Darkest Longings

by Susan Lewis

  Her eyes drifted towards the open window, and watching her, Claudine was hard put to it not to hug her again. She was so pleased that at last Monique was happy, so pleased that she had confided in her. ‘Well?’ she prompted. ‘What does he look like? How old is he? Does he come from a good family?’

  ‘He’s a count,’ Monique laughed. ‘He’s thirty-three, and he’s … the most handsome man I’ve ever met!’

  ‘And when did he ask you to marry him?’

  ‘Er … the evening before last.’

  But Monique’s cheeks had turned pink, and suddenly Claudine knew the truth. ‘You were in bed with him at the time!’ she cried.

  ‘Ssh!’ Monique warned. Then ‘Do you think me terrible? Going to bed with a man before we are married?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Claudine laughed.

  ‘Then I’ll let you into another secret. Karol was not the first.’

  ‘Oh là là!’ Claudine cried, feigning horror.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ Monique sighed. ‘I just get these feelings when I’m with a man and I … Well, you know how it is.’

  ‘I do,’ Claudine smiled. ‘So, when are you going to announce your engagement?’

  ‘The day after the July ball at the Polish Embassy. We thought that would be a perfect opportunity for Karol to meet my family without too much formality, then he can call on Papa the next day. Oh, you will come to Paris for the ball, won’t you, Claudine? You’ve been invited, we all have.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But aren’t we going to meet him before that?’

  Monique’s smile faded. ‘He’s gone to Poland and won’t be returning until the day before the ball. Three whole weeks, Claudine! How am I going to survive without him for so long?’

  ‘We shall shop, that’s how!’ Claudine decided. ‘It’s an age since I was in Paris, and it’s high time I livened up my wardrobe. I feel positively dowdy beside you. Just look at that dress!’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Monique stood up and twirled round so that her full skirts billowed around her legs. ‘It’s what they call a surah dress.’

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Claudine sighed wistfully, taking the black silk jersey between her fingers. ‘And it suits you so well. Has Karol seen it?’

  ‘He chose it. But it’s only a day dress, chèrie. You wait ’til you see what Schiaparelli and Alix have for the evenings. Oh là là, you will think you are in heaven.’

  Suddenly the door burst open and Solange bounced into the room. ‘Can I come shopping too?’ she cried. ‘I shall have to have something new for the ball, won’t I? Especially if I am to meet my future son-in-law! Ah, chérie, congratulations. What a happy mother I am.’ And she folded Monique into an enveloping embrace.

  ‘Maman, you have been listening at the door again!’

  ‘No, no, chèrie. I was merely passing and heard your voice.’

  When they had stopped laughing, Claudine said, ‘So it is decided. We shall all go to Paris next week and stay until after the ball. Will Louis come too?’

  ‘Which one?’ Monique asked, smiling.

  ‘Why, both will come of course,’ Solange declared. ‘I cannot go anywhere without my grandson, and grand Louis must come to meet your intended, Monique.’

  As if on cue, an anxious voice sounded from the stairs. ‘Solange! Solange!’

  Solange giggled, clapping a hand to her mouth.

  ‘I must hide.’ And she dived into François’ bedroom.

  ‘I know she’s in here,’ Louis said, appearing in the doorway. ‘Wretched woman! She’s put my name down for the young men’s boules tournament this afternoon. I had the surprise of my life when Claude Villiers turned up just now, but it was nothing compared to the surprise he got when he saw how old I was. Poor man, he was so flustered I had to invite him in for a brandy.’

  ‘And of course you just had to have one with him!’ Monique said, grinning. ‘But Papa, everyone in the region knows you. This man Villiers must have known you weren’t young.’

  ‘He’s a newcomer,’ Louis said. ‘He’s getting to know everyone by organizing these confounded tournaments. Armand, I’m relieved to say, has offered to take my place – but that saucy young Villiers has now put me down for the old men’s tournament next week.’

  While he spoke, Louis had been quietly edging towards the door of François’ bedroom, and now he threw it open.

  ‘Ah! Louis!’ Solange shrieked. ‘There you are. I was looking for you, chéri. The girls and I are going to Paris next week, shopping.’

