‘Frau Euler, I have been watching you,’ he said. ‘You go out, you stop, you fiddle, you tap, tap, you go home. You spy I think.’
I froze.
‘Your husband’s mother was English.’
‘No!’ This man was dangerous. He was old and rambling, he looked as though he hadn’t washed all winter.
‘Go away,’ I said harshly in strong German, ‘you are mad.’ I made a sign with my finger to my head and he laughed and then I noticed his teeth. They were straight and clean; this was no old tramp. I leaned forward and tugged his beard. It didn’t move but grey grease came away on to my fingers. It smelt like goose grease.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded in German.
He was serious then, his face grave. ‘Tell me, Frau Euler, why do you spy when you are a German lady? Is it because you come from somewhere else: Ireland, Britain—Wales, perhaps?’
I shook my head. I didn’t speak; I had no idea what to say. He obviously had worked for some time finding out about me.
‘I watched you from the time you were shipwrecked and my little boat followed the submarine and saw you landed at Saint Nazaire. One day you had a big round belly and then you were a slim, young, married woman. Who wouldn’t be suspicious?’
‘What has any of it got to do with you?’ I still spoke German, cautious, wanting only to run away back to the farmhouse.
He delved into his pocket and brought out some papers. ‘I could be tortured and shot if I was found with these.’ He handed them to me.
The papers told me he was English, a high-up in the SOE—Special Operatives Executive; an agent. I handed them back.
‘Papers can be forged,’ I said.
‘You should know.’ He spoke in excellent English then. ‘You are not Frau Euler but Miss Meryl Jones, isn’t that so?’ At least in this he was wrong, I
‘You are not so knowledgeable as you think you are.’ My tone was scathing.
‘We’ve been watching you closely,’ he said. ‘You have experience of codes and you have worked at the great Bletchley Park. We were going to train you up to join us but you pre-empted us and arrived in Germany in your own eccentric way and you have made an excellent cover for yourself if I may say so.’
‘I am Frau Euler and I have never worked at Bletchley Park, you are confusing me with someone else.’ I nearly said ‘my sister’ but that would have given me away at once. I still refused to speak English.
‘I would advise you to be more careful with the radio equipment—that’s the only concern I have—it could blow your cover. Once you were almost caught. Rhiannon died getting the radio here, or have you forgotten?’
I stayed silent. This man knew a great deal after all; if he wasn’t what he said he was, I was finished.
‘We need that radio,’ he said. ‘Where is it?’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ I got up. ‘Now I’m going and if you try to stop me I will scream and tear my clothes and you will surely be discovered and branded a molester, or worse. Now go away and leave me alone.’
‘Meryl,’ he said, ‘please listen to reason.’
‘Frau Euler, if you please.’ My tone was icy. ‘Why should I believe anything you say to me?’
‘I will be here next weekend, say you’ll come.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
‘Then I will have to come to the farmhouse,’ he said.
‘That sounds like a threat.’
‘Not a threat, a promise. I must have that radio. Big moves are being planned.’
‘What moves?’
He shrugged. ‘See you same place, same time.’ He limped away, the image of an old man again.
‘Wait,’ I called. He turned back.
I caught up with him. ‘Your teeth,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Your teeth are the only thing I have a concern about—’ I aped his words to me—‘they could blow your cover.’ I spun away and hurried back to the battered jeep.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I thought every word of the conversation over and over and by morning was convinced the ‘tramp’ was a genuine English spy. It was, as I told him, his teeth: they were the thing that could give him away. The English, and the Welsh come to that, always brushed their teeth.
Fifty-Two
Hari sat looking at her transmitter. Should she let Meryl know about the plans for the invasion of the Normandy beaches by the Allies? It was certainly dangerous to attempt it.
‘Overlord’ was top secret, if the intelligence fell into the hands of the Germans, it would blow months, if not years, of planning. And yet Meryl would be in danger, the whole of Germany would be in danger; from the landing forces, from the bombers—that was the object of the exercise. She rubbed her forehead wearily. There seemed little she could do to help her sister who, to all intents and purposes, was a traitor to her country and her people. Undecided, she left the office and went home to Swansea; at least there she could try to put worrying thoughts out of her head.
Hari was invited to a meal at Kate’s house that night and she made a special effort to look smart, to be cheerful, and most of all to allow Kate to talk about her problems. When she arrived, Hilda opened the door and gave a wry smile.
‘Come in, girl, come and join the party.’ And it was a party. The room was filled with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. Hari was greeted with several wolf whistles and she forced a smile.
‘I didn’t know it was going to be so jolly.’ She put her hand on Kate’s shoulder. ‘Who are these Americans you’ve brought home?’
Kate smiled. ‘Sure you make me sound like some sort of siren maid calling sailors from the sea.’
‘You’re a beautiful girl, Kate, you make a good siren but what does Eddie think of it all?’
‘Eddie and me have quarrelled, he’s gone out.’
‘And these airmen?’
‘I went to the park, I got in trouble with the pram and these good fellows brought me home. Nothing to worry about, Hari, believe me, I’ve had enough of men to last a lifetime.’
Hilda bustled in from the kitchen with a pile of spam sandwiches.
‘Meat?’ Hari said.
‘The boys brought it with them, among other things.’ Kate held up a pair of stockings. ‘Bring back memories, eh? It all seems so long ago now.’
One of the pilots was standing in a corner. He seemed to be taking no part in the jollity. He held a cup and saucer in his hand instead of a glass or a tankard and Hari assumed he was drinking tea. On an impulse she went over to him.
‘Hello, I’m Hari.’ She held out her hand. After some hesitation he took it.
‘Aldo,’ he said, in his soft American drawl.
‘You’re looking very unhappy.’
‘I’m feeling very unhappy. While I’m away fighting a war I’ve lost my girl to another guy. He just sits on his butt in an office safe and cosy, reliable you know. What’s your excuse, you don’t look too jolly either.’
‘Same as you, I’ve lost my guy to another girl, he’s married my sister. Ironic isn’t it? Anyway, let’s change the subject.’
‘Shall we talk about the weather?’ Aldo’s eyebrow was raised.
‘I suppose it’s a serious issue with you pilots, the weather.’
