Mata Hari's Last Dance(57)

I keep my relationship with the French Secret Service to myself, and Sir Thomson continues to interrogate me, persisting in calling me Miss Benedix. It’s a nightmare. At last I shut my eyes and real tears leak out. “Please, please believe me. I am Mata Hari.”

“Miss Benedix, I will believe you when you are honest with me.” He stands and the stenographer rises with him.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” Sir Thomson reaches for his hat. “I will see you tomorrow.”

I’m taken back to my cell and the bars clang shut.

*

There’s nothing to keep me warm for the night, not even a towel. A bucket was placed on the floor while I was being interrogated by Sir Thomson. Apparently, that’s where I’m supposed to relieve myself. I collapse onto the bed and cry. Then I think about Va--dime in his hospital bed in Vittel, waiting for me to return with the money that will take us away to New York from the wretchedness that is Europe.

I must survive this. Whatever happens, I must continue my mission and find my way to Belgium. I close my eyes and let myself dream about life in New York. We’ll rent an apartment in one of the unbelievably tall buildings Guimet spoke about so long ago. My God, has it only been twelve years? It feels like a lifetime. I was so innocent then, so hopeful that everything would work out. I think of all the money that’s come my way, passing through my fingers like sand. How many times did Edouard warn me? Save. Don’t spend on foolish trinkets. No one needs three fur coats and diamond rings. I’m going to save everything from this Belgian mission. Not a single franc is going to be spent before we reach New York.

But first, I have to leave London.

*

Eggs, milk, two pieces of buttered toast. When it is brought to my cell, I eat every bite because I know I’ll need my strength. Then I am taken to meet Sir Thomson in the same windowless room. As soon as I take my seat he says, “We have had confirmation of your identity, Miss Zelle. It seems we must offer you an apology.”

I am relieved beyond description.

“But I’m afraid I still have questions for you to answer. Why are you traveling from Madrid to Amsterdam?”

“To see my daughter.” The answer comes to me immediately.

“Are you referring to Jeanne Louise MacLeod? The girl hasn’t seen you in more than a decade. Why the urge to see her now?”

I flinch. It is painful to hear the truth. “I miss her,” I say.

“I don’t believe you planned to visit Jeanne Louise MacLeod. So. Who sent you to Amsterdam, Miss Zelle?”

In the end, I tell him everything—or nearly everything. He sits across from me and listens while the stenographer writes. When I’m finished, he says, “I will send a telegram to Commandant Ladoux. If he confirms your employment, you are free to go.”

*

A basket of fruit awaits my arrival at the Savoy, on a bed that smells of freshly picked lavender. Like the Grand in Paris, it’s as if the war does not exist here. The first thing I do is run the bath, then sit in the water until my fingers become small pink prunes.

I dress in my favorite silk robe and take a packet of letters out of one of my returned trunks; the men at Scotland Yard have read them. That’s fine. So now they’ve learned that I’m in love with Vadime. I wasn’t foolish enough to write anything down that would be of concern to Commandant Ladoux. I find the letter I was writing when I was detained. I’ll never be home by Christmas now. I take out a pen and complete it:

On February 3rd, meet me in the lobby of the Grand, my love. From there we will start a new life together. One without fear or loneliness or war. I’ll be waiting for you with open arms.

The next morning I give my letter to the concierge and return to my room to wait for Sir Thomson.

I wait all day, but he doesn’t arrive.

*

The following evening, I am beginning to feel very uneasy. When Sir Thomson arrives at the Savoy and tells me that Commandant Ladoux has confirmed my employment, I am overwhelmed with relief.

“He has also given you instructions,” he says. He hands me a telegram.

The paper says: RETURN TO MADRID. Three terse words.

“I suggest you leave London at the next opportunity,” Sir Thomson says.

Does he think I’m a fool? I wait until Sir Thomson has departed before destroying the telegram. Of course I will leave London. My mission is to reach Belgium. And that is what I am going to do. I will prove to Commandant Ladoux that I am a trustworthy emissary for France.





Chapter 17


Sent in Code

A day passes. Then three. Finally, a week slips by and I am still at the Savoy. I send another telegram to Ladoux. “Without instructions for Madrid,” I say. “Immediately advise.”

By the second week I begin to worry about the silence, and soon my fear becomes a vise grip. Has Ladoux dismissed me? Or are the British detaining his telegrams? I can’t tolerate more delay; I have already arranged a date to meet Vadime. He expects me to collect him at the Grand in Paris. I will not disappoint him.

I must have Ladoux’s money by then.

If I don’t complete this mission, there will be no money. My future depends on completing the task the French Secret Service has set for me.

Von Schilling gave me no names to call on in London, but there is a German military attaché, a Major Arnold Kalle, listed in Madrid. I decide on a course of action.