The Lavender Keeper

by Fiona McIntosh

  He broke into a gust of embarrassed laughter. ‘I’m sorry. That was a foolish remark. I thought you’d prefer to go straight to our table?’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘What I wish is to have you all to myself and not share you with other officers already ogling you.’ He swept a glance around the foyer. ‘The tongues will be wagging all over the city tomorrow.’

  ‘Then let’s give them something to wag about,’ she said, throwing him a dangerous smile.

  The restaurant L’Espadon was filled with German officers, mainly Luftwaffe, and military personnel, dignitaries and political figures, the fashionable elite of Paris and a single SOE agent, who was reassuring herself that she could hold her own in such company. Lisette could feel other women’s eyes on her but she fought the inclination to catch them in the act of staring. Instead she chatted amiably and animatedly to her companion. They had spoken of their childhoods, of their parents, of their different upbringings in different eras.

  She was amazed by the lilac tree that was the focal point of the room. Its colour must be gorgeous in summer, its fragrance exquisite and potent enough to scent the whole restaurant. Booths had been built around the twisted trunk of the old tree. Opulence was the word that came to her mind.

  Several people had interrupted them during their dinner and Kilian had been polite, duly introducing her as Walter Eichel’s goddaughter. Lisette realised she was being assessed in a new light. Walter’s name counted for something among these people, and she hoped her mission would never tarnish his reputation. Several women had also stopped by their table and lingered to chat to her host, to kiss him hello and then steal another kiss goodbye. Were they making a point? She didn’t care.

  The one person she wasn’t introduced to had been ushered to their table by the maître d’ with soft apologies.

  ‘Colonel Kilian?’ the man in uniform asked, respectfully bowing his head.

  ‘Yes.’ He looked surprised to be interrupted.

  ‘Please forgive me for interrupting your dinner. I took the liberty of making a few calls to find you, sir. I have a message from General Stülpnagel.’ The man opened a small leather satchel and withdrew an envelope. ‘I am his adjutant.’

  General Stülpnagel! Lisette couldn’t imagine how the military commander of Paris could be connected with Kilian’s office, other than in the most cursory way. But as she thought about it, she realised they were both ex-field officers who had resigned or been removed from their critical roles in Russia to be given administrative positions far from Berlin. Both men had noble Prussian backgrounds with proud military heritages. Perhaps they were family friends? She schooled her features to remain blank as the men spoke, but she tried to take in every nuance of their conversation, of Kilian’s body language.

  ‘Could this not have been sent to my office? I shall be there first thing in the morning.’

  ‘The general regrets the inconvenience, sir. I gather his communication is in connection with Church holy days. He has been very busy, but has an opening tomorrow morning that he hopes you can take advantage of; it’s why he sent me at such an hour.’

  Lisette couldn’t tell whether the man was lying, although he might well be. Kilian appeared mystified by the special delivery … perhaps even suspicious.

  ‘I’ll read it later. Thank you,’ he said.

  The adjutant nodded, closed his satchel. ‘The general will expect you in the morning, sir.’ He gave a salute and Kilian flicked a lazy one back, already turning away.

  Lisette watched the man walk out of the restaurant. It seemed normal enough; this was wartime, after all, but she wasn’t experienced enough to know just how unusual it was to disturb the colonel at a social occasion. Something about Kilian’s hesitancy suggested it was odd … perhaps it was an unexpected contact?

  Kilian shook his head. ‘I’m sorry about yet another disruption.’

  ‘Well, that one sounded important,’ she said.

  ‘To be honest, I have no idea. I’m sure I’ll discover soon enough.’ He slipped the note into his pocket but she sensed the lie.

  ‘How well do you know General Stülpnagel?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Why on earth should that interest you? Dear Lisette, you don’t have to feign curiosity in my work.’

  ‘I’m not feigning anything,’ she said smoothly. ‘Forgive me. He’s an important man in Paris. Everything you say is interesting. You have to understand, I’m not used to socialising at this level.’

  He smiled. ‘Your bashfulness is charming, but I suspect, Lisette, that you would be adept at any level.’

