The Lavender Keeper

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘He is tall and his hair is not dark, we’re told.’ Von Schleigel gave a small laugh, glancing up at Luc’s hair that glowed golden beneath the single bulb.

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. That could be a score or more different farmers of the Luberon. Does he speak German?’

  ‘I don’t know … Does he?’

  ‘Herr von Schleigel, how can I be this man Bonet? My name is Lukas Ravensburg. There are many of my height and weight. You have checked out my details, you say. Why doesn’t that convince you?’

  Von Schleigel shifted again. It was his turn to stand. He clasped his hands neatly behind his back. ‘Your German is too good for you to be anything but what you say. I agree your papers are exactly in order.’

  ‘I am Lukas Ravensburg of Sault, originally of Bavaria,’ Luc pressed, lacing his tone with frustration. ‘Have the people of Saignon pointed you to me?’

  ‘No, not at all. I have been following the trail of all maquisards from the region. This fellow Bonet is a suspect; not confirmed. The gendarmes of Apt believe that when his family was taken away Bonet left the region, and is probably dead. He was never seen beyond that day.’

  ‘His family was taken away?’

  ‘Vermin,’ von Schleigel said tightly. ‘An old Jew and his slut women.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’ Luc said, hotly, feeling his cheeks burn with rage. ‘Look at me, sir. Do I look Jewish?’

  ‘Absolutely not. In fact, you embody precisely what a true Aryan should. But there is some question that this Bonet fellow may not have been a blood relative member of the family. Too many coincidences?’

  ‘You could look at it that way, or you could say that anyone could willfully misinterpret information to suit their own ends. Who is giving you this information?’

  Von Schleigel gave a sigh. ‘Milicien Landry was murdered today. Did you know him?’

  ‘No,’ Luc replied firmly.

  ‘Well, Landry’s fiancée was a young woman from a hamlet nearby.’

  Fiancée! It was pointless saying anything further or trying to deny any more. Catherine had talked. Luc would not give von Schleigel the satisfaction of watching him squirm. Let him make his accusations. He looked expressionlessly at the German, waiting for the sword to fall.

  ‘This woman, Catherine Girard, was also killed.’

  He felt instantly sick. Catherine dead? Practise taught him to betray nothing.

  ‘Convenient, don’t you think?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Perhaps she caught the killer in the act.’

  ‘What does this milicien and his fiancée have to do with me?’

  Von Schleigel threw up his hands in mock despair. ‘Precisely. But this Girard woman tipped us off about Bonet. Until yesterday we thought she was an unreliable source, but when she delivered two known maquisards, I must admit I became very interested in her knowledge. I sent a car to pick her up. But here we have feminine wiles at work, Ravensburg. She told Landry that if the milice caught anyone fitting Bonet’s description, she wanted to confirm it herself. Such a shame she’s dead. You see, Ravensburg, I would have found all the information I needed from Mademoiselle Girard. Instead I have no real description of the man she wanted to give us, not even his full name. She just called him Bonet.’

  Luc was stunned. Catherine had wanted to hurt him – but not just that, she wanted to be there for the final blow. She had wanted to look into his eyes when she pointed the finger.

  ‘And then I have you, arriving into Cavaillon from Gordes, fitting my description on the very day that Landry and his fiancée are murdered.’ Von Schleigel smiled, blinking behind his monocle.

  ‘And that’s precisely what a coincidence is, Herr von Schleigel … unbelievable timing.’

  Von Schleigel gave a dry laugh that sounded more like a cough. ‘Wait here please, Ravensburg.’

  As Luc’s confidence rose, he took another chance. ‘And where are you going? To rustle up another witness who can unequivocally tell you I’m not Lukas Ravensburg?’

  ‘No, monsieur. I am going to have a little chat with Mademoiselle Forestier. Make yourself comfortable.’

  Luc slumped in his seat but his hand absently reached for his precious pouch of seeds.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Lisette waited in a small, comfortable room but despite the opulent armchairs and warm lighting she felt every inch the prisoner of the Gestapo. She’d practised this very event during training: how to look untroubled, bored even, while you knew you were being watched.

