Chapter 11
Elizabeth Gale’s days were largely uneventful, and so far, she had nothing substantial to report to Baker Street, and hadn’t asked Tom Green if she could use his radio.
There was no information to relay, even though she would have liked to send a message to Jack for no other reason than that she missed him.
She missed everything about him, actually—the way he gently woke her in the morning and brought her tea in bed, and the way he talked to her like she was the centre of his world.
He often said she was the centre of his world, and he was hers, which made it even more difficult when they were torn apart by the demands of the job.
Lizzie worked long hours at the Legation.
There was much to do to fulfil her legitimate role as translator to Nigel Pemberton, and on top of that she was on high alert for anything unusual with the twenty members of staff who flapped about like busy birds in the diplomatic building.
Elizabeth Gale was gradually becoming recognised in the Bern office, and she was doing her best to forge new relationships and get the lay of the land.
It was an entirely different mission than she’d ever been sent on before.
Work passed the time, and she didn’t want her nights in the quiet apartment in the clouds on the residential street in Kirchenfeld to feel any longer than they already did.
As she lay there, trying to fall asleep in her comfortable bed in the warm bedroom, she thought fondly of Hannah, her sister-in-arms in the Resistance, and how they had been crammed into two tiny single beds in a Berlin attic.
The contrast with this mission was dramatic, but sleeping in the sky was the same.
The elegant tiled ceramic stove they called a Kachelofen in the living room, warmed the whole place and the thick walls retained heat far better than in London or Berlin, so her bedroom was toastier than any she’d slept in since the start of the war.
Switzerland had a taste of luxury in comparison with the rest of Europe, as if the hardships of war couldn’t touch this hallowed, neutral country.
Beneath the surface, Lizzie knew it was a quite different scenario which so far, she only sensed but could not put her finger on.
She must step things up to the next level if she were to identify tangible proof of the Swiss-Nazi collaboration, but so far conditions at the Legation and in her explorations beyond had presented no opportunities to uncover the intelligence she needed.
The Legation ran smoothly, and, in some ways, when she worked at her desk; she felt as though she had fallen into another world entirely, where there was no war.
But for the war, she would probably be married in Jersey by now and would never have met Jack or been recruited by the SOE and all the risks it entailed.
She reprimanded herself; she should be grateful she wasn’t in intense danger in occupied territory, but the truth was she found the uneventful life in Bern dull and would rather be in London or on an active mission.
This assignment seemed not to warrant the term mission and was more of a gentle posting.
So far, she had made no headway at all and was growing impatient.
She turned over in bed and tried to settle, but her thoughts raced faster the more she tried to sleep.
It was no good, so she got out of bed, slipped a cardigan over her nightdress and padded into the kitchen to boil some water for tea.
There was no blackout in Switzerland, and night lights shimmered across the city, reminding Lizzie again of the stark differences from London.
Dozing on the sofa intermittently, by the time she was relaxed enough to sleep properly, she glimpsed the sun coming up over the snow-peaked mountains and realised there was no point going back to bed. After making more tea and enjoying the view, she dressed for work.
In the office, as if Tom Green had heard her frantic thoughts of the night before, he was waiting by her desk when she arrived.
‘Morning, Tom, how are you?’ They hadn’t shared details about their roles at the SOE yet, but he knew she wasn’t just a translator.
It was drummed into them that intelligence was on a purely need to know basis, and so far, there had been nothing she gauged he needed to know, and she guessed he had reached the same conclusion.
‘Morning, Elizabeth. How are you settling in? Everything satisfactory with the apartment?’ He beamed at her, and she returned his warm smile.
‘I’m settling in fine, thank you. I couldn’t fall asleep last night for some reason, but the apartment is very comfortable.’
‘That’s good to hear. If you need anything at all, please let me know.’
‘I suppose my only complaint, if I were to have one, is that I have met no one significant outside the Legation yet.’
‘Ah, you’re in luck then. I think you will like what I came to tell you,’ Tom said, raising one playful eyebrow.
‘That sounds intriguing,’ Lizzie said, resting her handbag on her desk and shrugging out of her coat. ‘Do tell.’
‘Mr Pemberton was supposed to attend a reception but has another engagement and has nominated you to go in his place.’
Lizzie perked up immediately. This was exactly the kind of development she had been hoping for. In London, she’d had visions of mixing with the diplomatic community, but so far, no appointments or invitations had been forthcoming.
Tom gave her the details and location of the reception and said he would attend too, and he would pick her up in the car at 7 p.m. sharp.
‘It’s tonight?’ Lizzie said.
He drew nearer and lowered his voice. ‘Yes, apologies for the short notice. Honestly, I’m not sure why Pemberton didn’t invite you, even though he meant to attend.
It’s just the type of gathering you need to be at, so it must have slipped his mind.
Anyone who is anyone in diplomatic and commercial circles in Bern will be there. ’
The day raced by as Lizzie waded through piles of papers that had accumulated on her desk, and the thought of a change of scene that night invigorated her. At seven on the dot, the Legation car rolled up in front of her building, and she eased into the black car next to Tom.
‘You look very smart,’ she said. He was a handsome man and was dashing in black tie, a white shirt and pressed black trousers.
Lizzie wore an exquisite green evening gown that highlighted her green eyes, and was just one of the dresses the wardrobe department had fitted her for, with just such an occasion in mind.