  ‘I hope that’s a compliment,’ she said, sipping from her wine glass.

  ‘Be assured of it. You would grace anyone’s table. And to answer your question, I don’t know the general in any other capacity than to salute him at a formal occasion.’

  It was clear Kilian did not want to discuss Stülpnagel and yet here was the highest authority in Paris looming into her view. ‘How does the work you do cross over into his?’

  ‘No doubt I shall find out tomorrow morning.’

  Kilian was bored and shutting her down. Lisette smiled, took a different approach. ‘I think Walter knows him. He described him once as a man of sound morals.’

  ‘I hope we all are.’

  ‘Surely morals come into question in wartime,’ she said, interested to see what she could provoke.

  His eyes widened. ‘Are we to discuss philosophy over dinner?’

  Her ploy hadn’t worked. He was clearly not about to give anything away.

  ‘Later perhaps. I agree it’s very dull. Now I think we should discuss your immense popularity. That was the sixth visitor to your table already … and four were women.’

  He laughed delightedly. ‘You counted?’ He shook his head. ‘I suspect they’re all just curious. The men want to know who you are and the women are insanely jealous of you.’

  ‘For being in your company?’

  ‘You miss my point. And I think that’s because you have absolutely no idea of the effect you have.’ He covered her hand with his. She had to stop herself from snatching it away. Not because she didn’t want it there; to the contrary, she found herself drawn to him far too strongly. On paper he’d sounded old and cold; a prized and heartless colonel on his way up the ranks. It was a surprise that she found his company so easy.

  ‘How many romantic liaisons have you enjoyed, Lisette?’ he said, while they waited for their main course, clinking together their wine glasses.

  ‘That’s a rather personal question. How would you feel if I asked you the same?’ she teased.

  ‘You already know of the few that mattered.’

  ‘What about the ones that didn’t matter?’

  ‘Dozens, scores,’ he said mischievously.

  ‘I can’t match that,’ she said, hungrily watching her food arrive and admiring it with equal measure of awe and guilt. She didn’t think anything could top the rabbit of the first course, but this was an exquisite pale-fleshed fish, cooked in butter. It smelt divine.

  ‘Well, I’d be shocked if you did.’

  ‘Because only men are allowed to be with many lovers?’

  ‘No, because you’re nearly half my age.’

  She laughed prettily.

  ‘So answer me,’ he said, resetting his napkin and picking up his fork and fish knife. ‘How many?’

  ‘That mattered, or in general?’

  ‘That mattered,’ he replied. ‘Bon appétit.’

  ‘Then my answer is only one.’

  ‘Ah, the lost love.’

  ‘Yes, you could say that.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He was a farmer.’

  Kilian looked surprised. ‘You seem too refined, altogether too French, to be interested in a farmer.’

  ‘Mother taught me never to be predictable. I have lots of surprises.’

  He grinned. ‘I can believe that. Tell me about your farmer.’

  ‘Why?’ />
  ‘Because I’m jealous of him. You loved him?’

  She shook her head. This was dangerous and surprisingly painful. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We didn’t have enough time.’

  ‘If he walked in here now, right this moment, how would you feel?’

  ‘Markus …’ She gave him an admonishing look.

  ‘Come, Lisette, life is too short for the mundane. I want provocative conversation. I want to know what ticks behind that controlled façade you present.’

  She admired his energy. ‘I don’t know what I’d say to him but yes, I’d probably feel in love,’ she admitted truthfully. She needed to stay focused on her mission, but Kilian was far too charming. Luc, whom she thought about daily, whose memory was as vivid and painful as the day she’d left him, had never felt further away.

  ‘And what would you then say to me, sitting here watching you?’

  She laughed. ‘All right. Now you’re just teasing me.’

  ‘I am. What did he farm?’

  She hesitated. Glide near the truth, SOE taught her. ‘Lavender … er, amongst other crops.’

  ‘Lavender? In Strasbourg?’

  Her first mistake. ‘No, of course not. It was a summer romance before the war. I was sixteen, in Provence with my parents. I met him briefly and then had to leave.’

