The Time in Between: A Novel (53 page)

Before I’d had the chance to say yes, he’d opened the next folder and continued.

“Gloria von Fürstenberg. Of Mexican origin in spite of her name. Be very careful what you say in front of her because she’ll be able to understand everything. She’s an incredible beauty, really elegant, the widow of a German aristocrat. She has two children and somewhat catastrophic economic circumstances, which is why she’s constantly on the hunt for a new rich husband or, in the absence of one of them, any gullible man with a fortune who might offer her enough support to maintain her grand lifestyle. Which is why she’s always attached to powerful men; she’s linked to various lovers, including the Egyptian ambassador and Juan March, the millionaire. Her social activity never stops, always within the Nazi community. She’ll give you a lot of work, too, you can count on that, though she might also take some time to pay her bills.”

He closed the folder back up and passed it to me; I put it on top of the previous one without opening it. He went on to the third.

“Elsa Bruckmann, born the Princess of Cantacuzène. A millionaire, passionate admirer of Hitler though much older than him. They say she was the person who introduced him to Berlin’s lavish social scene. She’s given an absolute fortune to the Nazi cause. Lately she’s been living in Madrid, in the ambassador’s residence, we don’t know why. That notwithstanding,
she seems to be very comfortable here, and she’s another who never misses a social event. She’s known to be a bit eccentric and quite indiscreet, so she may be an open book when it comes to divulging relevant information. Another cup of coffee?”

“Yes, but I can serve myself. Please go on, I’m listening.”

“Very well—thank you. The last of the German ladies: the Countess Mechthild Podewils, tall, beautiful, about thirty, separated, a good friend of Arnold, one of the top spies active in Madrid and high up in the SS; his surname is Wolf—she calls him
Wölfchen,
the diminutive, Little Wolf. She is extremely well connected with both Germans and Spaniards, the latter belonging to the aristocratic and governmental circles, including Miguel Primo de Rivera y Sáenz de Heredia, brother to José Antonio, who founded the Falange. She’s a fully fledged Nazi agent, though she may not know it herself; they say she doesn’t understand a word of politics or espionage, but they pay her fifteen thousand pesetas a month to tell them everything she sees and hears, and in Spain today that’s an absolute fortune.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Now we’re onto the Spaniards. Piedad Iturbe von Scholtz, Piedita to her friends. The Marchioness of Belvís de las Navas, married to Prince Max of Hohenlohe-Langenburg, a rich Austrian landowner, a legitimate member of European royalty, though he’s spent half his life in Spain. In principle he does support the German cause because that’s his country, but he’s in regular contact with us and with the Americans because we’re important to his business interests. Both are extremely cosmopolitan and they don’t seem to like the Führer’s ravings one bit. The truth is, they’re a charming couple and very well regarded in Spain, but they’re still on the fence, if I might put it like that. We want to keep an eye on them to learn whether they’re leaning more toward the German side than to ours, you understand?” he said, closing the relevant file.

“I understand.”

“And the last of the highest-valued targets, Sonsoles de Icaza, Marchioness of Llanzol. She’s the only one we’re not interested in for her consort, who’s a soldier and aristocrat thirty years older than her. Our
target here is her lover: Ramón Serrano Suñer, minister of governance and secretary-general of the movement. The minister of the Axis, we call him.”

“Franco’s brother-in-law?” I asked, surprised.

“The very same. Their relationship is quite brazen, on her part especially—she boasts publicly and without the slightest hesitation about her affair with the second most powerful man in Spain. This woman is as elegant as she’s arrogant, and very tough, so be careful. She’ll be of very considerable value to us, however, for all the information we’ll be able to get from her about those movements and contacts of Serrano Suñer’s that aren’t public knowledge.”

I hid my surprise at this comment. I knew that Serrano was a gallant man—he’d shown me that himself when he retrieved the powder compact that I’d dropped on the floor at his feet—but at the time he’d also seemed to me to be a discreet, restrained man; it was hard to imagine him participating in a scandalous extramarital affair with a stunning lady of the noblest birth.

