The Lavender Keeper

by Fiona McIntosh

While she watched the amber, syrupy apple brandy move like liquid gold around the glass, Kilian regarded her. Eichel’s goddaughter was gorgeous; he imagined she must be mid-twenties, almost half his age. She was lean and angular, just how he liked a woman, so her clothes hung off her shoulders like a mannequin.

  ‘Santé,’ she said, seemingly unaware of his appraisal as she lifted her glass to each of her companions. ‘Thank you for keeping me company.’

  ‘It doesn’t look as if your friend is coming,’ Walter remarked. ‘It’s nearly seven-thirty. What time were you supposed to meet?’

  ‘Seven,’ Lisette said. ‘And I was late.’

  ‘Then it is his loss,’ Kilian said. ‘If he arrives now, I would feel obliged to punch him on the nose.’

  This amused Lisette. Her response made Kilian realise that it had been too long since he’d enjoyed a woman’s happy laughter.

  They picked at snacks and talked about the opera, about Montmartre, about rationing and about life in Strasbourg before the war. Kilian told them a little about his family and made them laugh at his ‘near misses’, as he termed the times he’d almost married. He was impressed at how Lisette remained quietly captivated. By nine p.m. promises had been made between the men to go to a musical recital together, more than a couple of cognacs had been consumed, and Walter had begun to look at his watch.

  ‘Well, I must get home. My housekeeper will have left some food and I dare not miss it in these days of rationing. Do you need a lift, Lisette?’ Eichel said, after draining the last of his glass.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll walk. I’ve been inside all day.’

  He shook his head. ‘Curfew – you’ll never make it by eleven.’

  ‘I walk fast. It will clear my head of the effects of my delicious calvados … Thank you both so much once again for your kindness.’

  Eichel didn’t look convinced by Lisette’s explanation. Kilian took his chance.

  ‘Walter, with your permission, I don’t mind seeing Mademoiselle Forestier back to Montmartre. No one will dare question her; at least with me she is safe.’

  He’d meant it sincerely but the innuendo was there. Walter laughed and Lisette had the grace to blush.

  Kilian turned to Lisette. ‘May I walk you back to your flat?’

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Well,’ Walter began, hauling his bulk into a standing position. ‘This has been most enjoyable. Good night, my dear,’ he said, kissing Lisette lightly on both cheeks. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you at the bank tomorrow. Kilian, good to see you again.’ The two men shook hands.

  ‘Please, I shall see to the bill,’ Kilian said, pulling out some notes. When Eichel began to protest, he made a tutting sound. Walker thanked him again and made his way out.

  ‘Well, Mademoiselle Forestier, shall we take some night air?’

  She smiled, and allowed him to help her with her coat. He gazed approvingly at her slim shoulders, and when he unintentionally brushed her skin with his hand, he felt a thrill pulse through him. He was as giddy as a teenager. He shook his head behind Lisette as he watched her tuck the last strands of hair into her scarf, and wondered if his self-imposed solitary lifestyle for the past few years had begun to work against him.

  She turned and he was nearly caught staring wistfully at her. He smiled just in time and was able to offer an arm to lead her through the café, whose population had drastically thinned out as everyone made tracks to beat the curfew. Only men in uniform were in no rush.

  The fresh air hit him like a slap and he was glad of the glow of cognac in his belly. He yawned. ‘Forgive me, mademoiselle.’

  ‘A big day?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, lots of paper shuffling around my desk and no navigator. I am a man of action, not one who likes signing his name.’

  ‘You should get your secretary to forge it, then,’ she said with a giggle before shivering visibly in the cold.

  He hesitated. ‘Let me call for my driver.’

  She gave a soft, utterly delightful noise of protest. ‘No, Colonel, please. I’m fine, and truly, I do prefer to walk. After the winter we’ve had, this is nothing. Besides, Paris is beautiful at night, especially when it’s so quiet like this.’

  He smiled. ‘I suppose you’ve never had the opportunity to walk Paris when it’s truly deserted.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I do it all the time. I pretend the city is mine.’

  ‘What a dream.’

  ‘Then, let us walk slowly and very soon there will be no one on the streets but you and I.’

