Chapter 8
The train was as punctual as a Swiss clock, and Lizzie noticed how clean and organised it was, contrasting with travel in occupied France and war-ravaged Britain.
Sitting back in her comfortable seat in the heated carriage, she closed her eyes for a minute and breathed.
The worst was over, and she was now in a safe haven, free to concentrate on her mission so she could return to London as soon as she collected the proof she needed.
The steady motion of the train settled her anxious mind, and she immediately thought of Hannah and how they had made a similar journey together to Bern, the previous year.
The last they heard from Resistance leader Hannah was that The Lavender Network was rapidly expanding, and they were carrying out railway sabotage operations, cutting communication lines and helping Allied airmen, Jewish refugees and other persecuted people to escape to Spain.
Lev, her co-leader whom she and Jack had recruited when they were undercover at Jack’s Uncle Luc’s chateau in Toulouse, was a skilled forger and an integral part of the French networks.
Lizzie opened her eyes and looked out the window as the neat farmland and pretty villages, untouched by the devastation of war, rolled by.
The rooftops were covered in blankets of crisp white snow, and smoke billowed from the farmhouse chimneys dotted about the fields like a rustic scene in a fairy tale.
Switzerland served as a civilised sanctuary in the depths of the evil Reich, and she was happy to be out of France and not entering Germany.
It was a short trip and soon she caught sight of the snow-covered Alps gleaming against the blue sky in the soft winter sunlight.
Civilians of a variety of ages, and two young Swiss soldiers stood and retrieved their belongings ready to leave the train as they approached the Bern station.
Everywhere she looked was a stark reminder that here there was no brutal German occupation: no swastikas and no Nazi propaganda pinned to every public space.
No menacing Gestapo men lined the train platform waiting to pounce.
It was like living in Europe before the war.
The train slowed and rattled to a stop, so she too stood, collected her suitcase, and slowly filed off the train, following the other passengers.
As she navigated the station, the appearance of the people she passed on her way outside struck her.
There were no gaunt faces—the Swiss had rationing but nothing like the starvation levels in other countries.
Their clothes weren’t threadbare, and their expressions were relaxed, not guarded as they were when Lizzie infiltrated occupied France.
It seemed the Swiss were unscathed in these dark war years whilst the rest of Europe suffered under the hardships of war shortages and Nazi occupation.
A couple of young women passed by, and she noted them chatting in a leisurely manner, lingering outside the station and laughing together.
It was good to witness, and they behaved more like the citizens of wartime London than those living under the Boche.
Outside the station building, Lizzie heard someone calling her cover name. ‘Miss Gale!’
She turned in the direction of the voice and her eyes lit on Tom Green, the SOE agent she met briefly on her previous visit to the Legation.
‘Miss Gale,’ he repeated, his smile reaching his eyes as he greeted her. ‘Apologies for being a trifle late. I was here to meet the earlier train and had to pop back again on an errand.’
Lizzie assured him she was grateful he had come to meet her at all, and they exchanged a significant look. He would be the only person at the Legation who knew Elizabeth Gale was her cover identity, and she was here by order of the SOE for something more critical than commercial relations.
‘I brought the car. You must be exhausted after that long trip.’
A uniformed driver appeared by the smart black car and held the door open for her. Tom Green slipped into the seat next to her, and there was a faint smell of leather and tobacco in the interior. The British car even smelt like England.
‘How was your journey?’ Tom asked when the car pulled away. He played along with her cover story that she’d travelled via the usual standard route for diplomats. ‘Not too awful, I hope.’
Lizzie covered her mouth as if yawning. ‘It was long and tiring. I’m looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed tonight.’
‘Well, we’re pleased that you could get here so soon after the post was vacated. The Commercial Attaché is running around like a headless chicken and will be most happy to have you on board.’
‘Excellent,’ Lizzie said. ‘It will be interesting to spend time in neutral territory. You’ll have to give me some tips on how everything works around here. I’m afraid I don’t know much about Switzerland at all.’
Tom Green winked at Lizzie, and she smiled back at him. He seemed like a good chap and had been very helpful last time. Val spoke highly of him and said he would be an asset to her assignment, and she could trust him.
Tom pointed out the window as the car wound through the medieval streets with arcades and elegant sandstone buildings. ‘This is the Old Town. It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?’
Lizzie agreed it was. ‘It makes poor blitzed London look very sad in comparison. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to live in a country that’s not at war.’
Tom assured her she would soon grow accustomed to it. ‘It will be a pleasant respite for you.’ The car crossed an arched iron bridge. ‘This is the famous Kirchenfeldbrücke, constructed in 1883. And that down there is the River Aare.’