  ‘Oh no you’re not,’ Louis answered. ‘You, Solange de Lorvoire, are staying here until after the boules tournament. As my wife I order you to share in my humiliation.’

  ‘Oh, chéri,’ she grumbled, ‘do I have to? You play so badly. That was why I put you down for the young men’s team. I thought you would be able to use your age as an excuse.’

  When the laughter had finally died down, Solange said, ‘Do you think we shall see François in Paris? I haven’t seen him for so long. I do miss him, chéri.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘And Louis misses his father, does he not, Claudine?’

  Claudine nodded. No one ever asked her how she felt about François’ absence, it was assumed that she preferred it. But the fact was that since he had failed to return for Louis’ first birthday, after telephoning the week before to say he would try to come, she had hardly slept for worrying about him. That was over four weeks ago, and as far as she knew he hadn’t even contacted his father in that time. ‘Do you know where he is, Louis?’ she ventured.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do. He’s on his way back from London, where I do believe he spent some time with your father. So we might indeed see him in Paris.’ He frowned, and peered at Claudine over the rim of his spectacles. ‘You look a little pale, chérie, are you feeling unwell?’

  ‘No, I’m feeling fine,’ Claudine said. ‘Perhaps it’s your beautiful daughter outshining me with her …’ She stopped abruptly as Monique dug an elbow in her ribs, but it was too late, Solange had remembered the engagement, and Monique was obliged to sit her father down and tell him all about Karol Kalinowski.

  Later, after Solange and Louis had left the apartment, Claudine said, ‘You still haven’t told me where you met him.’

  Monique seemed hesitant.

  ‘Did your eyes meet across a crowded room?’ Claudine said, smiling. ‘Was it love at first sight? Come on, I’m dying to know!’

  Monique sighed. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, I’m sure you know about her anyway. We were introduced by François’ mistress.’

  It was as if something sharp and burning had been suddenly plunged into Claudine’s chest. Then, strangely, it was as though the muscles of her face were trying to drag the smile from her lips, and her heart started to thud monotonously in her ears. ‘François’ mistress?’ she repeated.

  ‘Oh no!’ Monique groaned. She had genuinely believed Claudine must know about Élise by now. ‘I am sorry, chérie. I thought you knew.’

  ‘But of course I knew,’ Claudine heard herself say. ‘I was just a little surprised … Well, surprised that you know her well enough to …’

  ‘I don’t really,’ Monique answered. ‘I’ve only met her a few times, but of course all Paris knows her.’ She winced. That wasn’t what she’d meant to say at all.

  ‘And does all Paris know she is François’ mistress?’ Claudine asked.

  Monique lowered her eyes. ‘I imagine so. But so many men have mistresses, Claudine. It is normal. And you, you have Armand.’

  So far, François had been the only member of the family openly to acknowledge her affair with Armand, and for a moment Claudine wasn’t sure what to say. Everything seemed to be happening rather too fast. ‘Yes, I have Armand,’ she said slowly. And then, ‘What’s her name, Monique? François’ mistress? I’ve often wondered.’

  ‘Élise,’ Monique answered reluctantly. ‘Élise Pascale.’

  Claud
ine frowned ‘Haven’t I heard that name before? Do I know her?’

  ‘No. But you did see her once, I believe. At the opera.’ At once Claudine remembered. ‘You mean …? You mean the woman who was sitting …? But she’s so beautiful!’

  Monique’s laugh was uneasy. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘my brother seems to have an uncanny knack of attracting beautiful women, doesn’t he?’

  After Monique had gone, Claudine sat quite still on the sofa, saying the name to herself over and over again, Élise Pascale. Élise Pascale. Élise … Of course, she knew now why the woman had been staring at her during the opera. She remembered too, how she had seen François speaking to her after. She wondered if Élise bore her any resentment for being François’ wife. She had no need to, since it seemed François had remained as faithful as he could to Élise despite his marriage. For a moment Claudine felt as though she was drowning, then suddenly she jerked herself to her feet, snatched up her purse and stalked out of the room.

