by Susan Lewis
He took her there on the sofa, so urgently and so swiftly that he didn’t even bother to take off his coat. The second time he pushed her over the dining table and took her from behind. Then he led her into the bedroom where he finally removed his clothes and lay down on the bed.
For a while they talked about what he had been doing while he was away, then he flicked back the bedclothes and pulled her on top of him. She rode him with a mounting frenzy while he looked up at her, his hands clasped behind his head, his face expressionless. His climax took longer to achieve that time, but when finally his eyes closed and she saw the muscles in his neck start to tense, she reached behind her and pushed her hand between his legs. His hips suddenly jerked from the bed, and as the semen started to shoot from him, he circled her waist with his hands and slammed into her so hard that she screamed for mercy. When he had finished he let her go, and within minutes he was asleep.
When Élise awoke the following morning she found herself wrapped in his arms, her back pressed against his chest, her bottom resting on his thighs and her head nestling against his shoulder. She lay quietly for some time, listening to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his skin on hers. She knew it was unlikely they would leave the room much before lunch, and for her, lying here like this was the first part of the love-making that would keep them there. This morning he would devote himself to her pleasure, just as last night she had given herself to his.
The fact that he believed Claudine’s child was his still rankled with her, but she knew better than to broach the subject again. She would decide later how best to handle Claudine’s pregnancy – she had only refrained from interfering until now because she had fully expected François to believe that St Jacques was the father. If he had believed that, she was certain that in one way or another he would have ended his marriage.
For her part, she had no idea whether St Jacques was the father or not. All she knew was that The Bitch was stealing the hearts of everyone she met, and though there were times when Élise doubted if François had a heart to steal, she had only to feel the way he was holding her now to know that, if he chose, he was as capable of love as any man. She also knew that if The Bitch gave birth to an heir, her hopes and dreams of one day becoming the Comtesse de Rassey de Lorvoire, and the mother of the future comte, would be destroyed.
Deciding it was time to wake him she looked at his arm, stretched out across the pillow, and slipping her fingers between his she pushed back against him, gently wriggling her hips. After a moment she did it again, and this time she knew she had woken him.
She turned to face him, and taking his bottom lip between her own, she sucked at it gently. Eventually she pulled away and looked into his eyes. She saw his sardonic smile as she threw off the blankets, then pushed him onto his back so that she could watch him come to full erection. Already his penis was hard, but she waited until it was straining to his navel before lifting her eyes to his. For a while they simply looked at one another, until he lifted a hand and pulled her to him, moulding his lips around hers. It was a long, succulent kiss which seemed to last forever. He drew her body closer so that she could feel the strength of his desire, before, keeping his lips on hers, he rolled her onto her back.
It was as he lowered his mouth to her breasts that the telephone started to ring. Élise groaned and started to sit up, but he pushed her back against the pillows. Smiling salaciously, she relaxed again, and allowed her legs to fall open as his fingers stroked her thighs. Any moment now it would be as if she had left her body, as if there was no room for anything but the overpowering sensation of his touch. But as her eyes fluttered closed, there was a knock at the door. Again she groaned, but this time in anger as her maid called, ‘Monsieur de Lorvoire! It is the telephone for you, monsieur. Your father wishes to speak to you.’
François had been on the point of telling her to go away, but hearing that it was his father, he pushed himself quickly from the bed and unhooked the robe he kept on the back of the door.
He was back within minutes. Élise was sitting up in bed, the blankets covering her to the waist, her beautiful yellow hair tumbling over her breasts. She smiled as he came in, but as she saw his thunderous expression her face froze.
‘What is it?’ she breathed.
Ignoring her, he started to pull on his clothes.
‘François! What is it? What’s happened?’
He didn’t answer until he was fully dressed, then he rounded on her with a fierceness that struck terror to her heart. ‘My wife has had a fall,’ he snarled. ‘The footman dropped a breakfast tray, slipped and collided with her on the stairs.’
‘What? But … Is she all right?’
‘I don’t know. The doctor’s with her now. But you, Élise, had better start praying that she is.’
‘François! What do you mean? Where are you going?’
He stopped at the door, then swung round to face her. ‘I don’t know how much you know about this, Élise, but I’m warning you, have that man out of my home before I arrive there, or so help me, I’ll kill you both.’
The door slammed behind him and she was left kneeling on the bed, her exquisite face ashen and her wide green eyes leaden with fear.
There were four of them: General Rudolf von Liebermann, Max Helber, Walter Brüning and Ernst Grundhausen. They were at a secret address in Berlin, in the sleazy, garbage-strewn backstreets of the city’s red light district. Apart from the chairs they were sitting on, there was no furniture in the room, and the two sash-windows which overlooked the striptease clubs, the shady bars and the rancid market stalls four floors below, were smeared with the filth and slime of several years.
