Luc had learnt to keep his distance, trailing Lisette daily from her flat to the bank, shadowing her infrequent visits to the café off the Champs Elysées, even watching her at weekends when she strolled through the markets or wandered around the gardens. At night he would follow her home and then shiver in the cold until the light in her flat went out. Then he would hunch his shoulders, push his gloved hands deeper into his pockets and wander away, back to his grubby bedsit or whichever late-night job the Resistance network had allocated him for.
There had been one occasion when Luc had almost revealed himself. He remembered how he’d taken a circuitous route to his destination one weekend afternoon through Montmartre, in the hope of seeing Lisette. Just as he had given up hope, he recognised her from behind in the street – how she moved, the sway of her hair and he even recalled how it felt between his fingers. He’d eased his way closer, hoping to feel her presence in his lonely life.
Lisette had stopped to cross the road and he’d seen her profile. It had sent a wave of desire and pain through him. And as she’d waited, sharing a few words with her neighbour, he’d got close enough to hear her voice, touch her even, but he’d had to keep walking. She’d crossed, and then something had happened to cause her to turn back. He’d had to instantly duck down to retie his shoelace in case she saw him. Shaken, he’d disappeared down a side street. Since then he’d refused himself any opportunity to openly see or be seen by her – until now.
With his German heritage and Aryan looks, Luc had managed to get a job as a driver for the German command some months earlier. It was a useful position for a member of the Resistance, but as of a week ago, it had become more than useful. Everything had changed on 1st May. London had begun broadcasting a stream of messages personnels at a rate and volume never experienced before, and the flurry of coded messages caused great excitement. It was the signal!
In homes and farmhouses up and down the country people had become accustomed to clandestinely tuning into the BBC for the daily coded messages. There are no bananas, Yvette has ten fingers, the Trojan war will not happen. These codes alerted SOE agents and their fellow French resisters that a plane was arriving in their region with a new agent, or that a cache of weapons would be dropped by parachute, or that new wireless equipment was being sent. Most listened in vain, some waiting months, even years, for regional communications.
But not on 1st May 1944. That night clutches of resisters gathered by their hidden radios were bombarded by a torrent of messages that galvanised every SOE agent throughout the country into immediate action. It was time to prepare for the Second Front that could be expected within weeks. Courageous men and women who’d been working independently in their own small knots of Resistance were instantly bound into a single, cohesive push to disrupt, delay and destroy the German military in France from reaching the country’s northern beaches in a last heroic attempt after nearly five years of despair.
Luc knew he had to get Lisette away from Kilian and out of Paris if he could. If there was something to learn or an advantage to be gained he could understand her role, but given the overarching new instructions, her mission was redundant. Nothing she did here was of any use, and to stay was to endanger her life recklessly.
He had waited for the right moment to reveal himself to Lisette and urge her to escape. Being Kilian’s driver provided the perfect opportunity, although seeing her with Kilian was a cruel penance. Keeping his cool while the colonel touched the woman he loved had felt impossible … but he would not have to watch it again. He had to get her out before she got in too deep. It had to be tonight.
Lisette sat in a stunned silence in the dark of the car. She’d gone to sleep thinking about Luc every night since they’d parted, promising herself he would not be the first person she thought about when she woke up. She had broken her promise daily – except for today. And now here he was.
‘Where have you been?’ she finally whispered.
‘In and around Paris.’
Her tense silence spoke plenty.
‘I couldn’t stay in the south,’ he said, becoming defensive. ‘When we last spoke—’
‘When we last saw each other, I was the one talking. You had nothing to say. Nothing!’
He hesitated. ‘What happened was too terrible to speak of.’
‘But abandoning me wasn’t too hard for you.’
‘I never abandoned you,’ he said, and his voice was so hurt it tore at her heart. ‘I have watched over you most days. Often I’ve been close enough to reach out and touch you. And when I couldn’t watch you, I’ve made sure someone else had you in their sights.’
