been expected from a German officer, and it did not add to his satisfaction about the way in which the war was going.
He had already scanned the latest English papers to reach Oslo so was more or less au fait with the situation. The big news item was that an Indian fanatic had assassinated Sir Michael O’Dwyer and succeeded in wounding Lord Zetland, Sir Louis Dane and Lord Lamington before he was overpowered, but otherwise old England seemed to be jogging along as though the war were just a rather remote and tiresome business. The British Union, the Nordic League, the Peace Pledge people, and all sorts of other dangerous bodies composed of rogues, cranks, half-wits and actual traitors were still allowed complete liberty to publish as much subversive literature as they liked and to advise cowards how to evade military service on the plea that they were conscientious objectors.
One had only to glance at the small news items in the National Press to see how a weak-kneed government was being intimidated by a handful of irresponsible M.P.s into permitting Hitler’s Fifth Column in England absolute freedom to contaminate thousands of misguided idealists and so immensely weaken Britain’s war effort. Gregory would have liked to have been given Gestapo powers in the Home Office for half a day. He would have signed the death warrant of every spy caught red-handed since the beginning of the war, had them shot in the courtyard and published photographs of their bodies to intimidate the others. He would then have made both the Fascist and Communist Parties illegal, locked the Home Secretary up in one of his own asylums, retired every permanent Civil Servant over the age of fifty and departed with reasonable confidence that the younger men who remained would have got their bearings in a week and settled down to the job of making Britain safe from her internal enemies.
When lunch was over Erika went off to have a permanent wave, and Gregory spent the afternoon in a state of gloomy depression. It was bad enough that he would so shortly have to leave her, without this awful feeling that a gang of woolly old men were letting Britain drift into the gravest danger.
That night they dined alone and went to Oslo’s best musical show, where in spite of the fact that they did not understand Norwegian, they were able to forget for a few hours the separation which so soon was to render them even more miserable.
On the Thursday they did not get up until lunch-time; their last lunch together until neither knew when. In the afternoon, in a desperate effort to forget themselves again, they hired a car and a guide and drove round the principal sights of the Norwegian capital, but by cocktail-time they were gazing forlornly at each other over their glasses, with hardly a word to say.
For dinner Kuporovitch joined them. They had seen little of him during the past two days. Perhaps he would really have done them better service if he had remained with them as much as possible to cheer them up, but realising how little time they had together he had tactfully left them to themselves and amused himself with a glamorous blonde whom he had met in a dance-club on his first night in Oslo. But it was necessary that their final arrangements should be made, as Gregory’s plane left early on Friday morning.
To Gregorys’ relief he found that the Russian was a much more capable companion than the stout-hearted but unimaginative young airman, Freddie Charlton, who had accompanied him on his travels through Germany, Finland and Russia. Kuporovitch had spent such time as had not been occupied in playful dalliance with the glamorous blonde in thinking out the details of the plan that Gregory had outlined two nights before.
He proposed to accompany Erika as her deaf-and-dumb uncle and had already booked accommodation for them at a hotel in Flisen, a small town about seventy miles north-east of Oslo and only about fifteen miles from the Swedish border. After Gregory’s departure they would leave Oslo by the eleven-fifty train, sleep at Flisen and hire a car for a week. During the next few days they would make several motoring expeditions as though seeing the sights of the country, in order to carry out a careful reconnaissance of the frontier, which, as Norway and Sweden were on the most friendly terms, must be very lightly guarded; then it should not prove difficult to drive to an unfrequented spot one night, abandon the car and slip over the border. Having arrived in Sweden he suggested that they should make their way to the university town of Uppsala, where they were not likely to run into any foreign diplomats who might know Erika by sight, but which, owing to the nature of the town, included in its inhabitants many foreign teachers and students whose presence would render them inconspicuous while living there quietly. As soon as they were settled in they would send Gregory their address by air mail and await his further instructions. He then handed Gregory a slip of paper with the names under which he proposed they should travel, and three copies of a passport photograph of himself that he had had taken.
‘Bless you,’ smiled Gregory. ‘It’s great that you should have thought all this out already. Erika had a passport photograph taken yesterday, so all that remains is the question of money. You had most of mine off me in Kandalaksha and Erika hasn’t got any, so by the time I’ve settled the bill here we shall be pretty well stony.’
