Darkest Longings

by Susan Lewis

  But euphoric as she was, she never allowed herself to lose sight of the danger they faced. In a way she felt almost grateful for the danger, for that was what had finally brought them together; but she was never so blinkered by love that she forgot the terrible dilemma it had forced upon François.

  As time passed she became increasingly frustrated by all the things she had forgotten to ask him. The boxes in the cellar still remained a mystery, and she would like to have known what lay behind his break-up with Élise. But what she now longed most desperately to know was why he had killed Hortense de Bourchain. She couldn’t explain it, but she had an uncanny feeling that what had happened then might somehow lie at the root of what was happening now. She was even tempted to ask Armand to tell her again what he had seen, but somehow that seemed disloyal to François. She would ask him herself, the very next time she saw him – she was in no doubt that he would come back, simply because she refused to consider the possibility that he might not. That he had gone to Berlin was all she knew; she could not contact him, and he had made it plain that, except in case of dire emergency, he would not contact her.

  She had no idea if Halunke was still in Lorvoire. Lately, she had not seemed to sense his presence. And events in the world outside were taking such a horrifying turn that even the threat Halunke presented seemed mild by comparison.

  The Boches were coming. Everyone in France knew it, and the nation was edging towards the brink of panic. Claudine felt it in the air every time she went out, and inside the château the talk was of little else. It was as though they were all bracing themselves for the day when their lives would be trampled by the advancing German army. Again, people were fleeing Paris, and refugees from the north streamed through Touraine, leaving a trail of terror in their wake.

  Solange, still heartbroken over the death of Louis, waited every day for news of Lucien. Claudine did her best to comfort her, and telephoned their contacts in Paris, but without Louis to pull strings for them there seemed no hope of getting any information. All she could gather was that the Government was in chaos, and though she did her best to hide it, that alarmed her even more than the whooping cry of air-raid sirens and the eerie silence that followed. The fear was becoming oppressive, it seemed to be closing in from all sides – the Germans, Halunke, and the constant dread of what might be happening to François.

  Then one day while she, Solange and little Louis were helping the one gardener left at Lorvoire to dredge the pond at the edge of the forest, Magaly called her inside and handed her a letter.

  ‘A peculiar little man, with the most dreadful nervous affliction, just knocked on the bridge door and gave this to Corinne,’ she said.

  Claudine knew at once who it was from. Thrusting her gardening gloves into Magaly’s hands, she dashed up the stairs to the privacy of her bedroom, where she tore the letter open and with her heart in her mouth feasted her eyes on the words François had written.

  Chérie, I know I said I would contact you only in an emergency, but I feel I must tell you this, if only to reassure you. General von Liebermann has sworn that for as long as I remain with the Abwehr, Halunke will cease to be a threat. Naturally I have reaffirmed my allegiance, though I still have no idea what will be expected of me. My only hope is that when I finally come out of this I will be worthy of your love. I think of you night and day, my love. If I had known what a difference you would make to my life, I would never have embarked upon my present road. But it is too late now for regrets, we must think only of the future.

  You will know by now that Belgium has surrendered and that the Germans are already on French soil. I hear talk every day, here, how soon France will be conquered and how poor the morale of our troops is. Try to prepare yourself, and those around you, my love, for the fall of our nation, as it is almost sure to come.

  And yet, in spite of this, you must keep heart, my darling, and please take care of yourself and of our son. You mean more to me than I can even begin to express. I wish I could have held you in my arms to tell you this, but try to imagine I am there, and be in no doubt of how much I love you. Ton mari, François.

  She swallowed hard on her tears, and walking over to the bed, lifted the pillow where his head had lain and hugged it to her. This moment of weakness would pass, she knew, but dear God, she missed him! Maybe if they had had more time together, had shared their feelings sooner … She felt so cheated, so unfulfilled … She pulled a face, as if mocking her self-pity, and looked down at the letter. She longed to keep it, to hold it to her heart and read it over and over again, but he had told her before he left that she must destroy any written communication as soon as she had read it. As she put a match to it, watching it curl and twist in the flames, she wished her dread were as easy to destroy.

  That afternoon she, Monique and Solange went to the little cinema in Chinon to watch the newsreels. They went almost every day now, standing in the aisles when there were no seats to be had, cheering and booing with the others who had come from miles around to watch the progress of the war. Sometimes Claudine discussed the war with Armand, but she always came away angry at his lassitude. He had changed so much since they had parted: he was a bitter, rejected man and did little to disguise it. His sarcastic remarks about François sickened her, but she said nothing, torn by guilt at the way she had so selfishly used him.

  Then, at the beginning of June, even Armand was forced to look beyond himself. The Germans bombed Paris. Of the two hundred and fifty-four people killed, almost two hundred were civilians and a great many of them were children. National outrage was swiftly followed by panic. Ten million people in the north abandoned their homes, left production lines unmanned, crops untended, houses deserted in a bid to escape the enemy. Meanwhile the Germans were claiming one victory after another, and the Allies, so rumour had it, were engaged in the most humiliating retreat. Solange was prostrate with fear as news of French casualties started to reach them.