Her mouth gaped.
‘Remember that time you tripped and dropped your shopping.’ She blinked. ‘Your baguette broke.’
‘And a precious egg I’d saved for. A young man helped me.’
Luc nodded. ‘His name is Jacques.’
She stared at him, speechless.
‘On another occasion someone warned you that the Germans were checking ID papers on the Métro.’
‘Yes. A young woman with very short dark hair.’
‘Her name is Isabelle. And your new neighbour—’
‘Sylvie,’ she said for him, shaking her head with disbelief. ‘No!’
He looked down. ‘She agreed to keep an eye on you for me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s a friend.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
He shrugged slightly. ‘I have to make sure you are safe. Don’t walk to Saint-Germain in the dark again as you did a few days ago. It is not safe.’
‘You’ve been in Paris the whole time?’
His voice was thick with emotion, overlaid with contrition. ‘Not all the time. That’s when I depend on the others. But yes, I have stayed close to Paris … close to you.’
‘Why couldn’t you—’
He turned around to face the steering wheel. ‘Lisette, I understand your mission. I know what you’re doing with Markus Kilian.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I am no fool. You’re not spending time with him for pleasure.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Luc restarted the car. ‘That is why I couldn’t reveal myself. I couldn’t risk compromising your mission. Until now.’
They drove back to Montmartre in silence. When the car finally purred to a stop he dutifully opened the door for her. ‘I will walk you up to your door. Once we are inside the building we can speak more freely.’
He wouldn’t look at her yet, and she was glad – her emotions were ragged and looped into knots. She might have pined for Luc, but she wasn’t prepared for him to walk back into her life just as she’d succeeded in seducing Kilian. Markus had asked her last night how she’d feel if her farmer were to suddenly reappear. She felt dizzied by how close to reality his question had been. Luc had been in the car, had driven them back to the hotel; had known where they were headed and how long they’d spent together. The carefully built walls of her façade were crumbling.
Was Luc still here because he loved her or simply because he was a hunted man in the south? And if he did love her, then how could he bear to be near her under these circumstances? She had to be equally strong and composed. Nevertheless, his presence was a complication.
‘You looked very beautiful tonight,’ Luc remarked as she moved past him. ‘You smell very expensive. Chanel, if my experience in perfumery serves me well.’
‘Don’t,’ she pleaded.
‘And you’re very convincing in your affections for the colonel.’
‘Luc …’
He skipped ahead to hold open the door of the apartment block.
Lisette glowered at him but stepped through the doorway.
‘I’m impressed at your speedy work, but I’m not surprised. After all, I fell for your charm just as quickly and as hard as the poor colonel.’
She rounded on him. ‘How dare you!’ she snapped in a w
hisper.
‘After you, Mademoiselle Forestier,’ he said in a hard voice, gesturing at the stairwell.
‘I don’t need your help.’
‘Oh, yes you do.’
Lisette had a mind to stomp up the stairs but she didn’t want to wake others. She hurried instead, all but running up the flights. Luc took his time, striding two steps at a time, and was just behind her when she arrived at her floor.
She was aware of her deep breathing. The shock of his presence was smothering her.
‘Are … are you all right?’ She gestured at his leg. ‘The limp.’
‘A cover, or I would be fighting. I have to keep it up constantly, or risk forgetting.’
‘Why are you here?’
He held his silence.
Lisette turned to open her door but she dropped the key. Furious with herself, she bent to retrieve it but he was quicker. Her hand searching in the dark found only his. Her instinct was to pull away but he held her hand fast and placed it against his heart.
‘I’ve thought about you every day since that train took you away,’ he whispered hoarsely.
It all came flooding back, all the emotion she’d wrestled under control: the despair of Laurent’s death, the knowledge that Luc had likely killed at least one person that night but perhaps more, the helplessness of not being able to comfort him as he grieved and then that cold, wordless farewell at the station. She was back in Provence again, infuriated by him, wanting him more than anyone. But now Kilian stood between them.