  She sighed, made a show of walking around the small room, glancing at the few token books on a shelf, and then staring out of the window. Her face was impatient and she escalated her indignity for every fifteen minutes that passed.

  After about an hour, the door opened and von Schleigel stepped into the room.

  ‘Ah, please forgive the long wait, Mademoiselle Forestier. I hope you’ve been comfortable?’

  She followed her instincts and went on the offensive. ‘In truth, Herr von Schleigel, as a German, I’m most uncomfortable to find myself as some sort of detainee of the Gestapo.’ She summoned one of her iciest looks.

  He tutted. ‘We must do our job, mademoiselle.’

  Lisette could see in his crafty, intelligent eyes that he loved the challenge of baiting.

  ‘Is the Gestapo above the law, Kriminalsekretar?’

  He hadn’t expected that question. His smile faltered slightly. ‘No, but we are charged to uncover those who work against the regime.’

  ‘And what have you uncovered about my fiancé?’

  ‘There is something about him that raises my suspicions. Instincts urge me to dig deep.’

  She gave a slow, measured sigh and decided to play the ace she held. It was not a card she could play again easily. ‘Herr von Schleigel, have you heard of Walter Eichel?’

  He blinked behind his monocle. ‘Which German hasn’t?’

  ‘When I told you I was going to work for a prominent German company I failed to mention that it is for Walter Eichel’s bank … and what’s more, I will be working directly for Walter himself. He is a personal friend of my family and he is the gentleman you are keeping waiting by holding me here for no solid reason. He knows Lukas very well. Herr Eichel can and will vouch for Lukas Ravensburg, but even so, I can’t imagine he’s going to be very happy when he hears that his goddaughter and her fiancé have been detained by the Gestapo in a sleepy town in Provence on little more than a personal whim.’ She warmed to her act. ‘We have proven who we are and we have cooperated with your wishes and your questions.

  ‘Now, sir, I’m sure your people have checked our details. I’m certain that Herr Eichel, when he picks up the phone to his various government connections in Berlin, will rightly remind them that my father lost an arm fighting for Germany and that Lukas’s father made the ultimate sacrifice. And here you stand, casting aspersions on us, their children, good, loyal German citizens! What exactly do you suspect Lukas of, Herr von Schleigel? Is he perhaps an Allied spy, or one of those French partisan peasants, little more than thugs and murderers? Does he look like one, talk like one, act like one of them? He may live the life of a lavandier for now, but he has been well educated, and the only reason he’s probably not an officer in the Wehrmacht is because he’s providing our army with essential antiseptic.’ Her voice had risen in volume as much as intensity and she was breathing hard now. She glared at the horrible little man before her as she gave a final twist to the noose. ‘Herr von Schleigel, I am no longer tolerant of your small-minded behaviour. And while you made a big show of giving me my leave, we both know that I would never have left Lukas. You have worn my patience, and I expect to be allowed to telephone Herr Eichel. Perhaps you would personally like to explain to him the reasons for my detention, my tardiness of arrival into Paris, and my thoroughly bad humour this evening.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ von Schleigel replied, his voice brittle.

  ‘No?’ she q
ueried innocently.

  ‘No. You are both free to leave, with my apologies for any inconvenience.’

  Lisette beamed at him with a brief, bright smile. ‘Well, I thank you, Herr von Schleigel. Then there is nothing more for us to discuss.’

  ‘Perhaps you will pass on my best wishes to Herr Eichel?’ he asked.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be more impressed by his audacity or her own.

  ‘If you can help make arrangements to get me to Lyon where I might pick up that train I missed, I’m sure Uncle Walter will be grateful to you, Herr von Schleigel.’

  The man dipped his head and she smiled inwardly at how hard it must be for him to show her that respect.

  ‘Where is Lukas?’

  ‘Follow me please, mademoiselle,’ he said, gesturing towards the door.

  Luc was both amazed and amused, though he betrayed neither when von Schleigel returned with Lisette in tow. She made a good show of running to him and putting her arms around him.

