‘You abandoned him.’ Amalie went back up the stairs. ‘Well, there’s a welcome,’ Pierre remarked.
‘She’s had a difficult time,’ Madeleine said.
‘I give you a toast, on this happiest of Bastille Days.’ Albert de Gruchy stood at the head of the table and raised his glass. ‘The family! Reunited.’ His eyes gleamed with tears.
‘Except for Liane,’ Madeleine said.
‘Where is Liane?’ Pierre asked.
Madeleine could tell that he was happier than anyone to be home, wearing his own clothes, eating good food and drinking good wine, dining with his own family. As to where he had spent the last two months, how he had survived, he would no doubt tell them in his own time. But she also wished that Liane could have been here with them tonight.
‘Liane is in Paris,’ Barbara said, somewhat sharply. ‘And appears to wish to stay there.’
‘But she’s all right? She’s been in touch?’
‘We have not heard a word from her since she drove off with you, and Henri, and those Americans, and that English officer, on the day the invasion started.’
‘But... my God! Something must have happened to her.’
‘Nothing has happened to her. We know she is all right because Brissard has seen her. She called at the office. And she has been drawing money regularly from her account. She just does not seem to wish to be in touch.’
‘Haven’t you tried to contact her?’
‘We tried while we were in Chartres. But the phones were down. Now we cannot get permission to telephone from here.’
‘We have written,’ Albert said. ‘But we do not know if she received our letters; there has never been a reply.’
‘She is enjoying herself,’ Amalie said, bitterly. ‘Liane is always enjoying herself.’
‘I think someone should go to Paris and see her,’ Madeleine said, and looked at her parents. ‘But they won’t let me.’
‘It is far too dangerous for a young woman to travel about the country, even if we could get permission,’ Barbara said. ‘When we think of what happened... well...’ She flushed.
Pierre looked from face to face.
‘Mama is referring to me,’ Amalie said. ‘I was arrested by the Gestapo.’
‘Arrested? My God! But why?’
‘I hit one of their people on the head.’ Pierre stared at his sister with his mouth open, it was when they arrested Monsieur and Madame Burstein. Just for being Jews. I lost my temper.’
‘But... you are here.’
‘Madeleine’s boyfriend got me out,’ Amalie said, contemptuously.
Pierre looked at Madeleine. ‘He is a friend,’ she said, cheeks pink. ‘Not a boyfriend.’
‘A German?’
‘He had to be German, or he could not have helped me.’
Pierre scratched his head.
‘You know they arrested Jean Moulin?’ Albert asked.
‘What did he do?’
‘I don’t know. They just took him off, and he disappeared.’
‘Well,’ Pierre said, ‘when I go to Paris, I will find out what happened to him. And I will visit Liane and give her a lecture.’
‘You are going to Paris?’ Barbara asked, concerned.
‘Papa is sending me to take over the office there.’
Everyone looked at Albert. ‘It is what he wants to do,’ Albert mumbled, not meeting any of their eyes.
‘So Papa’s toast was an empty one,’ Pierre remarked. He and Madeleine walked by the river, with the dogs. The morning mist was just starting to clear, but there was little traffic to be seen, save for a German patrol launch slowly making its way upstream.
‘Five of us are here,’ Madeleine protested.
‘But there is no unity. Amalie is traumatized and miserable, desperate for news of Henri. It may be years before she gets over what has happened to her, if she ever does.’
‘Do you think that Henri is dead?’
‘It is very likely that he is. And if he is not dead, he is an outlaw, simply because he is a Jew. Liane has cut herself off from us. I suppose she is having a great time entertaining German officers. Mama is on the verge of a breakdown. And you...’
‘I did what I had to do to save Amalie’s life.’
‘She does not seem to see it that way.’
‘As you said, she is traumatized. And what right have you to criticize any of us? You are going to Paris to sell wine. Who are you going to sell it to, if not German officers? So you are doing it to save the business, keep us all from penury. I do not see how you can claim to be any different from any of us.’