‘Oh, Luc, come inside, please.’
He shook his head and stood, helping her up. ‘Too risky with the car outside. I must go. But we need to talk, and soon.’
‘Then come back later. I won’t go to work today. Any time that you can.’
He nodded and opened the door for her, handed back the key. He left without touching her again, without another word. She listened to his departing footsteps, almost frightened to let him go, and heard him pause on the landing below as a door opened. Lisette strained to hear. It had to be Sylvie – was she spying on them? She didn’t know whether to hate her now or like her all the more.
Lisette kicked off her shoes and tiptoed back out onto her landing. She risked peeping over the banister to see Sylvie grasping Luc’s coat, whispering at him urgently. It was obvious he was trying to leave. He shook his head and gently pulled Sylvie’s hand away. She had no need to hear their words to know what was being said.
Lisette stepped back inside her room and rushed to the window. Soon enough Luc emerged, and within a few heartbeats he and his car had disappeared. But he’d promised to come back. And she knew she probably only had a few hours to get her shattered thoughts and mood together … as well as head to the café to send her missive to London.
Lisette could not sleep. She filled a small tub with hot water, peeled off her beautiful dress and slowly bathed herself. Her pale skin flushed under the warm flannel as her mind wandered through her memories of Markus Kilian. She needed to ‘compartmentalise’ – that was the word they used in training. She had enjoyed Markus; to admit anything else was a lie. A couple of months ago she had no one in her life. Now she had two men to consider. How was she to separate them? And especially when one now worked for the other! Luc was playing a most risky game. But he’s doing it for you, a small voice reminded her. To be close to you, to keep you safe.
Lisette put the flannel over her face and took a deep breath. This was no time for her emotions to dictate her actions. She had to think with her head, not heart. London was expecting more of her, especially since she’d ingratiated herself so swiftly with Kilian. She didn’t need London to tell her that the Soviets were making great inroads in the Ukraine and that the German army was likely in retreat. It had become even more crucial to know of potential German countermoves. Berlin was on the back foot, with the Americans adding new credibility to the Allied push, but nothing was more unpredictable than a wounded animal.
She hurriedly dried off and dressed, and left her apartment before eight a.m. Sylvie was ready for her, opening her door as she passed. Lisette did not speak.
‘You know?’ the Frenchwoman said.
Her gaze narrowed. ‘That you are spying on me?’
‘I have been watching over you … for a friend.’
Lisette looked at her neighbour. She was attractive, and somewhere in Lisette’s mind this knowledge rankled. ‘It would have been easier to just tell me.’
Sylvie shook her head. ‘I would have compromised your situation. I, better than most, understand your need to operate alone.’
‘Then why is it different now?’ Lisette wasn’t successfully keeping the sharpness from her tone.
‘Because Luc has shown himself to you. He has his reasons – and for telling you about me.’
Lisette swallowed. Was there a warning there? And what right did she have to be feeling proprietorial?
‘Lisette …’
‘I have to go. I’m running late for work.’ She skipped down the stairs and forced herself to put Luc – and the company he kept – from her mind.
She would walk to the Champs Elysées and work off her jealousy and frustration. It took longer than she’d anticipated, and she’d been stopped as she’d entered the first arrondissement.
‘Papers,’ a German soldier demanded in a bored tone.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said in flawless German.
He blinked. ‘Where are you headed?’
‘For a treat at my usual café.’
‘Where do you work?’
She told him the name of the bank. ‘I work with its president, Walter Eichel.’ It worked. He barely looked at her ID card. But he didn’t hand it back.
‘We don’t meet many German girls.’
She smiled. ‘I hope you get home soon,’ she replied kindly, reaching for the card.
He pulled it out of her reach. ‘How about meeting me this evening?’
‘I can’t,’ she said, feigning disappointment. ‘I’m meeting Colonel Kilian – perhaps you know him?’
