She Died Young (25 page)

‘I – I’m …’ But as soon as she started to speak, sobs choked her again.

‘Calm down. Take it easy.’

Gradually the tears subsided.

‘Tell me what’s the matter. What’s happened?’

‘I’m going to have a baby.’ Somehow, saying it so starkly dried up the tears, at least for the moment. She looked owlishly at him, her face all blotched and red. A little string of snot hung from her nose.

‘Here …’ Repelled by her defenceless state he pulled out his hanky and pushed it into her hand. It was a disaster, of course, but he had no idea how to react or what to say. He knew this sort of thing happened. In some other universe.

Penny blew her nose. ‘Charles, what am I going to do?’

‘Is it Alistair’s?’

He jumped back as she shouted: ‘Of
course
it’s Alistair’s! Who else do you think?’

‘Shssh! Does he know?’

‘No! That’s the thing. He said …’ and now the sobs started again – ‘I can’t tell him. We’re not going out any more. He ended it. He’s fallen in love with Venetia Templeton.’

The divan shook with her sobs. She was almost howling. It was horrible. Charles put his hand cautiously on her arm. ‘Penny – just tell me – surely—’

‘Surely
what
? Everyone knows. The whole of St Hilda’s—’

‘Knows about the … that you’re …?’

‘
No
. About Venetia, you fool.’ Anger seemed to give her strength. ‘He’s gone off with Venetia.’ She blew her nose again, mopped her eyes.

‘But he – he can’t do that. You must tell him. He’ll have to marry you, won’t he?’

‘He won’t. I can’t make him. Anyway, I don’t
want
to get married. I’ll be sent down either way. Girl undergraduates aren’t allowed to be married. You must know that.’

Charles had no idea about any of it.

‘Isn’t there anything you can …
do
?’

‘I’ve tried. Drank a lot of gin and had a hot bath.’ Now she was almost laughing. ‘Jumped down some stairs over and over again. Went for a bumpy bike ride across Port Meadow. It’s
still there
.’

He feared she was about to tip over into hysteria. Vulgar phrases floated into his mind – up the duff, bun in the oven … and he remembered his stepmother Brenda saying something about a girl who came into the hospital bleeding to death … ‘Abortion’s illegal, you know,’ said Penny in a hard voice. ‘I’ll be sent down. I’ll be an unmarried mother. What’ll I say to Mummy? She’ll be so …’ She banged her fist on the divan. ‘And Daddy. It’s my fault. All my fault. I shouldn’t have – Daddy talked to me about men. He said I had to be careful not – not to arouse them too much. He said there came a point when they couldn’t go back. It was beyond their control.’

This didn’t entirely fit with Charles’ much more extensive experience of male arousal, although the Andras episode could certainly have been deployed in support of the view advanced by Penny’s father. This was hardly the moment for a discussion, however, because she was about to start crying again. She
was
hysterical. He began to panic, but with desperation came an idea, although he hadn’t even thought of it until the words came out of his mouth.

‘I’ll talk to my father. You know he’s a doctor. He’ll know what to do.’

It was a spur-of-the-moment thought. He himself was surprised by it, but he’d said it instinctively, probably to stop her from completely losing control.

‘What can he do? He can’t do anything, can he?’

‘He might be able to.’

‘Charles, it’s illegal.’

‘My stepmother was a nurse, you know, before they married. She said something – sometimes it’s allowed. I was going to London this weekend anyway. I’ll talk to him, I’ll think up some story.’

‘But …’ She blew her nose. ‘I don’t see how it’ll work.’

‘I’ll just say it’s a friend who’s in trouble.’

‘He might ring up the college.’

‘He won’t do that. He’s not that sort of person. Anyway, I’ll try. Look – it’s getting late. It’s nearly half past ten. If you’re not back by eleven you’ll be in more trouble. You could stay here, of course …’

‘That would be worse. If anyone found out – your landlady.’

‘She couldn’t care less.’

‘I’ll be all right. I’ve got my bike.’

‘I’ll ride back with you.’ His relief that she was leaving prompted the chivalrous gesture.

‘Don’t be silly.’

He followed her downstairs. ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘Chin up.’

Penny wheeled her bike to the gate and cycled away down the dark, silent road.

chapter
35

A
S SOON AS MCGOVERN
had seen Balmoral Mansions, it had occurred to him that the faceless block would make an ideal location for an espionage hideout. Now it seemed he might have been right.

He rode upwards in the mahogany-lined lift and rang the door bell. ‘Mrs Mallory?’

An elderly woman dressed in black answered the door. She looked flintily at McGovern. ‘Mrs Mallory is not expecting a visitor this afternoon.’

He produced his card. ‘I think she’ll see me.’

