by Susan Lewis
Claudine got up and turned off the wireless.
‘He speaks as though France were already lost,’ Liliane said, speaking the thought uppermost in everyone’s mind.
Claudine looked at her aunt, and Céline looked away. ‘The speech was made for the benefit of the British,’ Claudine declared. ‘And let’s not forget that their Government has a pact with France that neither country will agree to peace without the other.’
‘But even so, he talked only of “this island”,’ Armand reminded her. ‘I think Maman is right, he already believes France to have fallen.’
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Claudine retorted. ‘And now that General de Gaulle is Under-Secretary perhaps we shall see some changes.’
‘If it’s not already too late,’ he said sourly. And as if to add menace to his pessimism, the distant wail of an air-raid siren started its eerie crescendo across the countryside. They quickly made their way down to the cellar, but Claudine handed Louis to Monique and waited at the top of the steps with Armand, where they watched the enemy aircraft soar overhead and a few minutes later heard the dull boom of exploding bombs reverberate through the hills. The munitions factory on the road to Tours was undamaged, they discovered later, but a busful of workers arriving for their evening shift had perished.
In the end, the boys at the Army Cadet School, not ten kilometers away in Saumur, were among the last to make a stand against the great might of the German army. They fought on, despite the fact that the Government had fled first to Briare, then to Tours, then to Bordeaux and that rumours of an armistice were growing stronger by the minute. At the château, with the battle raging almost on their doorstep, Claudine and the rest of the family went on with life as best they could. Every day now was filled with the doom-laden roar of Allied and enemy aircraft flying overhead, gunfire echoing through the countryside, and the acrid stench of explosives lingered in the still, hot air of summer.
On 18th June, General Charles de Gaulle made a broadcast from London calling upon all Frenchmen to remember that ‘… whatever happens, the flame of French resistance must not and shall not die!’ But apathy and a sense of defeat were spreading now like a disease, and four days after de Gaulle’s speech, Marshal Henri Philippe Pétain – the proud, erect man with pale blue eyes whom Claudine had met once in Paris, and who had taken over the Government after Paul Reynaud’s resignation six days before – signed the armistice that betrayed Great Britain and brought peace to France. But not even the indignity of seeing its national representatives forced to return to the railway carriage in the Forest of Compiègne where France’s Marshal Foch had dictated terms to a defeated Germany in 1918, seemed to bother the French. There was a new sound ringing through the countryside now – the sound of rejoicing. The war, for France at least, was at an end.
Claudine was stupefied. That the French should welcome surrender was horrifying enough, but when that surrender called for three-fifths of France, including Touraine to be occupied and governed by the German army; when it called for four hundred million francs to be paid every day to the Reich, and for over a million and a half Frenchmen to be deported to prisoner-of-war camps – the sheer atrocity of it was inexpressible.
The first Germans arrived in Chinon at four in the morning on August 5th. There were no more than five of them and they came on bicycles – so Monsieur Bonet, the melon farmer informed Claudine.
‘They reached the statue of Jeanne d’Arc, fired guns into the window of the laundry, then went away again,’ he said, scratching his head in bewilderment.
He cycled off then, but returned at six that evening to tell her that the Boches were back, this time with the rest of their company. They had taken over the Hôtel de France on the square, the Hôtel Boule d’Or on the quay, and many of the desirable residences on the rue Voltaire.
The following day Claudine and Monique cycled into Chinon, neither of them knowing quite what to expect, but unable to contain their curiosity. Nothing could have prepared them for the shock of finding scores of young men in dull grey uniforms swarming all over the town, wearing rifles slung over their shoulders and thick leather belts full of ammunition. The infamous jackboots were much in evidence, as were Nazi flags, draped from the windows of requisitioned buildings or fluttering triumphantly from flag poles which only a week ago had flown the tricolore. But more than all these things, what really shocked them was that every soldier they came across was brandishing a camera or licking an ice-cream, or shielding his eyes from the sun as he admired the castle ruins on the hill.
