Darkest Longings

by Susan Lewis

  Playing at peasants was hardly the way for a future comtesse to be conducting herself, Élise thought spitefully, but she could see that the rusticity might have a certain appeal for someone who wasn’t born to it. Around two in the afternoon, apparently, The Bitch returned to the château to receive her afternoon callers, and spent two or three hours in the nursery with her precious son before dining with her parents-in-law. Then, at about ten o’clock, she met the vigneron at the bridge and went back with him to their house. Until François returned they had often spent the whole night together, with St Jacques taking her back to the château at dawn, but now she stayed no later than midnight. They made love on a bed in the corner of the kitchen, St Jacques always rode her, and she had a mole on the underside of her left breast. In fact Élise knew everything about The Bitch, right down to the fact that she was using a diaphragm. She and the vigneron seemed so much in love that there were moments when Élise could almost feel jealous, until she remembered that it was that snake Halunke who was crawling about the forest watching their every move.

  Hungry as Élise was for details of Claudine’s life, when it came to François she preferred to remain in ignorance. She did not like him spending so long at Lorvoire. If he had still been travelling about the Continent ‘selling his wine’ she would have been much happier, but since Krystalnacht – the night when the anti-Semitic pogroms had begun in Germany – he had made only two trips to Paris and three to London. She wondered what François felt about what was happening to the Jews, and whether he was making any money out of them. He might be warning them of their fate or, on the other hand, he might be supplying the Nazis with information. Whatever he was doing, there wasn’t much chance of finding anything out about it when he was apparently so besotted with his wretched son.

  *

  François’ interest in his son at first confounded Claudine, not least because young Louis, who had not seen his father more than half a dozen times since he was born, responded to him as though he saw him every day. What made the situation feel even stranger was that she had almost forgotten François was her husband – he had been away for so long that the life she had made for herself with Armand now felt more real than the one at the château. Day after day she waited for François to ask her about Armand, but as the weeks passed she realized he wasn’t going to. She knew it was irrational, but she was annoyed by his silence. She was burning to ask him if he was responsible for having them watched; though neither she nor Armand had actually caught sight of anyone, the feeling that they were being spied on never left them.

  ‘Do you think François is waiting for something to happen?’ she asked Armand one evening as they were settling down to listen to a play on the wireless. ‘I mean, why do you think he’s here?’

  ‘It is his home,’ Armand pointed out. ‘And Louis is his son. Maybe he wants to get to know him better.’

  ‘If it was anyone else but François I’d say you were right, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She didn’t want to talk about her fear that François was trying to ease her out of her son’s life. In fact she tried not to think about François at all, so she said, ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Kiss me, then.’

  He groaned. ‘But you know what’ll happen if I kiss you!’

  Her eyes were dancing. ‘You’re like an old married man, Armand St Jacques.’

  ‘And you, Claudine de Lorvoire, are insatiable.’

  In fact Claudine had found to her dismay that François’ presence at the château made her climax more elusive than ever. She had finally confessed the failure to Armand, suggesting that it might be because they were being watched. He said he understood, admitting that knowing someone was watching sometimes made it more difficult for him too.

  ‘We will overcome it, you know,’ he told her later that evening.

  She looked down at him, lying on the bed, so handsome and relaxed in his nudity that her heart turned over.

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘And it’s not because I don’t love you, you know that, don’t you?’

  He smiled, then got up and started to pull on his trousers.

  It was approaching midnight by the time Claudine crossed the bridge into the château. Armand waited until the door had closed firmly behind her before he turned back into the forest.

  Halunke stole quietly through the night. The moon was covered by cloud, but the gurgle and hiss of the waterfall guided him through the trees. As he slithered down the bank into the moonlit glade, the distant sound of thunder rumbled through the heavens. He pulled his collar higher, and hunching his shoulders against the chill night air, moved silently on through the long grass.

  He was on the point of making the descent into the vineyards when he suddenly stopped. He waited, then edged towards a tree, sinking into the darkness and pressing his slender body against the rough bark. He listened, his eyes and ears alert to the eerie sounds of shifting night shadows – an animal feeding? His white teeth gleamed in the darkness as his tension suddenly eased – the only person out that night was the vigneron, returning home after his rendezvous with de Lorvoire’s wife.

  He felt a momentary stab of irritation. De Lorvoire had been at the château for months now, and still he had done nothing about his wife’s affair. The man’s indifference was proving tiresome; if it continued, there would be little satisfaction to be gained from killing her. But then he reminded himself that much could change before he got as far as de Lorvoire’s wife.

  He moved on, his thoughts turning from de Lorvoire to von Liebermann and he swore viciously under his breath. If it wasn’t for the German he’d have struck at de Lorvoire’s family long ago, but von Liebermann had threatened to reveal his identity if he acted again without authorization, and Halunke could not risk de Lorvoire finding out who he was. If he did find out, Halunke knew beyond doubt that he would not live long enough to achieve his revenge.

