‘What did he do to you?’ Max was grasping her by the shoulders.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think he did anything. I would have realised later, wouldn’t I? That’s what my grandmother told me.’
‘So that was it? He just left you there?’
She dropped her eyes and shook her head.
‘What, then?’
‘He stole an item of my clothing’
‘He did what?’
‘When I came to, I realised he had stolen an item of my clothing.’
Max’s heart was thumping in his chest. He felt like slapping her, so strong was his outrage. ‘What item?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘You don’t have to. You don’t have to paint me a picture.’ His face was contorted. ‘Did they catch him?’
‘Hervé and the boys went after him. But they never found him.’
‘What about the gendarmes. Did you tell them?’
‘Maman told me not to. That we should keep it a secret. Say that I had injured myself falling in the barn. That no one would ever want to marry me if they found out the truth.’
‘I’ve never heard such an absurdity.’ Max was still angry with her for allowing such a thing to happen, and even angrier with himself for the violence and unfairness of his response. ‘He didn’t actually do anything to you. You told me so yourself.’
‘But no one would believe that.’
‘Why do you always care so much what people believe?’
‘Because it matters. You’ll think the less of me now, won’t you? Admit it. That he might have violated me.’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘I can never be sure. Never really know what he did.’
He turned her around and faced her away from him, ashamed at his selfishness in the face of her obvious innocence. ‘Look. We’re nearly there. Can’t you smell the sea?’ He took one of her hands in his, parted her clenched fingers and kissed the fork made by her thumb and forefinger. ‘I can already taste the salt on your skin. Go on. Try it yourself, and see.’
He held the back of his hand to her mouth and watched, smiling, as her mood slowly changed. She let out a tentative flick of her tongue and tasted it.
‘It’s good, isn’t it? Like nothing else on earth.’ His eyes were soft when he looked at her. ‘I always do this when I’m near the sea. Ever since I was a child.’
She turned away from him, disconcerted and at the same time excited by the unexpectedness of his actions.
‘Walk on ahead. I’ll wait here. You can call me when you’re ready.’ He could already hear the faint booming of the surf, like a long-forgotten, long-neglected friend.
She turned back towards him. ‘No, I don’t want to go alone. I want you to come with me.’
‘You want me to come with you?’
‘Yes. It wouldn’t be the same alone. I want you to walk up there with me and hold me. I feel so warm and secure when you hold me – when you stand close to me. As if nothing bad could ever happen to me while I am in your arms.’
He was astonished to feel the threat of tears at the back of his eyes. It had been years since he had last cried – so many years that he could no longer remember either the occasion or the cause. Now, standing there watching this beautiful, unspoilt girl open her heart to him, he felt a profound sense of grace overwhelm him, as if all the terrors of Hades counted as nothing when compared to the perfection of the moment.
Later, when they stood together on top of the dunes and gazed out across the vast grey expanse of the Gulf of Gascony, she turned her back to him and snuggled her head underneath his chin, the full length of their bodies touching, the wind from the sea whipping her hair into rat’s tails, the salt giving it body, making it heavier against his face, transforming its fragrance.
He crossed his arms underneath her breasts and rested his chin on top of her head, and for one fragile short-lived moment, it seemed to Max as if he were seeing with her eyes, feeling with her heart, and he realised with a sense of unutterable, transcendent wonder, that he was happy.
The Auberge
Max had instinctively chosen to place himself with his back against the wall at the very furthest corner of the Auberge so that he could see all the comings and goings in good time, and defend himself if necessary with the pistol he had concealed in the inside pocket of his coat.
Now, although he still felt faintly stupid, he found that he was grateful for his foresight, for Lucie was facing him with her back to the room and was, in consequence, unable to see the true expression on the features of the other diners. It was abundantly clear, at least to Max’s hypersensitive gaze, what they thought.
Lucie’s clothing betrayed her for exactly what she was: a girl straight off the farm. The shiny new shoes merely heightened the betrayal. Their cost in wartime would have bought thirty such dresses as Lucie wore. Max’s outmoded suit, shirt and tie betrayed him equally as effectively. He was obviously a man on the make who’d managed to inveigle some innocent little farm girl, years younger than himself, to come away with him, and was presumably set on getting her drunk and debauching her in short order. Max felt tempted to burst out laughing.
Well. He would play his part to the hilt. Nothing like the reinforcing of people’s existing prejudices to stop them fomenting newer more accurate ones. He fanned some banknotes out on the table.
‘We want the best of everything, Madame. The best wine. The best food. I am prepared to pay.’
The patronne straightened up and glanced furtively behind her. ‘I can’t quite place Monsieur’s accent. Is Monsieur from Flanders, perhaps? Or the Alsace?’
‘I am Swiss, Madame. From Zurich. My fiancée, of course, is French.’
The patronne hesitated for a moment, aware that something was not quite right, but unable at that precise moment to put a finger on it. ‘May I suggest, Monsieur, that you and Mademoiselle accompany me through to the back room? We have a private more discreet area located there for those dining without food coupons.’