He looked at her in a fashion she had never known before; she felt quite uneasy. Then he said, ‘I must get back. The bus for Bordeaux leaves in an hour.’
She caught his hand. ‘Pierre! Take me with you.’
‘Why do you want to go to Paris?’
‘I want to find out for myself what Liane is doing.’
‘You mean you are afraid that if I find her sleeping with German officers I will beat her up?’
‘Won’t you?’
Another strange look. ‘I can’t take you with me. My travel permit is for me alone. I will let you know what I find, and we will discuss what to do.’
*
‘Papa,’ Madeleine said, entering the office. ‘Did Pierre tell you what he was doing for those eight weeks?’
‘It is his business. What matters is that he is here now.’
‘But he is not here now. He is in Paris now. Or he will be tomorrow.’
‘Well, he must have something to do. And Brissard is getting on.’
‘But Pierre knows nothing about the business. He has been in the army since he left school.’
‘He will learn quickly. Brissard will teach him.’
Madeleine knew he was lying. Her own father, lying? ‘Don’t you think he has changed?’ she asked. ‘He seems different. He does not smile anymore.’
‘War, battle, does that to a man. I remember, from 1914.’
‘You smile.’
‘That is because my experience was a long time ago. I have got over it. So will Pierre, in time.’
‘Will he be in trouble?’
Albert frowned. ‘Why should he be in trouble?’
‘Well... he’s a deserter, isn’t he?’
‘A deserter?’
‘If he had stayed with his regiment he would have been taken prisoner by the Germans. Those of our people who were taken prisoner are only now being released.’
‘I do not know about that. And I do not care. Neither should you. Pierre is my son and your brother. That he is alive and well and back with us is all that matters, or should matter.’
‘Yes, Papa.’ Madeleine left the office and went on to the porch. It was a lovely summer’s day, and never had she felt so discontented, so uneasy. Her life seemed to have escaped her. There was so much happening in the world, and she was doing nothing. She had no idea what she should do, or could do. Worse, she had no idea what she wanted to do. Whom she wanted to be with. She had found James Barron most attractive, because of his innocence, the wonder he had revealed at her surroundings, her aura, his so carefully practised manners — while understanding from their first meeting that had it not been for the sudden egalitarianism induced by the war she would never even have considered speaking with him. Now she did not even know if he was alive. She did know that, alive or not, there was no likelihood of any British soldier setting foot on French soil again for the duration of the Reich, and according to Hitler that was going to last a thousand years.
But James Barron, if he was alive, was still fighting against the Nazis. Every true Frenchman, or Frenchwoman, had to respond to that, at least emotionally, even if the people in Vichy were denouncing this man de Gaulle as a traitor for refusing to accept his country’s surrender. The point was, where did that leave Frederick? Supposing he ever did wish to see her again? Frederick was handsome, attractive, beautifully mannered, clearly in her own social class... but he
was a Nazi, an enemy of her people and her country. Of herself.
Well, she supposed, like James, she was very unlikely ever to see him again either. And then stiffened as she watched a command car coming down the drive.
*
Her instincts told her that it was Frederick before he was close enough to be recognized. Then she nearly ran into the house. But she stood her ground, smoothing her dress as the car came to a halt, because now her instincts were warning her that this was not a social visit. Frederick was accompanied by a man, tall and thin and with a hatchet face, and not wearing uniform. Both got out, ignoring the barking, frisking dogs, and Frederick led the way up the steps. His greeting was warm enough. ‘Madeleine! How good it is to see you again.’ But his eyes were watchful. ‘I would like you to meet Colonel Kluck of the Gestapo.’
Madeleine swallowed, but held out her hand. Kluck ignored it. ‘Is your father at home?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your sisters?’
‘My sister Amalie is here.’
‘Summon them. And your mother.’ Kluck walked into the hall.
Madeleine looked at Frederick, and received a quick nod. Alphonse the butler had now arrived, and she told him to call the family. ‘If you will come into the drawing room, gentlemen,’ she invited, and led the way. Her knees felt weak with apprehension, even if the presence of Frederick was reassuring. But it had to be something to do with Pierre. ‘Would you like anything to drink?’
