by Susan Lewis
‘But so deeply that they must terrorize his family like this?’ She shivered. ‘Do you really think this man intends to harm us?’
Lucien smiled, and getting up from the sofa, strolled across to the fire. ‘Who can tell what’s going on in his mind?’ he said. He turned back to look at her and took another draw on his cigarette. ‘Perhaps you should go away for a few days, chérie. You haven’t seemed at all yourself lately. Why not go up to Paris? A change of scene might do you good. Take Monique with you.’
‘I couldn’t leave Louis. Not when that … that man is outside.’
‘Then take Louis too. Though he’s quite well taken care of here, you know. François has seen to that, remember?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, Yes, he has, hasn’t he?’ She looked down at her cigarette as she flicked the ash into an ashtray beside her. Lucien’s suggestion was tempting, though perhaps not for the reasons he thought. Oh, she would certainly like to escape from the loathsome prying eyes that she felt were following her everywhere – but what she really wanted was to get away from Armand for a while. For his sake more than her own. Since they had broken off their affair, he had withdrawn so deeply into himself that any attempt she made to be friendly was met with just a stony glare. And if he did reply, it was in a voice so thick with pain or sarcasm that she could hardly bear it. And as well as Armand, there was François; her fears for his safety, her anger at what he had done, her feelings for him – so many thoughts whirling frenziedly around in her mind that the prospect of getting away from the château, of being somewhere else for a few days, was extremely inviting.
‘Monique is going to Paris anyway,’ Lucien said. ‘And I do believe she has arranged to meet your aunt to go and rated tins at the Ritz with her, for refugee relief and soldiers’ canteens.’
That settled it. Why on earth it hadn’t occurred to her before to go and talk things over with Tante Céline, she couldn’t imagine.
‘Then yes. Yes, I’ll go too,’ she said decisively, getting up to ring the bell for Magaly. ‘Why don’t you come too?’ she said.
‘I can’t. My leave is over at the end of the week, and I don’t think Maman would appreciate it if I spent my last few days anywhere but with her. Anyway, ma chère, what you need is time for yourself – so go to it! And by the way, the uniform for tin-rattling is a simple black dress, or so they tell me.’
‘I’ll tell Magaly,’ she laughed.
He walked across the room, but at the door he turned back. ‘Claudine,’ he said, a serious note to his voice that belied the twinkle in his eyes, ‘you’ll work it out in the end, you know.’
She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see the sudden and terrible desperation that had rushed from nowhere to swamp her. ‘But it’s not that easy, is it?’ she whispered, ‘when I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again?’
‘Oh, you will. And if I know my brother, much sooner than you think.’ He grinned. ‘And don’t be too surprised, either, if one of these days you discover that he loves you every bit as much as you do him.’
Her hand reached out to grab the back of a chair, ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No, Lucien don’t say that! Please!’ But it was already too late. That tiny, withering seed of hope that she had tried, since the day she married him, to destroy, had absorbed the words so greedily that it was already starting to thrive again.
It was just past five thirty in the evening when the telephone rang. François, heaving himself from the chair where he had fallen into an uneasy slumber, got up to answer it himself.
‘Good news,’ von Pappen’s voice came down the line. ‘There will be eight guests for dinner this evening, including Paul Reynaud, Captain Paillole and William Bullitt, the American Ambassador. Every one of them has cancelled other engagements; they’re obviously keen to hear what you have to say.’
François wasn’t sure how he felt about that, and made no comment.
‘I have also taken the liberty of inviting someone not on your list,’ von Pappen continued. ‘I’m sure you would have invited him if you’d known he was going to be in Paris.’ He paused. ‘It’s Colonel de Gaulle.’
François’ eyebrows flickered. ‘What is he doing in Paris?’
‘He’s here only for the day. There was talk that he was to be made Under-Secretary for Defence, but Prime Minister Daladier has vetoed it. As you can imagine, Monsieur de Gaulle is not in the best of humours.’