“We have one more folder left, with information about a number of people,” Hillgarth went on. “According to the data we have, the wives of those mentioned here are less likely to have an urgent need to visit an elegant fashion house the moment it opens, but just in case they do it wouldn’t do you any harm to memorize their names. And in particular you should learn their husbands’ names well, as they’re our real targets. It’s also quite possible that they’ll be mentioned in your other clients’ conversations, so you should keep alert. Let me make a start; I’ll go through these ones quickly, and you’ll have plenty of time to go over them yourself more calmly. Paul Winzer, the Gestapo’s strongman in Madrid. Very dangerous; he’s feared and hated even by many of his compatriots. He’s Himmler’s henchman in Spain—Himmler’s the head of the German secret services. He’s barely forty, but already he’s an old dog—round glasses, a distracted gaze. He has dozens of collaborators right across Madrid, so beware. Next: Walter Junghanns, one of our most particular nightmares. He’s the main saboteur of cargoes of Spanish fruit headed for Great Britain: he plants bombs that have already killed a number of workers. Next: Karl Ernst von Merck,
a distinguished member of the Gestapo, highly influential within the Nazi party. Next: Johannes Franz Bernhardt, businessman . . .”

“I know him.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know him from Tetouan.”

“How well do you know him?” he asked slowly.

“Little. Very little. I’ve never spoken to him, but we were at the same reception from time to time when Beigbeder was commissioner there.”

“And does he know you? Would he be able to recognize you in a public place?”

“I doubt it. We’ve never exchanged a single word, and I don’t imagine he’d remember those meetings.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Women can tell perfectly when a man looks at us with interest, or when he looks at us as you might examine a piece of furniture.”

He remained silent a few moments, as though considering what he’d heard.

“I suppose that’s feminine psychology,” he said at last, skeptical.

“Exactly.”

“And his wife?”

“I made her a jacket once. You’re right, she’d never be one of the especially sophisticated ones. She’s not the kind of woman who’d mind at all about wearing last season’s wardrobe.”

“Do you think she’d remember you, that she’d recognize you if you ran into each other somewhere?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I can’t guarantee it. In any case, if she did, I don’t think it’d be too problematic. My life in Tetouan isn’t in contradiction with anything I’m going to be doing from now on.”

“Don’t be so sure. Out there you were a friend of Mrs. Fox, and by extension eventually of Colonel Beigbeder, too. In Madrid nobody can know anything about that.”

“But I was barely with them at public events, and as for our private meetings Bernhardt and his wife have no way of knowing anything about them. Don’t worry, I don’t think there should be any problems.”

“I hope you’re right. In any case, Bernhardt is more or less on the fringes of intelligence matters: his world is that of business. He’s the front man of the Nazi government in a hugely complex web of German corporations operating in Spain: transport, banking, insurance . . .”

“Does he have anything to do with HISMA?”

“HISMA, the Spanish-Moroccan Transportation Corporation, became a small business when they made the move back to the Peninsula. Now they operate under the auspices of another more powerful firm, SOFINDUS. But tell me, how come you’ve heard about HISMA?”

“I heard it mentioned in Tetouan during the war,” I replied vaguely. This wasn’t the moment to go into detail about the negotiation between Bernhardt and Serrano Suñer; that was something we’d left far behind.

“Bernhardt,” he went on, “has a bunch of political informers on his payroll, but what he’s really always after is information of commercial value. We’re assuming you’re never going to meet him—in fact he doesn’t even live in Madrid but on the eastern coast. They say that Serrano Suñer himself paid for the house by way of thanks for services rendered; we don’t know if the truth is quite that extreme or not. One more very important thing about him, though.”

“Tell me.”

“Wolfram.”

“What?”

“Wolfram,” he repeated. “A mineral of vital importance for the manufacturing of components for artillery projectiles for the war. We think Bernhardt’s in negotiations with the Spanish government to sell him mining concessions in Galicia and Extremadura in order to get hold of small sites so that he can buy directly from their owners. I don’t imagine people will be talking about these things in your workshop, but if you happen to hear anything about this, you’re to let us know at once. Remember:
wolfram
. Sometimes they call it tungsten. It’s written down here, in the section on Bernhardt,” he said, pointing at the document.