‘No.’ Kluck stood in front of the fireplace, and turned to face the room, drawing off his gloves.
‘Later, perhaps,’ Frederick said, gazing at her. She could read nothing in his expression, but at least one eyebrow twitched.
Albert hurried into the room, followed by Barbara. ‘Gentlemen?’
‘I wish to see your daughters,’ Kluck said.
‘This is my daughter,’ Albert said.
‘I wish to see the others.’
Albert turned to Alphonse, who had followed him into the room. ‘Madame Burstein refuses to come down, monsieur,’ Alphonse explained.
‘Oh.’ He turned back to the two officers. ‘She is having a difficult time. Her husband died in the war.’
‘I know of this woman,’ Kluck said. ‘I will speak with her later. I am looking for your other daughter.’
‘Liane is in Paris,’ Madeleine explained.
‘We do not think she is any longer in Paris,’ Kluck declared. ‘We think she has come here. Or will shortly do so.’
‘I wish she had come here,’ Barbara said. ‘We have not seen her or heard of her since May.’
‘Why should she have left Paris?’ Madeleine asked.
‘I shall tell you, mademoiselle.’
Helsingen spoke sharply in German, and Kluck responded, equally sharply. Helsingen glared at him, then addressed Barbara. ‘I think you should sit down, madame. You too, monsieur. And you, Madeleine.’ The Gruchys sank into chairs.
‘Your daughter has committed murder,’ Kluck announced.
‘What?!!’ Albert shouted.
‘Oh, my God!’ Barbara moaned. Madeleine’s brain went blank.
‘She killed an associate of mine, a Captain Werner Biedermann, in the most cold-blooded manner.’
Madeleine looked at Helsingen. ‘I’m afraid it appears to be true,’ he said.
‘Where did this happen?’ Albert asked.
‘In her Paris apartment, five days ago,’ Kluck said. ‘But her crime was only discovered two days ago, when Captain Biedermann’s whereabouts were traced. As I have said, it was a most cold-blooded and premeditated crime. Your daughter lured Captain Biedermann to her apartment, plied him with drink, in which she had dissolved some sleeping tablets, had sexual relations with him’ — Barbara gasped — ‘and then, when he had fallen asleep, cut his throat. Following which she simply walked away, leaving him to rot. Quite literally.’
Barbara burst into tears. ‘You cannot know this,’ Madeleine cried. ‘You were not there. He must have forced himself on her and she was defending herself.’
‘Our forensic people have been able to reconstruct the crime almost completely, Fraulein. Captain Biedermann’s clothes were found in the apartment lounge, undamaged and unstained by blood. This indicates that he undressed himself at leisure. Your daughter’s dressing gown was also found in the lounge, undamaged and unstained. This indicates that she undressed of her own free will. There are no scratch marks or contusions on the captain’s body to suggest that any resistance was offered to his advances. A post-mortem examination has revealed that he had a sexual discharge immediately before his death, and also found traces of a barbiturate substance in his bowels. The knife which cut his throat was a kitchen carver, and was wielded from behind by a right-handed person. This indicates that the captain offered no resistance to his murderer, which means that he was unconscious when he was killed.’
Barbara fanned herself vigorously. ‘But the blood,’ Albert said. ‘There would have been blood everywhere.’
‘There was indeed blood everywhere. Which further indicates your daughter’s cold-blooded guilt. It would appear that when she had finished, she bathed herself in a large, hot tub. This is not the act of a panic-stricken or emotionally disturbed woman. However, she did not bother to clean the bath afterwards, and there are traces of blood around the plug hole and on the sides, sufficiently high to indicate, as I have said, that the tub was well filled when she sat in it.’