  ‘How long were you together?’

  She was about to say the summer but something inside forced her to be honest. ‘Just a day or two.’

  Kilian looked surprised. ‘That was fast.’

  ‘I believe that if you fall in love with someone, it happens from the outset.’

  He swallowed his mouthful. ‘Eat. Don’t let this fish go cold. So you don’t believe love can develop between two people?’

  ‘I do believe love can grow, and I’m sure it does in many marriages. But the sort of love I want has bells jangling and fireworks in my mind, and that’s how it felt the first time he kissed me.’ She pushed food around her plate, suddenly self-conscious. ‘I felt lost in his kiss … I felt …’

  ‘What?’ he pushed, staring intently.

  ‘Lost and yet found,’ she replied, emerging from the memory.

  ‘I hate him,’ Kilian said. ‘Actually, I envy him.’ Then he took on a more devilish tone. ‘He’s French, of course?’

  ‘Of course. They make the very best lovers, don’t you know?’

  ‘Give me his name. I shall have him hunted down and shot!’

  She laughed nervously. ‘I must protect his name to my dying breath, then.’

  ‘Is that why you went back to the south?’

  Lisette looked puzzled.

  ‘You said you’d come to Paris from the south after a sabbatical.’

  ‘Oh, yes, but I didn’t go back to look for him. That was a long time ago.’

  ‘But perhaps why you were drawn there, no?’

  Let him think that if it made him jealous. ‘You’re probably right.’ It was time to change the subject. She put her fork and knife together carefully in the French way and sat back. ‘I am not used to this rich food, Markus.’ Markus. The familiarity rolled so effortlessly off her tongue.

  ‘Neither am I, to tell the truth.’ He told her of his habit of eating very little normally.

  ‘That’s admirable.’

  ‘I don’t do it for admiration. I just … Well, it’s out of respect for all – not just Germans – who go hungry. Look at this,’ he said, waving his hand at the ostentatious surrounds, rich fabric hanging in great swathes from the ceiling. ‘Maybe a hundred young German soldiers have died in the time we’ve eaten two courses, and an equal number of Russians.’

  ‘Oh, that’s bleak.’

  ‘It’s your birthday. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, don’t be. I should be reminded of it. We all need to be. It makes the hunger pangs easier to ignore, the cold easier to bear. We’re alive to feel those sensations. Too many young men no longer are.’

  He cupped his chin in his hand, leaning an elbow on the table to gaze at her. ‘Do you see yourself as French or German?’

  ‘Neither. I am a woman of the world, that’s all. And I think if women ran the world, we would not be at war.’

  ‘You could well be right.’

  She smiled ruefully. ‘How about you? Are you a good Nazi, Markus?’

  He obviously wasn’t expecting such a question. His expression clouded, and after glancing around he stared at the white starched tablecloth, teased at a stray crumb on the table. ‘Let’s not talk politics.’

  She swallowed. Tonight … her dress … her perfume … his attention … all the flirting – it had to amount to something worthwhile, or the guilt would smother her.

  ‘Why not?’ she pressed. When he looked up, she gave him a soft smile. ‘I’m not a girl who has to be protected. We’re in a devastating, seemingly endless war. To sit here and sip six-year-old calvados in my gorgeous dress and eat rich food, drink real coffee …’ Her voice reflected the awe she still felt. ‘It’s …’

  ‘What?’ he frowned.

  ‘Obscene,’ she finished, her expression instantly apologetic the moment she’d uttered the word.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, now looking wounded.

  Lisette instinctively moved to reach for his hand. It was a large, warm hand, the nails blunt and well kept with neat half moons. Her touch was gentle, affectionate. Surprised, perhaps, but obviously also delighted, Kilian returned it with a gentle squeeze. In that moment there was a heartbeat of intense connection.

  ‘Forgive me. That came out wrong.’ Their hands had been noticed by others and he seemed to understand when she gently withdrew hers. ‘I think what I was trying to say, and badly, was that I don’t want us to pretend.’