  ‘These are the ones the Government is admitting to!’ she wailed. ‘How many men are really dead or wounded? Or captured!’ she screamed, burying her face in her hands.

  ‘I’m sure Lucien and François are safe,’ Claudine said gently, with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘We’d have heard by now if anything had happened to Lucien, and François will get word to us somehow, I promise you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ Tante Céline, who had stayed on at the château after Louis’ death said later, when Claudine related this conversation to her. ‘François has never shown any such consideration for anyone in the past, so I fail to see why he should do so now.’

  The hell of being unable to defend him was terrible, but somehow Claudine managed to bite back an angry retort. Then the door flew open and Monique came running in. ‘Quick, turn to the BBC!’ she cried. ‘Something incredible has happened! I was just listening in my room and came to find you. No, no, it’s too late now, the broadcast is over.’ She was so agitated that Claudine poured her a cognac and made her sit down.

  ‘Well, what is it? What did you hear?’ Céline asked, waiting only as long as it took for Monique to take a first sip.

  ‘It’s terrible!’ she answered. ‘Or is it? I don’t know! The British have taken over a quarter of a million troops out of France.’

  ‘What!’ Celine and Claudine gasped in unison.

  ‘No! No, it’s not like that,’ Monique said hurriedly. ‘They’ve saved them. That’s what they said, they’ve saved them. They sent the Royal Navy and, oh everyone, all their small boats, hundreds and hundreds of them …’ Tears started to stream down her face. ‘They didn’t only rescue their own men, they took ours too. They’ve been saving our men, Claudine. For the past ten days they’ve been sailing to Dunkirk and rescuing them.’

  ‘So who is to defend us now?’ Céline asked indignantly. ‘We’re just sitting here like hens in a coop, and the damned British have opened the door to the fox.’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Claudine interrupted firmly. ‘If the Bri
tish really have got so many men out, at least they’re alive to fight another day. Remember that!’

  ‘Yes, but what about us? The women and children left here in France?’ Céline argued.

  ‘Our army won’t abandon us,’ Claudine answered. ‘Nor will the British.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, child, be realistic! They aren’t in France any longer, so how can you say they haven’t abandoned us?’

  ‘Look, I’m not going to argue about it,’ Claudine declared fiercely. ‘I’m going down to the café to see Gustave. Are you coming, Monique?’

  ‘No, I’ll go and break the news to Maman. I don’t know how she’ll take it, but she must be told.’

  The café was crammed with the old men of Lorvoire and the surrounding villages, and the talk was solely of the evacuation of troops from Dunkirk. Opinion was as divided as it had been at the château, some felt deserted, other were hopeful. Armand was one of the hopeful ones, and to Claudine’s relief she saw that something of his old spirit had returned. Nevertheless, she was wary; his mood could change at a moment’s notice.

  ‘You hold me responsible for your not being able to fight, don’t you?’ she said, when later he walked her back through the dusk to her car. ‘I don’t blame you. After all, it is my fault really. If it weren’t for Halunke …’

  ‘It’s too late for recriminations now,’ he interrupted. Then he laughed softly. ‘No longer your lover, but still your protector. Ironic, isn’t it?’

  Despite the warm night, she shivered. It wasn’t the first time he’d said that, and there was an undercurrent to it that left her with a distinct feeling of unease.

  ‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ he said as they stood beside the Lagonda. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time …’ He paused. ‘I’ve met someone else. Actually, I’ve known her for some time. Her name is Estelle. You know her too, she works at the beauty parlour in Chinon.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know her,’ Claudine said, unable to hide her surprise.

  ‘It might seem a bit sudden to you,’ he went on, ‘but the truth is, I was seeing her before you came to Lorvoire. In fact, I never really stopped seeing her, even when we were together.’

  Claudine couldn’t have been more shocked. ‘I see,’ she said, wondering if what she was feeling was jealousy. ‘Well, under the circumstances I suppose I have no right to be angry.’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t blame you if you were. After all, there were times when I was making love to her within hours of making love to you.’

  His bluntness took her breath away. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked, after a pause.

  ‘For two reasons. The first is because I don’t want you to think that, if François doesn’t return, you and I can ever go back to the way we were. Once everything is sorted out, the war and Halunke, I’m going to ask Estelle to marry me, so that will be an end to it. La belle dame du château can find herself another lover. In the meantime I’ll carry out François’ dirty work for him for as long as it takes, but after that I want no more to do with you – either of you. And the second reason is because Estelle and I would like to use the old cottage. It’s on your land, so I need your permission.’

  Inwardly she was appalled, but her voice was perfectly steady as she said, ‘If Estelle doesn’t mind that you once shared the cottage with me, then please feel free to use it.’

