“I met Armand once,” Didi stated casually.
“Oh?” Mathilde did not attempt to hide the surprise in her voice. She uncapped a bright red lipstick. “Then you must have seen how reckless he was.”
Didi pursed her lips as much as in thought as to help Mathilde apply the lipstick. “I wouldn’t say that… he was more what you might call, passionate.” She immediately regretted her words. “What I meant was, he was exuberant, yet dedicated to his cause.”
Mathilde took a step back and set her strange gaze on Didi. “He had many lovers, Viola Borni the least of them. And he told them everything. He was completely indiscreet.” She snapped the cap back on the lipstick. “Had not Kiki’s forsaken lover, Madame Boufet, given Bleicher everything, Armand’s carelessness would have eventually ruined us all, somehow.”
And what part would you have had in that? Didi noted that Mathilde was doing everything to deny her own role in Interallié’s undoing. “Where is the widow Borni now?”
The mention of Viola felt like waving a red handkerchief at the already enraged bull that was Mathilde. “It doesn’t matter where she is. It was all her fault, you know.”
“The downfall of Interallié?”
“Yes.” Mathilde pulled a face puff out of a tin of powder and blew on it. “She gave Bleicher the code so he could read Armand’s messages.” She lightly dusted Didi’s face with the puff. “Armand should have been more cautious, but without the cipher, they could never have interpreted them.”
Didi shook her head. Of course they would have worked out the code, eventually.
“There,” Mathilde said, plopping the puff back into the tin. “What do you think?”
Didi peered into the mirror. Her face looked as if she’d seen a ghost, and the lipstick was way too red. “It’s perfect.”
“And now for your outfit. What do you plan on wearing?”
Didi shrugged. “I’m not sure—I don’t really own a ball gown.”
“It’s lucky I bought two.” Mathilde led the way to her room and took a black silk dress out of the closet. She handed it to Didi. “It might be a tad long, so you’ll have to wear heels.”
Didi accepted it, a bit reluctantly, though she noticed the high collar meant she wouldn’t be forced to don her new choker. “What about you?”
“I suppose this is my only option.” She tossed a spaghetti-strapped, blue beaded dress onto the bed.
“Good choice,” Didi replied, for lack of anything better to say.
Upon entering the elaborately decorated lobby of Claridge’s, Didi was immensely grateful to Mathilde. Had it not been for her outfit, and of course, her make-up job, Didi would have felt even more out of place. Though it was probably designed to hug every curve of a more endowed woman, the dress hung loosely on Didi’s thin frame, something she wasn’t altogether disappointed by.
Her heels sounded like thunder on the black-and-white marbled floor as Mathilde led the way to the ballroom, which was done up in art-deco elegance, including gold-gilded mirrors, crystal chandeliers, and silver columns lining the walls. Didi couldn’t imagine what the party, and its attendees would have looked like without war-time rationing—with it, they still looked like they stepped from the pages of Vogue.
Major Buckmaster, wearing a tailored tuxedo, approached them. “Ah, if it isn’t The Cat, and her escort, Didi Nearne.”
Mathilde accepted the proffered flute of champagne. “It’s not that I don’t adore Didi, I do, of course. But…” she stuck her red lips out into a pout. “Why do I need an escort at all?”
“Oh, it’s just policy,” Buckmaster replied. He pointed to another tuxedo-clad man across the room. “You can ask my boss, Lord Selbourne, about it.”
“Lord?” Mathilde eyes widened. “You’ll have to introduce me to him.”
“All in due time. First I’d like you both to meet Miss Atkins.”
A tall woman wearing a gown with an even higher collar than Didi’s approached.
“You must be The Cat,” Miss Atkins said, holding out a slim hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.” After they shook hands, Miss Atkins set her dark eyes on Didi. “And you too, of course. Your sister Jackie has become quite the asset to the SOE.”
Didi swiped a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Well, we Nearne girls have a special talent in that way.” No matter how well Didi was doing, it always seemed that Jackie soared higher. Here she was, finally meeting the mysterious Miss Atkins, and the acclaimed woman could only sing her sister’s praises.