  His gaze met hers again and in that instant Lisette could no longer fool herself. She was no cool professional playing her role in this piece of theatre. She could not force the way her cheeks burned, or deny that her heart was pounding, or ignore the rare and exquisite tingling coursing through her body. Markus Kilian. German. Wehrmacht colonel. Her enemy. But nonetheless a devastatingly attractive man, and not just in looks – in fact, in spite of them. There was something inherently decent and fine about him as a person, and everything about him appealed to her – from the timbre of his voice to the sorrow that seemed to walk alongside him.

  ‘Pretend?’ he echoed.

  This was the moment to strike … to win him. No more innuendo. She would be direct.

  ‘We shouldn’t pretend that nothing is happening between us. I’m young, not stupid. We both know what is going on.’

  Again she’d caught him unawares; she could see it in the set of his mouth, the flare of surprise in his eyes. Kilian fixed her with a gaze she couldn’t fully read and she held her breath. Had she really just uttered those words? Did she really know what sort of precipice she was now standing upon?

  ‘So what is going on, Lisette?’

  She didn’t have the luxury of time to tease him. Taut silence stretched between them as they regarded one another. For a second or two she wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘Colonel Kilian, I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir.’

  The tension snapped and they both blinked, drew a breath.

  ‘Yes?’ Kilian said, cutting his gaze away from her to the maître d’ looming at their table.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said in perfect German. ‘Your driver is here. You asked him to return at nine.’

  ‘I did. Tell him to wait,’ Kilian said curtly, only just refraining from snapping.

  ‘Yes, Colonel.’

  ‘Merci,’ Lisette said. Be friendly with everyone, she had been taught. You never knew when it might be useful. And it didn’t hurt to demonstrate good manners. ‘Dinner was exquisite. The hay-smoked rabbit was the way I remember my grandmother cooking it,’ she lied.

  The man paused to regard her. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle. I will pass on your remarks to our kitchen.’

  He nod
ded and beneath the polite smile she saw the glow of pleasure ghost across his face. When she looked back at Kilian, his gaze had softened.

  ‘The way you swap languages so effortlessly is wonderful to witness. It’s another reason why I need you in my life, Lisette. You speak the right languages at the right time.’

  ‘Another reason? What is the first?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to ponder that. But I do want you to consider working with me.’

  ‘You barely know me.’

  ‘I know I can trust you.’

  She swallowed. ‘And not others?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘I’ve explained that I’m not Berlin’s favourite officer.’

  ‘But you are a loyal German.’

  ‘And therein lies Berlin’s problem with me.’ He dropped his voice to a murmur. ‘I am indeed a loyal German, Lisette, but I’m far from being a loyal Nazi.’

  She decided to play dumb. ‘Are they not one and the same?’

  He gave a choked laugh and shook his head. ‘No. They’re worlds apart. There are many good German officers who don’t share the ideology of our Führer.’

  ‘So why—’

  ‘Why follow his orders? Because so many of the people who are now in power are good men. They never had a chance under the Weimar Republic. Hitler promoted them, has given them status and opportunity. It’s a double-edged sword. The right men, in the right places …’

  ‘Under the wrong leader?’ she asked softly.

  His forehead furrowed, full of burden. ‘I would die for my country – and probably will – and I hope history will show that the Wehrmacht was led in the main by honourable officers following orders. Those of us who disobey those orders do so with a respect for human life.’ He sounded desperately sad suddenly.

  ‘Markus …’ she whispered.

  He raised his eyes, glittering pale in the candlelight, and shook his head. ‘Don’t. The excellent food, wine, the good listener has loosened my lips. I’ve said too much. Come,’ he said, standing. ‘This is no conversation for a beautiful dinner guest on her birthday. Can I offer you anything else?’

  She shook her head and smiled but was disappointed the moment was lost. He might never speak so candidly again, and she was sure he’d had more to say. Markus could be ripe to be turned … and she could become his go-between instead of spying on him. Should she allude to it? No! Report back first; let the decision come from London. Her thoughts tumbled over each other as he spoke.