Chapter 20
The day of the much-anticipated Annual Diplomatic Winter Ball, hosted by an esteemed Bern cultural institution, dawned.
Lizzie rose early as usual and boiled water for tea on the stove before taking her steaming mug to the window to watch the sunrise.
It really was a stunning sight, and she had established an early morning routine where she sipped her tea and drank in the beauty of the panoramic scene from her window.
Winter lingered, but the calendar had turned to the month of March, and Bern was showing the first signs of spring.
The mountain peaks were luminous white, like decorative icing on a wedding cake, but the lower slopes revealed the rocky surface as the snow retreated upwards in the seasonal rhythm, and the shadowed contrast only added to the beauty.
The sky was like an old master’s painting, with twirls of pink and gold smudged into the pale blue and grey as daylight broke across Bern.
Lizzie dressed and left for the office. She would finish work earlier than usual to dress for the ball, and butterflies darted around her stomach as she stepped onto the frosty pavement.
The prospect of a special night out was uplifting, but the source of her excitement was that she desperately needed a breakthrough.
She was stuck and hadn’t found a discreet way to contact Brunner without risking alerting Swiss counterintelligence.
Tonight would be her way in, and Brunner was confirmed on the guest list. Lizzie had sneaked into Pemberton’s office when he was out at another of his long banking lunches.
When she asked who she should keep an eye out for, Tom had whispered that Pemberton always kept a list of the bigwigs for prestigious events.
The SOE agent was friends with Pemberton’s secretary, and she had let it slip some time ago.
He said the list would be an excellent guide to anybody who was anybody in Bern’s diplomatic and banking circles, and he wouldn’t mind a copy of it to update his records.
Her boss had finally presented her with the invitation and apologised for the oversight.
He confirmed she would attend as a member of his party, and he would pick her up at seven that evening.
Lizzie felt like a princess in her lustrous red wine ballgown as she followed Pemberton up the wide stone steps to the entrance of the majestic sandstone building. She held onto the hem of her skirt so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face, as Pemberton strode ahead and didn’t offer her his arm.
She had enjoyed dressing that evening, and the fitted bodice, ruched waist, and structured shoulders of the gown were more lavish than anything she’d worn before.
Apart from attending occasional dances in London at the Ritz with Jack, and dancing at the Hammersmith Palais where Evie loved to drag her sisters late at night, any semblance of a traditional social life she may have enjoyed in peacetime was usurped by the war years.
Courteous attendants manned the heavy doors, and Lizzie followed the bursts of masked guests into the high-ceilinged entrance hall, her heels tapping on the stone floor, and the grand marble staircase ahead.
Their coats were taken at the door, and a formal announcer stood at the entrance to the ballroom.
Pemberton paused, as he remembered she was in his party.
Offering her his arm, they entered together, and Lizzie heard their names: Mr. Pemberton and Miss Gale.
It was all rather impressive, and she wished she were on Jack’s arm, and they could dance and laugh together all night.
Lizzie admired the glittering chandeliers, the shuttered tall windows, and the orchestra that played softly in the background from the gallery. The room was warm and welcoming with its gilt and wood panelling.
Pemberton didn’t bother with the masquerade element but wore the traditional black tailcoat, white waistcoat, and white bow tie, like the other men.
Her boss didn’t linger, and soon she was on her own again, gazing around like a star-struck girl who had never attended a cosmopolitan ball with hundreds of glamorous guests with whom she wasn’t acquainted.
Lizzie had plunged into the spirit of the evening, and the gold Venetian-style half mask that she had hired with the ballgown covered her eyes and nose.
Here she was, surrounded by Bern’s elite diplomats, bankers, and officers from the intelligence agencies that operated in Switzerland.
A few went unmasked, like Pemberton, but most seemed to enjoy the masquerade.
Lizzie released a breath and steadied herself.
This was her chance to make some key contacts, and she was determined to make the most of it.
White-gloved waiters circulated and weaved through the guests, holding silver trays laden with glasses and canapés.
Lizzie accepted the offer of a flute of champagne and took a sip to calm herself.
There was too much at stake tonight for her to fumble this rare opportunity, but the butterflies she’d experienced earlier had turned into a hard knot in her stomach.
Who should she approach first, and how would she know who was who?
Candles flickered on tables draped with pristine white tablecloths at the edges of the dance floor, casting a soft glow around the ballroom, and the vibrant floral arrangements gave the scene an exotic look.
Lizzie stood to one side, feeling out of her depth as she sipped the champagne, the bubbles gently tickling her nose, and checked her mask was still in place with one hand.
She caught sight of the master of ceremonies, distinguished from the waiters by his formal tailcoat.
A plan formed in her mind, and she approached him immediately before she lost her nerve.
‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘I’m Miss Gale of the British Legation and am a recent arrival in Bern. I was wondering if you might be so kind as to point me towards several contacts my boss asked me to meet.’
The master of ceremonies was eager to help with her request, and she threw out a few random names from Pemberton’s guest list and then mentioned Brunner as if he were an afterthought.
She couldn’t be too obvious, but she was determined to talk to Brunner tonight.
The clock was ticking on her mission, and so far, all she had achieved was to develop her skills as the translator to a commercial attaché.