“Tell me, Madame Carré,” Miss Atkins took Mathilde’s arm. “What are the latest fashions in Paris? And how is the rationing? Forgive me if I pick your brain over all things Parisian.” She led her away.
Buckmaster cleared his throat. “How are things going? Have you managed to get anything good from our little Cat thus far?”
Didi shrugged. “She seems to want to blame the demise of Interallié on Viola Borni, but I don’t fully believe her.”
“You shouldn't,” Buck agreed. “Some of the agents that were arrested were unfamiliar to Viola—and likewise, some of the ones Viola knew of but Mathilde didn’t—managed to escape. If that’s not evidence of The Cat’s guilt, I’m not sure what is.”
Didi took a hesitant sip of her drink. “Viola was only a coder, and coders are not privy to anything besides what they are working with,” she said knowingly. “Mathilde was Armand’s deputy—and knew the inner workings of the network.”
“Yes, and that’s why you need to keep a most careful watch on her… Hallo, what’s this?”
Didi turned to see The Cat engaged in conversation with the head of the SOE, a balding, short man, his height further diminished by his stooped frame. “Does he know who she is?”
“Well,” Buckmaster finished the rest of his champagne. “I should think so. He’s read all the same reports I have.”
Didi noted that the couple was standing quite close to a table of appetizers. “I’m feeling a bit hungry all of a sudden.”
Buckmaster nodded his approval and she took that as a cue to creep toward them.
“I promise you, I will see to it that you have every luxury afforded to you.” Lord Selbourne’s voice was predictably posh.
“And you will tell Churchill everything I’ve done for the Resistance?” Mathilde asked.
“Of course I will. Heroines like you deserve to have their praises sung. But in the meantime, I’d love to take you to dinner.”
Didi sucked in her upper lip as she watched Lord Selbourne seemingly lose himself in Mathilde’s green-eyed gaze. Even if she wasn’t pretty, Didi thought as she returned to Buckmaster, somehow The Cat could entrance members of the Resistance and the Gestapo, sorry, the Abwehr alike. She also realized she might have had a tad too much champagne.
“It’s not good,” she told Buckmaster.
He glared over in their direction. “What I hear you saying is that my boss is about to make a fool of himself with one of the most dangerous double-agents of the war—one who could betray all of the SOE to the Germans.”
“Maybe he’s playing up to her to get more information.”
Buckmaster shook his head. “Unfortunately, Selbourne isn't that clever.”
Didi recalled all the frustrations Leo Marks had unloaded on her regarding the security checks and poem codes. “How unfortunate.”
“I’m afraid that sometimes in England, it’s who you know, not what you know, that leads to positions of power.”
Well, that should bode well for me now that I know both you and Miss Atkins. “What should we do about The Cat?”
“Convince her it’d be foolish to pursue Selbourne—not the least because he’s a married man. Something tells me that once The Cat gets her claws into a man, she doesn’t take kindly to his rejection. I think she’s the type to enact the worst kind of vengeance.”
“Like with Armand. He hurt her, so she took down his entire network.”
“Exactly.”
Buckmas
ter pointed at Didi. “Is that lipstick on your teeth?”
Her face heating up, Didi resorted to a line she’d heard Jackie use a thousand times. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and powder my nose.”
Chapter 48
Odette
London’s orders were exactly what Odette had expected: she should have no more contact with Bleicher. She could almost imagine Buckmaster’s clipped voice dictating the message, which read:
Bleicher highly dangerous STOP You are to hide across the lake and cut contacts with all save Alec STOP Fix dropping ground for Peter who will land anywhere soonest.
She looked up at Alec after she’d read that last part. “If Bleicher’s back in town, he will be on the alert for Peter’s return.”
“I know of a spot high in the mountains overlooking the lake. It’s a hell of a place to drop, but there’s enough flat ground for an experienced parachutist like Peter. And we can light a fire so it can’t be seen from Annecy.”