“I’ll bear it in mind.”

We each lit another cigarette.

“Well then, let’s go on to some things you should avoid. Are you tired?”

“Not in the least. Please, go on.”

“As to clients, there’s one small group you should avoid at all costs: the employees of the Nazi administration. It’s easy to recognize these women: they’re extremely showy and arrogant, they go around with a lot of makeup on, heavily perfumed and showily dressed. The truth is that they have no social pedigree at all and relatively modest professional qualifications, but their salaries are astronomical by current Spanish standards and they spend them ostentatiously. The wives of the powerful Nazis despise them, and they themselves—in spite of their apparent conceit—hardly dare to cough in front of their superiors. If they show up at your workshop, get rid of them without a second thought: you don’t want them there, they’ll drive away the more desirable clientele.”

“I’ll do as you say, don’t worry about it.”

“As for public establishments, we advise against your presence at places like Chicote, Riscal, Casablanca, or Pasapoga. They’re full of nouveaux riches, black marketeers, parvenus from the regime, and theater people. Company that isn’t to be recommended in your circumstances. As far as possible, restrict yourself to the hotels I’ve already mentioned to you, to Embassy, to other safe places like the Puerta de Hierro club or the casino. And needless to say, if you manage to get invited to dinners or parties with the German women in private homes, you’re to accept at once.”

“I will,” I said, not adding how much I doubted that I’d ever be invited to any such thing.

He looked at his watch and I did the same. There wasn’t much light left in the room; we were already surrounded by a premonition of nightfall. Around us there wasn’t a sound, just a thick smell from the lack of ventilation. It was past seven in the evening; we’d been together since ten in the morning, Hillgarth spewing information like a hose, and me absorbing it through all my senses to take in the tiniest details, digesting facts, trying to allow every last fiber of my being to become
imbued with his words. The coffee had been finished some time ago, and the cigarette butts were overflowing the ashtray.

“Well, we’re almost done now,” he announced. “All I have left are a few recommendations. The first of these is a message from Mrs. Fox. She’s asked me to tell you that—both in terms of your own appearance and your sewing work—you should try to be either bold and daring or pure elegance in its utmost simplicity. Either way, she advises you to avoid the conventional, and especially not to be mainstream, because if you do, she thinks there’s a risk that the workshop will fill up with the wives of big shots from the regime looking for modest jacket suits to go to Mass on Sundays with their husbands and children.”

I smiled. Rosalinda, incorrigible and unmistakable, even in messages delivered by someone else.

“Coming from that person, I’ll follow the advice without a second thought,” I said.

“And now, finally, our own suggestions. First: read the papers, keep up to date with the political situation, in Spain and also abroad, though bear in mind that all the information will always be slanted toward the German side. Second: always keep calm. Get yourself into character and convince yourself you are who you are, no one else. Act fearlessly, confidently: we can’t offer you diplomatic immunity, but I guarantee you that whatever happens you’ll always be protected. And our third and final piece of advice: be extremely wary in your personal life. A beautiful, single foreign woman will always attract all manner of playboys and opportunists. You can’t imagine how much confidential information has been revealed irresponsibly by careless agents in moments of passion. Be alert, and please do not share anything with anyone, anything at all of what you’ve heard here today.”

“I won’t, you can count on it.”

“Perfect. We trust you and hope that your mission will be successful.”

He began to gather up his papers and organize his briefcase. The moment had arrived that I’d been fearing all day: he was getting ready to leave and I had to stop myself from asking him to stay, to keep talking and giving me more instructions, not to let me fly free just yet.
But he was no longer looking at me, so he probably hadn’t noticed my reaction. He moved at the same pace with which he’d delivered his sentences, one by one, over the course of the previous hours: quick, direct, methodical, reaching the end of every subject without wasting a single second on banalities. While he put away his belongings, he passed on his final recommendations.

“Remember what I’ve told you about the files: study them and then make them disappear immediately. Someone’s going to accompany you now to a side door; there’s a car waiting close by to take you home. Here is the airline ticket and money for your initial expenses.”