  Later that day, as they were sitting together outside the cottage, Claudine told Armand Monique’s news. Armand, who had grown up with the de Lorvoire children, was almost as pleased for her as Claudine.

  ‘Perhaps this time the relationship will be a success,’ he said, stretching out on his back and holding up an arm to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘She deserves some happiness after being let down so many times in the past.’

  Claudine hugged her knees, and stared thoughtfully into the forest. ‘I’ve never been able to understand that,’ she said. ‘I mean, she’s so beautiful. And she’s such a good catch.’

  ‘I think it could have something to do with the fact that she appears so desperate – it really puts men off. For some reason, you know, she’s always been like that. There was a time when François and Lucien were afraid to invite anyone home, not only for the embarrassment it caused them later, but because she was so hurt when she was let down.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope she’s found true happiness at last.’ Claudine was silent for a moment. ‘I’m envious, you know,’ she said.

  ‘Envious?’

  She nodded. ‘Because she can announce her love to the world and we can’t. She told me this morning that François has a mistress, someone the whole world knows about. It just doesn’t seem fair, does it? I know it sounds childish, but it makes me hate him even more.’ She leaned forward to pick up her wine, her eyes suddenly stinging with tears.

  ‘I wonder how I’m going to survive without you while you’re in Paris? Armand sighed. ‘It’ll be the first time we’ve been separated and I can’t say I’m much looking forward to it. When did you say you were leaving?’

  When she didn’t answer, he reached out for her hand. To his amazement she snatched it away. ‘Don’t!’ she snapped.

  He sat up. ‘What is it? What on earth’s the matter?’ But already she was on her feet and walking back to the house. He went after her. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’ he asked catching her up and taking her by the shoulder.

  ‘No, no. It’s not you, it’s …’ She turned away, looking back at the trees.

  ‘I see,’ he said, suddenly understanding. ‘You think someone’s there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘Maybe it’s just that I’ve become paranoid since François told me. But …’ She looked up at him. ‘Do you feel it too? Do you think someone is still there?’

  Slowly he shook his head. ‘Not really, no. Or perhaps I’ve just become used to it.’ He pulled her to him and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Didn’t you say that you might see François in Paris? You must tell him about this, Claudine. Tell him you think there’s still someone here. Then …’ He stopped, and to her surprise Claudine saw that he was smiling. She turned to follow his eyes and saw walking through the trees towards them Corinne and little Louis.

  Corinne’s toothy smile was dazzling. If it hadn’t been for that, and the yellow softness of her plaited hair, Claudine often thought she might have found her intimidating, for she was bigger and brawnier even than Armand, who, since François had told him of her formidable skills in unarmed combat, was forever challenging her to a fight. Her name – Corinne Pichard – was French, and she spoke the language like a native, but with her green loden suits, feathered trilbies and bib-front dresses she looked positively Tyrolean. Claudine had no idea where François had found her, but she was glad he had, for the nursery had become an even jollier place since her arrival.

  ‘He was crying for his mother,’ Corinne said, ‘so I thought I would bring him to you, madame. Mam’selle Monique told me where to find you. I hope you do not mind?’

  ‘Of course not, Corinne,’ Claudine smiled. She held out her arms to Louis. ‘Hello, my darling,’ she said and for the moment her painful preoccupation with Élise Pascale, and dangerous strangers in the forest, was forgotten.

  Rudolf von Liebermann heaved his bulk from the chair and moved across the barren room to the window. Through the grime he could see the blur of red lights and winking signs in the street below. The depressing sound of a languid female voice chanting ‘Lili Marlene’ drifted through the night. He rubbed a circle in the grime, and followed the progress of a huddled figure shuffling through the rain until it disappeared around the corner. ‘When did he leave England?’ he said eventually, without turning round. Behind him, Brüning and Grundhausen sat stiffly in their chairs. Max Helber was in Paris.

  ‘He left four days ago,’ Walter Brüning answered.

  ‘And no one knows where he is now?’

  Silence.

  ‘You mean to tell me he has disappeared from the face of the earth?’

  Again silence.

  Wiping his finger with a handkerchief, von Liebermann turned back into the room. ‘Where is Halunke?’ he snapped.