  ‘Oh, how romantic!’ she murmured to herself, and once again he was charmed by this breath of fresh air that had breezed into his life.

  ‘Please, call me Markus,’ he instructed warmly and held out an arm, which she readily linked hers through. ‘Do you have a favourite route?’

  ‘Through the gardens, via the Louvre, up past Madeleine, Galeries Lafayette and up the hill to Montmartre. And please do call me Lisette.’

  ‘Quite a long way around, then, Lisette.’

  ‘If Paris is mine tonight, I want to take my time to enjoy her.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, and led her towards the river. He sighed inwardly, imagining they must look like a pair of lovers heading deeper into the mist. If only it were true.

  Lisette hadn’t been prepared to enjoy Markus Kilian; in fact, for all of the preparation since she’d first been briefed about her curious mission, she’d hated him in her mind. It was the only way. She’d already known he was well bred, but she’d been disarmed by his charm and handsome looks. She’d anticipated a more stereotypical heel-clicking, tightly wound officer, lacking in humour; someone who bragged of his soldiering achievements. Instead, here was a charismatic man who enjoyed music, talking about favourite films with the glee of a teenager, and yet described brandy in the lofty tones of an art critic. He liked women – of that she had no doubt – so London’s mission was spot on; Kilian had been aware of her for every second of her presence. She’d seen him notice her through the café windows and he’d barely taken his eyes off her until she’d promised to join them. She’d made sure she’d shown off her attributes to their best effect and it had worked. Kilian had fallen for all her carefully orchestrated flirtations.

  Now she had to quickly ingratiate herself into his life. He’d given her the opening. It was her intention to make that offer of a job a reality in the near future.

  ‘I enjoyed my calvados, thank you,’ she said. ‘It was a lovely evening.’ Lisette was careful to keep her distance even though they walked arm in arm.

  ‘I like Walter,’ he said. ‘Too many of us are caught up in Hitler’s madness, believing ourselves invincible. Walter isn’t one of them. But I think I am the one who should be thanking you for a delightful evening.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I’m just very glad that Pierre never turned up.’

  He turned. ‘Really?’ The question was loaded with meaning.

  She hesitated slightly. ‘Yes, Colonel, I am.’

  ‘Call me Markus, would you? It’s been a long time since a beautiful woman said my name.’

  His gaze was so intent she faltered momentarily. Even in her dreams the mission hadn’t proceeded as quickly as this. The reality was unnerving.

  He watched her struggle with the compliment and stopped walking. They’d reached the gate at the end of the Tuileries. ‘Don’t be frightened of me, Lisette. And don’t worry about your godfather.’

  She tried to shrug and genuinely had to look away from his eyes, which seemed to turn her into a statue like those in the gardens behind her. ‘I feel it would be disrespectful not to use your title.’

  He gently gripped her arms. ‘I understand. In fact, your reluctance is charming. But you have my permission. And if you’re referring to our age difference …’ He shrugged. ‘It is not my fault you were born fifteen years too late.’

  Her laughter was genuine and spontaneous. They continued
walking.

  ‘Ah, I enjoy amusing you. How old are you, anyway?’

  ‘Twenty-four,’ she replied. ‘I’ll be twenty-five in a few days, actually. My birthday is on the eighth.’ She’d almost forgotten.

  ‘On Monday, really? Have you something planned?’

  ‘No. I’m on rations, remember.’

  ‘What about Walter? Your friends?’

  ‘I don’t think Walter would recall. And Pierre is my only friend.’

  ‘Is he your lover?’

  She smirked. ‘No. But he’s been a good companion to me since I arrived.’

  ‘Where did you meet?’

  ‘On the platform at Gare de l’Est. He tripped over my bag and knocked me down. We became instant friends as he helped me up.’

  ‘It sounds romantic.’

  ‘It wasn’t. My elbow was bleeding,’ she said, embellishing her fabricated tale as she went.

  ‘I would have kissed it better.’

  This was the moment, she felt it; he was vulnerable now. ‘Unfortunately you weren’t there, Markus … or I’m sure I would have let you.’ Even though she couldn’t see well in the darkness, she felt the full intensity of Kilian’s ice-blue eyes fall on her.

