Cold Harbour

by Jack Higgins

  He went very still. 'Why do you ask?'

  'A very important Resistance leader, am I right? I'm sure you'd give a great deal to get your hands on him. Would it surprise you to know that my sister actually had dealings with him?'

  His face was quite pale now. 'Yes, to be perfectly frank, it would.'

  'You failed to catch General Dietrich's assassin. You know why?'

  'No, but I have a feeling you are about to tell me.'

  'Anne-Marie spirited him away from under the noses of your precious SS hidden under the rear seat of her Rolls-Royce.' She smiled fiercely, enjoying her small triumph. 'So you see, Colonel Priem, she was never completely what you thought she was at all.'

  He looked at her for a long moment, turned and went out, closing the door softly. She took a deep breath, hurried across to the bathroom door and said, 'Stay in there until I've gone.'

  'All right,' Chantal whispered.

  The rain drifted against the window and she stood there, listening. So, this was how the world ended, just like the poet said. No great bang. There was, as Priem had pointed out, Hortense to consider. Out of her hands now, all of it, and no way out. Worst of all, no desire. In the end, the greatest irony of all was that with the gloves off, Max Priem was Craig Osbourne and Craig Osbourne was Max Priem.

  So… she took a deep breath and started to dress.

  FIFTEEN

  SHE DRIFTED DOWN the great stairs on Priem's arm as if in a dream. He nodded pleasantly to an officer who passed them. She laughed out loud in spite of herself and Priem turned in surprise, his hand tightening on her arm. 'Are you all right?'

  'Never better.'

  'Good.' They crossed the hall and paused at the door. 'Prepare to make your entrance now - and smile, always that. People expect it of you.'

  An orderly opened the door and they passed inside. For the moment, the orchestra had stopped playing, but there was laughter and raised voices, a general air of well-being, pretty women and uniforms everywhere reflected in the great mirrors in the walls.

  Hortense was sitting in one of the gold chairs on the opposite side of the room, an infantry Colonel leaning attentively over her. She was laughing at something he'd just said and then her eyes met Genevieve's. There was a pause, only fractionally, and then she smiled brightly again and looked up at her Colonel.

  'May I speak to my aunt?' Genevieve asked Priem.

  'Certainly. It will be to everyone's advantage, after all, that she should know the state of the game. I'm sure that you would not attempt to deny that she knows the difference between Anne-Marie and Genevieve.'

  Genevieve walked unhurriedly through the crowd. As she arrived, Hortense smiled, raised her cheek for her to kiss. 'Having a nice time, cherie?

  'But of course,' Genevieve perched on the arm of the gold chair.

  Hortense handed her empty glass to the Colonel. 'Would you mind, and do try to get them to make it just a little drier this time.' He clicked his heels obediently and moved away. She selected a cigarette from her niece's case and said casually as Genevieve flicked her lighter. 'Somethings wrong. I can see it in your eyes. What happened?'

  'Priem arrived at the wrong moment. He knows everything.'

  Hortense smiled gaily, waving to someone on the other side of the room. 'That you are not Anne-Marie?'

  Genevieve was aware of the Colonel, a glass in each hand, on his way back across the floor. She said softly, the smile fixed firmly on her face, 'I was sent here by Munro to be betrayed. The purpose of the exercise. I've just learned that from Priem. A rotten business from the beginning. Rene is dead, by the way.'

  That got through to Hortense as nothing else had, wiping the smile away instantly. Genevieve gripped her hand. 'Hang on, my love, very tightly. It's going to be a long, long night.'

  The Colonel was beside them, gallantly offering her her drink. Genevieve patted her aunt's cheek. 'Now behave yourself,' she told her, laughing and turned away.

  She reached automatically for a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing waiter and almost immediately, it was taken from her and placed on one of the small marble tables.

  'No, I don't think so, Genevieve,' Priem said. 'A clear head is what you need tonight.'

  She didn't bother to turn, simply confronted him in the mirror. He really did look very handsome, immaculate as always, decorations gleaming, the Knight's Cross at his throat.

  He was waiting for some kind of response, a quiet, grave smile on his face. There was an intimacy between them again and that wasn't right at all.