‘Anyone would think they were on holiday,’ Claudine said, and her look of incredulity turned to a scowl as she read a notice in the florist’s window: Ici on parle allemand.
They turned their bicycles at the statue of Jeanne d’Arc and pedalled into the square. Three young German soldiers saluted them cheerfully from the side of the street, and several more who were sitting outside Madame Desbourdes’ café laughed and joked with the locals as though they were prodigal sons returned. None of them could be in any doubt that they were welcome, or why: they had money to spend, and the French, as ever, were only too willing to take it.
‘They’re so good-looking,’ Monique murmured, as one of them caught her eye and smiled broadly. ‘And so young.’
‘And so damned arrogant,’ Claudine seethed, turning her back as another invited them to sit down. ‘Look, what’s that, over there on the wall?’
They wheeled their bicycles over to the Town Hall to get a closer look at the posters. They showed a German soldier holding two children in his arms, with the slogan, ‘Abandoned population, put your trust in a German soldier.’
‘That’s sick!’ Claudine spat, strongly tempted to tear them down. ‘How dare they exploit children like that! And how dare they call us an abandoned population.’
‘But that’s what we are,’ Monique said softly. ‘We have no army now.’
Claudine’s eyes were blazing with indignation. ‘Come along,’ she snapped, ‘let’s go home. I feel unclean just being on the same street with them.’
But it was plain that no one else in the area shared Claudine’s scruples, and when eventually the defeated army started to drift back from the front, returning to their work in the factories and on the land, the occupying forces behaved with such extravagant civility that after a while even Claudine found it difficult to dislike them. How could you hate General Kahl, their commanding officer, for example, who roamed the cobbled streets of Chinon each morning with his pet poodle on a lead?
Then, to her amazement, she found herself inviting one or two of the lower-ranking officers to drive out to Lorvoire and join her and Armand at Gustave’s café. Armand, who had teased her relentlessly about her sense of outrage at the German presence, immediately accused her of fraternizing, but when it came to it the afternoon passed perhaps more pleasantly for him than for anyone else. In the end Gustave, aided by one of the German youths, had to carry him home. Claudine followed, and couldn’t help laughing at the look on Liliane’s face when she saw her son draped over the shoulder of a German officer. But to her surprise Liliane invited him in, and in less than ten minutes had learned that Einrich was nineteen years old, came from Hamburg, and had four brothers, two of whom had been killed in the fighting near Amiens. Also that his mother had suffered a heart-attack when she heard of her second son’s death.
‘General Kahl for me to go home is to arrange,’ he told them in his awkward French. ‘For few days only, but my mother …’ He broke off, his eyes filled with tears, and Claudine guessed that the lump in Liliane’s throat was as large as the one in her own. They were men like any others, she grudgingly admitted – in fact boys, most of them, a long way from their families and only too grateful for any little kindness shown them. All the same her feelings towards the Germans en masse had not changed. They had no right to be in France, and if their families back in Germany were suffering they had no one but themselves to blame; they were the ones who had brought Hitler
to power.
Then, to her surprise, graffiti declaring allegiance to General de Gaulle started to appear, with the cross of Lorraine scratched underneath. They were scrawled on posters, on walls, even on the backs of German cars and the façade of the Hôtel de France, where most of the senior-ranking officers were billeted. Claudine wanted very much to know who was doing it.
‘I’ve absolutely no idea’ Céline sighed when she asked her. ‘Why on earth d’you want to know?’
Claudine paused in her weekly chore of polishing the silver. ‘Perhaps because it tells me that there are some people in France with a degree of integrity left.’
‘Meaning? No, no, I know what you mean. But this is the way life is now, Claudine, you have to accept it like everyone else.’
‘I have accepted it, as far as I can, but they’re still the enemy, Tante Céline. And you’ve heard General de Gaulle on the wireless these past weeks, he’s calling for all Frenchmen everywhere to resist. And someone’s listening to him, the graffiti proves it. I just want to know how to make contact with them.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Maybe I could help them,’ she said.
