Free Faith and Beauty by Jane Thynne

up.’
    ‘You want me to apply?’
    Grand bent his head to the complex task of extracting another Senior Service from his jacket pocket and fitting it into an ebony cigarette holder, then rose and strode over to the window.
    ‘People don’t apply for us, because we don’t officially exist. We approach those we think might be valuable. You’ve been in Berlin now, what, five years?’
    ‘Six.’
    ‘Quite so. They’ve just been celebrating the Führer’s birthday, I hear. What was that like?’
    ‘Not exactly understated.’
    He laughed drily.
    ‘So I understand. As a matter of fact, Noel Mason-MacFarlane, our military attaché in Berlin, offered to shoot Herr Hitler during the parade. He has a sixth-floor flat on the Charlottenburger Chaussee with a clear line of sight to the saluting podium and he said it would be easier than bagging a stag at a hundred yards to pick the beggar off. This chap’s an excellent shot so we put the plan forward to the Prime Minister.’
    He stared down at the street below as though Hitler was saluting right there on the pavement below him.
    ‘If you can believe, the PM overruled it as unsportsmanlike.’
    Clara could barely contain her astonishment. So she had not been the only person to contemplate the idea. Hitler might have been assassinated, while the eyes of the world were on him. What would the Ufa newsreel have made of that?
    ‘Unsportsmanlike?’ she echoed incredulously.
    Grand tucked his hands in his waistcoat pocket.
    ‘That was his precise word.’
    ‘I’m surprised.’
    ‘Good.’
    He wheeled round, all jocularity replaced by an expression of intense seriousness.
    ‘Our feeling here is that even at this late hour Mr Chamberlain badly underestimates the danger of Herr Hitler. I hope if you were ever in the same room as him, you would have no qualms. If the opportunity arose, we would not want you, Miss Vine, to be hindered by fears of “unsportsmanlike” behaviour.’
    Her heart bucked with fear, but she replied calmly.
    ‘I can’t imagine the opportunity would arise.’
    ‘Perhaps not.’
    He sat and crossed one leg over the other, stroking his trousered calf and scrutinizing her, as if trying to decide something.
    ‘I’m aware that life in Berlin is not a bed of roses. But it’s going to get much worse now that war is on the horizon. We all have decisions to make, but yours is especially acute.’
    Clara bent her head and smoothed the skirt on her knees, as though the mere action would help straighten out the questions in her mind. She had guessed that this summons would be a request from the British Intelligence Service – those shadowy men in Whitehall who had over the years been the ultimate recipients of all the gossip and information she relayed. She knew too that, just like Conrad Veidt and a host of other actors, if she chose to return to England she could make a fresh start in the British film industry. Yet mentally she had shied away from the question facing her. That same question which, beneath the penetrating gaze of Major Lawrence Grand, she knew she must now face.
    ‘We need to know, when hostilities arise, whether you intend to stay in Germany. It’s going to get a lot more dangerous.’
    Something about Grand’s bland assurance suddenly rankled. Who was this man in his smart suit and comfortable office to talk of danger? What could he know of what she went through on a daily basis?
    ‘You forget I’ve already been arrested and interrogated by the Gestapo, Major Grand. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to understand how dangerous Berlin can be. I’m not even living in my own apartment because I think I’m being watched.’
    An apologetic smile transformed his face and she could see a glimpse of the kindly man beneath the gruff exterior.
    ‘Forgive me. So I take it you have decided to stay?’
    Clara quailed at the direct question. The twists and turns that had determined her life had always been impulsive ones. The decision to leave