Madeleine clasped both hands to her neck. The vision of Liane, sitting in a tub full of bloody water, calmly washing herself clean minutes after killing a man, was mind-numbing. She did not dare look at Helsingen. ‘Mademoiselle de Gruchy’s acts on leaving the bath,’ Kluck went on, ‘are the most sinister of all. Captain Biedermann’s pistol, his spare magazine, his papers, which included several blank travel documents and rail passes, as well as a considerable amount of German currency, are missing. And finally the concierge has told us that Mademoiselle de Gruchy left her apartment at seven o’clock in the evening Captain Biedermann died, carrying a valise. Since then she has vanished. However, one of the passes has been used, to indicate that she travelled south, openly, as far as Tours, before choosing to disappear. They are also not the actions of a distraught or frightened woman. So now she is on the loose, armed and dangerous, waiting to kill again. She must be found and brought to justice.’
‘I can’t believe Liane would do anything like that,’ Barbara muttered.
‘And you think she will come here?’ Albert asked.
‘I would say almost certainly. This is her home. You are her family. Here is security. I may tell you, Herr de Gruchy, that my first instinct was to place you, and all of your family, under arrest. However, Major von Helsingen has persuaded me not to do this, at this time. There are two reasons for this. One is that were you to be arrested, your daughter would never come here. The second is that Major von Helsingen assures me that you, and your family, will be willing to assist us in every way possible. I am making that assumption now. I would like you to understand that should your daughter come here, or should she contact you in any way, and you do not immediately inform us, you will be regarded as guilty of aiding and abetting an enemy of the state. And will suffer the same penalties.’
‘Oh, my God. My God,’ Barbara moaned.
‘You do not wish to search the house?’ Albert asked.
‘I will not waste the time. I have no doubt that if she is here she will be adequately concealed. However, now that I have, shall I say, put you in the picture, I expect you to hand her over immediately.’
‘She is not here,’ Albert said.
‘Then I look forward to hearing from you the moment she turns up. She will. Herr Major.’
Helsingen looked at Madeleine, eyebrows arched. Madeleine gave a hasty nod. ‘I think I will stay here for a while, Herr Colonel,’ Helsingen said. ‘Perhaps you will send the car back for me this afternoon.’
Kluck shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ He left the room.
<
br /> *
Albert and Barbara stared at the German officer. ‘Is there something else?’ Albert asked.
‘Oh, Papa,’ Madeleine said. ‘This is Major von Helsingen. I told you, he is the man who made the Gestapo drop the charges against Amalie.’
‘Then we are grateful to you, monsieur. But this business...’ He paused, hopefully.
Helsingen sighed. ‘I’m afraid I cannot hold out any hope in this case. There seems to be no possible doubt of Mademoiselle de Gruchy’s guilt. But I can tell you the background to this tragedy. Your daughter is not a cold-blooded killer. At least she had a motive for what she did.’
‘Because this man Biedermann did force himself on her,’ Madeleine said.
‘As the colonel said, there is no evidence of that. However, she underwent a most unfortunate experience in the early days of the war. She and an American friend were well north of Paris when French resistance collapsed. But surely you knew this?’
‘We knew they had gone up there,’ Albert said. ‘But we understood that they had got back to Paris safely.’
‘Unfortunately, while they did get back to Paris eventually, before then they fell into the hands of some deserters from our army, and were quite savagely mistreated. I am sorry to say, if you will excuse me, Madame de Gruchy, they were both raped, several times.’
‘Oh, my poor girl,’ Barbara cried.
‘You mean Joanna Jonsson was raped?’ Madeleine asked. Her imagination found it as difficult to cope with that as it had done at the thought of Liane cutting a man’s throat. ‘But... her brother was with them.’
‘According to the statement they gave after they were rescued, Aubrey Brent was killed during an air attack on the refugee column they were with.’
Madeleine’s shoulders hunched. ‘But you say they eventually got back to Paris,’ Albert said.
Helsingen nodded. ‘They went in with our forces when we occupied the city.’
‘You mean they were held prisoner for several weeks?’
‘They were held in hospital for that time, monsieur. They needed extensive recuperative treatment, both mentally and physically.’
Resistance Page 14
