Page 13 of Echoes of Betrayal

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.’