Von Liebermann, the eldest and heaviest of them, and also the most senior in rank, waited for the others to complete their perusal of the documents he had handed them on their arrival. It was his way to present his Komitee with a chronicle of recently acquired intelligence at the start of each meeting, which they were required to read, without comment, from beginning to end. Then, when they had finished, he would address them. On this occasion, however, he had information over and above what was contained in the documents, and as he sat waiting patiently for his men to finish reading there was a hint of a smile on his pale lips. How convenient that a meeting had been arranged for today – it had saved him the trouble of locating the men in order to pass on the news which had reached him in the early hours of that morning.
At last it was time for him to speak. Lifting a hand to his mouth, he cleared his throat, and with no reference to anything they had read, he said, ‘The Wine Supplier’s wife has had a fall.’
The three faces staring back at him remained bland, and he experienced a quick thrill of satisfaction that he had chosen his men so well. Then he raised his brows, an indication that they were now permitted to speak.
‘Did the child perish?’ Grundhausen enquired.
‘Possibly,’ von Liebermann answered.
‘Possibly?’ repeated Max Helber, the man sitting to his right.
Looking at Helber’s youthful face and thick, full-blooded lips, von Liebermann felt a gentle stirring in his loins. He ignored it, and said, ‘For the moment, all I know is that his wife took a fall on the stairs at the Touraine château yesterday morning.’
‘Was it an accident?’ Helber asked.
‘If one were to take into account the fact that Philippe Mauclair has sustained a broken leg and dislocated his shoulder, then yes, one could refer to it as an accident.’
‘Clumsy of him,’ Helber remarked. ‘Where is he now?’
‘He has been removed from the château to a nearby hospital.’
Helber started to speak again, but was interrupted by Walter Brüning. ‘Was Mauclair acting under the instructions of the Pascale woman?’ he wanted to know.
Von Liebermann rubbed his jaw. ‘No,’ he said, drawing out the word.
Brüning smirked. ‘Halunke’s?’
Von Liebermann nodded, and shifted his corpulent frame.
/> ‘Well,’ Brüning said with a sigh, ‘whether she ordered Mauclair to do it or not, La Pascale will no doubt be pleased to learn of the accident.’
‘No doubt,’ General von Liebermann agreed. ‘And I am thinking that the time is fast approaching when one of our people should pay her a visit.’
‘The Wine Supplier won’t like that,’ Helber commented.
‘He won’t know about it. He is extremely valuable to us, but his allegiance is to none but himself. It has long been my intention to change that, to put our friend in a position where he can be persuaded to see the wisdom of placing the Nazi cause a little higher on his list of priorities. We may well be able to achieve that through the Pascale woman. We are fully aware of her ambitions where the Wine Supplier is concerned – we may be in a position to help her, if in return she is prepared to help us.’
‘Do we take it that Mauclair is no longer of any use to us?’ Grundhausen enquired.
‘Not as he is, but when he has recovered I think he could prove extremely useful in representing us to La Pascale. As we know, she believes herself to be his sole employer. It should come as something of a surprise to her to learn that she is not. Incidentally, Halunke informs me that de Lorvoire was at the apartment on the avenue Foch when he learned of his wife’s accident. Before he left, he ordered the Pascale woman to remove Mauclair from Lorvoire.’
‘De Lorvoire knew of Philippe Mauclair’s association with his mistress?’
‘It would seem so, Max, my friend. Let it be yet another lesson to us never to underestimate this man. However, I think we can remain confident that he knows nothing of our association with Mauclair, which is all that concerns me.’
Ernst Grundhausen spoke again. ‘In acquiring the services of the Pascale woman we shall presumably become obliged to arrange the death of the Wine Supplier’s wife – and child?’
‘The child may already have been taken care of,’ von Liebermann reminded him. ‘However, Halunke gave his instructions without authorization. I shall speak to him about it. It is of little concern to me personally whether the Wine Supplier’s wife lives or dies, but as it is of the utmost concern to the Pascale woman, I believe the wife should not be introduced to her Maker just yet. In other words, Élise Pascale will be more inclined to help us while she has something to gain.’
‘But if the Wine Supplier believes Pascale to be behind Mauclair’s “accident”, doesn’t that make life rather complicated?’ Brüning pointed out. ‘After all, the Wine Supplier wants – wanted? – that child.’
Von Liebermann smiled. ‘When Élise Pascale pleads her innocence, it is my belief that the Wine Supplier will know she is telling the truth. However, we must hope that the child survives, for he will feel better disposed towards his mistress’s pleas if it does.’
Inwardly, Helber shuddered. Since joining the Komitee he had encountered a great many unscrupulous men, but not one of them came even close to disturbing him in the way the French Wine Supplier did. If that child died, he most certainly wouldn’t want to be in Élise Pascale’s shoes. ‘Do we have any immediate plans for Mauclair?’ he asked.
‘Halunke advises that we leave him to the Pascale woman for the time being, and I am inclined to agree.’
‘Do we need to replace him inside the château?’
Von Liebermann shook his head. ‘Halunke informs me that the situation there has changed so much over the past few months that we no longer need an agent in situ. Of course the situation could change again – but Halunke will keep us posted. In the meantime he has devised a way to observe the Wine Supplier himself, and once we have Élise Pascale working for us, between them they should be able to keep us adequately informed of de Lorvoire’s movements.’