François grinned, already looking forward to seeing his old friend. ‘How is Élise?’ he asked, his smile fading.
Von Pappen lowered his voice, and faintly François could hear the sound of Élise singing in the bathroom. ‘Excited,’ Erich answered. ‘And nervous.’
‘You’re sure she’s up to this?’
‘Positive. She’s looking better than I’ve seen her for a long time. Would you like to have a word?’
‘No. But tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her.’
Throughout the evening, François could feel Élise’s eyes on him down the polished length of the dining table. Once in a while he smiled at her, but as yet they had done no more than exchange a formal greeting when he arrived. Through the din of deep male voices and the clatter of cutlery he could hear her frantic laughter, and he saw the way her fingers trembled when she lifted her glass to her lips. He wondered why Erich hadn’t told him how her eyes had lost their lustrous sparkle, her hair its soft, golden sheen, and how she winced with pain every time she made a sudden movement.
The evening passed much as he had expected. There was a great deal of talk, but nothing much was actually said, and he gleaned little information that he didn’t already know. He exchanged a word or two with de Gaulle about Lucien, who, the Colonel informed him, was currently at Lorvoire on leave. François felt a pang of regret; he would very much have liked to see his brother.
‘I’m glad to say that it’s official leave this time,’ de Gaulle remarked.
‘This time?’ François said curiously.
‘I had to reprimand him some time ago,’ de Gaulle explained, ‘for taking off without permission. I left it at that, for he’s not one to desert his post in a time of crisis, which is when it counts. But it wasn’t the first time he’d disappeared for a few days; his pursuit of the ladies is going to land him in deep trouble if he doesn’t watch out.’
A little while later François heard Paul Paillole asking Élise if she was all right, and as he looked up she caught his eye, and he felt the full force of her adoration. How it tugged at his heart! Yet the affection he felt for her now was almost paternal, the painful love of a father for a damaged child. As the evening wore on, none of the guests had failed to notice her periodic moments of confusion. Her green eyes would glaze over, and the smile on her lips would start to quiver as she was sucked into the grip of some terrifying vision. It lasted only a matter of seconds, but afterwards she would be disoriented, off-balance. What was to become of her? François wondered despairingly. Not that he had any intention of deserting her, but how was she going to fill the rest of such a blighted life?
At ten o’clock Charles de Gaulle got up to leave. He wanted to be back with his regiment before morning, he told François, ‘And as for thinking you’re going to persuade the French army to lay down their arms,’ he growled, ‘I can tell you that I for one have no intention whatever of handing my country to the Boche.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Paul Reynaud said, helping himself from the cigar box.
‘And that possibility would not even have arisen,’ de Gaulle went on passionately, ‘if France had prepared herself for this war – which men like you and me, François, were predicting as long ago as thirty-three. It is a tragedy that our country should be blighted with generals who have blinkered themselves to events in Germany for so long. They cannot even begin to imagine what this war will be like, their methods are outdated, their strategy is prehistoric. And even now, is anything being done to expand our Air Force? I tell you, my friend, I shudder for the fate of this nation. And much as I
detest the British, at least they will fight, and fight to the bitter end.’
It was another two hours before the others could be prised from their brandy and cigars and the comfort of Élise’s sitting-room, but eventually they departed – encouraged on their way by François, who could see that Élise was beginning to tire. He talked to Erich at the door for a few moments, then turned back into the apartment.
Élise was pouring him another drink. He took it from her, put it on the table beside him and pulled her into his arms. ‘How are you, chérie?’ he murmured.
‘Better now you’re here,’ she answered.
He noticed how careful she was not to press her body against his. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘Have you been well looked after in my absence?’
She lifted her face to look at him, and there was something of the old light in her eyes as she said, ‘If you mean, how am I getting along without sex, then the answer is that it’s not as difficult as you might think.’