  'So, no indulgences?' she asked.

  The music started again at that moment, a waltz, and he inclined his head, bowing slightly. 'A turn around the floor, perhaps?'

  'Why not?'

  He held her lightly as they circled. She remembered to smile at the General as they passed, noticed Field Marshal Rommel talking politely with her aunt and above, from the shadows, the portraits of long forgotten, obscure ancestors peered down.

  'Strauss,' she said. 'A far cry from Al Bowlly. Were you playing with me or warning me - or did you just like the song?'

  'And now, we are on dangerous ground,' he said gravely. 'For both of us, I think.'

  'If you say so.'

  'But I do, so for the moment, we will stick to the essentials. At the end of the evening, when the Field Marshal has departed, you will be escorted to your rooms, you and your aunt, as normal. The only essential difference will be that I will post a guard outside your doors.'

  'Naturally.'

  Out of the corner of her eye she seemed to catch sight of a shadowy figure on the fringe of things like an elusive memory that wouldn't go away, the tilt of a head as someone lit a cigarette that was somehow horribly familiar. But that was impossible - totally impossible.

  She saw him clearly now, leaning against the wall, a haze of smoke around his head, cigarette in hand. He smiled delightedly as if seeing her for the first time, then started across the dance floor. Craig Osbourne, immaculate in the black dress uniform of a Colonel in the French Charlemagne Brigade of the Waffen-SS.

  Which didn't make any kind of sense for if what Max Priem had told her was true, there was no reason on this earth why Craig Osbourne should be here like this. They stopped dancing as he arrived, Priem frowning slightly.

  'Anne-Marie, how marvelous. I hoped you might be here.' His French was perfect. 'This really is quite delightful.' He turned to Priem. 'You will excuse me, if I cut in. Mademoiselle Trevaunce and I are old friends.' He took her hand and kissed it lightly. 'July of '39. The long hot summer a thousand years ago.'

  Priem's expression had changed to one of sardonic amusement and she realised he must imagine her truly caught now, playing Anne-Marie with an old friend whose name she couldn't possibly know.

  'Henri Legrande,' Craig said smoothly. 'Colonel… ?'

  Priem clicked his heels. 'Priem. At your orders, Standarten-fuhrer.'

  He withdrew. Craig took her firmly in his arms and they commenced to dance. 'Do you come here often?' he asked.

  Strange, considering what she knew about the whole thing now and yet her immediate concern was only for him. 'You must be mad.'

  'I know. My mother used to say that all the time. Don't look so worried. Keep that dazzling smile of yours firmly in place.' His arm tightened across her back. 'Daniel in the Lion's Den, that's me. Power of the Lord. I'll get out of here all right and you'll be coming with me. That's why I'm here. It was a set-up, angel. Munro put your head in the noose like a sacrificial goat. Try anything and they'll be waiting for you.'

  'Old news,' she said. 'I tried this evening and I was caught. Priem knows, Craig. Told me everything. Baum, Anne-Marie, the whole rotten affair. I'm only out now on a leash, don't you realise? He knows I'll do exactly as I'm told because of Hortense. He's watching every move I make.'

  He stopped dancing and slipped her arm through his. 'Let's give him something to think about then,' and he guided her firmly through the crowd and out through the French
windows.

  There was a slight chill to the air and they stayed under the colonnade because of the rain. 'Nice and normal and the occasional laugh would be a good idea,' he said, 'and a cigarette would help.'

  She glanced up as the match flared in his cupped hands, illuminating the strong face. 'Why, Craig? Why?'

  He said, 'What did Priem tell you?'

  'That Anne-Marie worked for him.'

  He whistled softly. 'Now that is something to shake Munro. That means you didn't stand a chance, not from the start, even if Baum hadn't turned you in.'

  'Are you trying to tell me that you didn't know? I can't believe that. You used me, Craig, just like you used Anne-Marie. I know the truth about that now. Know what you did to her.'

  'I see. And Rene?'

  'Dead. Shot himself to protect me because they were on to him.'