Kuporovitch shrugged. ‘I have plenty; all my savings in foreign currency that I brought out of Russia as well as the six thousand marks which I changed for you. I’ll see to that side of it.’
‘Thanks. Whatever you pay out on Erika’s behalf I’ll refund when you get to France. If they won’t let me send cash from England, I’ve got quite enough pull to fix a trip to Paris and meet you with it there.’
Erika sighed. ‘Oh, Stefan, how lucky you are. If only I could go to Paris, too. As it is, I suppose when you two meet I’ll be on my way to America.’
Gregory looked across at her with sudden intentness. ‘There’s time to reconsider your decision yet, darling. Why the hell can’t you be sensible and let me get you a permit to enter England as a refugee from Nazi persecution?’
She swallowed hard but shook her head. ‘No, dearest, it’s no good. Because my country has fallen into the hands of a set of unscrupulous blackguards that doesn’t make me any the less a German. I can’t accept the hospitality of England or France while your friends and mine are killing one another.’
For a long time they were silent. The fine wine remained almost untasted in the glasses and they ate perfunctorily, hardly noticing the rich dishes which were placed before them. Kuporovitch did his best, but after one or two false starts even the jovial Russian gave up any attempt to make it a jolly party.
Gregory could have coped with most situations but this was beyond him. He and Erika were perfectly free; nothing compelled her to remain in Norway or him to leave it; they could both change their minds at the last moment, but he felt certain now that she would not change hers and he knew quite well that he would not change his. The very fact that their coming separation was self-imposed seemed to make it ten times harder, but a force that was stronger than either of them had them firmly in its grip and was tearing them apart just as surely as diverging currents would carry two pieces of driftwood in different directions.
This was their last night together, perhaps for years, perhaps, in the uncertainties of war, for ever; yet instead of savouring every moment of it they were sitting there tongue-tied and speechless. He felt that he was letting Erika down appallingly badly—after all, it was always up to the man to make the running—yet for the life of him he could not bring himself to be even normally cheerful—let alone entertaining.
Erika knew just what he was feeling and her heart went out to him. Like him, she would have done anything to be able to recall their mood of the night on which they had first abandoned themselves to their wild passion for each other; but she was wise enough to know why that was impossible. Then they had just been a very beautiful woman and a damnably attractive man, both of whom were highly experienced in the art of love; two born pagans, who openly boasted that they had always taken with greedy hands all the joys that the gods had given them; but they had hardly known each other. Two brief meetings, with an interval of a few weeks between, had lit the flame of desire in both of them; each knew that the other was courageous, unscrupulous and clever, but no more, and after that night, but for a far deeper attraction, their interest in each other might soon have exhausted itself. That had been passion; this was love. And where Passion is given to those whom the gods love as a glorious plaything, Love is a harsh taskmaster. They could have parted after that night with no regrets and a lovely memory; they could only part now, after they had come to know each other so well, with an actual physical pain that seemed to grip them in the pit of the stomach and rend each separate heart-string. To have pretended anything else would only have been a hideous attempt at play-acting which Erika could not have borne. She was terribly glad that Gregory did not attempt it.
From a glance at the clock she saw that it was already half-past nine. In less than twelve hours Gregory would have left her. She was not greedy for the caresses he had lavished on her in the previous nights, because her passion was temporarily numbed by her acute despair, but she wanted desperately to lie in his arms while he comforted her, to cling close to him in every moment that was left to her and gather all the strength she could for their separation. So she thrust back her chair and said:
‘You’ve got to make an early start tomorrow, darling. I’m sure Stefan will forgive us if we desert him.’
Kuporovitch smiled sympathetically. ‘Please. I can take care of myself, and I’ll settle the bill. I shall see you both in the morning.’
Gregory nodded his thanks and followed her out into the lounge. At one table a little group of people were sitting drinking coffee and liqueurs. There was a very handsome dark girl of about twenty-three among them. She had a well-modelled, full-lipped mouth, fine, regular features, a strong, determined chin and large, lustrous brown eyes. On seeing Erika her eyes widened and she stood up.
Erika smothered an exclamation of annoyance as the dark girl hurriedly left the table and came towards them. This was the last moment she would have chosen to exchange meaningless gossip with her best friend—let alone a woman who was only a casual acquaintance—but there was no escape. The girl seized both her hands impulsively and exclaimed:
‘My dear! How absolutely marvellous to see you! I thought—I thought …’ Her voice tailed off as she glanced uncertainly towards Gregory.