He chuckled. ‘That’s not what I meant at all,’ he said. But how much he admired her courage in coming straight to the point of a subject that would have proved extremely difficult for him to broach.
‘That is,’ she said, ‘it hasn’t been difficult until now, because you haven’t been here to tempt me.’
He looked at her warily, not knowing quite how he should respond. Then, to his surprise, she drew his mouth down to hers and kissed him tenderly on the lips.
‘What you meant,’ she said, letting him go and handing him back his brandy, ‘was, how am I getting along with my nursemaid? And the answer is, she has proved an extremely diverting companion. Where did you find her?’
‘I didn’t,’ he confessed. ‘Erich did.’
‘Oh. My other nursemaid.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Little Erich clucks around me like a mother hen,’ she explained. ‘I think in some bizarre way he feels responsible for what’s happened – there are even times when I find myself comforting him, and telling him everything will be all right! Isn’t that funny? But I wouldn’t be without him for the world.’
François grimaced. ‘If anyone is responsible,’ he said darkly, ‘I am.’
She patted her hair, and stole a quick, nervous glance at herself in the mirror over the hearth. ‘No, chéri, you mustn’t blame yourself,’ she said. ‘It’s done now, and no amount of self-recrimination from you is going to change it. I’m just glad that you’re here. I was afraid I might never see you again.’ Her lip trembled. ‘You did want to see me again, didn’t you?’ she said, her eyes widening like a child’s.
‘Of course.’
‘Only I got the impression, before … before you went away, that perhaps things had changed between us. That you were going to tell me it was over for us.’
Pulling her back into his arms so that she could no longer see his eyes, he said, ‘No, I wasn’t going to do that.’
‘I’m so relieved.’ She laughed uneasily. ‘I don’t think I’d want to carry on if that were true. And thank you for holding the dinner here tonight. It meant a lot to me to know that I was still of some use to you. You made me feel needed again. It’s important to feel needed, don’t you agree?’
‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Yes, it’s important.’
‘But you don’t like discussing feelings, do you?’ she said, breaking away from him. ‘So shall we change the subject?’
‘Aren’t you tired?’ he asked, watching her as she went to sit down.
‘Not really.’ Then her face suddenly changed, and she peered up at him from under her lashes and started to giggle. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘You want to go to bed. Why didn’t you say? Oh, François! You haven’t forgotten the other things I can do for you, have you? Shall we go into the bedroom, or would you prefer it here?’ And getting up from the sofa, she started towards him.
‘Élise,’ he said, closing his hands over hers as she started to unbutton his fly.
‘Yes, chéri?’ she murmured, putting her head back and gazing up into his eyes.
Dear God, how was he going to tell her? How could he explain that he simply couldn’t let her do this?
To his eternal relief the door opened at that moment, and a plain, large-faced woman he had never seen before came into the room.
‘Bonsoir, monsieur,’ she said. ‘I am Béatrice.’ And from the barely perceptible lift of her eyebrows he realized that she was Élise’s ‘nursemaid’.
‘Béatrice!’ Élise cried, turning round. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to put you to bed, Élise,’ Béatrice answered,. ‘It is past midnight.’
‘But François is here,’ Élise said truculently.
‘And he will still be here in the morning,’ Béatrice declared, looking meaningfully at François. ‘So come along now, no arguing.’
Élise shrugged, and giving François a sheepish, naughty look, she obediently walked off to the bedroom.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ Béatrice called after her. Then turning back to François, she said, ‘I hope you didn’t mind me interrupting, monsieur. I’m afraid she is like that with most men who call. She needs to know that they – you – still find her attractive. I say you, because she calls them all François when she is trying to seduce them.’
‘Oh, God!’ François groaned. ‘I had no idea.’
‘No. Well, how could you? I hope you don’t mind staying the night. The maid has prepared the spare room for you. It’s only that if Élise wakes in the early hours and remembers that you were here, then discovers you have left, I’m afraid she won’t take it too well. Frankly, I’m surprised I managed to get her off to bed so easily now. She got herself quite worked up earlier when she knew she was going to see you.’