  Dimly he wondered why von Liebermann was so interested in de Lorvoire, but he had never asked, and he didn’t really care. What mattered was that von Liebermann had discovered his burning hatred for de Lorvoire and was now putting it to his own use. For now, all von Liebermann required was information on the comings and goings at the château. Halunke grimaced. He had no taste for espionage, but he was trapped in the Abwehr net, and his only hope now was that there would be a war between France and Germany. Then, with other things to occupy von Liebermann, he might regain his autonomy. And once he did, how easy it would be to make de Lorvoire suffer!

  Again Halunke broke into a smile: François de Lorvoire had made a grave mistake fathering a son on a woman as beautiful and hungry for love as Claudine.

  Reaching up and removing the clip from her hair, Claudine shook out her curls and stared dispassionately at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She looked older, she thought. Perhaps it was the strain of leading a double-life these past few months. It did not suit her, and what she wanted more than anything else, she realized, confronting her own pale face in the glass, was that François should leave. His presence confused and infuriated her. He could have no doubts about the nature of her relationship with Armand, but he continued to say nothing. Nothing! And she was so consumed with rage at his indifference that she was quite unable to concentrate on what really mattered: how to find a way for her and Armand to be together – always. And when she did manage to focus on the problem, it seemed insuperable. How could she even contemplate leaving François when she knew how hurt Solange and Louis would be. It would break their hearts to lose their grandson … But of course, if she took little Louis away François would pursue her to the ends of the earth to get him back.

  She sighed wearily. Every time she tried to think any further than that about herself and Armand, it was as though her mind threw up a barrier, blinding her to a solution that she was sure was staring her right in the face …

  Still looking in the mirror, she put he
r head on one side and forced a wide smile. Perhaps it was all this talk of war that was making her feel so gloomy this morning – or perhaps it was François’ behaviour towards her at dinner the night before.

  Ever since his return to the château, each week had seen the arrival of someone new – politicians, generals, diplomats; Poles, Belgians, even one or two Germans. Like Solange, she enjoyed visitors, but François’ attitude towards her when he had guests was nothing short of humiliating, and his behaviour last night had been frankly outrageous. When for the second time he casually dismissed a contribution she had made to the general conversation, she had been so incensed that she had waited in their sitting-room until the early hours of the morning for the express purpose of hurling a book at him.

  She grinned; it hadn’t hurt him a bit, and his response had been maddening. He’d simply picked up the book, replaced it on the shelf and walked into his bedroom. Not even a goodnight.

  She put down her hairbrush, and was on the point of opening a drawer when she suddenly sensed that someone was standing at the door. That was one of the things she detested most about François, the way he could make her so acutely aware of his presence without even having to speak.

  ‘Do you want something?’ she said coldly, not bothering to turn round.

  He smiled at her hostility. ‘Yes. I’d like your company for breakfast. I’ve asked for it to be served here, in the apartment.’

  ‘Why?’ she said testily.

  ‘There’s something I want to show you.’ And before she could protest any further, he walked out.

  When she joined him five minutes later, he was already at the table, still wearing his dressing-gown over a pair of black pyjamas. He was reading the newspaper, but he put it down when she came in, and poured them both a coffee.

  ‘I hope this isn’t going to take long,’ she said, sitting down. ‘I’ve promised to take Gertrude Reinberg to see a doctor in Tours this morning.’

  ‘Gertrude Reinberg?’ he said. ‘The woman who lives next door to the café? She’s Jewish, isn’t she?’

  Surprised, Claudine said, ‘I suppose she is. I hadn’t really thought about it. Why?’

  ‘No reason.’ He passed her cup, then leaned back in his chair. ‘This might take a little longer than you would like, but I’m afraid that can’t be helped.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ She picked up her coffee and, assuming an air of boredom, stared out of the window at the heavily laden branches swaying across the veranda.

  He watched her for a moment, then after taking a mouthful of coffee he came straight to the point. ‘I am aware,’ he began, ‘that you and Armand suspect me of having you watched.’

  Her hand froze in mid-air. She could hardly believe it. All these months of saying nothing, and now …

  ‘You are wrong, I’m afraid,’ he went on, ‘at least in suspecting me. But you’re right in thinking that there is someone out there in the forest. Regrettably, he is not in my employ. Life would be so much less complicated if we were dealing with nothing more than a jealous husband.’

  Deciding to ignore his loathsome irony, she said, ‘Then perhaps you would care to tell me what we are dealing with.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he answered pensively. ‘But I do know that his interest in you stems from an interest in me. It will probably come as no suprise to you to learn that I have many enemies. So it is my hope that when I leave Touraine tomorrow, whoever is spying on you will leave too.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I call a double relief,’ she said acidly – and to her annoyance, he laughed. ‘And does this person present any kind of threat to you?’ she asked coldly.

  He grinned. ‘I’m touched by your concern. Yes, ultimately I’m sure he does mean me some harm. But I am less concerned for myself than for my family, which is why I intend taking the precaution of speaking to Armand before I leave, to ask him to make sure you are never in the forest alone.’

  His casual allusion to her affair was outrageous, but before she could speak he said, ‘I have also employed a nanny for Louis. She is not an ordinary nanny, but only you will know that.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she cried.