  ‘At Lorvoire.’

  ‘And he doesn’t know the whereabouts of the Wine Supplier either?’

  ‘No,’ Brüning confirmed. ‘But as we know, it is the Wine Supplier’s family he is after, not the Wine Supplier himself.’

  ‘Then he must be stopped!’ von Liebermann roared.

  Nobody spoke. After a while, von Liebermann said more calmly, ‘This is a crucial time for the Fatherland. We need de Lorvoire, and if Halunke harms his family we shall lose him. Have we discovered anything further about this nanny?’

  Brüning and Grundhausen appeared uncomfortable. As Brüning loosed his collar, von Liebermann’s piercing eyes fell upon him. ‘Well have we?’

  ‘Not yet, Herr General. Max has spoken with both Halunke and the Pascale woman, but neither has been able to throw any light on the nanny’s true identity.’

  There was a long silence. Brüning and Grundhausen glanced at each other several times, then Grundhausen said, ‘The Pascale woman is threatening to stop supplying information if we don’t do something about the Wine Supplier’s wife. She says we made a bargain, that she is keeping to her side but we are failing …’

  ‘Instruct Halunke to pay her a visit,’ von Liebermann snapped. Then his gruesome, wart-infested face broke into a smile. ‘That is a good idea,’ he chuckled. ‘It will keep them both quiet for a while – Halunke will enjoy raping de Lorvoire’s mistress a second time. But my concern now is the whereabouts of de Lorvoire himself. How long ago did he warn the French High Command of our prospective operations against Belgium and Holland?’

  ‘In January of this year,’ Grundhausen answered.

  ‘And the French still disbelieve him? That is good. But what I want to know is, do the British disbelieve him too? Have we any reason to think that he might have gained the information we asked of him from the British?’

  ‘The information regarding the Royal Air Force?’ Brüning asked.

  ‘Of course regarding the Royal Air Force! Hermann Goering needs to know its strength before we make an attack on Poland.’

  ‘Then you think the Allies will stand by their promise to defend Poland?’ Grundhausen asked – and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  ‘You stupid do
g!’ von Liebermann snarled. ‘They are on the brink of signing a formal alliance with Poland. If they do that, they won’t back down.’ He wiped the saliva from his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Find the Wine Supplier! If we need to bargain with him again, give him details of the euthanasia plan for the gipsies and the insane. No one will come to their rescue, any more than they have with the Jews. And remind Halunke that if he wishes his identity to remain secure, he will do nothing to harm the de Lorvoire family until I have the information I require. Then, he may do as he pleases. Unless, of course,’ and here his thin mouth broke into a smile, ‘de Lorvoire succeeds in proving his fealty to The Reich.’

  He paused for a moment, then looked at Grundhausen. ‘Tell Halunke not to hold back with the mistress, and this time to leave his calling card. It will do de Lorvoire no harm to understand what lengths we are prepared to go to to get him.’

  – 18 –

  PARIS HADN’T BEEN so hot for years. The grey stone buildings shimmered in the heat like desert mirages, insects swarmed over the declining waters of the Seine, and pavement cafés had never seen so much trade or so many lovers. With all the talk of war, love, like everything else, became more urgent; there was a feeling of excitement in the city as children donned their gas masks to frighten their friends, newspaper vendors barked, ‘Le Matin! Le Matin! Le Boche arrive!’ and shops on the rue de Rivoli did a roaring trade in china dogs lifting a leg on a copy of Mein Kampf. There was a sense of unreality, too, as if all this might be the product of a fever which would soon subside.

  The day before the July ball, excited and nervous, Monique took Claudine to meet Karol Kalinowski at his apartment on the avenue Marceau. Claudine liked him on sight. His face was severe and his manner a trifle abrupt, she thought, but the twinkle in his green eyes was constant and there was no mistaking his devotion to Monique. They spent a cheerful two hours together, listening as Karol told stories of his homeland and plied them with refreshments almost as lavish as his compliments. Claudine was enjoying herself so much that she almost forgot Karol and Monique had not seen each other for three weeks, and that it might be tactful to leave them alone together.