Béatrice hesitated a moment, then said. ‘I’m afraid there’s no easy way of telling you this, monsieur, but I think you should know that she has convinced herself you are going to marry her. She tells me at least a dozen times a day how much she loves you, how much you love her, and that you will find the man who attacked her and kill him. Erich reassures her on this point, since it is something she needs to hear, but as far as you marrying her is concerned, she refuses to understand that it is not possible. She says you don’t love your wife, and she has all but begged Erich to arrange for someone to “remove” her, as she puts it. She even goes so far as to insist that he will be doing you a favour if he does so. Of course,’ she went on, when she saw how strained François’ face had become, ‘she only says these things when her mind is obscured from reason, but nevertheless I thought I should warn you.’
‘Warn is a strong word to use, Béatrice,’ he said.
‘She can be very determined, monsieur, as I’m sure you know. And with the contacts she has, she doesn’t necessarily need Erich to carry out her wishes.’
He closed his eyes as the memory of the movie stuntman, Philippe Mauclair, swelled to the front of his mind. ‘No, she doesn’t,’ he said. ‘And I thank you for telling me this. I shall rely on you to inform either Erich or me if you feel there is any danger of her pursuing this plan.’
‘Of course,’ she said. Then, after a pause, ‘Maybe now is not the time, monsieur, but perhaps we should at some point discuss the possibility of having her institutionalized.’
‘No!’ he said sharply. ‘No. If she had no clarity of mind at all, I might agree – but she has already suffered so much because of me … I will not even consider the idea. Now, I think I’ll take myself off to bed.’
‘Monsieur,’ Béatrice said, as he reached the door. ‘There is one other thing, I’m afraid. It is concerning Halunke.’
François turned back. ‘Yes?’ he said in a tight voice.
‘Corinne, your son’s nanny, managed to get a message to me which I received earlier this evening. It would appear that your wife thinks Halunke might be back at Lorvoire.’
François closed his eyes. ‘Might?’ he said.
‘No one has actually seen him.’
‘No one has eve
r seen him, apart from Élise.’
‘And then he was wearing a mask.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Have you told Erich?’
‘I caught him as he was going down the stairs. He told me to tell you he has already set out for Lorvoire.’
François knew he must not over-react, but knowing how he had deceived von Liebermann, his instinct was to follow von Pappen to Lorvoire immediately.
As if reading his thoughts, Béatrice said, ‘Erich also told me to advise you not to go to Lorvoire. At least, not until you hear from him. Your presence there would negate the purpose of his visit.’
François seemed thoughtful, almost as if he hadn’t heard what she’d said. ‘I’ll give Erich until tomorrow evening to contact me,’ he said. ‘If I haven’t heard from him by then, I shall go to Lorvoire myself.’
It was a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.
Claudine burst out of her bedroom onto the landing of their Paris home, fastening her watch around the wrist of her black glove and struggling to keep purse and hat under her arm. She and Monique had taken the early train from Chinon, and had arrived at the Bois de Boulogne around eleven o’clock. Now it was fast approaching one, Monique had already gone out to meet an old school friend at the Ritz, and if she, Claudine, didn’t hurry she was going to be late for her lunch with Tante Céline.
Finally snapping the watch into place, she started down the stairs just as Magaly called out after her.
‘Yes, I have it!’ she cried in answer. ‘I should be back around four, but if Solange telephones tell her she can reach me at Tante …’ She stopped dead. Standing at the front door, looking up at her with his piercing black eyes, was François.
Her first instinct was to turn and run back up the stairs. She couldn’t face him now, not when she was so unprepared. But his eyes held her, and she felt the blood running hotly in her veins. Longing filled her, so powerful that she had to grip the bannister to stop herself falling.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
