Resistance

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Very. To the man involved. And anyone else who may be involved. I would like to have you to myself this weekend. You don’t object?’

  ‘I’m flattered. But I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your sister.’

  ‘There won’t be any trouble. Now, how long are you staying?’

  ‘I must be back on Sunday evening.’

  She made the moue he remembered so well. ‘That is not very long.’

  ‘Well, there is this war business...’

  ‘It is a nuisance. Now, tomorrow is a write-off, at least until the evening. The Catholic ceremony is at ten, then we have to go to the synagogue at eleven, then there is the reception and the banquet, which is unlikely to break up much before eight... We could go off on our own then.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. Did you say synagogue?’

  ‘Henri is a Jew. Do you have anything against Jews?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s just that...’

  ‘I know. This is the first time a de Gruchy has married a Jew. But Amalie is so in love. And he really is very nice. He’s in Pierre’s regiment. They are best friends. That’s how they met, when Pierre brought him down to Paulliac fort visit last year. Amalie fell in love at first sight.’

  ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’

  Another moue. ‘It is risky. Second perhaps.’ She kissed him again. ‘Now you get dressed and I will see you downstairs.’ She closed the door behind herself, and he remained staring at it for several seconds. I fell in love at first sight, he thought. But that was before he had met Liane. So was he setting up to be the most unutterable cad? He simply couldn’t let Madeleine down. But when he went into the bathroom to shave he deliberately did not lock the door to Liane’s room... and then realized he was too late; the bathroom was heavy with her scent. She must have used it when he had been asleep. Maybe he had had a lucky escape, at least from himself.

  He dressed and went downstairs, to a drawing room filled with people. To his great relief several of the men were in uniform, even if French uniforms managed to look so much more glamorous than British.

  Madeleine was waiting for him, stunning in a dark green evening gown cut low both front and back. She tucked her arm through his and led him into the throng. ‘I want you to meet Pierre.’

  He looked left and right, and spotted Liane, talking to someone with her usual animation. She was wearing pale blue, and had her back to him, but he could tell that her decolletage was quite as deep as her sister’s. ‘Ah,’ Pierre said. ‘The usurper.’ He was every bit as handsome as his sisters were beautiful, and wore the uniform of a lieutenant in the Motorized Cavalry. ‘But like a good soldier, you were obeying orders, eh? This is Henri.’

  The man beside him, slight and dark, wearing the same uniform and displaying the same rank, shook hands. ‘Liane tells me you are in Military Intelligence. Do you have any idea when the enemy will attack?’

  ‘I’m afraid only Herr Hitler knows that,’ James said.

  ‘And he will not tell us. But he will come one day. We are looking forward to encountering these famous panzers, eh?’

  ‘No apprehensions?’

  ‘Should we have? We are not the Poles, with their outmoded equipment. Our Sommas are the biggest and best tanks in the world. We each command one. The Germans have nothing to match us.’ Something else, and much better, to report when he got back.

  ‘We are not discussing the war tonight,’ Madeleine said. ‘Come and meet Amalie.’

  James had been doing some mental arithmetic. He had placed Madeleine’s age at about twenty-four, or two years younger than himself. If Liane was about six years older, as suggested by what Madeleine had told him, she was probably thirty. Pierre had to be younger than Madeleine, as he was still a lieutenant. Probably he was around twenty-two. Thus Amalie could hardly be more than twenty, as was obvious in the immaturity of both face and figure when compared with her sisters, although that she would at least equal them in time was obvious. But what had accounted for the six-year gap between Liane and Madeleine? Or was there yet another sibling tucked away somewhere? He needed to concentrate on the present. ‘How very good of you to attend my wedding,’ Amalie said, in faultless English. Like Madeleine she had dark hair, and like both her sisters the most enchanting voice; she was actually the tallest of the three, by a couple of inches, with an elegant slenderness of body, and even more lively eyes.

  ‘It is very good of you to invite me, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Oh, Amalie, please.’

  ‘And this is Joanna.’