She berated herself that she hadn’t yet confirmed if the private banker could be the source the Allies desperately needed.
If Brunner didn’t offer any further indication soon beyond the engaging look they had exchanged in his office, she must seek out someone else to turn to.
And if she wasn’t to be banished to Bern for the foreseeable future, she must do it quickly.
Jack’s face flashed before her eyes, and she heard his words. ‘Get what we need quickly, darling, and please hurry home. The thought of endless months stretching out without you is a terrible one.’
Lizzie followed the master of ceremonies’ directions and went to introduce herself to an elite banker the Legation traded with, but she hadn’t met yet in her day-to-day duties with Pemberton.
The banker seemed charmed by her approach and entertained her with a tale of a past masked ball where they lost electricity and were all plunged into darkness for twenty minutes.
‘That would be a masked ball indeed.’ Lizzie laughed, grateful for the light banter and easy charm of the first stranger she had approached. Guests milled about, and as the orchestra stuck up the first waltz, couples streamed from the alcoves and filled the dance floor.
‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?’ asked the banker in Swiss accented English.
Lizzie inclined her head and said she would be delighted. Waltzing around the parquet floor in the arms of the tall, charming banker was the perfect cover to assess the other ball attendees and try to catch sight of Brunner. If he were masked, it would be difficult because she’d only met him twice.
Elizabeth Gale attracted a horde of admirers and dance partners as the night wore on and she was quite giddy from whirling around the floor and drinking champagne. She had still seen no sign of Brunner, and when Tom whisked her off to dance, she asked if he had seen him.
Tom hadn’t seen him either and Lizzie worried he hadn’t attended after all.
Her mind searched for excuses to ask Pemberton if she could visit him at the bank alone, but a voice warned her it was too dangerous for Brunner.
If she managed to turn him, the last thing they needed was for her to appear when someone might notice.
Her instructor at Baker Street had warned her repeatedly that Bern was a city full of spies, even if it didn’t seem so.
Her eyes searched the room again. It would be suppertime soon, and she might not get another chance to mingle, but just as the orchestra stopped, she heard a familiar voice. ‘May I cut in?’
‘Herr Brunner, what a pleasant surprise,’ she said. He was dashing in his black tailcoat, his eyes flickering in recognition as he pushed his mask up to ask her to dance. As they moved around the dance floor, their eyes watched each other from behind their masks, their expressions concealed.
Lizzie was once again grateful to Evie for hounding her to learn to dance after they moved to London.
She was far from accomplished, but her waltz was passable to keep up with Brunner, who moved effortlessly.
When they faced each other, he asked if she was having a good posting and was enjoying Bern.
They rotated and exchanged light conversation until the orchestra switched to a foxtrot, and Brunner guided her without missing a beat, seemingly not wanting the dance to end.
There was nothing romantic about his manner, which was a blessing.
Lizzie had found herself in dangerous romantic liaisons when undercover too many times, and she had resolved to avoid such situations if possible.
Jack warned her she had been fortunate to make it out of occupied France, and not to test her luck any further.
There were other ways of extracting information, and if it weren’t for Jack rescuing her on just such an occasion, her career in the SOE and her life would have been cut short.
Brunner bowed his head and whispered in her ear. ‘I have been thinking about our last meeting. It occurred to me you might be the person to speak to about something that’s been troubling me.’
Lizzie’s heart beat faster. This was it. He was making the approach himself, which was rare but not unheard of. She must handle it carefully or risk blowing it. She encouraged him to continue with a slight nod.
Brunner drew back slightly, and their eyes met from behind their masks for a second before they continued the foxtrot.
He dipped his head near her ear again, and his voice was a whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear. ‘A little bird tells me you may not be in Bern purely to translate contracts.’
His direct statement surprised Lizzie, but before she could reply, the music paused, and the master of ceremonies announced it was time for supper.
Lizzie’s eyes sought Brunner’s once more, and he said in a teasing voice, ‘May I escort you into supper? It’s midnight, Cinderella, and I wouldn’t want you to lose your slipper. ’
The elite Bernese were at home in social circles, and as she walked into the room where the lavish buffet-style supper was laid out, the contrast between the luxurious life of diplomats in Switzerland and the rationed existence in wartime Europe was stark.
Brunner’s wife approached them at the tables, and he introduced them, and they talked of other things over supper.
The progress she had made thrilled Lizzie, and just as she was wondering how to move things further along before the evening ended, his wife excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and they were alone once more.
‘What is it you wish to tell me?’ Lizzie said, her heart drumming as she risked exposing the real purpose of her presence in Bern to one of the most prominent Swiss bankers who clearly had contacts and could get her expelled with the click of his fingers.
A small group of men headed towards them.
‘We can’t talk here,’ Brunner said, his voice low. ‘What café do you frequent during your lunch hour?’
Lizzie replied, ‘Café Zytglogge. I’m there most days just after 1 p.m.’
Brunner nodded and turned to greet the men with a relaxed smile.
The window had closed. Lizzie excused herself and went in search of Pemberton. One thing was obvious. Brunner made a natural spy, but was it enough to seal the deal and secure her source, or had she just fallen headlong into his trap?
As the chauffeur closed the door on Lizzie and Pemberton, a man hovered in the shadows, drawing on a cigarette and watching as the car pulled away.