Max swept the notes back together and stood up. ‘Of course, Madame.’
He took Lucie’s arm and guided her through the kitchens and out into the separate restaurant area set aside for special clients. There were only four tables there, two of which were occupied by couples whose clothes and demeanour marked them out as wealthy and, at least in local terms, corrupt. Max decided that he now felt entirely at home.
‘Do you still have oysters on the menu?’
‘Of course, Monsieur. The season has so far not been hot. Our Marennes are in perfect condition.’ With the emphasis now firmly back on the food, the patronne’s suspicions had begun to ease.
‘Marennes? From La Tremblade? In wartime? You are joking, surely?’
‘Hardly, Monsieur.’
‘A dozen apiece, then.’
The patronne hesitated and seemed about to comment.
‘The price is irrelevant.’
‘Yes, Monsieur. In that case, we have some of the very finest pre-war white Burgundy. From the vineyards belonging to the Marquis de Laguiche. It would form an ideal accompaniment to the oysters.’
‘That would be perfect.’
‘Would Monsieur mind very much if I took the deposit now?’
Max handed her the sheaf of notes.
‘We will reckon everything up at the end of the meal. Will Monsieur be spending the night? I could have a room made up. Madame may even wish to take a siesta after lunch?’
Lucie’s face changed colour the moment she recognised the implications of the patronne’s unexpected use of the word ‘Madame’, instead of the ‘Mademoiselle’ with which she had originally been greeted. She refused to meet the woman’s gaze, and instead stared down at her hands, which were thrust tightly together in the furrow of her lap.
‘We shan’t be staying the night. No. However, please go ahead and have a room made up. With a bath or a shower, if you have it. Mademoiselle may wish to rest later while I go out for a walk.’
/> ‘Of course, Monsieur.’ The patronne’s face was studiously impassive, although Max saw her cast a furtive appraising eye at Lucie. ‘May I suggest, after your oysters, some Pauillac lamb à la persillade with spinach and mashed swedes, accompanied by…’ she hesitated. ‘You did say, Monsieur, that price was not a factor?’
‘I did.’
‘Then may I recommend a bottle of La Gaffelière-Naudes ’34?’
‘Perfect. Please decant it now.’
‘Very well, Monsieur. Would Madame like to go upstairs perhaps, to freshen up a little while I bring Monsieur his apéritif?’
Lucie kept her eyes lowered and her chin pressed firmly down against her chest.
Max glanced over at the patronne. ‘No. That will be fine. We will start with two champagne cocktails. And please bring us some Seltzer water as well.’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
When the patronne had gone, Max leaned over and took Lucie’s hand. ‘It’s all right. The room is for you, not for me. I shan’t go near it, I promise. But I think we should both have a siesta before we drive back. You shall go there. I shall rest in the car. It will be perfectly proper.’
‘I wasn’t thinking…’
‘Of course you were. And it was quite reasonable that you should do so. I want this to be a lunch to remember. Soon, the Tommies will invade. Then I shall be forced to leave. I want both of us to have an imperishable memory of this day. I want to enfold you in luxury while I still have the opportunity.’
Lucie raised her head, her pupils glistening. ‘But you’ve already done that. You’ve given me the sea. When we stood there – I can’t explain it – but it’s as if I’d been waiting my whole life for that moment. As if I could breathe, after years of suffocation.’ She drew in a great lungful of air, as if she wished on the instant to demonstrate her new-found freedom to him. ‘When you come back for me…’ Her voice faltered for a second, as if she could not quite believe the content of her own words.
‘When I come back for you. Yes. Please go on.’
She pulled herself together, bravely meeting his eyes. ‘When you come back for me, I want you to take me far away from St Gervais. I want us to live by the sea. I want to hear the sound of the sea every morning when I awake, and every evening before I go to sleep.’ Her voice began to strengthen, reflecting her passion. ‘I want you to teach me how to swim. And then I shall swim far out into the warm sea, and when I turn around and look back at the land, and the houses, and the people, no one will be able to see me except you.’
Max leaned towards her, relishing their intimacy. ‘No one can see you, except me.’ He gestured outwards towards the room. ‘Look out there. Look at those other couples. Can any of them really see you? And at home. Does anyone really see you?’
‘I don’t understand what you are saying.’
‘I’m saying that the war has disconnected us all. It has created a series of new mirrors in which we can see ourselves reflected clearly, as if for the first time. And in my personal mirror, you belong beside me.’ He reached across and pressed the tips of his fingers to her cheek. ‘When you said that I would come back for you, you doubted your own words, didn’t you?’
She sighed and nodded her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
‘Well, believe them. I will come back for you. Whatever it takes, I will come back for you. Will you wait for me?’
She gazed at him across the table. ‘I’m scared that you’re going to die.’
‘But if I don’t die? If I survive, will you do this? Will you wait for me?’