Odette consented—what other choice did she have? Alec sent off the instructions for Peter to jump by the next full moon.
Bardet was waiting in the lobby when she returned to the hotel. He asked her if she had news of the bomber pick-up for Bleicher.
She lied smoothly “I’m still trying to arrange it for April 18th.”
“Do you have any news of Peter?”
She shook her head. “I doubt he’ll be back at all.”
“Oh.” Bardet put on a look of concern. “Lise, do you remember that British officer, what was his name? Roger?”
“Yes? What about him?”
“He’s no longer staying at the Hotel de la Plage. It’s as if he suddenly vanished.”
“He didn’t vanish,” Odette replied patiently. “I sent him away.”
“Where to?”
She waved her hand as if the matter was of no importance. “To stay with some friends of mine. Why the sudden interest?”
He turned up his shoulders, also playing that it was no big deal. “I only wondered, that’s all.”
“I assure you, he’s quite safe.”
Odette studied his face as he frowned, probably upset that he couldn’t report back to Bleicher on the whereabouts of Roger. But she no longer hated Bardet: she only felt pity and contempt for him. They were all trying to navigate through a world turned upside-down, and some people, like Bardet, were content to take the easy way out. “Goodbye, Monsieur Bardet.”
“Bye, Madame Lise.”
The day of Peter’s arrival was extremely hectic. Odette spent the morning in Annecy, warning her contacts to either lie low or get out of town. The BBC message wouldn’t air until 7:30 that evening, and then she and Alec would only have a few hours to get to the top of the mountain to act as Peter’s welcoming party.
She tried to take an afternoon nap, but found herself too anxious to sleep. She wasn’t sure if Peter should be literally jumping into this mess with Bleicher, but at the same time, she had missed him terribly and looked forward to his return.
Alec arrived after dinner with a satisfying announcement: he had managed to secure a motor car that would save them some time and effort in their travels that evening.
At the appointed time, Odette, Alec, and Jean Cottet gathered around the radio. It seemed to Odette that the announcer was particularly slow in getting to the messages personnels, but at last he stated in a pithy voice: Le scarabée d'or fait sa toilette printemps. The golden scarab is washing in the spring. Peter was on his way.
Alec and Odette left immediately. The old car traveled slowly as Alec turned off the main road and started up the mountain. But the motor couldn’t handle the steep incline and it quit before they got more than a quarter up.
Alec got out and gave the useless old thing a hard kick, swearing up a storm, as Odette emptied it of their flashlights and other supplies.
The mountain path was covered with snow and ice and Odette stumbled several times as she tried climbing over the freezing rocks with her hands full. She could occasionally hear Alec’s burly body lumbering behind her, cursing loudly at her to slow up, but she had only one thought in her mind: to make it in time to greet Peter.
At last she made it to the plateau Alec had described. The wind had abated and the bright moon had risen. Alec came up beside her, breathing heavily. “Suppose he doesn’t come tonight.” His words came out in heavy puffs of air. “That whole climb will have been for nothing.”
“He’ll be here,” Odette replied confidently.
Alec lit a pile of dead branches, which quickly started ablaze, the flames reaching high into the night air.
In a few minutes, the roar of a Halifax bomber interrupted the otherwise still night. The Halifax flew over the lake and then passed over their heads. Odette searched the sky desperately for the white balloon of Peter’s parachute, but the brightness of the snow reflecting off the moon partially blinded her. The Halifax had disappeared. What if it had decided not to drop its passenger?
She squinted, trying not to panic, when she heard a faraway voice singing the Marseillaise. She laughed wildly as Peter finally came into view. In a moment he had landed and was in her arms.
On the way back down the mountain, taking a much more leisurely pace this time, Alec and Odette filled Peter in on everything that had happened in his absence.
“We only have until the 18th until Bleicher gets suspicious,” Odette told him. “That’s when I told Bardet I was arranging his flight to England.”
