by Laura Leone
Deschamps looked at Madeleine. "Is this true?"
"No, of course it's not true!"
"Why," Gabrielle demanded of Paul, "didn't you tell me any of this?"
"Because I didn't know why Didier had died. I still don't. I couldn't risk that you might reveal any knowledge or suspicion to her, however unconsciously or inadvertently. If you did, you could be next. Even if she didn't get rid of you the way she'd gotten rid of him—"
Madeleine cried, "That is an outrageous accusation!"
"—she might bolt if she knew she'd been exposed."
"You had a duty to expose her," Arneau protested,
"There was nothing to expose!" Madeleine insisted, sounding panicky now.
Arneau continued as if she had not spoken, "You had no right to leave a traitor roaming free among us, Paul. To expose us to betrayal and—"
"He is the traitor!" Madeleine shouted.
"Don't shout," Deschamps ordered. "All we have so far, Paul, is your word against hers."
"Unfortunately," Paul admitted, "that's all I have. I know they were paying her. If we had more time, we might be able to find the money."
"But why would I do what you suggest?" Madeleine challenged. "Why?"
Paul shrugged. "Why does anyone do it? Didier talked sometimes about how dissatisfied you were with your life together. Both lonely after losing your lovers during the Great War, you tumbled into bed together giddily when Armistice was declared, and found yourself married on impulse a few weeks later. Didier tried to make you happy, but when he was drunk enough, he would admit that he thought you were disappointed with the way things had turned out—married to a man of no background and modest means, running a provincial café which is humble by any standards. He thought you regretted marrying him."
"I wouldn't have become a collaborator because of a disappointing marriage any more than Deschamps would have done it because Gabrielle preferred you to him," Madeleine said coldly.
"Then maybe you did it because you knew that being in the Resistance, or married to it, was a death sentence if the Nazis stayed in power. And you've always been a pessimist. You've always expected them to stay in power, haven't you?"
"If any of this were true," Madeleine said, "then why didn't you expose me to the others?"
"Disinformation," Paul said. "I had a plan. The British and Americans have invested tremendous effort in..." He smiled strangely. "The biggest bluff in history. I fed you information that I wanted the Nazis to have. My superiors liked the plan. I was supposed to keep it going right up until the invasion, then take you into custody after the assault."
"While how many more of us died like Didier?" Arneau demanded.
"The invasion was imminent when I found out about her," Paul said. Then his shoulders sagged and he admitted heavily, "But it was a terrible mistake. I know that now. Six of you have died or been arrested because I didn't expose her to you as soon as I knew the truth. Their deaths are my responsibility, too."
"You didn't know what would happen, Paul," Gabrielle insisted.
"That doesn't make it any less my mistake," he replied sadly.
"How touching," Madeleine sneered.
He glanced at her. "I'm not sure if Madeleine knew I had discovered her secret, or if she just didn't like me living so close to her, in that shed out back. She must have known how risky it was, having me there." He nodded. "In the end, maybe that's the only reason Didier died. It was too risky for a collaborator to have the local Resistance leader living in her house, even sharing her bed. And she doesn't take risks."
"So you're accusing her of turning you in to get you out of the way?" Deschamps asked quietly.
"Oh, it was a much better plan than that," Paul said. "The Gestapo threw the Resistance in Caen into disarray when their second leader in seven months was arrested. Me, in other words. Then they leaked the information that I'd been taken—"
"How did you know?" Gabrielle suddenly asked Deschamps.
His lips parted in surprise. "Madeleine told me."
"How did you know?" Gabrielle asked her.
"I heard German officers talking in the café."
No one looked very convinced by that brusque reply.
"At first," Paul continued, "I thought they'd seized me because I was an OSS agent returning to Caen with my final orders for the invasion. They took me on my way into the shed, behind the café, late at night. But—to my surprise and my relief—they never asked me a single thing about the invasion, and didn't even know that I was American. They did, however, know that I was in the Resistance. But they scarcely asked me anything during the interrogations. Mostly, they just beat and tortured me."
"Meanwhile," Gabrielle said, "they used all the information Madeleine had given them to start destroying us."
"But she was safe from any hint of suspicion," Paul said, "because it looked like the information was coming from me."
"Then they threw his body outside the gates, still alive," Gabrielle said, all the horror of that day coming back to her again.
"So that we'd be certain you had talked," Deschamps acknowledged. "So that you couldn't possibly convince us, in fact, that you hadn't sold us out in exchange for your life."
"And he had such a bad head injury that he couldn't speak much or think straight for a day after I found him, either," Gabrielle said. "By the time he started getting better—"
"He'd have been dead," Arneau said, "if we'd found him first."
"And as we kept getting killed and arrested after that," Deschamps mused, "we'd assume the Nazis were still acting on information given to them by Paul while he was their prisoner."
"We'd never look for the living traitor among us," Arneau said. "Before long, we'd all be dead or in a concentration camp, never knowing the truth."
"This is nonsense!" Madeleine cried.
"But Madeleine evidently underestimated Gabrielle's determination to protect me," Paul said. "Perhaps because we kept our relationship as discreet as possible. Perhaps Madeleine thought Gabrielle would do what she herself would have done to a disgraced lover—abandon : abandon me."