Céline crushed out her red-tipped de Rezske cigarette, put down her magazine and turned to face her niece. ‘Claudine,’ she began, ‘the war is over. The Germans are here, and they are making life as pleasant as they can for us under the circumstances. If you do anything to disrupt that you won’t be doing anyone any favours, least of all yourself. Now, take my advice and let it be.’
‘If Louis was here, d’you think he’d let it be? No, of course he wouldn’t, it would make a mockery of all the lives given in the last war, and this one too. François and Lucien would feel the same.’
‘Oh là là!’ Céline laughed scornfully. ‘As far as we know, Claudine, your husband is a traitor …’
‘And I’m beginning to feel like one too, socializing with the Germans the way I do.’
‘Keep it that way! Make friends, not enemies, it will be wiser in the long run.’
Claudine sucked in her cheeks thoughtfully as her aunt confirmed the feeling she had had herself. ‘You’re right,’ she said in the end, ‘but our lives aren’t our own any more. We have to have so many passes and identity cards in order to be able do anything or go anywhere. We have to queue for our food – waiting for the Germans to take their pick of everything first, of course. We have to be indoors by ten every night…Oh, I don’t know, the list is endless, and it makes me furious …’
‘All right,’ said Céline, ‘so life is difficult. But no one is going to thank you for making things even harder, are they? Which you will do if you antagonize the Germans.’
‘Hear! Hear!’ Monique said, walking into the drawing-room just then. ‘Speaking personally, I’m rather glad they’re here, they’ve certainly livened things up a little.’ She held out a card to Claudine. ‘It’s an invitation to a dance at the Hôtel Boule d’Or tomorrow evening. Shall we go?’
‘No,’ Claudine answered with finality. Then, seeing the plea in Monique’s eyes, ‘You haven’t got an escort, so how can you go?’
‘Armand says he’ll arrange one for me.’
Claudine threw up her hands. ‘Go then! There’s nothing I can do to stop you, but I won’t be there.’
Just then they heard several vehicles coming up the drive. It was such a rare sound these days that both Claudine and Monique went to the window to look. A black Mercedes and four outriders emerged from under the trees and swept grandly across the top of the meadow.
‘What do you think they want?’ Monique asked, her eyes searching the faces beneath the round tin helmets of the German motor-cyclists.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Claudine answered tightly. ‘You two stay here.’
As the car came to a halt outside the front door, she walked down the steps. ‘Can I help you?’ she said, shielding her eyes against the dazzling sun as a uniformed figure sporting an extravagant array of medals alighted from the rear of the car.
The man nodded to one of his subordinates, who quickly stepped forward. ‘Colonel Blomberg wishes to speask with the Comtesse de Lorvoire,’ he barked.
‘I am she,’ Claudine said frostily, aware that her casual attire and the duster she still held in her hand had fooled them into thinking her a servant.
The Colonel removed his cap, revealing a balding head, thick grey eyebrows and piercing yellow eyes. His bottom lip protruded, and whiskers sprouted from the nostrils of his bulbous nose. ‘Madame,’ he said, having to tilt his head to look up into her face, ‘it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
Claudine took the hand he offered and was immediately revolted by its limp and sweaty grasp. ‘What can I do for you, Colonel?’ she said, forcing a smile.
The Colonel turned again to the sergeant beside him, spoke rapidly in German, then waited while the officer explained the purpose of their visit.
As she listened, Claudine’s heart sank. Friends of theirs in other parts of northern France had been forced to evacuate their homes to make room for German officers, and she knew there was no appeal.
‘May I ask why you have chosen to come to Lorvoire?’ she said. ‘There are many other châteaux in the region, some of them unoccupied.’