“We should clear out tomorrow,” Peter stated dryly. He squeezed her hand. “You should have left sooner, Lise.”
She squeezed back, wishing she could say how glad she was to have him back. “There was just too much to do. We’ve been quite busy since you went away. I couldn’t just leave everything in chaos.”
“You should have still gone. You’re an obstinate woman, Lise,” he said, not without affection.
“I can arrange a boat to take us across the lake at first light tomorrow,” Alec said.
“Good. It’ll be good-bye to Saint-Jorioz at the crack of dawn,” Peter commanded.
When they got back to their room, Peter grabbed some pillows and blankets from the closet to make his usual nest on the couch. “You must be exhausted from your trek up and down the mountain.”
“I am,” Odette agreed, settling onto one side of the bed. She patted the other. “But not too tired for you to tell me about your travels. How are Buck and Miss Atkins?”
Peter dumped the bed clothes on the couch and then folded his arms across his chest, looking doubtfully at the empty space on the bed. “I didn’t see Vera—she was too busy training new women—but Buck was Buck.” He sat gently at the foot, curling up against the bedpost as if he were trying not to take up too much room. “But the War Office told me my older brother had died. He was RAF and they shot him down the very day I arrived in Cannes. Seven months ago. They didn’t see it fit to tell me while I was undercover.”
She reached out to put her hand on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”
He met her gaze with red eyes. “My mother… I had to try to console her the best I could. She hadn’t heard anything from my youngest brother in over a year, another son was dead, and there I was, about to ship out again.”
Odette scooted closer to him so she could caress his arm. “Maybe you should have stayed in England.”
“Buck tried to convince me to do the same. He said after Alec sent us the information about Bleicher, they could recall you and Alec, or help you relocate to another circuit. But I wanted to come back and join the Maquisards. It’s become my dream to welcome the Allies into France and end the war with a gun in my hands. I’m tired of playing this espionage game. It’s an endless duel of wits where, if you make one misstep, you ruin your chances of getting out alive.”
Odette had no reply to that.
“Besides,” Peter continued, rotating his arm to grasp her hand. “There was another reason I wanted to come back.”
At last she’d
heard the words she’d been waiting for. They both leaned forward, their lips meeting. They kissed softly at first, hesitantly, and then Peter wrapped his arms around her and this time, there was nothing hesitant in his kiss.
After another minute of passion, Peter broke from their embrace. “And what of your husband?”
“Don’t you worry about him. I’ve already made up my mind to divorce him the soonest I am able. And,” she traced the lines of his palm with her finger, “If I never make it back to England, to my daughters, I’d like to make love one more time with someone I care about.”
She watched his frown turn to a wistful smile and then a positively glowing grin as her words sunk in. “I’m sure that will happen soon. But not tonight.” He reached out to turn off the lamp, and his voice was once again somber. “We need our rest if we’re going to leave Saint-Jorioz in the morning.” He got comfortable beside her, fluffing the pillow and pulling the blanket over both of them. “Lise… in case our days are indeed numbered, you should probably know that I care about you too, more deeply than I can express.”
She cleared the lump in her throat before she replied, “Good night, Peter.”
“Good night, Lise.”
It could have been the best sleep she’d had in weeks, but sometime before daylight, Odette was awakened by a faint knocking at their door. She tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the knocking turned into an urgent pounding.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It’s Jean Cottet,” a gruff voice answered.
“What do you need, Jean?” Knowing they had a trying morning ahead—and warmed by Peter’s proximity—she was reluctant to get out of bed.
“There’s a man downstairs who wants to see you. Now. He says it’s a most pressing matter.” His voice dropped an octave. “There’s something about all of this that worries me.”
“It’s okay, Jean. Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”
She quickly threw on the clothes she’d laid out the night before. She was still half asleep, irritated at being woken up, but not terribly worried, despite what Jean had said. She stomped down the stairs, determined to give whoever it was that demanded her presence a piece of her mind.
The Spark of Resistance: Women Spies in WWII Page 24