Erika introduced them, ‘Oberst-Baron von Lutz—Fräulein Paula von Steinmetz,’ and asked: ‘What did you think Paula? You can speak quite freely in front of the Colonel-Baron.’
Paula extended her hand to Gregory with a gracious smile, upon which he clicked his heels, bowed from the waist and kissed it in the approved manner of the Prussian officer; then she turned back to Erika.
‘I thought that after the Army revolt last November the Nazis had passed a sentence of execution on you.’
‘They did,’ smiled Erika; ‘but, as you see, they haven’t carried it out yet.’
‘The swine gave me ten years because I hid my brother Oscar, the one who is a Captain of Uhlans; and they’re holding him as a hostage for my good behaviour’, Paula said quickly. ‘They’ve done the same sort of thing with any number of girls I know. There are at least forty of us here in Oslo; but as they passed the death penalty on you I was afraid that you had been pig-headed and refused to play.’
‘How are you finding life here?’ asked Gregory amiably.
She shrugged. ‘Naturally, I hated the idea at first, but it’s much more fun being here than in Germany now there’s a war on, and they give me plenty of money, I’m rather sorry for the poor Norwegians, but, after all, in the long run it’s going to be much better for them that they should succumb to Hitler’s secret weapon instead of having a long war in which lots of the poor dears would get killed—isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is,’ smiled Gregory. ‘That’s a very sensible way to regard matters. You and Erika could do more damage between you and the armoured division, any day.’
‘What a charming way of putting things.’ Paula’s lovely dark eyes swept over Gregory’s lean face with approval. ‘Will you both lunch with me tomorrow? You must—I insist. I’ve got the sweetest apartment—No. 97 Universitätsgarten.’
Erika hesitated for a second, then she said quickly: ‘May I telephone you in the morning?’
‘Of course.’ Paula squeezed her arm, flashed another dazzling smile at Gregory and added: ‘I must fly now; I’ve got a little Major man in tow who is in command of one of the forts outside the harbour. But I shall expect you both at one o’clock so don’t dare to telephone and say that you’re not coming.’
Having smiled ‘Goodnight’ Gregory and Erika walked in silence towards the lift, and it was only as they were going down their corridor upstairs that she said bitterly: ‘I never knew Paula intimately, but she comes of a decent family, and it makes me almost physically sick to think that a girl who is really one of us should have sold out to the Nazis.’
Gregory shrugged. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, darling. It isn’t everyone who has your strength of character; and remember, those devils have got her brother. From what she said, it’s clear that they gave her the choice of death for him and ten years—the best ten years of her life—in some God-awful concentration-camp, or to come here as one of their agents. One can hardly blame her, and from that “come hither” eye of hers I shouldn’t think she finds the job they’ve put her on by any means distasteful. Naturally, on seeing you she jumped to the conclusion that you had bought your liberty on the same terms.’
At their respective doors they parted, but a quarter of an hour later Gregory entered Erika’s room through the bathroom they were sharing. He was wearing a brightly-hued silk dressing-gown which he had bought two days before; in one hand he was carrying a fat Turkish cigarette and in the other a magnum of champagne.
She looked across at him from her bed as he set the magnum down and walked over to a side-table to collect some glasses that were standing with a half-empty bottle of Madeira which they had opened that morning.
‘Darling,’ she murmured a little hesitantly, ‘would you mind very much if we didn’t make a night of it?—I mean—not a magnum-of-champagne sort of night—because all I want now is to hold you very close to me for every moment that’s left to us, and we’ve got so little time—so desperately little time.’
‘Have we?’ he said, turning suddenly, and she saw that his whole face had altered. ‘Don’t you believe it, sweetheart!’
‘Oh, Gregory! You mean …’ Her face suddenly lit up but the rest of her sentence was never uttered. With one great, pantherlike spring he landed right on her bed and seizing her face between his hands he forced it back on the pillow, pressing his mouth to hers.
When he released her he was laughing like a genial devil as he cried: ‘I mean, my angel, why should I go home now there’s work to be done here in Norway? Tomorrow we are lunching with Hitler’s secret weapon.’