‘Have you a meeting scheduled with de Lorvoire?’
‘I have.’
Helber knew better than to ask when, and Grundhausen returned to the subject of the child.
‘In Mauclair’s last report he mentioned that there was some doubt as to the father’s identity,’ he said.
‘Halunke is satisfied that it is the Wine Supplier’s,’ von Liebermann answered with a smirk.
‘When do you expect the Pascale woman to be at our disposal?’ Brüning asked.
‘As soon as Mauclair has recovered and Halunke has had an opportunity to apprise him of our intentions. And now, gentlemen,’ von Liebermann said, sliding his own copy of the documents he had presented earlier out of his attaché-case, ‘I suggest we return to matters closer to home.’
An hour later, all four members of the Abwehr – the German Intelligence organization whose ruthlessness made the Gestapo’s seem like child’s play – rose from their chairs and dropped their documents in the fireplace. Grundhausen struck the match, and they waited until every inch of paper had been devoured before they prepared to leave. Von Liebermann went first, the others followed at intervals of an hour or more – which gave two of them time to avail themselves of the services of the prostitute on the floor below. Helber and von Liebermann would meet later at another secret address.
For more than twenty-four hours Claudine drifted in and out of consciousness, dimly aware of the worried faces looking down at her, and the hushed voices that floated around her but never quite reached her. She knew her baby’s life was in jeopardy, but it was as though it was happening to someone else – she was unable to focus her attention for more than a few minutes at a time. Once or twice she thought she heard François speaking to her, thought she could feel him holding her hand, stroking her face and whispering to her that it would be all right. But whenever she managed to force her eyes open, the room was empty.
It was another three days before she was able to sit up without feeling faint, and a further two before Doctor Lebrun dared to admit that it seemed the baby would survive. However, he refused point-blank to allow her out of bed; she must stay there, he told her, for at least another week. By now her strength had returned sufficiently for her to protest loudly at this ruling, but when François appeared at the door and informed the doctor that his wife would of course take his advice, she decided to give in gracefully. Arguing with François when her condition was still so delicate would be foolish in the extreme. She would simply wait for him to leave – as he no doubt would, now that the immediate danger had passed – and then she would vacate her bed as and when she pleased.
However, she soon began to realize that François had no intention of leaving just yet, and though he hardly ever came into her room, she could feel his presence as oppressively as if he were a gaoler.
‘As you are carrying my child,’ he said, on one of the rare occasions when he visited her, ‘you will do as I say. If you wish to exercise your legs, you can walk about the apartment, and if you want fresh air, the windows will be opened. But until Doctor Lebrun is satisfied that you are strong enough to leave this room, you will stay where you are.’
Afterwards, she heard him outside, telling Magaly that if he found out that his wife had disobeyed him, he would hold her responsible.
Magaly came into the room a few minutes later, having first made certain that François had left the apartment. When she pulled an envelope from her apron pocket, Claudine very nearly snatched it out of her hand.
She didn’t even wait for Magaly to leave the room before tearing the letter open, but when she read the few words it contained, she fell back against the pillows, tears welling in her eyes. I am thinking of you. She whispered the words aloud. ‘Oh, Magaly, this must be so terrible for him.’
Magaly walked back to the bed and took Claudine’s hand between her own. They had never discussed Armand before, but Magaly had known Claudine since she was six years old and didn’t need to be told what was going on in her mistress’s mind.
‘Would you like to write to him, chérie?’ she said. ‘I will take the letter for you.’
Claudine opened her eyes, and smiling through her tears, she said. ‘Do you think he knows that I love him, Magaly?’
Laughing, Magal
y said, ‘I am in no doubt of it.’
But then Claudine’s face fell again. ‘What are we going to do, Magaly?’
Magaly gave her hand a comforting squeeze. ‘It is very hard for you now, ma petite, but one day you will find a way.’ Again she laughed. ‘When have you not?’ And taking a handkerchief from her apron pocket, she started to wipe away her mistress’s tears.
‘Stay and talk to me, Magaly,’ Claudine whispered. ‘Talk to me about him.’
It was dark outside by the time Magaly left. Claudine was at last sleeping peacefully, Armand’s letter tucked beneath her pillow. Magaly would deliver her answer the next morning – she had written the same as him, Je pense à toi.
She was still fast asleep when François let himself into the room just after midnight and stood at the foot of her bed, staring down at her with a hard, impenetrable look in his eyes. He had stood there like this every night since her fall, and he would continue to come until the doctor pronounced his child sufficiently out of danger for Claudine to leave her bed.
That happened ten days later, by which time Erich von Pappen had told François that his presence in Berlin was requested urgently. He waited another two days, during which time he provoked everyone’s curiosity by spending many hours with Liliane. Then, on the first morning Claudine was allowed downstairs, he prepared to leave.
Solange walked with him to the car, her arm through his. During the crisis she had behaved with perfect sanity, but now that the danger was past she had returned to her old eccentric self. What had happened, she told François as she stood with him by the car, her crazy hair wildly on end, was something they could now all forget about. It was an accident which, thank God, had done nothing more than shake them all up a little.