  He nodded, and their eyes met. There were several moments of silent antagonism between them, then Claudine saw the hostility retreat from his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have told you like that. But we should be honest with each other, and …’

  ‘Armand,’ she interrupted, ‘if you feel so badly about carrying out François’ wishes, perhaps we should try to come to some other arrangement.’

  He shook his head. ‘I gave him my word, and despite what I said just now, I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’

  Smiling, she put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m glad about Estelle,’ she said – and immediately could have kicked herself. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he wanted her to be jealous. And she was jealous, a little. For much as she loved François she could not deny that for a while she had loved Armand too, and the days and nights they had spent together in that cottage would always be a very special memory for her.

  ‘Have you had any news of François or Lucien?’ he asked, opening the car door for her.

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I’m sure there will be some soon,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Meanwhile, what are you doing driving about in this vehicle when no one else can get petrol for love or money?’

  ‘We found some that Louis had stored in the stables,’ she answered. ‘But you’re right, I should only be using it for emergencies.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, we’ll get you a bicycle. And one for Solange too. I rather think she’ll enjoy being a cyclist. Why don’t we go into Chinon tomorrow, the three of us, and see if we can fix you up?’

  ‘It’s a date,’ Claudine smiled. ‘And I think we should put it to Tante Céline as well. I can just picture her cycling down the hill into Lorvoire, can’t you?’

  ‘No, but I’d like to!’ And he waved her off into the night, then turned to walk back across the square towards home.

  He knew it was pointless trying to hurt her as he had with talk of Estelle. It was only driving them further apart, which wasn’t what he wanted at all. Not that he’d been altogether lying about Estelle; he had been seeing her before Claudine came to Lorvoire, and he was seeing her again now, but he had always been faithful to Claudine during the time they were together.

  And he would continue to be faithful to her, if only as a friend. He would control this loathsome bitterness – he would stick to the promise he had made François, and do all he could to protect Claudine from Halunke. And there was always the timid, submissive little Estelle to provide a frequent and welcome escape from his pain.

  ‘You must be out of your mind if you think I’m getting onto that contraption,’ Céline declared the following day, as they stood in the middle of the bicycle shop in Chinon.

  ‘It’s either that or roller-skates,’ Claudine informed her.

  ‘Roller-skates!’ Solange cried. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘No, Maman, I strictly forbid you even to entertain the idea,’ Monique said firmly. ‘Now, is that the bicycle you like best?’ She nodded towards the gleaming red machine poised between Solange’s legs.

  ‘I think so. But I shall have to buy some trousers. No, I shan’t, I shall wear Louis’. Come along, Céline, lift up that dress and get onto the saddle. Oh, don’t mind old Claude there, he’s seen plenty of pretty legs in his time, haven’t you, Claude?’

  ‘Si, si, madame,’ Claude chuckled, quite overcome by the fact that for the first time in months someone had come into his shop with real money to spend. He held the bicycle steady, and Armand offered Céline his hand. Both men caught a glimpse of her suspenders, but only Armand and Claudine realized that this was what Céline intended; she was extremely proud of her legs.

  Their bicycles were delivered the following day, and by the time they had finished practising – in the ballroom, because the gravel outside was too difficult for beginners – Céline was as dedicated a cyclist as any of them. Liliane, who watched from the piano stool, bemoaned the fact that she was too fat to ride one herself, and Solange instantly told Armand that he was to build a box to put on the side of hers, so that she could cycle her friend about the countryside.

  Claudine caught Armand’s eye, and he winked. ‘Thank you,’ she said, walking her bicycle across the room to join him. ‘It was your idea, and Solange likes nothing more than a new challenge.’

  ‘She does look better, doesn’t she?’ he said. ‘And do you know, I think I will build the box. Even if she can’t manage it with my mother inside, it’ll always come in useful for carrying things.’ He glanced at his watch, an
d seeing the time Claudine clapped her hands and cried, ‘The news! Everyone into the sitting-room to listen to the news!’

  The headline that day was that Monsieur Paul Reynaud, who had succeeded Edouard Daladier as Prime Minister two months before, had appointed General Charles de Gaulle as Under-Secretary for Defence. Then Solange’s hand found its way into Claudine’s as it was reported that, despite the unprecedented success of the Dunkirk evacuation, forty thousand prisoners had been taken. It wasn’t yet known how many of them were French.

  The last part of the bulletin was given over to a speech made the day before in the British House of Commons by Prime Minister Churchill. His strange, hypnotic voice came over the airwaves in tones of such passionate patriotism that it seemed to hang in the air like the thin, curling tendrils of cigarette smoke, and not one of them remained unmoved.

  ‘We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender! And even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it, were subjugated and starving, then our empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British fleet, would carry on the struggle until in God’s good time the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue of the old.’

  For the listeners who did not understand English the speech was delivered again in French, spoken by an actor.