1927: Europe is healing.
Berlin is burning—bright with decadence, danger, and change.
Ladies’ magazines spin a seductive illusion of fashion, culture and opportunity. The reality is acrobats and divorcees, degenerates and amputees luring a dreamer with innocent blue eyes.
The second in The Years Between series, A Pair of Blue Eyes is out on May 6 as ebook and paperback.
Click here to order yours.
“My name is Eloise de Fournier from Fribourg. I’m a mother of two children and until recently, I was a journalist for Vogue magazine in Berlin.”
The uniformed man shook his head with a patronising sneer. “I’m sure you thought it would be easy to slip past some country soldiers with no experience of foreign agents. Wrong. We are professional Swiss border guards, trained to identify and apprehend malignant forces which threaten our nation.”
Eloise was so blindsided that she actually laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
The atmosphere cooled.
“Let’s try that again, shall we?” The officer curled one hand into a fist and covered it with the other. “I am a military man, well disciplined, fair minded and not prone to fits of temper. The interrogation squad are rather less predictable. That said, no one can deny they certainly get results. Your choice is simple, madam. You can talk to me or I hand you over to them.”
Eloise stared at him, unable to think of a thing to say.
“I have a few questions about some anomalies in your story. If you answer them to my satisfaction, you may go on your way. If not, the interrogation squad will get the information we need using their own methods. Do you understand me?”
“I … yes, of course. I have nothing to hide. I am a Swiss citizen, returning home to her family. There is no need to treat me like a criminal.”
“Good. In that case, please allow the sergeant to inspect your handbag.”
Instinctively, Eloise clutched it tighter. The moustached man held out a hand and she relinquished it with as much dignity as she could manage. Her throat swelled at the injustice, but she would not allow herself to cry. Tears should be reserved for people who mattered.
“To business: I want to know why you are driving an expensive vehicle whilst unemployed. Please tell me why you are travelling home with nothing but a holdall, which contains a large amount of jewellery. For what reason would you be carrying a valuable artwork wrapped in Russian newspapers? Who are you working for and what information do you seek?”
“And why are you carrying a large amount of Reichsmarks?” added the sergeant, showing the contents of her purse.
Eloise closed her eyes and placed a hand over her mouth. She had a sudden recollection of a visit to her brother when he was studying in Zürich. An elderly couple on the train had regarded her with some censure and she chose to make sport of their obvious disapproval.
Oh, Bastian! With all manner of allusions and hints as to my top-secret mission, I more or less convinced them I was Mata Hari. Ha, ha! They’ll be talking about me the entire weekend.
She inhaled deeply and wished she hadn’t. The air was stale, the soldiers smelt of sweat and mouldy uniforms, and she herself was none too fragrant after driving all morning.
“Are you seriously accusing me of being a spy?”
“Unless you can prove otherwise, madam, a charge of espionage looks likely. Treason carries a heavy penalty.”
Unbidden, her brother’s response floated into her mind. As a matter of fact, Mata Hari was executed by firing squad during the war.