‘I think,’ the Colonel answered, sweeping an arm towards the imposing façade, ‘that must speak for itself. However, as your menfolk are not at present in residence, we shall not require you to move out. There will be room for us all.’ His smile sent a shiver down Claudine’s spine. ‘I have been assured of the most excellent hospitality here,’ he continued, walking past her and up the steps into the château. ‘I am told there is an apartment on the second floor that will suit my needs admirably.’
For a moment, as the Colonel gazed at the paintings in the hall, then ran his finger over the highly polished sideboard, Claudine could only look on. Then, with an effort, she pulled herself together. ‘I think you will find our circular guest room much more to your liking,’ she said equably. ‘I will ask the butler to show you the way.’
‘There is no need, madame, you can show me to the apartment yourself.’
‘I have no intention of doing any such thing,’ she retorted grandly. ‘As a guest in my home you will reside in a guestroom.’
‘I think you misunderstand, madame. I am not a guest in your home, it is you who are the guest, and as such …’
He broke off as Solange, an apron over her dress and a scarf wound like a turban round her head, came out of the dining-room, waving her hands in the air and gabbling under her breath. She stopped suddenly when she saw the German, then with her eyes nearly popping from her head she barked, ‘Who are you?’
‘This is Colonel Blomberg, Solange,’ Claudine answered for him. ‘He is going to be staying with us for a while, in the circular guest room.’
‘Enough of this!’ Blomberg bellowed, marching past them and starting up the stairs. ‘Bring in my baggage,’ he called to the officer who was standing to attention at the top of the steps.
Claudine and Solange glanced at one another, then Claudine went swiftly up the stairs after the Colonel.
‘Your room is this way,’ she snapped as they reached the first landing, but ignoring her the Colonel walked the few steps to the second flight of stairs and continued up.
Gritting her teeth, Claudine watched him, his long black boots creaking as he moved, and tried to decide what the hell she should do. But come what may, she wasn’t going to give up her rooms for anyone, least of all a despicable little toad like Blomberg.
‘This is your bed-chamber, I take it?’ he said, as she came into the sitting-room of the apartment and found him on the threshold of her room. ‘So over there must be your husband’s,’ he went on, not waiting for her to answer.
How on earth did he know so much, she wondered as he walked across to François’ room, threw open the door and looked in. ‘Mm, this should suit me well,’ he grunted. ‘In fact, it is all I shall need, so I see no reason for you to lea
ve your room.’ He turned to look at her, and she felt herself shrink from the gleam in his eye. ‘We could become very good friends, I think. As a matter of fact, your husband assures me we shall. A most obliging man, your husband. Not only does he offer me his home, but he has offered me his wife too. Most generous, don’t you agree? I had thought to refuse the offer, but now I have met you, madame …’ He ran his tongue over his lips and lowered his hungry eyes to her breasts.
Claudine’s head was spinning. This disgusting little man knew François! Claimed that François had … She took a breath to try and steady herself. François would never, never have made such an offer. Unless …
Oh, dear God, the very thought that he had undergone any degree of torture made her feel faint. Her eyes moved back to Blomberg. He was so unlike the other Germans she had met, but she had heard plenty of rumours of how they were behaving in other places. It was incredible, he hadn’t been in her home five minutes, and already …
Mentally, she shook herself; she must think, and think fast. If she was right, and François had been forced into making the offer, what might happen to him if she refused? On the other hand, Blomberg could be lying … There was nothing for it, she had to try to bluff it out.
She turned away and walked imperiously towards the door. Then, with her head held so high that she had to look at Blomberg down the length of her nose, she said in a dangerously low voice, ‘May I remind you, monsieur, that you are not in a bordello, but in the ancestral home of the Comtes de Rassey de Lorvoire. If you are intending to stay, therefore, I suggest you learn some manners. Now, remove yourself from this room before I am forced to send someone to Chinon to report your outrageous behaviour to General Kahl.’
Blomberg’s repulsive face contorted in a snarl as he started towards her. Somehow she stood her ground. When he reached her he lifted a hand to strike, but when she didn’t even so much as flinch he turned away, snorting with digust, and stumped out of the room.
