To Catch a King. Jack Higgins

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      ‘All right. Put them on the desk.’

      The other woman did as she was told and went out. Back in the copying room she closed the door carefully, then opened a drawer and took out the extra copy of the Windsor report that she had made. She folded it carefully, raised her skirt and slipped it inside the top of her stocking.

      A moment later, the door opened and a young woman in SS auxiliary uniform entered. ‘Have you been busy?’

      ‘Not particularly.’

      ‘Good. You can go now.’

      She started to unbutton her uniform jacket and Irene Neumann took down her coat from behind the door and left.

      Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was fifty-two. A U-boat commander of distinction during the First World War, he was now head of the Abwehr, the Intelligence Department of the German Armed Forces High Command. Although a loyal German he, like many of the officer class, loathed most aspects of the Nazi regime, an attitude that was to lead to his downfall and execution towards the end of the war.

      Schellenberg was on close personal terms with him and they frequently rode together in the Tiergarten. As he waited beside his car, he could see the admiral now, cantering along the ride between the trees followed by his two favourite Dachshunds who were obviously experiencing some difficulty in keeping up with him. He saw Schellenberg when still some little distance away, waved and turned towards him.

      He reined in and dismounted. ‘Business, Walter, or conversation?’

      ‘Interchangeable, I usually find.’ Schellenberg called to his driver, ‘Come and hold the Herr Admiral’s horse.’

      They walked amongst the trees, the Dachshunds waddling at their heels.

      ‘How goes the war then, Walter? From your point of view, of course.’

      ‘Well, Herr Admiral, I think we could agree on that.’

      ‘And Sea Lion?’

      ‘Only the Führer has the facts there.’

      ‘And expects the British to sue for peace any day. Do you think they will?’

      ‘Not really.’

      ‘Neither do I. Not with the Channel to cross. And they always do so damned well with their backs to the wall. You heard the gist of Churchill’s speech? Fight on the beaches, in the streets. Blood, sweat, tears.’

      ‘There’s still the Luftwaffe to come.’

      ‘I know,’ Canaris said scornfully. ‘Fat Hermann boasting again. Reduce London to ashes, bomb them into submission. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do to the British army at Dunkirk? Instead, the Luftwaffe got all hell knocked out of it by a handful of Spitfires.’

      His face was stiff with anger and Schellenberg watched him closely. He genuinely liked Canaris; admired him as a man. On the other hand, the admiral was undoubtedly indiscreet. He was already suspected by Heydrich and Himmler, as Schellenberg well knew, of having leaked the date of the attack in the west to the Allies, which, if it was true, had certainly done them little good.

      ‘Well, what is it, Walter? What do you wish to discuss? I know that devious mind of yours by now. Spit it out.’

      ‘I was wondering,’ Schellenberg said, ‘whether you had an opinion on the Duke of Windsor.’

      Canaris roared with laughter. ‘Has von Ribbentrop gone crazy at last? Don’t tell me he’s dropped that one in your lap? My God, he really does have it in for you, doesn’t he?’

      ‘You know all about it then?’

      ‘Of course I do. He approached me personally yesterday. He knows we have an organization in Lisbon. He seemed to think we could handle the whole affair.’

      ‘And why don’t you?’

      ‘Our man there is a German industrialist who operates under the cover of a flourishing import-export business. In Abwehr files he is called A 1416.’

      ‘Yes, I met him when I was last in Lisbon.’

      ‘The British Secret Service know him, I believe, as Hamlet.’

      ‘A double agent? Then why don’t you have him eliminated?’

      ‘Because he serves my purposes. Feeds them the kind of information I want them to have on occasion. It’s a “we know that you know, that we know that you know” situation. Needless to say I couldn’t possibly give him the Windsor affair. He’d put the British straight on to it.’

      ‘And is that your only reason?’

      ‘No – I think the whole thing a nonsense. A number of incidents concerning the Duke have been hopelessly misconstrued. To give you an example; a speech he made some years ago at a British Legion rally suggesting that the time had come for British veterans of the First World War to hold out the hand of comradeship to German veterans, is taken by some of the more fatuous amongst our leaders to be an indication of his approval of National Socialism. Wishful thinking. I also believe the Führer mistaken in seeing in the Duke’s tour of our country in nineteen-thirty-seven any evidence of similar approval. May I remind you that a distinguished list of world leaders has visited the Reich. Does that make them all incipient Nazis?’

      ‘So – your opinion of the Duke is that he wouldn’t have the slightest interest in our overtures?’

      ‘He has a considerable amount of German blood in him, he speaks our language fluently and I believe he likes us. But it is my opinion, for what it’s worth, that this liking does not extend to the Nazi Party. There, have I shocked you?’

      ‘Not at all, Herr Admiral. I asked for your opinion and you have been good enough to give it to me. I shall respect the confidence.’

      They started back towards the car. Canaris said, ‘My final word. Examine the Duke’s record in the First World War. Gallant in the extreme. In spite of his father’s orders that he was to be kept out of action when on the Western Front, he loved nothing better than being with the Tommies, which was why they knew him and came to love him. A basic reason for his extraordinary popularity. He always made straight for the trenches. Did you know that his aides once made an official complaint? They said it was all right for him, but the trouble was they had to follow him into the shellfire too.’

      ‘Now that, I like,’ Schellenberg said. ‘That tells me more about the man than anything.’

      ‘Walter, in this matter the Führer is hopelessly wasting his time. Here is a man who renounced a throne rather than betray the woman he loved. Do you really imagine that such a man could betray his country?’

      At Estoril, in the pink stucco villa above the sea, the Duchess of Windsor sat beside the swimming pool. She was reading Wuthering Heights, one of her favourite novels, and was so absorbed in the action that she was not immediately aware that the Duke had emerged from the house on to the terrace and was standing beside her.

      She glanced up and removed her sunglasses. ‘Why, David, you startled me.’

      ‘What are you reading?’

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