He waited in the peach-coloured lounge. What a difference from where he’d first met her in the ruins of Berlin. In those days he’d been naive. At first he’d liked her. Frankly, he’d been attracted to her. He’d also been sorry for her, believing her to be the victim both of the war and of a cruel father. Only gradually had he understood her complicity in the old man’s schemes. She’d searched the Berlin bomb sites for orphaned children to be offered to men like Miles Kingdom, Quinault’s friend. McGovern had heard that Kingdom’s death and the revelations about him had upset Quinault to the extent that he’d travelled to East Berlin himself, renewing old espionage contacts in a fruitless effort to clear Kingdom’s name. Perhaps – very likely – Quinault had encountered her there. And now, five years later, they were still in touch.

She stood in the doorway and from the way her expression changed he understood that she hadn’t recognised his name. That wasn’t surprising, as he’d gone under a different one then. She recognised
him
, though. And she was literally speechless.

‘You’re looking very well, Frieda.’

She recovered and stepped forward. ‘It’s Sonia.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t remember me.’

She gestured towards the sofa. He looked at her and her gaze dropped away. ‘I wondered if you’d catch up with me,’ she said. ‘After we ran into each other in Trafalgar Square last spring. Do you remember?’

‘Of course.’ He hadn’t done anything about it at the time. He’d been too busy with the impending Khrushchev visit. At least, that was his excuse, but more to the point was that he didn’t want to rake up the past and especially that part of it, didn’t want to dwell on how he’d been taken in and even half seduced by her sad plight.

‘And now you have – caught up with me.’

‘It would seem so.’

The maid entered with a tray.

‘You’ll have tea?’ McGovern watched Sonia’s elegant movements as she arranged teacups and lifted the pot. ‘Or would you like something stronger, perhaps?’

McGovern shook his head. ‘Thank you. This is fine.’ He waited just long enough to heighten her unease – not that it showed, her preoccupation with the tea concealed it, but he was sure she was nervous; she must be.

‘I saw you the other evening at the Ambassadors Club,’ he said. ‘It was quite a surprise to see you there. Your husband’s doing very well. And you’re looking so well. It must be a very interesting story.’

She gazed at her long, pale nails. ‘It’s a
long
story. I don’t know about interesting – quite boring, actually.’

‘Boring? I shouldn’t have thought so. Getting away from East Berlin can’t have been that easy.’

‘That was not so difficult. You know that. I just crossed over into the West. That was the easy part. It was more difficult to persuade them I was a genuine refugee. But I had a stroke of luck when I met Mallory. He was over there on business, to organise an international boxing match. I met him in a bar. We got talking. I was able to help him in various ways. One thing led to another and now I am here and am married to him, so I am a British citizen. Really it is a straightforward story, not interesting at all.’ There was the slightest tinge of triumph in her voice as she tapped her cigarette against the glass table. Her bracelets made a clicking sound.

McGovern leaned forward to light the cigarette. ‘I’m not here to talk about the past. Well, not exactly. At the time I never thought of your relationship with Miles Kingdom as anything other than you providing him with what he wanted. But perhaps it was more than that. You – and your father – could have helped in other ways.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Your father was well in with the East German Communist Party. But only for his own ends. He was an opportunist, one of those Nazi supporters who managed to get in with the new regime. So you, or you and your father, could have provided Kingdom with contacts. You knew about Kingdom’s work in the intelligence services, I take it.’

She shook her head. ‘I never concerned myself with anything like that.’

‘It’s strange then, isn’t it, that someone who knew Kingdom very well, who was also in the secret services and still has contacts, has been in touch with you. You know Professor Quinault, don’t you?’

She smiled. ‘I run a dating agency. I introduce people. I have clients.’ She looked at him, faintly smiling, slightly mocking. Then she looked modestly down at the hand that played with her cigarette.

‘Am I supposed to believe that, Frieda? It seems rather too much of a coincidence. Quinault was Kingdom’s friend, and now we find that he’s been using the services of the very same woman who knew Kingdom, one of the most important British agents operating in Berlin at the end of the war.’

McGovern knew there had to be a security connection. He watched her closely. She appeared at ease, but it was a pretence. She sat upright,
too
still. There was none of the easy relaxation of a woman on firm ground, with nothing to fear.

She had plenty to fear. He knew of her criminal past. It was doubtful that any sort of case could be brought against her, in fact there was zero chance, and perhaps she knew that. Yet the truth could damage her in other ways.

‘Does your husband know all about your past?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Do you still have links to East Germany? That could be very useful.’ It could be useful, for example, to Quinault as a lever to regain influence – if that was what he wanted – with the secret services. ‘Quinault must know that you knew his great friend, Miles Kingdom.’

She jumped up and walked about the room. ‘This is stupid. You are so wrong. He comes here for the same reason as the other men who come here.’

‘So you admit you know him and that he comes here. But I should be careful what you say about that too, Frieda. You could be suspected of running a disorderly house.’

She sat down again. ‘My husband won’t like it if he hears you’ve been threatening me.’

‘Your husband’s a well-known businessman, a successful businessman, isn’t he? Are you suggesting he’d step outside the law and interfere with legitimate police enquiries?’