  ‘Oh, my darling. Everything is sorted, as I knew it would be.’ She gave him a bright smile. ‘Come on, we can leave now. Herr von Schleigel has even offered to help me get to Lyon so I can meet up with the Paris train during the early hours.’ Lisette gave him a fierce hug. ‘Uncle Walter is going to be so pleased – and grateful to Herr von Schleigel – that I wasn’t delayed. You know, darling, you should just come with me. He’ll want to see you. Sault will be snowed in soon enough. Come for that visit you promised.’

  Eichel’s name presumably meant a lot more to von Schleigel than it did to Luc. Suddenly they were herded from the room and out into the main part of the house, where he could see the large doors beckoning towards him, and escape.

  Lisette had pulled off something extraordinary. He could hear von Schleigel muttering about them being driven to Lyon. It was laughable. One minute prisoners under interrogation, and now a chauffeured car. Luc moved in a daze, carried along on Lisette’s arm and by her breathy chatter.

  Von Schleigel was holding out his hand. ‘No hard feelings, Ravensburg, eh? I hope you understand that I must do my job to keep all Germans safe.’ He gave Luc his tight, forced smile, the monocle firmly in place, his gloved hand squeezing Luc’s naked one.

  ‘Of course,’ Luc said, trying to sound mollified.

  ‘The driver is ready for you, but can we offer you anything before you leave? A good French cognac perhaps, on this cold night?’

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ Lisette said with disarmingly good cheer. She took Luc’s hand. ‘Are you ready, Lukas?’

  He nodded, not quite trusting himself to say anything. He even found a smile for her, but as they walked towards the front door, just a few steps from where he could see a car and a man in a dark suit awaiting them, some movement caught his attention.

  He looked across the large reception hall of the house and he saw an old man stumble between the clutches of a pair of SS uniformed men. The old man had his back to them and was on his knees. They hauled him to his feet.

  Luc felt his heart give. Was he seeing things, or was there something ominously familiar about the manner of the old man, the way he limped, the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders? Luc begged it not to be … Surely, it couldn’t be.

  ‘Herr Ravensburg, is something wrong?’ von Schleigel asked, looking back at Luc.

  Luc felt as though he was swallowing glass shards.

  ‘Lukas, come on,’ Lisette said, stepping back through the doorway. ‘The driver is waiting.’

  Luc could see Lisette glowering at him, silently pleading with him to move. He could see von Schleigel take a glance back at the old man and then return his gaze to Luc, cocking his head to one side like a dog picking up a scent. He fixed Luc with a stare. Luc’s heart began to pound all over again.

  Walk! He could hear Fougasse, Laurent and even Roger yelling at him. Ne fais pas ça! It was his father, Jacob, talking in his mind as clearly as if he were standing right beside him. Do not do it!

  He seemed to lurch forward and the spell was momentarily broken; Lisette looked relieved and turned.

  ‘Herr von Schleigel?’ Luc cleared his throat and with it all those voices in his head.

  ‘Herr Ravensburg?’ the man said amiably, looking like the cat that had just got the cream.

  ‘Who is that man?’

  Von Schleigel blinked rapidly. ‘Why, that old fellow is called Dressler.’

  Luc became very still. ‘What do you want with him?’

  Lisette stood in the doorway silent, angry; he didn’t need to look at her to know it.

  ‘Who is Dressler to you, Ravensburg?’

  Luc noted that all the squirming politeness had gone. ‘He is no one special. He used to live in the region. I recall meeting him once in passing,’ he replied.

  ‘So he’s not a stranger?’

  Luc ignored the question. ‘Why is he being treated like this? He is German.’

  ‘Indeed he is. But he’s also a Jew-lover. He’s been helping Jews in the south to get passage to Spain; helping young men to join up in the Armée Juive. We have proof that earlier this year he smuggled money from Switzerland into France to help Jewish partisans to fight back. For a German he is not terribly patriotic.’

  Luc frowned. ‘He is German, Herr von Schleigel, and he is old; he deserves respect.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’d like to talk to him?’ von Schleigel offered. His tone was innocent but Luc saw only smugness in his expression.

  ‘Wait in the car, Lisette.’

  ‘Lukas—’

  ‘Please,’ Luc growled. ‘I will not be long.’

  Just as she had left him a few hours earlier in Gordes, fuming with despair, he watched her now seething afresh as she spun on her heel. ‘Good evening, Herr von Schleigel,’ she managed to say, before she climbed into the car without a backward glance.