She drew herself up, the edges of a wild despair invading her tone, hovering at the corners of her eyes, disarranging her lips. ‘But I don’t even know you. You’ve told me next to nothing about yourself. I don’t even know if you have a family. Brothers and sisters. Whether your parents are still alive. What they might think of me. What you had to do to win your medals. If you are married, even?’ She sighed, her voice breaking with the strain. ‘I’m not so rooted to St Gervais that I don’t realise the different paths our lives have taken. You are an educated man. You read books. You know about things. I don’t know about anything. I want to, but I don’t know how to go about it. I can’t live in a vacuum forever.’
He sat back, astonished at her unexpected eloquence. ‘Of course I’m not married. I would have told you. I would never have permitted things to progress so far between us had that been the case.’
‘But you’ll surely want to return to your old life when the war is over. The last thing you’ll want is me along, holding you back. Embarrassing you.’
‘I don’t want to live my life over again, Lucie. And I don’t want you to live it, either. I love my parents. My brother and my sister. My family home. But I no longer wish to measure myself by them, or through them. Do you understand what I am saying? If this war has proved one thing to me, it is that nothing, nothing on earth, can be taken for granted anymore. All the barriers are down. There are no certainties. We must simply live for the moment.’
‘But I’m not like that, can’t you see? I haven’t had the same experiences as you. It’s not so easy for me to tear up the past and scatter the pieces to the wind.’
The patronne burst through from the kitchen, interrupting Lucie in mid flow. She set their champagne cocktails carefully on the table, and then took a key from her pocket and placed it pointedly beside Lucie’s hand. ‘Chambre cinq, Madame. At the top of the stairs and down the corridor. There is a bathroom. And plenty of hot water. I have had Claudine place fresh towels in your bedroom, and flowers also, and I have taken the liberty of providing shampoo and soap. I’m sure Monsieur does not object?’
‘To the contrary.’
The patronne moved across to another table, leaving a dash of cooler air in her wake.
Lucie reached out and touched the key with its heavy lead pendant, as though it were an unfamiliar animal that might lash out and bite her. ‘A bathtub? Shampoo? Soap? Towels? Flowers? I can hardly believe it. My mother used to describe such places to me.’ She drew in a fractured breath. ‘I don’t want you to rest in the car, Max. You can come up to the room with me.’ Her face looked pinched, and white blotches had appeared beneath her eyes. ‘Perhaps they have a sofa there? You could rest on that.’
‘Are you quite sure you want me to?’
‘Yes.’
The word came out in a hiss, and was immediately eaten by the collateral sound of the patronne talking by a table next door, so that Max was unsure for a moment whether he had heard her correctly or not.
Oysters
‘Don’t look so scared. They’re not going to bite you.’
‘But they’re alive!’
‘Not so you’d notice.’ Max raised one of the shells to his mouth and allowed the oyster to slip delicately onto his tongue. ‘Some people chew them. I don’t. I prefer to let them slide down in one movement.’ He took a sip of the Montrachet.
Lucie was staring at him in troubled fascination. ‘I don’t think I dare eat one of these. Let alone twelve. They look… well, they look so sinister.’
‘Sinister?’
‘As if they’re going to move – jump off the shell, or something.’
‘Close your eyes.’
‘What?
‘Close your eyes.’ He stood up and walked around the table, approaching her from behind. ‘And keep them closed. Don’t cheat.’
Lucie nodded nervously.
He took her forehead in one hand, and slowly, gently, eased her head back towards his lap. ‘Now. Open your mouth.’
He could feel himself stirring as he held her – her teeth were small and white, and her tongue instinctively emerged from between them and curled itself, receptively, as if it were about to tease a sugared decoration off a piece of cake. He reached for one of the prepared oysters and brought it to her lips.
‘Keep your mouth open.’
He moved up closer to her, until it was impossible that she could not feel his excitement.
/> ‘Now.’
He upended the oyster in her mouth.
‘Cant back your head and let it slide down. That’s it.’
With his free hand, he cupped her chin and closed her mouth, still holding her across the forehead with his other hand. She kept her eyes shut, and Max caressed her hair as she swallowed the oyster, overwhelmed by the sensuality of the moment – incapable of detachment.
‘There. It’s done.’ He stepped away from her.
Lucie opened her eyes. Her startled gaze inadvertently strayed downwards, then snapped back up again to meet his eyes.
‘How was it?’
She swallowed. Her mouth looked slightly loose, as though he had just kissed her. ‘I like them. They taste much better than they look.’
He moved back towards his place. ‘And now – the pièce de résistance. You must drink some of the wine.’
‘I want you to feed it to me. Just like you did with the oyster.’ Lucie’s face was flushed but determined. She watched him approach her again from around the table. ‘Hold my forehead. Then bring the glass up to my lips.’
Max closed his eyes in passionate anticipation. He brushed back her hair, then took her forehead in his hand and raised the glass to her lips. ‘Close your eyes.’
‘They are closed.’
‘Now. Drink.’
He tilted the glass so that the wine fell into her mouth. As he did so he pushed himself lightly against her, enjoying his anticipation of her pleasure. From his position above her he could see the moisture on her lips – could feel the movements of her throat as she swallowed.
The Occupation Secret Page 22