She sat down again, lifted the teapot and poured herself a second cup.

‘I’d just like some cooperation, Frieda. I’d like to know more about you and the Professor.’

Perhaps Blackstone was right and she was blackmailing Quinault. Perhaps she knew something about
his
murky past in the secret service. Or perhaps it was after all just that Quinault didn’t want his wife to know what he got up to at Balmoral Mansions.

She smoked, gazing downwards, in silence. The cigarette was finished before she spoke again. ‘There’s nothing to know.’

‘How did you meet him?’

‘A friend introduced him.’

‘Who was this friend?’

‘He was recommended.’

McGovern hesitated. Perhaps it was a mistake, but he decided to show her his hand. ‘I have reason to believe that Professor Quinault has paid you large sums of money.’

Her laugh surprised him. There was an edge to it that he couldn’t put his finger on. It suggested … irony? Triumph? It somehow made the idea more plausible that, after all, the money in Quinault’s attaché case had been destined for her. Perhaps Blackstone’s blackmail angle was not so far-fetched. ‘Why is that amusing?’

She had recaptured her poise. ‘You are amusing,’ she said. He remembered – and quite vividly – that way she had of playing the part of a knowing woman of the world, running rings round a naive detective who was out of his depth.

‘I’m glad you think so.’ His cold anger strengthened him, but he was up against a blank wall. He had no real evidence. So Quinault had paid her a visit. He couldn’t prove the relationship was other than a sordid business arrangement. The blackmail line was pure speculation. As was the espionage angle. And Berlin was too far in the past to truly threaten her.

The money in Quinault’s library was the only suspicious fact. Only by questioning Quinault would he discover more about that. Yet he continued.

‘It’s interesting, isn’t it? One of your clients, if that’s the right word, is or was a secret agent. And you left East Germany, East Berlin, only a few years ago. You were still there in 1951 when I met you. And we all know it’s the espionage capital of the world. Your father had connections—’

‘My father’s dead now. He died in prison. And I knew nothing.’

‘You could return now as Mrs Mallory, a British citizen.’ But even as he spoke, he knew that of course it was all pure speculation.

‘Please do not imagine that I have any interest in spying. Or in East Berlin – or Germany. That is the last place I should ever wish to visit, ever again.’

He could well believe that, at least. He could also think of circumstances in which she could be put under pressure to return, but since he had nothing concrete to go on he decided to put espionage aside for the moment. ‘There’s another matter. A murder case. A young girl. You knew her, I think. You’d employed her.’

‘I don’t employ anyone.’

‘Your husband employed her.’

This mention of her husband brought about an odd change. It was now the other Frieda who leaned towards him, soft, vulnerable and pleading. ‘What happened to her had nothing to do with Mallory.’

‘I didn’t say it had,’ he answered, startled. He leaned back, watching her. There was something bothering her in relation to Mallory. As if her words belied themselves. As if the girl’s death
did
have something to do with Mallory. ‘And yet,’ he persisted, ‘it did, didn’t it? In the sense that she worked for him and then left. And shortly afterwards died in what now seem to be suspicious circumstances.’

‘I really know nothing about it. I hadn’t seen her for a long time. And Mallory and I lead separate lives. I don’t know why you’re asking me about her. Some man has been charged, I think.’

‘You knew that? You’ve been following the case, then.’

‘Not really.’ She played with her bracelets.

‘Frieda—’

‘Please call me Sonia.’

‘It’s not important, is it, whether I call you Frieda or Sonia? You’re the same person.’

‘Actually, I’m not, Chief Inspector McGovern. I’m a very different person.’

He ignored that. ‘You knew the girl. What was she like?’ She shrugged.

‘She was a fool. Mallory was right to get rid of her.’

‘Get rid of her?’

She glanced at him. ‘Sack her is what I mean, of course.’ She was upset now, was regretting the words she’d used.

‘You’re quick to defend your husband,’ he said, ‘but no-one’s accused him of anything.’

‘Naturally I defend him. I owe him a lot.’

‘And what about Professor Quinault? I wonder what he owes you. Or you him.’

Sonia lit another cigarette. ‘I don’t think this conversation is getting us anywhere, is it.’

‘Are you telling me to leave?’

How blank her smile was. She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m not telling you anything.’

‘No. I’m aware of that.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

He stood up. ‘I know what you mean. I apologise for taking up your time. And thank you for the tea. But you know I’ll be back, don’t you?’

The Queen’s Head was not so far from this end of Bayswater and he decided to walk there. He crossed the Edgware Road and followed New Cavendish Street into the hinterland of Marylebone. All the while he quietly seethed with tension. He wished he hadn’t recognised Frieda in the Ambassadors. Naturally he’d been curious, first when he’d caught sight of her in Trafalgar Square the previous spring and then when he’d seen her again in the unlikely setting of her husband’s club; but the truth was, he wanted nothing more to do with her.