  ‘This way,’ the Gestapo man indicated.

  Luc followed him back into the lion’s den on the trail of a frail old man who had held him before his mother had, and who had protected the secret of his nationality. Wolf.

  Von Schleigel looked sideways at Luc. ‘I am intrigued, Ravensburg, by your interest.’ At his signal, two of his henchmen fell in behind them, cutting off any thoughts Luc might have harboured about changing his mind. No, it was too late now. He hoped Lisette had the presence of mind to give the driver instruction to leave for Lyon immediately. Luc began to doubt he would emerge from the grounds of this stately home alive.

  This time there was no pretence, not even the disguise of an anteroom; just an outhouse of sorts. Everyone knew why they were here. It was being used for storage; everything from paint to paper supplies. There was a single light bulb eerily swinging from a draught through a broken window. It was freezing, but old Wolf had been stripped to his underwear and sat shivering on an iron chair, staring at the ground. He had been beaten. Livid bruises had erupted over his body, and the toes of his twisted, bleeding feet had been broken. It was Luc’s beloved Wolf; his teacher, his second father.

  Luc’s chest was so constricted that he didn’t dare speak. The sight of Wolf, far more than Fougasse or Laurent, threatened to undo him completely. For here was a man of peace. Wolf would help a German as quickly as he would a Jew.

  ‘Salauds!’ Luc whispered. Bastards.

  ‘Ravensburg, is that shock I see? Do I sense that you care about this old swine?’ von Schleigel asked with a smile.

  ‘Care? I wouldn’t treat a dog like this.’

  ‘He’s lower than a dog, Ravensburg. This man is not worthy of licking the dirt from my boots.’

  Luc’s head began to pound. It was as though he was seeing this scene through a misty curtain of shining light. He was in what his grandmother had once termed ‘white wrath’. Now he finally understood what she had meant. And as hard as his temple throbbed, a strange calmness descended at the thought of his grandmother. He reached to his chest and touched the lavender; the sparkling mist cleared, as did his mind.

  ‘I th
ought you wished to speak with this man,’ von Schleigel remarked. ‘You’d better hurry.’

  ‘Where was he arrested?’ Luc asked. He’d tried to contact Wolf this last year but after the Bonets had been taken by the milice, Wolf had disappeared.

  ‘He has been living in Marseille. But he was picked up in Lourmarin three weeks ago using the hill villages for cover while he moved some Jewish orphans into safe houses. I’m glad to say the children have already been shipped off to Drancy.’ The repulsive satisfaction in von Schleigel’s expression sickened Luc. ‘But Dressler is now my problem. Or perhaps yours?’

  Luc knew he was clutching at straws. The kind professor’s life was as lost to the Gestapo as the Bonets were lost to the lethal Polish camps.

  He turned to face von Schleigel. ‘This man is old enough to have fought for the Fatherland in the Great War. Does it not disturb and humiliate you that this German war veteran fought just so you could all strut around in your fancy uniforms and act important? How much active service have you seen, von Schleigel?’

  The man’s features twisted into a sneer. ‘I would caution you, Ravensburg, to be careful with how you speak. The Gestapo is not answerable to you, the German people, the Wehrmacht or the armed services … to anyone but Reichsführer Himmler and our Führer.’ He took a step closer to Luc, secure in the knowledge of his position. ‘And it is only because of Herr Eichel that I refrain from arresting you.’

  ‘Re-arresting me,’ Luc corrected in a snide tone.

  ‘No, Ravensburg. I did not arrest you at the railway station; I simply asked you to help me with some enquiries. If I were to arrest you, that pretty young woman you hope to marry might have to wait a very long time to get your ring on her finger.’

  The threat was thinly veiled. They both understood that von Schleigel had the power to have Luc held indefinitely.

  And now the lunacy of his challenge became clear. Luc didn’t believe, even in the most hopeful part of his mind, that Wolf would survive his wounds. The old man was dying painfully already. And there was Lisette waiting for him outside; a British agent with her cover still intact, in a position to wreak damage on the regime that was killing everyone he had ever loved. Keeping himself alive to help her had to be his first option.