  ‘Well, say,’ Joanna remarked. ‘You mean you don’t speak too much French either? You could be a gift from the gods.’

  If entirely different in appearance from the Gruchys, the Swedish-American woman was no less striking. Her features, softly rounded rather than crisp, were framed in long, straight yellow hair; again, it would have been quite unfashionable in London, or, he suspected, New York, but perhaps not in Stockholm, and definitely not in the de Gruchy drawing room. Taller than Amalie, and in fact only an inch or two shorter than himself, her figure was definitely voluptuous, amply displayed by the apparently de rigueur low-cut evening gown. If James hadn’t already been overwhelmed by the female pulchritude with which he was surrounded, he would have been again rendered speechless.

  ‘Actually, she speaks perfect French,’ Madeleine remarked. ‘She just likes to pretend. This is Aubrey. Now he doesn’t have a word of French. Aubrey is Joanna’s brother.’

  ‘Hi.’ Aubrey shook hands. He did not bear the slightest resemblance to his sister, as, although he was fair-haired, he was short and slender, as well as obviously younger.

  ‘Aubrey is my half-brother,’ Joanna corrected. ‘Mom married again. Are you really in Military Intelligence?’

  James was regretting having confided that fact. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘You and I must have a get-together.’

  ‘Eh?’ He cast Madeleine an anxious glance, but she was deep in conversation, in voluble French, with another guest.

  ‘Well, you might be able to tell me something I could use.’

  ‘Use for what?’

  ‘I’m a journalist,’ she explained. ‘Oh, I’m on holiday right this moment, visiting Pa and attending this wedding, but my boss did say he’d be happy if I could pick up anything kind of confidential we could maybe use while I’m in the war zone, you could say.’

  ‘And you seriously expect me to give you classified information?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be all stuffy.’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘1 could maybe make it worth your while.’

  To his great relief Madeleine turned back to them, and the conversation became general. James could not stop himself continually glancing at Liane, and eventually she did drift across the room towards him. ‘You are a heavy sleeper,’ she remarked.

  He gazed at her in consternation. Could she possibly have come into his room while he had been asleep? But before he could think of a riposte, the dinner gong went. James was required to take Madeleine in; he found himself sitting between her and another woman, with Liane at the far end of the long table. ‘Monsieur Moulin, 1 would like to introduce you to Captain Barron, British Military Intelligence. I’m afraid Captain Barron does not speak much French.’

  Jean Moulin was seated opposite him, and gave a slight bow over his soup plate. He was a handsome man, not very old, with intelligent features. James braced himself for the inevitable question, but he merely said, in English, ‘We are flattered by your presence, monsieur.’

  ‘Monsieur Moulin is the prefect of Chartres,’ Madeleine explained.

  James all but choked on his soup; he had never before moved in this social class. ‘You have a beautiful city, monsieur,’ he managed.

  ‘It is old, and venerable, and needs looking after,’ Moulin observed.

  ‘But it is not so beautiful as Bordeaux,’ Madeleine declared. ‘As you will see, James, when you visit us in Paulliac.’

  ‘When you can see
it,’ Moulin agreed, with easy humour. ‘That is, when the morning mist clears off the Garonne. That is usually about noon, is it not?’

  ‘I hate you,’ Madeleine said, with one of her flashing smiles.

  James waited for the conversation to drift away from them, then asked, ‘Is the prefect a friend of your family?’

  ‘Of course, or he would not be here.’

  ‘Quite. I really must get out of the habit of asking stupid questions. But...am I going to visit you in Paulliac?’

  ‘The next time you have leave. Only you must come for a fortnight. When will that be?’

  James considered. He would be due for Blighty leave in August, and duty required him to go home to his parents. But could duty possibly compete with desire? ‘Will that also be a family gathering?’

  ‘I doubt it, unless Mr Hitler has given up and gone home by then. Liane hardly ever comes down: she finds it boring. She prefers Paris. She has a flat there. And Pierre will be with his regiment. And Amalie will be living in Dieppe with Henri’s parents. But that will be perfect, don’t you see? We’ll have the place all to ourselves.’

