Edith nodded in acceptance of the compliment. She had a good ear for languages and accents. Something in this woman’s speech said she was not British. There had been a lecturer at college who could have been her brother.
‘I could say the same thing. I’ve been trying to place your accent. Romanian perhaps?’
A lucky guess. The woman coloured slightly. There was a pause. Then she gave a slight nod, as though she had decided something.
‘I would like you to read this and sign.’ She took a form from the top-right desk drawer and pushed it towards Edith.
‘What is it?’ Edith asked, taking it from her.
‘It’s the Official Secrets Act.’
Edith glanced down the page of regulations. ‘What is this all about?’ she asked again.
The woman allowed herself a thin smile. ‘We can go no further until you have signed.’ She offered her pen. ‘Here. And again here, if you would. And your name, clearly printed. Thank you.’ She took the document and slipped it into a file. ‘I am Vera Atkins.’ The name meant nothing to Edith although it was clearly meant to command recognition and respect. ‘From now on, all proceedings are covered by the Act and cannot be repeated, now or at any time in the future. You understand? Perhaps you need more time to consider …’
Edith shook her head, impatient to know what was going on.
‘Now, back to Kurt von Stavenow. Or should I call him Graf von Stavenow. A man of many titles, it seems.’ Miss Atkins pushed his file across the desk towards Edith. ‘Do you recognize him here?’
Edith wanted to think that she didn’t recognize him, didn’t want to recognize him. His extreme good looks were heightened to a sinister glamour by the black SS uniform: the silver epaulettes, the lightning rune on the right collar, and the four silver pips on the left to show his rank. But of course she did. His blond hair looked darker and was dressed differently, combed to the side and cut shorter. His face had filled out, but still retained a certain boyishness; those high cheekbones, that cleft in the wide, square chin. He was not looking straight at the camera but off to the right, a look of resolute aloofness, his deep-set eyes pale under dark sweeping brows.
‘Did you know that he was a high-ranking member of the SS?’ the woman asked with a crimson slash of a smile.
‘No, of course not.’
Edith felt her cheeks grow hot. She was close to losing her temper with the testing, teasing nature of the interview but it wasn’t that which was bringing the blood to her face. Her grip on the photograph tightened, denting the corners. She’d known him. Known him well. They had been lovers. Whatever had happened between them, she’d thought him fundamentally good. She’d often wondered what he might be doing but she could never have imagined this. The glossy paper creased further under her fingers. An officer in the SS? The opposite, if anything. She’d worried he’d get mixed up in something. End up in a concentration camp. She would never have thought this of him. Never have dreamt it. How could he? How could this be? Her stare intensified as though the image might speak to her. She glanced away and back again. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps it wasn’t him. But that was even more foolish. She felt some of her certainty about the world and her place in it shift. It was him all right.
‘When was the last time you were in contact with Sturmbannführer Kurt von Stavenhow?’
‘I didn’t know him as Sturmbannführer von Stavenhow.’
The woman sighed in obvious frustration, but Edith felt she needed to make the point.
‘Very well, when did you last see Kurt von Stavenhow?’
Edith thought for a moment. ‘It would have been 1938.’
‘You don’t seem too sure.’
‘It was 1938. In the summer.’
‘Not since then?’
‘Of course not!’ Edith snapped. ‘We’ve been at war!’
Perhaps he hadn’t done anything terrible, part of her mind continued to reason as she answered questions. Perhaps he had been involved in some form of resistance, a plot against Hitler. Perhaps that was the reason for this current interest. Yet there was something in those slanting black eyes, a slight twisting of the lip that spoke of a deep contempt, even hatred, for anyone who had even been associated with this man, who might ever have called him a friend. Such loathing was not aroused by innocence. What had he done?
‘Ah, here you are!’
The connecting door to the next office opened and there was Leo, coming through in a bustling hurry. Edith had the feeling that he had been there all the time.
‘Sorry I’m late! Meeting ran on and on. How are you two getting along? Like a house on fire, I shouldn’t doubt.’
He rubbed his hands together, choosing to ignore the frigid atmosphere, or failing to notice it.
‘I think we’ve finished.’ Vera capped her pen.
‘Everything satisfactory? Edith pass with flying colours?’
‘Perfectly.’ She stood up. ‘And yes.’
‘In that case, thank you, Vera,’ Leo at his most avuncular. ‘Now, don’t let us keep you. I’m sure you have plenty to do, gathering your bits and pieces and so on.’
Vera looked around the empty room. ‘I’ve already done so. As you can see.’
‘Hmm, yes, well …’ Leo rubbed his hands again. ‘Don’t let us keep you, as I say …’
Vera held Leo’s eyes in her level black stare before slowly fitting her pen into her briefcase. It was unclear who was dismissing whom.
‘Oh, and leave those files on the desk, would you?’ Leo added.
‘I had every intention of doing so,’ Vera said as she put on her coat, ‘since they no longer have anything to do with me.’ Quite unexpectedly, she turned as she moved to the door and proffered her hand to Edith. ‘Auf wiedersehen, Miss Graham.’ Her handshake was firm and strong. ‘You have a formidable task in front of you with the Control Commission. A great responsibility.’ Her grip became more emphatic. ‘May I wish you good luck.’
‘You mustn’t mind our Miss Atkins,’ Leo said as the door closed behind her. ‘She’s got a good eye, old Vera. Good instincts.’ He collected the files from the desk. ‘Particularly good with the girls. None better. If you pass the Vera test, you’re on your way.’
‘On my way to where?’ Edith asked as she followed Leo out into the corridor. She caught his arm, slightly disoriented, still shocked by what she’d heard about Kurt. ‘What am I doing here, Leo? What’s this all about?’
‘When you said you were off to Germany, I had an idea, that’s all. It’s a frightful mess over there. Chaos doesn’t begin to describe it. Our zone is full to bursting, God knows how many from God knows where – the unfortunate residents of the bombed-out cities, demobbed soldiers, ex-slave workers, refugees from all regions east who’ve fled from Uncle Joe’s forces and who can blame them for that?’ He frowned. ‘Among them are some bad hats, some very bad hats, taking advantage of all the chaos and confusion. Hiding in plain sight. Nothing suits them better. Our job, or part of it, is to winkle them out. Simple as that. We need all the help we can get, quite frankly.’ He looked at her, blue eyes magnified by his glasses. ‘Since you’re going there, I thought you might do us a little favour.’