On the short drive, Tom told her more about the event and the prominent Bernese banking family who were hosting it for the elite. ‘You’ll meet senior diplomats from various legations, Swiss business and banking officials, and intelligence agents, so be alert.’
Lizzie nodded, taking in his brief, excited for the evening ahead.
Tom leaned closer and whispered in her ear so the driver wouldn’t overhear. ‘And, of course, there will be some Germans present.’
Lizzie looked startled but quickly recovered herself. It had slipped her mind, even though she’d been warned in London that she might be expected to mix with German diplomats and keep her cool.
‘Just stay calm and say as little as possible. Your ears are your most important asset in these situations, for there are lots of little gems to be harvested at this type of event, especially when the wine flows. That’s why I always stay to the end, even though it can be tiresome.’
‘Thanks for the tips. Anyone in particular I should look out for?’
Tom squinted and appeared to rack his brains. ‘Beware of the SD and Abwehr officers. There are usually a few lurking in the shadows, and it can be disconcerting coming face to face with them.’
Lizzie’s thoughts flickered to her time in occupied France, and her pulse quickened as images of her Nazi foe raced through her mind.
She was always wary of meeting one of them in a new location and her cover being blown.
Val said it was a hazard of the job and the more missions she undertook, the more likely it would happen at some point, and she warned her to always be prepared for such an occurrence.
Jack took a more cautious view and repeatedly told Val that Lizzie had already been too visible in too many cities in occupied territory, and it was time to send a new face in her place.
Val shrugged off his warnings and posted her anyway, but this time she must have heeded him because Bern was one of the safest assignments.
Lizzie brushed the fear away, telling herself she was overreacting, and when she entered the grand villa on Tom’s arm, no one could tell how nervous she was just a few moments earlier.
Tom introduced her around as people arrived, and she committed names to memory to be filed away for when she might need them again.
Halfway through the evening, as the string quartet played softly in the background, Lizzie discreetly watched Rudolf Stalder move between the groups that had naturally formed now that the guests had relaxed.
Tom had introduced her to the host on arrival, and she smiled at him as he caught her eye.
Lizzie mingled and overcame her reticence to speak to a German diplomat by being extra polite and formal.
Then an SIS man called Miles Carrington, whom she had met briefly at the Legation, appeared at her side and said, ‘We haven’t had a chance to speak properly since you arrived. How are you finding Switzerland?’
They made small talk as both surveyed the other guests, and they accepted more wine and nibbled on a fresh round of canapes. ‘Bern has excellent food.’
Miles laughed lightly. ‘Yes, it certainly does. We will not starve here.’ When he excused himself a short while later, it struck Lizzie that she still knew nothing about him.
He had entertained her, and they had exchanged conversation for a quarter of an hour, but he had told her nothing.
Miles Carrington was clearly the consummate spy, and she could learn a lot from him.
A tall, dark-haired man she estimated to be in his fifties joined her just as Miles left. ‘Good evening. I understand from Tom Green you’re the new commercial translator at the British Legation. I’m Ernst Brunner. I thought I would introduce myself, as our paths will surely cross again.’
Lizzie saw immediately that the Swiss banker was charming, and she fell into conversation with him.
Slow and steady was the essence of the diplomatic world, and she would need just as much patience as she did when employing spycraft in enemy territory.
It was growing late, and she was tired after her lack of sleep the previous night, so she sought Tom out, who was in deep conversation with a gorgeous young Swiss woman.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Tom,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be asleep on my feet shortly and I have an early meeting. ’
Ten minutes later they extracted themselves and pulled away in the car.
‘How did it go?’ Tom asked.
Lizzie told him she had met Miles Carrington properly for the first time.
‘Ah, Carrington, yes. He’s a slippery fellow. I should have warned you to watch out for him.’
Lizzie knew this was standard bumpy relations between the SOE and the SIS. There was a permanent rivalry between the two organisations which was why Jack was at Bletchley with the goal of improving the intelligence pipeline that was too often blocked by the SIS.
‘Anyone else catch your interest?’ Tom asked.
Lizzie yawned and turned to face him as the car slid along the road towards her apartment building. ‘What do you know about the banker, Ernst Brunner? He was particularly charming, but I couldn’t fathom his position on Germany.’
‘Brunner is a decent enough sort from what I’ve seen, although all the bankers here are up to their necks with the Germans.’ Tom lowered his voice to a whisper just as the car drew to a stop. ‘He’s one who might give you a way in if you play your cards right. I’ve had him on my radar for a while.’
His mysterious statement cut through her weary state, and she was suddenly alert and dying to know more. She stared at him, but he shook his head ever so slightly. His movement told her it wasn’t the time, and she would have to wait to continue the intriguing conversation when they were alone.
Lizzie said goodnight to Tom and got out of the car with reluctance, all tiredness having deserted her at the sign of her first potential lead into the banking world. The chauffeur accompanied Lizzie in the lift and saw her to her apartment door.
Never had she been so well cared for on a mission, but she sensed the danger beneath the surface of the polite diplomatic smiles and careful conversations.
The only question she must answer now was how she would penetrate the perfect facade so she could pinpoint the extent of the Swiss-Nazi war collaboration and extract the evidence that would prove it without a shadow of a doubt.
That night she fell into a heavy sleep and woke only as the first pale rays of sun ebbed into her peaceful bedroom.