  The party broke up about eleven; everyone knew that the morrow was going to be a long and hectic day. ‘You can walk me to my room,’ Madeleine suggested, after they had said their goodnights, and held his hand as they climbed the stairs. ‘Did you enjoy the evening?’

  ‘It was a bit overwhelming.’

  ‘I know. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you. Did you like our friends?’

  ‘Ah...’

  ‘Be honest. I shan’t be offended.’

  ‘That American creature...’

  ‘Joanna Jonsson? Isn’t she gorgeous?’

  ‘I suppose she is.’

  ‘But you didn’t like her.’

  ‘Is she a close friend of yours?’

  ‘Not really. She’s Liane’s friend. They were at Lucerne together.’ She gave one of her little giggles. ‘They were expelled together.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me why?’

  ‘Haven’t you asked Liane yet?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘I’ll tell you the whole story when you come down to Paulliac. How did Joanna upset you?’

  ‘She wanted me to give her some secret information to publish in her newspaper. She said she was a journalist.’

  ‘She is a journalist. But I agree, that is a bit naughty. Never mind. She goes home on Saturday.’

  ‘Back to the States?’

  ‘Not right now. To Stockholm, to be with her father. Anyway, we’ll be rid of her.’ She paused before a door named Moscow. ‘Here we are.’ Her arms went round his neck. ‘Would you like to come in?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’d like to. But...’

  ‘You’re a gentleman. I’m glad of that. I’d like to ask you in, but I’m a lady. Well, I suppose I am.’

  A last squeeze, and she closed the door behind herself. James slowly retraced his steps to Wagram. He had had a great deal to drink, both champagne and the family brew, and lacking the steadying influence of Madeleine’s arm, found the hallway inclined to sway. Fortunately there was no one about and he gained the room without mishap.

  He stripped off his clothes, trying to focus on what had happened this evening, and what might happen were he to visit Paulliac, if he was going to visit Paulliac. He opened the bathroom door and blinked, as the light was already on, and gazed at Liane, wearing only a pair of knickers, bending over the basin as she cleaned her teeth. ‘Oh, my God!’ Hastily he stepped back through the doorway as she turned to face him.

  ‘I don’t think you can rush off now,’ she remarked.

  ‘I…’ He tried to do absurd things with his hands. ‘I completely forgot we were sharing. I’ll just...’

  ‘Come here.’

  ‘I need to put something on.’

  ‘I like you better the way you are.’ He stepped back into the bathroom while she rinsed her mouth. As he had known would be the case, she was superbly built, the breasts high, the belly flat, the legs long and strong. Liane dried her mouth. ‘You have the advantage of me,’ she said. ‘I’m a great believer in equality.’ She slipped her knickers down her thighs and allowed them to slide down her legs to the floor, thereby redoubling her beauty.

  ‘Listen...’ he tried.

  ‘You need to use the toilet. I’ll wait in the other room.’

  To his consternation she went through his doorway, not hers. He cleaned his teeth and followed her. ‘We must be mad.’

  ‘It’s the best way to be.’ She lay on the bed, one leg up. ‘Madeleine...’

  ‘Are you the confessing kind?’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘Neither am I. What she doesn’t know will never harm her.’

  ‘She’s your sister!’

  ‘Sisters are supposed to share. Even if they don’t know they’re doing it.’ She stroked his thigh. ‘I’d say you’re about ready. I know I am, but take your time.’

  He lay beside her, kissed her mouth — he had wanted to do that from the moment he had seen her — then tentatively stroked her breasts — something else he had never supposed he would ever be allowed to do — and could not suppress a little convulsive jerk when her hand slipped down to find his manhood.

  She frowned. ‘You have done this before?’

  ‘Well... not with... well...’ He knew he was blushing.

  ‘You mean you’ve only ever been with a whore? You poor boy. Come to mother.’