  ‘I would never stand you up. Along with being clumsy, this Pierre is an idiot. I would never let another man be alone with you as we are now.’

  Lisette swallowed. ‘That sounds very possessive.’

  ‘When something is mine I protect it … with my life, if necessary.’

  ‘Your men must love you, Markus.’

  It proved the right sentiment to express. She watched him drop his gaze. By deflecting his advances, she showed that she was not hunting for romance. Lisette knew she had to make Markus Kilian want her, and to do that meant giving little ground. She needed to arouse his ardour, his jealousy, his anxiety. Right now he was fully in control, toying with her. She had to reverse that role … but she found him alarmingly sensual. It was a struggle not to fall under his spell.

  He sighed. ‘And I love my men.’ He gave a growl of frustration. ‘I feel so helpless here in Paris. We know the Allies are preparing a final push to take place in the summer. Berlin should have all of its best men in place.’

  She remained silent. It was a shock to hear him speak so casually and yet so confidently of the Allies’ intentions. London must be warned.

  ‘Well, you can’t change anything tonight, but perhaps tomorrow will bring the news you want to hear,’ she said placatingly.

  They paused to stare absently into a shop window.

  He turned to her. ‘Forgive me, Lisette. I don’t want to discuss strategy with you. It is wrong of me.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. My father was a soldier in the Great War. I grew up listening to war stories.’

  He began to walk again, groaning. ‘I hope I don’t remind you of your father?’

  ‘Not at all, I just find men in uniform undeniably attractive.’

  He gave her a sidelong grin and something unspoken passed between them.

  ‘Come. Let’s get you home before you catch a chill.’

  They walked briskly, Lisette mostly listening, as he gave her a guided tour of the famous places of Paris. She was genuinely interested in his commentary; he was knowledgeable and clearly loved the city, unable to contain his joy at its beauty. And he was right – walking the streets this late gave Paris a haunted quality; its beauty, even in shadow, managed to shine through.

  The most direct route would have taken them an hour but Lisette’s more scenic path meant it took another twenty-five minutes. They finally arrived, sighing softly and laughing as they emerged into the main street of Montmartre. There were still a couple of cafés open, with the clink of glasses and men’s laughter echoing from them. The lights inside had been dimmed and would be turned off by midnight.

  ‘What do you actually do?’ Lisette asked, guiding Kilian towards her building.

  He gave a groan. ‘I’m a facilitator for discussion between the Church in France, Paris mainly, and the German regime of the Occupation.’

  ‘But you’re a colonel of the Wehrmacht,’ she observed.

  ‘It is a punishment, Lisette, for my defiance of the Führer.’

  ‘Really? You don’t believe in the regime?’

  ‘I believe in Germany. I believe that it can rise from the ashes of the Great War, be a world power again. But no, my political views do not embrace the vision of our Führer. And now I shall have to kill you for hearing me utter that. Where is that pistol of mine?’ he asked casually, reaching towards his belt.

  She felt a thrill of fear pass through her.

  ‘Oh, my dear Lisette. That was just a jest. I frightened you,’ Kilian said, stopping to take her hand. ‘Forgive me. We Germans aren’t known for our humour.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I do apologise. I think I shall be the one killed before you.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  He looked down. ‘I shouldn’t be so bleak. But you know, years ago, when I was a youngster, perhaps fourteen, I went to our local fair. My mother didn’t approve but I sneaked out of my bedroom window and went with my friends late at night. There was a clairvoyant.’

  ‘And?’ They were nearly at her apartment.

  ‘And she told me that I’d die on foreign soil. I’m a soldier – I shouldn’t be surprised.’

  Lisette felt genuinely sad. ‘Markus, set no store by fairground foretellings. You didn’t die in Russia. And the closest you’ll get in Paris might be dying of boredom in some cleric’s rooms?’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, and you’re right – if the fortune-teller had been worth her salt, she’d have mentioned that I’d meet a beautiful young woman in Paris who would enchant me one spring evening.’

  Lisette shrugged awkwardly, desperately not wanting to appear coy or girlish. She already sensed coquettishness would not work with Kilian. He was far too dry and direct.