  There was silence. Rain drifted in a fine spray through the light from the open French windows. He said, 'Now you believe me, or you don't, but this is how it was. The business with the drug and your sister was an accident; a new gimmick they were going to try on every agent fresh in from the field, only it went wrong. I only found that out from Baum last night. The story they sold you, the SS atrocity thing, was Munro's idea. Good of the cause, and all that, just to give you the urge to do your bit. I was told the same yarn.'

  'And Baum?'

  'I didn't know the first thing about him or his connection with German Intelligence until last night. What you were told, I was told. That you were coming here for one reason only - to attempt to fill your sister's place and get hold of any information you could on Rommel's Atlantic Wall conference.'

  'If that's true, then why has Munro allowed you to come here now like this?'

  'He hasn't. I'm here strictly on my own account. Right now he must be madder than hell.'

  And suddenly, with a tremendous feeling of relief, she believed him. Believed him completely.

  'It was poor old Baum who spilled the beans by getting drunk and admitting his daughter only died six months ago.'

  'I know,' Genevieve said. Priem told me.'

  'Munro confirmed everything. Told me to grow up. War is hell and all that. Then had me locked up for the night to think things over. I managed to break out and got myself down to Cold Harbour. Martin Hare and his boys brought me over on the E-boat. Julie radioed Grand Pierre to meet us. The boat's waiting at Grosnez now. Getting in here was no problem, not in a uniform like this. I've an uncomfortable feeling it suits me.'

  'You fool,' she said.

  'I told you I was a Yale man, didn't I? Now, tell me exactly what the situation is here.'

  She covered that side of things in a few brief sentences. As she finished, there were footsteps on the terrace and her young Lieutenant paused casually at the balustrade and peered out at the rain. She laughed gaily, accepting the cigarette Craig offered, leaning over as he gave her a light.

  'They're watching me every second now. Just go, Craig, while you can.'

  'Not on your life. Do you think I could leave you to that lot in there? To the cellars at Gestapo Headquarters in Rue Saussaies? I've been there, and what they do to people like us isn't nice. We go together, or not at all.'

  'Not possible. I wouldn't leave Hortense, even if I could. You've still got a chance. Take it.'

  He said urgently, 'What in the hell do you think I'm doing here? Were you really so blind back there at Cold Harbour? Did you think it was her I saw every time I looked at you?'

  Which left Genevieve only one way out, for his sake now, not her own. She took it, pulling herself free, turning and going back through the French windows before he realised what was happening.

  Priem was standing by the fire, smoking a cigar. He tossed it into the flames and came forward. 'Abandoned the poor Colonel already?' And then his eyes narrowed slightly. 'Anything wrong?'

  'You might say that. An old lover of my sister's who still has the urge. My memory, you may be interested to know, was all that got him through Russia.'

  'These French,' he said, 'are so romantic. The Field Marshal, by the way, is leaving soon. He was asking after you. You are all right now?'

  'Of course.'

  He smiled briefly. 'You are a remarkable woman, Genevieve.'

  'I know and in other circumstances…'

  'This is beginning to sound like a bad play.'

  'Life very frequently is. And now, I think I've earned a glass of champagne, don't you?'

  So, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel left Chateau de Voincourt and Genevieve stood with Hortense and smiled and wished him well, as Priem had told her she would. No sign of Craig Osbourne any longer, which was something. The chill on her deepened. She didn't want to go back to her sister's room ever again.

  The crowd started to fade and Priem turned to her and Hortense. 'Time to retire, ladies. A long night.'

  'So thoughtful, isn't he?' Hortense said.

  Genevieve gave her an arm, they started up the stairs followed by Priem and the Lieutenant, who now, she noticed, carried a Schmeisser machine pistol.

  'At the first opportunity you will get out of here, do you understand me?' Hortense murmured.

  'And leave you?' Genevieve said. 'Do you imagine for one moment that I can do that?'

  They reached the top corridor, Priem nodded and the young Lieutenant brought a chair forward which he positioned where he could watch the doors of both bedroom suites. He looked different, harder somehow. Pale and determined.

  'You really are concerned about our welfare tonight, Colonel,' Hortense observed.