  ‘It means that she will be protecting my – our son.’

  Immediately the blood drained from her face. ‘Are you telling me Louis is in some kind of danger from this man?’

  ‘I doubt it, but …’

  ‘But you don’t know for sure?’

  ‘No.’

  She closed her eyes, feeling for a moment on the brink of hysteria. Then suddenly her fists clenched and she slammed them on the table, shouting, ‘He’s a baby, François! Just a baby. How could you have put him in this position? I thought you loved him!’

  He waited for her to look at him, then held her gaze. She felt his power, then oddly felt her panic start to subside. ‘I give you my word, Claudine,’ he said, in a deep, sombre voice, ‘that nothing will happen to Louis. It is a source of relief to me that you have Armand to protect you, but at the same time you must take some responsibility for yourself.’ He hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Maybe now is the time to tell you that it was precisely for this reason that I did not want to marry you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was afraid something like this might happen. As my wife you are an obvious target for my enemies, which is why I have gone out of my way to let it be known that I do not love you. It is also why I have done nothing to interfere in your liaison with Armand. So far it has worked.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You are still alive.’

  ‘I can’t believe what you’re saying!’ she cried. ‘You mean someone is planning to kill me, to kill Louis, because of you? Who are these people who hate you so much? What have you done to them?’

  ‘At this precise moment in time I am unable to answer either of those questions.’

  ‘Unable or unwilling?’

  He looked at her.

  ‘I want to know what’s going on, François!’

  ‘I know you do. But as I said, it is my hope that when I leave tomorrow, whoever is watching the château will leave too.’

  ‘And what if he kills you? What will happen …?’ She stopped as her words were sucked into the horrible drone of fear rushing through her head.

  He chuckled. ‘I should have thought nothing would suit you better than my untimely despatch, Claudine, but I’m afraid that if they intended to kill me they’d have done it by now. There are, unfortunately, far more effective ways of making a man pay for what he has done than killing him.’

  They sat in silence then, and she watched his hands as he started to break a brioche. They were so large, the dark hair on his arms so sinister … She lifted her eyes to his and suddenly she felt as though her heart were being torn from her body. Quickly she looked away, dazed by the strength of him, which made her feel both safe and terrified. ‘How long will you be gone?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘That depends very much on what I can find out.’

  He didn’t say any more, and nor did she. She knew that once he had left there would be a thousand questions she wanted to ask him, but for now her mind seemed to have gone numb. In the end she dully reminded him that he had said he had something to show her.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, suddenly smiling. He got up and left the apartment, returning a little while later, alone and empty-handed. ‘Be patient,’ he said, and in a couple of minutes the door opened and Magaly came in, carrying Louis.

  ‘Wait,’ François said.

  Claudine sat back in her chair and watched as Magaly set Louis on the floor and François leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. ‘Now, Louis,’ he said, ‘show Maman what you can do.’

  Louis’ chubby little face was wreathed in smiles as he bounced around on his unsteady legs, shouting and waving his arms in the air.

  ‘No, no, no,’ François said. ‘You can do better than that. Now come along, come to Papa.’

  Claudine looked at Fran�
�ois in amazement, but he was still watching Louis. Then Louis gave an ear-splitting screech, and with an exuberant blowing of bubbles he hurtled the few steps into his father’s arms.

  ‘That’s my boy,’ François laughed, swinging him up onto his lap and planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘Now, what does Maman think of that?’

  For a moment Claudine was too overcome to speak. Then, pulling herself together, she reached out for her son, who was straining to come to her. It wasn’t only the fact that Louis had taken his first steps at the age of ten months that had so profoundly affected her. It was the way François had behaved, the way he had looked …

  She looked across at him, but he only raised his eyebrows at her, then returned to his newspaper as though she had ceased to exist.

  – 17 –

  MONIQUE SHRIEKED AS Claudine whirled her round in her arms, then hugged her tightly. ‘Congratulations, chérie! I wondered what you had been doing in Paris all this time! But how long have you known him? How did you meet him? Come along, sit down and tell me everything.’

  Smiling all over her face, Monique allowed Claudine to lead her to the sofa. ‘It’s a secret, remember?’ she said, still breathless from Claudine’s embrace. ‘You’re not to tell anyone about him until I say.’

  ‘Of course I won’t. But aren’t you at least going to tell Solange and Louis?’

  Monique shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think it’s fair to tell them I’m getting engaged to someone they don’t know, so we’re going to take it slowly, and arrange for them to meet at least once before we say anything. So promise you won’t breathe a word.’

  ‘Cross my heart!’ Claudine smiled. Then clasping Monique’s hands she cried, ‘Oh, but look how your eyes are shining! Any fool could see you’re in love! And you haven’t even told me his name!’

  ‘Karol Kalinowski,’ Monique answered, her face flushing with pleasure as she pronounced the name. ‘He’s Polish. He’s left his country because of what’s happening there, and now he’s trying to get his family to France too. It isn’t proving easy, and he misses them terribly. He’s a very special man, Claudine, so sensitive, so full of compassion.’