  ‘Now I’ve embarrassed you.’

  She met his gaze firmly. ‘No. I’m just not sure how to respond. We hardly know each other.’

  ‘All right. It’s your birthday on the eighth, you said?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Be dressed gorgeously for dinner. A car will pick you up at seven p.m.’

  Lisette was stunned. Her silence clearly amused him.

  ‘You will have dinner with me, won’t you?’

  ‘I had in mind a piece of cheese with the mice that plague my bedsit.’

  He grinned. ‘You sound like Cinderella. Instead, enjoy a birthday dinner as my guest.’

  ‘No, Markus. Like Cinderella, I have absolutely nothing gorgeous to wear. Please, you don’t have to do this.’

  ‘I know I don’t. It’s a purely selfish decision; I wish to see you again and I don’t want to be in a crowded café or walking the streets. Besides, I must continue your education in calvados. And where I shall take you serves the finest. It will be my gift to you. A balloon of calvados at the Hotel Ritz.’

  ‘The Hotel Ritz,’ she repeated in a shocked squeak. The heartland of the German government in Paris! SOE would be thrilled.

  ‘I can’t tell if you’re shivering from anticipation or the cold, but we must get you home,’ he said kindly.

  ‘We’re here,’ Lisette said, looking up at the whitewashed three-storey building they stood beside. ‘I’m on the top floor.’ She pointed. ‘That’s my balcony.’

  ‘You must have a splendid view over Paris.’

  ‘The hill can be challenging some evenings but it’s always worth it once I’m inside. Thank you for walking me home. Will you be all right?’

  He laughed aloud. ‘I am a soldier who survived Russia. I think I can manage to get back to my comfortable hotel in Paris.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. You make me nervous.’

  He grinned. ‘So, let me watch you go safely inside, Mademoiselle Lisette. Thank you for tonight, and don’t worry about next Monday. I shall take care of everything. Just agree to come.’

  ‘All right.�
�

  He leant forward and gently kissed each cheek; she felt the evening shadow of his chin. It surprised her how seductive that fleeting graze of skin on skin felt. He wanted to kiss her properly, that much was obvious – but she needed to keep hesitating, holding him at bay.

  ‘Gute nacht, Markus.’

  ‘Bonne nuit, Lisette.’

  She felt his gaze follow her up the small pathway to her building’s entrance. She turned at the doorway and gave him a wave, then dashed up the two flights to her door, fighting with the keys to open it. She ran to her window and looked down. He was still there. She watched the flare of a match and then the tip of a cigarette glow; it burned brightly as he inhaled and his handsome, angular face lit momentarily.

  Then Colonel Markus Kilian turned and disappeared into the darkness of the night’s curfew. Lisette trembled as she wrote out her message on the cigarette paper immediately. She would drop it in tomorrow; London would know that Lark’s mission was finally in play.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Walter Eichel didn’t seem surprised to hear of Lisette’s birthday date with the colonel. ‘I think he was captivated from the moment you arrived.’

  Lisette blushed. ‘I can’t say I regret running into you, but I wanted to be sure that you didn’t disapprove in any way.’

  ‘No, my dear. I’m surprised and rather delighted. Kilian may be in some sort of disgrace but privately, I admire him. Rumour has it that he’s taking the rap in the wilderness for a lot of others who defied the same orders.’

  She frowned in consternation. ‘I have nothing to wear to the Ritz.’

  He smiled. ‘You could walk in wearing a hessian sack and still every woman would envy you. Take a day off as my gift to you.’

  She kissed her godfather. ‘Thank you, Walter.’

  On the afternoon of her birthday, she was in the process of getting ready when she heard a knock at the door. She froze while holding up her one dress against herself, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

  There was nowhere to hide but also nothing to hide, she was sure of it. She looked wildly around her tiny bedsit for anything incriminating. The morning after meeting Kilian, she’d been in such a hurry to deliver her information that she was among the first patrons to walk into the café in Rue Pergolese as it opened up. Once there she’d stuck her cryptic message into the newspaper. Lark has made her nest. It was then up to Playboy to pick up the message and transmit it to London.