  'Lieutenant Vogel is merely on call, Countess, should you need him, as is the man Captain Reichslinger has stationed under your balcony. I wish you a peaceful night.' She hesitated, glanced at her niece once and went in.

  He turned to face Genevieve. 'It went well, I think,' he said. 'The Field Marshal enjoyed himself. Of course, if he had been aware that a certain file had disappeared from his briefcase, however temporarily, he would not have been so pleased. But that, I think, we can keep to ourselves.'

  'Naturally. It wouldn't look too good for you, would it? May I go in now?'

  He opened her door. 'Goodnight, Miss Trevaunce,' he said formally.

  She could have told him to go to hell, but there would have been little point. So, she simply went in, closed the door and leaned against it. She heard the murmur of voices, the sound of footsteps receding. Her key was missing and a closer inspection of the door revealed that the bolt had been removed also. And, of course, the gun with which she'd so carefully practiced was gone.

  So she took off her dress, changed into slacks and sweater again, then stepped out on to the balcony. It was still raining and quite dark. She listened for sounds of the guard down below and after a few moments heard a cough. So that was that, and the ledge round the corner to her aunt's balcony was so narrow that only a skilled rock climber could have hoped to negotiate it.

  She returned to the bedroom, picked up the silver case and flicked it open. Not a single cigarette left, only the spool of film in its secret compartment and useless now. She felt tired and cold and put on Anne-Marie's hunting jacket and slipped the cigarette case into the pocket.

  She got the quilt from the bed, wrapped it around herself and settled in the chair by the window, leaving the light on like a little girl afraid of the dark.

  She dozed off for a while, came to, stiff and miserable and saw the curtains stir. They parted and Craig Osbourne moved into the room, a Walther in his right hand. He was still in SS uniform. He raised a finger to silence her.

  'We'll take your aunt as well. Satisfied?'

  Genevieve was filled with sudden cold excitement. 'How did you get here?'

  'Climbed up to your balcony.'

  'I thought they had a man down there?'

  'Not any more.' He padded across to the door and listened. 'What have they got outside?'

  'A young Lieutenant with a machine pistol.'

  'Get him in here. Tell him you've heard som
ething suspicious on the balcony - anything.'

  He bolstered the Walther and took something from his pocket. There was a sharp click, a blade gleamed dully in the light. She stared, fascinated and he gave her a little push. She moved to the door, knocked lightly, then opened it. Vogel was across the corridor in an instant, the machine pistol ready in his hands.

  'What is it?' he demanded in bad French. 'What do you want?'

  Her throat was so dry that she could hardly speak and yet forced herself, turning and pointing towards the curtains that lifted in the slight breeze. 'Out there, on the balcony. I think I heard something.'

  He hesitated, then came forward. Craig Osbourne moved too, an arm around the throat, knee up into the spine, arching Vogel backwards like a bow. Genevieve never saw the knife slide home, heard only the faintest of groans as she turned away, remembering how well he had danced, sick to her stomach. There was the scraping of feet across the floor as Craig dragged the body to the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding the Schmeisser.

  'All right?'

  'Yes.' She took a deep breath. 'Yes, of course I am.'

  'Let's go, then.'

  ****

  Hortense was sitting up in bed, a shawl about her shoulders, reading a book. She showed no surprise at all, as always completely in control.

  'So, you would appear to have made a friend, Genevieve.'

  'But not quite what he seems.'

  'Major Osbourne, ma'am.'

  'You've come for my niece, I presume?'

  'You too, ma'am. She won't leave without you.'

  She got a Gitane from the box on the bedside cabinet and lit it with her silver lighter. Genevieve took out her empty cigarette case and filled it from the box quickly.

  'You are familiar with the work of the English novelist, Charles Dickens, Major Osbourne?' Hortense asked. 'A Tale of Two Cities in which a Mr Sidney Carton, in a glorious act of self-sacrifice, goes to the guillotine in another man's place? By tradition, we have always believed that incident concerned a member of my own family.' She blew out smoke in a long plume. 'But the de Voincourts were always over-enamoured of the grand gesture.' She turned to Genevieve now. 'However misplaced.'