“An interesting development,” Muller told them. “I’ve had Schroeder on the phone from Granville. Apparently an SD Standartenfuhrer Vogel presented himself on the quay with a young French woman and demanded passage to Jersey. They put the woman on the Victor Hugo. He comes on the S92 with Dietrich.”
“But why, Herr Captain?” Kleist asked. “We’ve had no notification. Why would he be coming?”
“The bad news,” Muller said, “is that he’s traveling under a special warrant from Reichsfuhrer Himmler. According to Schroeder it’s countersigned by the Fuhrer.”
“My God!” Greiser said.
“So, my friends, we must be ready for him. You were going to take care of the passenger checks when the convoy ships get into St. Helier, isn’t that so, Ernst?” he inquired of Greiser.
“Yes, Herr Captain.”
“Inspector Kleist and I will join you. Whatever his reason for being here, I want to be in on the action. I’ll see you later.”
They went out. He lit a cigarette and went to the window, more excited than he had been in months.
It was just after eleven when Helen de Ville took the tray to her room, using the back stairs that led straight up from the kitchen. None of the officers ever used it, keeping strictly to their own end of the house. In any case, she was careful. Only one cup on the tray. Everything for one. It she chose to have late supper in her room, that was her affair.
She went into the bedroom, locking the door behind her, crossed to the bookshelves, opened the secret entrance and moved inside, closing it before going up the narrow stairway. Kelso was sitting up in bed, propped against pillows, reading by the light of an oil lamp. The wooden shutters in the gable window were closed, a heavy curtain drawn across.
He looked up and smiled. “What have we got here?” “Not much. Tea, hut at least it’s the real stuff, and a cheese sandwich. I make my own cheese these days, so you’d better like it. What are you reading?”
‘One of the books you brought up. Eliot. The Fou.rQua.r-tets.”
“Poetry and you an engineer?” She sat on the end of the bed and lit one of the Gitanes Gallagher had given her.
“I certainly wasn’t interested in that kind of thing m the old days, but this war ” He shrugged. “Like a lot of people I want answers, 1 suppose. In my end is my beginning, that’s what the man says. But what comes in between? What’s it all mean?”
“Well, if you find out, don’t forget to let me know.” She noticed the snap of his wife and daughters on the bedside locker and picked it up. “Do you think of them often?”
“All the time. They mean everything. My marriage really worked. It was as simple as that. I never wanted anything else, and then the war came along and messed things up.”
“Yes, it has a bad habit of doing that.”
“Still, I can’t complain. Comfortable bed, decent cooking, and the oil lamp gives things a nicely old-fashioned atmosphere.”
“They cut off the electricity to this part of the island at nine o’clock sharp,” she said. “I know people who would be glad of that oil lamp.”
“Are things really as bad as that?”
“Of course they are.” There was a trace of anger in her voice. “What on earth would you expect? You’re lucky to have that cup of tea. Elsewhere in the island it could be a rather inferior substitute made from parsnips or black berry leaves. Or you could try acorn coffee. Not one of life’s great experiences.”
“And food?”
“You just have to get used to getting by with a lot less of it, that’s all. The same with tobacco.” She held up her cigarette. “This is real and very black market, but you can get anything if you have the right connections or plenty of cash. The rich here still do very well. The banks just operate in reichsmarks instead of pounds.” She smiled. “Do you want to know what it’s really like being occupied in Jersey?”
“It would be interesting.”
“Boring.” She plumped up his pillows. “I’m going to bed now.”