  *

  When James awoke she was gone. But her scent was everywhere. My God, he thought. What have I done? What she had wanted. Because she had been as drunk as himself? Or simply because it was something she had wanted to do. He remembered Madeleine’s warning. But Madeleine! He sat up. How could he face her? And she had all sorts of plans for the rest of the weekend. He had to face her. He had to face all of them, including Monsieur and Madame de Gruchy! And it was clearly going to be an early start. Although it was only half past six the house was filled with noise.

  James frowned. The noise was random, and very loud. And not at all joyous; he was sure he could hear a woman screaming. More than one. He swung his legs out of bed, and his door crashed open. Pierre stood there, fully dressed. ‘Have you heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘The Germans have invaded Holland and Belgium. They are through Luxembourg. They are about to enter France. The battle has begun.’

  Two

  Blitzkrieg

  James sat on the bed. Of course they had always known this was going to happen. But to have it happen just at this moment...

  ‘What’s happening downstairs?’

  ‘You could say all hell has broken loose,’ Pierre said. ‘Henri and I have to rejoin our regiments immediately.’

  ‘But the wedding...’

  ‘That’s it. Amalie is having hysterics. I have to get down there. Come as quickly as you can.’

  James nodded, watched the door close, and dashed into the bathroom... and encountered Liane, fully dressed in her shirt and slacks. ‘I was listening. Will you have to go?’

  ‘Well, of course I must go.’

  ‘Have you had orders as well?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Well, then...’

  ‘The reason I have not had orders is that no one knows exactly where I am. Only that I am in Chartres.’ He began to shave.

  ‘Then if you stayed here, no one would ever know where you are.’ She was standing behind him, and he looked at her in the mirror. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You would be a deserter. Oh, fuck it!’

  He blew her a kiss. ‘I’d rather fuck you.’

  ‘Listen...’ She checked as the bedroom door opened and closed.

  ‘James?’ Madeleine asked. Liane darted back into her room and closed the door. ‘James?’ Madeleine came into the bathroom. ‘I could swear I heard Liane’s voice just now.’

  ‘Yes. She came in, saw I was here, apologized, and left.’

  Madeleine looked him up and down. �
�She saw you like that? Do you always sleep in the nude?’

  ‘I forgot to bring any pyjamas. And now you’ve seen me like this as well. You told me I shouldn’t apologize.’ He stepped past her and began to dress.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Rejoin my unit.’

  ‘Shit!’ She sat on the bed. ‘Will you be coming back?’

  ‘If I’m invited.’

  ‘Of course you’re invited. Now and always.’ Her shoulders hunched. ‘There was so much I wanted to do with this weekend.’

  He stood in front of her while he knotted his tie. ‘Madeleine...’ She raised her head, and he realized that now was not the time. Why cause grief and anger when he might never see either of them again? ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’

  She left the room, shoulders still hunched, and he finished dressing, repacked his valise, and hurried down the stairs, to find the hall filled with people. Henri stood with his arms round a weeping Amalie. His parents, whom James had met after dinner, stood behind him, looking absolutely shattered. Pierre had his arm round Liane. Joanna Jonsson stood with her half-brother, eyes gleaming; no doubt, James deduced, she was mentally composing a report for her newspaper. Aubrey looked bewildered.

  Only Albert and Barbara de Gruchy appeared quite calm, and Monsieur de Gruchy was clapping his hands for silence. ‘So the Boche has acted,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘He will have to be taught a lesson. We must all do our duty. Those of you who are soldiers must return to the colours. The rest of us must preserve the home front. But...’ He raised his voice as a combined rustle and murmur spread round the throng. ‘We have some unfinished business. Today was to be the happiest day of my daughter’s life. I am resolved that it will be as happy a day as is possible. I have sent for Father Jerome, and the ceremony will take place now, here, before any of you depart.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘I promise you it will be a short one.’ He looked at the Bursteins. ‘The second ceremony will be held as soon as possible. Now...’ He looked past them at Antoine, standing in the outer doorway and signalling. ‘Father Jerome is here. Will you kindly take your places in the drawing room.’

  Madeleine had joined them, like her sister, wearing slacks. ‘We are the bridesmaids,’ she said. ‘Dressed like this! I have no hat.’