The Interrogator

Volk.’

‘My goodness, you do sound confused.’

‘How patronising.’

They stared at each other for a frosty moment, then she reached across and touched his sleeve: ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.’

He smiled at her: ‘I haven’t forgotten — you like to be direct. But don’t apologise, we’re as bad as each other. And I’m rather protective of my cousin.’

Small white clouds were rolling east over the city now, their cold shadows scudding across the grass. They found the path again and walked on at a brisker pace. Lindsay asked Mary about her family and university and the years she had spent studying archaeology: ‘I can’t imagine you in a muddy hole.’

‘I’ll let you have my paper on Norse burial rites.’

He laughed. ‘Background for the new dark age.’

Mary hesitated, then said, half in jest: ‘My brother may have told you I’m an academic bluestocking. I deny it.’

‘He said men were frightened of you, and now I understand why.’

‘Don’t tease me. James’s friends are frightened of any woman who has something to say for herself but you must stick up for me. We’re both outsiders, thrown into the same den of lions.’

‘Then it is my duty to protect you.’

‘Duty?’ She looked at him steadily, chin slightly raised, daring him to catch and hold her eye. It was an unmistakable, thrilling challenge.

And he held her gaze: ‘Duty? No. Not a duty.’

It was not until the following weekend that they were able to see each other again. By then the Germans had bombed the Admiralty, forcing daylight into dim, remote corridors, shaking even the sub-basement of the Citadel. Yugoslavia capitulated and Greece was on the point of doing the same. Lindsay took Mary to the Coconut Grove night club.

There was an expensive air of hysterical gaiety, with Society girls wrapped around young men in Savile Row suits. The Latin Orchestra was very fine but there was almost no room to dance. They sat at a table sipping martinis, upright and self-conscious and too far apart for conversation. Lindsay said something she took to be an invitation:

‘Yes, if you like.’

‘I didn’t ask you to dance,’ he shouted. ‘We can’t, can we, it’s too crowded?’

He looked ill at ease, unhappy. ‘What’s the matter?’ She reached across for his hand: ‘Come and sit next to me.’

He squeezed in beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and she took his hand again, its palm a little rough and dry: ‘Are you all right?’

‘I haven’t been to a place like this for a long time.’

‘We can go?’

‘No, no, it’s fine.’

He smiled and raised her hand to his lips.

Later, she floated home, his arm around her, drunk with warm anticipation. They kissed in the blackout shadows at the end of Lord North Street, quiet, deliberate, intense kisses. And he pressed himself against her, breathed the scent of her hair and felt the weight of her head against his shoulder.

‘I think I’m falling in love with you,’ he whispered.

At last they broke apart and Lindsay held her hands tightly and bent to rest his forehead against hers: ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to see you for a while.’

‘Tired of me already?’

He laughed and kissed her forehead: ‘I’m meeting prisoners in Liverpool, the crew of the U- 112 and then there are the interrogations.’

‘Winn’s very interested in the commander, Jurgen Mohr. He’s quite a catch.’

‘Perhaps it was your brother’s idea to send me to Liverpool, to save his sister?’

‘Perhaps he’s right.’

MAY 1941

MOST SECRET

It is of the utmost importance that the loyalty and integrity of any officer engaged in this work should be beyond question and that their discretion should be of the highest order. The closest enquiries should be made into the political past and views of prospective interrogating officers.

Admiralty NID 11

Notes on the Interrogation of Prisoners of War, 1941

10

HMS White

Liverpool

It was the old White’s finest hour. She swept into Liverpool in a triumphant cloud of steam, decked in crew and bunting. Her captain, Lieutenant-Commander Jack Thompson, was enjoying the spectacle from his ship’s open bridge. The brisk river breeze cut to the skin but he was too proud to care. He reached into his pocket and touched the rough edge of the signal paper.

From the First Sea Lord. The Prime Minister has asked me to pass on heartfelt congratulations to the captain and crew of HMS White. Keep up the good work.

The destroyer came to rest beneath the great brick bond warehouses of the Albert Dock and up and over went her ropes. There was already a disorderly murmur below, excited voices in the for’ard mess, whistling and singing, as if the ship were haunted by a mutinous ghost. The crew was preparing to celebrate ashore with beer at the Roebuck and dancing at the Grafton Ballroom.

‘The local intelligence officer is here to talk about the transfer of the prisoners, sir.’ The ship’s first lieutenant was at Thompson’s side. ‘And some chaps from the press would like to take pictures.’

Thompson turned with a satisfied smile to the quay where the newspapermen had been joined by sailors and dockyard workers eager for a glimpse of the famous U-boat commander.

‘Very good, Number One, I’ll see the local IO in my cabin.’

The captain of the White was a deck officer of twenty years experience and it was his fixed view that only those who had seen service at sea were worthy of the King’s commission. It was quite apparent to him that the plump, shiny-faced lieutenant who shuffled into his cabin a short time later had not.

‘Lieutenant Cooper, sir.’

Thompson looked the intelligence officer up and down with barely concealed scorn. ‘Please, sit down, Lieutenant,’ he said briskly, ‘It’s rather cramped in here but no doubt you’re used to that.’

Lieutenant Tim Cooper sank with some relief into the chair he had been offered: ‘The news of the U-112 cheered us up no end, sir.’

‘Good.’

Thompson slid some closely typed sheets of paper across the table to him. It was a list of the prisoners,