"But Gabrielle found you before Madeleine knew you'd been released and could inform us," Deschamps concluded.
"Listen to yourselves!" Madeleine shouted.
"And Gabrielle hid me," Paul said, "until I could remember what happened. And who the traitor is."
"You don't really believe this garbage, do you?" Madeleine demanded.
They all looked at her.
"Who figured out," Paul asked them, "that Gabrielle must be protecting me? Who suggested she was lying to you all?"
Their gazes remained riveted on Madeleine, leaving no doubt about who had instigated their discovery of Paul here.
"After Jean left the café with Gabrielle," Arneau said, "Madeleine disappeared for a while."
"To make a phone call to your contact Madeleine?" Paul prodded.
"And when I returned to the café," Deschamps said slowly to Madeleine, "you suggested that we come back here. Armed. Ready to confront Paul, who you were convinced was alive and free. Gabrielle would lead us to him, you said. I didn't believe it. But then we saw him through the window, and I thought what a smart woman you were."
"It wasn't that hard to figure out!" she insisted, her eyes glassy with fear.
"Jean," Arneau said to Deschamps, his expression distorted with grim confusion. "What do we do now?"
"Kill him!" Madeleine raged. "Kill him!"
"Lock her up," Paul said, "until after the invasion."
Gabrielle felt the balance of opinion shift in his favor, almost like a physical force.
Deschamps looked at Madeleine, waiting for her to say something.
"He's a traitor!" she cried.
They all stared at her in silence.
"I don't have to put up with this!" She made her biggest mistake then: She tried to leave.
Raine blocked the door. Two others trained their weapons on her. No one was pointing a gun at Paul anymore.
"No!" Madeleine shrieked.
"Oh, no," Deschamps suddenly muttered.
"What?" Gabrielle looked at him worriedly.
"It finally occurs to me," he said.
"What occurs to you?" Gabrielle prodded.
"Le Blanc. Shot the day before yesterday."
"Well?"
"He was frightened by what was happening. Stopped going home at all a few days ago. Came into the café and told us he was thinking of fleeing. Meanwhile, he was going to lie low. He'd just discovered an ideal hiding place. Told us we could join him there if we wanted to. The crypt of St. Cyr."
Arneau gasped. "Yes, that's where they got him!"
"Paul was in prison when Le Blanc told us about the crypt," Deschamps said, looking at Madeleine. "He couldn't have known."
"It means nothing!" Madeleine screamed.
Deschamps pointed his gun at her.
"No!" Madeleine cried.
"Don't," Paul said quietly to Deschamps.
"Are you telling me you have doubts?" Deschamps demanded.
"No, I'm telling you that everything's about to change."
Arneau pounced, "The invasion!"
"Let's lock her up somewhere safe," Paul said, "and deal with her after liberation."
"No," Deschamps said.
"I'm still in charge," Paul reminded him.
"You're not even French!" Arneau objected.
"Four dead, Paul," Deschamps said. "Five if we count Didier. Two more arrested recently, perhaps dead by now."
"Executing a woman..." Paul's expression was strained.
"This is war," Deschamps said.
"And this is our business, not yours," Raine asserted. "She is one of us. You aren't. She has betrayed us. You have no say in this, Paul."
Deschamps looked around the room. "I say she dies. Is there anyone here who disagrees?"
Gabrielle knew she had the right to speak up, but she didn't. This woman was responsible for all the crimes Deschamps had just listed. She was also responsible for what had happened to Paul. She had even tried to get his own associates to kill him. Gabrielle touched Paul's hand to attract his gaze. He looked troubled as their eyes met, but he didn't try to influence her to protest the execution.
"It's settled, then," Deschamps announced. "We do it now."
"Cochons!" Madeleine howled. "You think the Germans won't punish you for this? You think you can just kill me and not suffer for it?"
Gabrielle looked at her in horror. Panting with hysterical hatred and mortal terror, struggling against the men who held her, lashing out with her feet, savage in her rage.
"They know who all of you are!" Madeleine screamed. "They will know who did this to me! They will hunt you down one by one and butcher you! They know your names, where you live—"
She choked when Deschamps stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth. Her muffled cries continued, a terrible sound of desperate venom and angry fear.
Raine spoke again. "I'll see to it."
Deschamps nodded. Raine exited the cottage, along with a struggling Madeleine and the two men hauling her along to her death.
"The Germans won't have time to hunt you down," Paul told the remaining people. "The invasion will almost certainly be at dawn."
"What?"
"Here, in Normandy."
"What?"
He had their full attention once again. While he explained everything he had already explained to Gabrielle, she sank shakily into a chair, briefly overcome by the traumatic events of the past few days, culminating in the terrible scene which had just taken place in her normally quiet little cottage.
She listened while Paul gave everyone in the group their assignments, told them when and where to strike at German supply lines, and advised them of the signs which would indicate the invasion had begun. They established a primary rendezvous point for twenty-four hours from now, and a secondary rendezvous point for forty-eight hours from now. Paul would issue further instructions then. He also warned them that Caen might well be devastated in the fighting to come.