Lizzie gasped as she saw the fast-flowing turquoise waters moving in a circular motion around the medieval town. ‘It’s stunning,’ she said.
Tom nodded. ‘I’m used to it now, but it is a breathtaking sight, especially in the centre of town like this.’ The car rumbled on. ‘The bridge leads us into the Kirchenfeld district. It might take you a while to grasp some names, but it’s worth taking note.’
‘Thank you,’ Lizzie said. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘I suppose as a translator you will be much quicker than I was to remember the German names.’
They chatted about nothing of any consequence, both aware of the driver’s presence.
Tom continued talking as they drove down the impressive tree-lined residential boulevard. ‘Here we are on Thunstrasse,’
The trees were naked, and the bare branches shivered in the wind. Lizzie admired the architecture of the rows of grand 19th-century houses set back from the wide street. A moment later the car stopped and turned into the gravelled driveway of the British Legation at number 50.
They alighted, and Tom asked Lizzie if she’d like to go straight to her apartment. ‘I brought you here so you’ll know how to get here when you have rested, but you’re not expected to report for duty until tomorrow.’
‘Thank you. That would be good. I must admit I need some sleep and to freshen up. I’d prefer to meet my new boss when I’m looking tidier.’
Tom picked up her suitcase and beckoned for her to follow, and Lizzie caught up with him on the peaceful street.
‘You’re in luck with your accommodation.
The apartment that the previous translator vacated is large and south-facing, and you even have a view of the peaks on a clear day.
We get fog in Bern, as it sits on a plateau, worse than London to be honest, but fine days like this are marvellous. ’
Lizzie gazed around and inhaled the fresh air as they walked.
‘Here we are,’ Tom said after just a few minutes, and he pointed to a five-storey building with an elegant cream-rendered facade.
Lizzie glanced upwards and saw that the apartments had tall windows, narrow balconies, and iron railings. ‘Very nice,’ she said, following closely up the stone steps and into a tiled entrance hall with a high ceiling.
Despite the Germanic lettering on the door, the building reminded Lizzie of Regent’s Park, and she felt immediately at home in the substantial building.
‘There’s a lift,’ Tom said. ‘You’re on the top floor, so it’s just as well.’
The lift appeared after a creaky arrival, and they stepped through the concertina door into the wrought iron cage, and it began its laborious ascent.
‘No one claimed it was quick!’ Tom said. ‘You might take the stairs when you have more energy.’
Lizzie liked Tom. He was easy-going, and she was pleased he would be her handler in case of emergencies.
After he left, promising to get a message to London to confirm she had arrived, she wandered around the apartment, checking cupboards and gazing out the window, which offered a stunning panoramic view of the Alpine peaks on the horizon.
Lizzie removed her shoes from her aching feet and padded softly on the cold parquet floor into the kitchen.
She yawned, genuinely this time, as she filled a small saucepan with water and set it on the stove to boil for a much-needed cup of tea.
Curling up on the sofa with her hot tea in one hand, her stomach growled, and she realised she hadn’t eaten the apple the kind farmer had given her, and it had been many hours since her last meal.
Never mind, she was far too tired to eat now, so she placed her half-empty cup onto the table and was asleep in minutes, her head resting comfortably on a plump cushion.
Her dreams took her to Jack at Baker Street, and when she awoke a few hours later, she was disorientated to find herself in the strange room.
She was Elizabeth Gale and had been posted to Bern.
She could not afford to forget it, even for a second.
Her eyes scanned the high, ornate ceiling, and it all came flooding back to her.
That was the beauty of having a private apartment where she could allow herself to let her guard down a little.
Doing so anywhere else was too dangerous and could have unforeseeable consequences, neutral territory or not.
Jack had drummed into her that just because Switzerland was neutral did not mean she wouldn’t be at the mercy of a hotbed of spies.
Bern was a spy city. He had warned her to keep an eye out for Swiss counterintelligence agents, and he reminded her there was also a German Legation, which was an alarming thought.
It seemed wrong somehow that the Nazis could operate there as though they were respectable diplomats.
Jack’s deep voice rang in her head. ‘Be on your guard. There will no doubt be SD and Abwehr intelligence operatives posing under diplomatic cover. We are not the only ones playing this game. There will be eyes everywhere, so watch your back. The danger isn’t as physical as in occupied France or Berlin, but it will be there beneath the surface all the same. ’
Lizzie stretched, and her throat was parched, so she took a sip of the remnants of her cold tea before rising and crossing to the window to admire the mountain peaks.
Let the games begin.