"But this," Deschamps said, "this I will not flee. This day is the reason I have stayed in occupied France as long as I have. I never stopped believing this day would come."
"You wanted to flee it a few hours ago," Paul reminded him.
"That was when I thought I could take your wife with me." Deschamps shrugged. "If she's staying here with you, well, I suppose I might as well fight Germans, eh?"
Paul smiled wryly and shook his hand. "Good luck."
Gabrielle rose to wish him good luck, too. Instead of accepting the hand she offered him, Deschamps chided, "Is that any way to send a warrior off to battle? Come, chérie, one little kiss. It's perfectly respectable, your husband's standing right here."
Feeling generous towards him for listening to Paul, Gabrielle permitted herself to be embraced and kissed. It was not exactly a chaste kiss, but he didn't push his luck.
Even so, Paul said, "All right, you've had your fun. Hands off my wife now, or the Germans won't need to shoot you."
Deschamps sighed, shook his head, and left. Arneau and the others followed one by one, each shaking Paul's hand and exchanging wishes of good luck. When the last of them was gone, Paul closed the door, leaned against it, and let his breath out on a whoosh.
Their eyes met.
"There was a minute there," he said, "when I thought they wouldn't believe me. I thought they'd shoot me, and then you'd make them shoot you, and it would be all over."
She crossed the room and slid into his arms, pressing him up against the door. "I was so afraid," she murmured. "And then I was so horrified. Paul, do you think..."
"No, I don't think you should have spoken up to spare her. I had to, but you didn't, ma mie."
"You don't like them killing a woman."
"I don't like execution without trial, either." He sighed. "But I understand them doing it. War really is... hell."
She nodded and tightened her arms around him. "What do we do now?"
"Now we eat something, pack some supplies, change clothes, and go to our first position. We've got a few roads to sabotage." He kissed her forehead and added, "Work, work, work."
She smiled, rubbed her forehead against his cheek—and then gasped as she realized.... "Oh, my God!"
"What?"
"Paul!"
"What?"
"That horrible scene. Our lives at stake. They might have shot us."
"I know, sweethear—"
"And if they had," she said in mortification, "then they'd probably have found out."
"What?"
"I'm not wearing any underwear." He'd taken her panties off in the bedroom, and she'd been so astonished by his news of the invasion that she'd forgotten to put them back on.
He laughed.
"Mon Dieu. All those people in my house, and me with no underwear on."
"You're really very bourgeois for an artist, you know."
"Yes, well, you're wearing all your clothes," she pointed out.
"We could fix that," he suggested.
She met his gaze doubtfully. "Don't we have to go—"
"Yes, but given what the next few days will probably be like, I think we could spare a half hour right now for each other."
His words reminded her of what they were facing. "It will be very dangerous for everyone, won't it?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"I'm afraid."
"So am I," he admitted.
"Will we be all right?" she asked foolishly.
He was honest. "I don't know."
"If we aren't," she said, "I want you to know—"
"I do know, my love."
"Meeting you..." She smiled. "It was worth the war to me."
"And the rest of my life with you," he replied, "is worth everything I have to do now to earn it."
They kissed.
She nuzzled his neck. "A half hour, you said?"
"Come into the bedroom," he whispered.
When he tried
to move away from the door, she pressed him against it again. "Don't you even want to check and see if I'm telling the truth about the underwear?"
He grinned and started pulling up her dress, ever so slowly.
"I should change your bandages before we go," she murmured, breathing deeply as his hands moved along her thighs.
He shrugged. "My back doesn't hurt that much now. Everything feels much better."
"Even so..."
"Shhh... Not right now..."
"Mmmm..." He was right. It could wait.
He carried her into the bedroom as the sun set on an occupied nation praying for liberation. All their hopes and dreams, the only future in which the two of them wanted to live, and every sacrifice they had made, now all depended on what happened tomorrow. There would never be another night like the one they faced together now, so full of mingled hope and fear. There would never be another dawn like tomorrow's, when all they had to do was save the world.
The End
Introduction to the Short Stories
I originally wrote the following four stories, along with Nights of Fire, when I was invited years ago to participate in a new publishing program... one which subsequently shut down without publishing any of the work.
The first three stories here, Wedding Night, Before Midnight, and See You In Paris, are about Paul and Gabrielle. Wedding Night and Before Midnight both take place before the events of this novel; See You In Paris takes place immediately afterward.
The final story in this collection, Fire and Flame, is a stand-alone tale set during the London Blitz, when a pair of lovers reunite while the air raid sirens wail and the sky catches fire.
—Laura Resnick
Wedding Night
Occupied France
June, 1943
Gabrielle dreamed of his hands on her body, stroking, caressing, shamelessly investigating her secret crevices and hidden places. Dreamed of his lips on her skin, his breath warm where it tickled her, his mouth deliciously hot as it moved over her flesh. Of his whispers, coaxing her, praising her, encouraging her. Teasing her and flirting with her...
Paul...
They made love in dark shadows in her dream. Secretive, hidden, afraid of discovery. She was on fire for him, delirious with passion. They couldn't get enough of each other. It had been that way from the beginning.