The soldier looked astonished. ‘Colonel Kilian,’ he repeated, not quite stammering.
She grinned. ‘Walter Eichel is my godfather. Colonel Kilian is a very good friend of his.’
‘Forgive me.’
She looked at him, quizzical. ‘Nothing to forgive. I’m flattered.’
Whatever confidence his uniform gave him had suddenly fled and now he just looked shy and awkward.
She beamed him another bright smile and took her ID back, feeling relieved that he hadn’t studied it. ‘Danke. Guten Morgen.’ She had always felt confident of her papers, but even so didn’t want any soldiers checking them too closely.
Lisette hurried up the famous boulevard to the café, quickly catching the attention of the café owner. She ordered and added casually, ‘Is there a spare newspaper behind the counter?’ She noticed he was wearing a green tea towel over his shoulder.
‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ he replied, without even glancing at her as he dried a cup. He put the paper on the counter and turned away to talk to another customer.
The café wasn’t crowded this morning, but then it was still very early. Most people were standing at the bar and drinking a quick café to start their day. There was only one German patron, marked by his uniform, and he had his back to her, but even so, Lisette was cautious. The Gestapo were certainly no strangers here. She settled herself at the back of the room and started reading the front page, until her drink was delivered.
Lisette sipped, and although her eyes were on the paper, she was surreptitiously gauging who might be watching her. No one seemed interested. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a spectacles case. The glasses were a helpful prop as she could carry the cigarette paper in the case. She didn’t need to re-read her note; she knew it by heart, alerting London to her suspicion of conspiracy and her desire to see if Kilian could be turned.
Placing the note on a page, she checked it was stuck fast and turned th
e page to continue reading, looking for the note from Playboy. She found it on page five: Contact Spiritualist urgently.
What was happening? It couldn’t be from London, or Playboy would have specified. And if it wasn’t a specific order for her, then it would have to wait a bit longer; she was at too delicate a stage of her mission, too deep undercover, to risk contact with the Resistance group. After another five minutes she looked at her watch and made a show of packing up her things, retying her scarf, checking her hair in a small compact.
‘Merci, monsieur,’ she called to the café owner as she handed back the newspaper and sauntered out. She took a different, circuitous route to avoid the ID checks at either end of the boulevard and deliberately avoided the Hotel Raphaël, whose proximity she was all too aware of.
She then went to the bank and left a handwritten message at reception, excusing herself from work due to sickness. She feigned weakness as she handed it over and then rushed to the bathroom. She was out of the building within minutes, and finally arrived back at her apartment. She hoped Sylvie had left for the day. And it was surely still too early for Luc to have returned.
Once inside she couldn’t sleep. She was unsure what to do with herself, feeling unsettled – nervous, even – so she killed time putting away her frock, folding up the stole, hiding all the Chanel boxes and any reminders of her evening. She set to with some menial tasks; sewing on a button, tidying her few cupboards. Realising that she had nothing to offer a guest, she gathered up her ration coupons and hurried to the grocer’s to buy a little wedge of cheese and a stick of bread. She knew she could rustle up a mug of hideous pretend coffee but wasn’t sure Luc would drink it, and she had no honey to sweeten it. At the last moment she ducked into a café and grabbed a half-bottle of wine. Only a few hours ago she had been sipping a calvados whose single-shot price could have provided a slap-up meal for her tonight.
She ran back to the apartment, clutching her few provisions, and found Luc waiting at her door.
‘Luc,’ she said, nervously. ‘Have you been here long?’ It was uncanny how much like Kilian he looked, now that she faced him in daylight. His straw-coloured hair was longer than she remembered but the colour was almost identical to Markus’s. Luc had a fuller jawline, but she wondered if that was because he was younger. They were of similar height, Luc undoubtedly broader, more muscled, but it was in the eyes where the real difference was. Luc’s eyes were luminescent when the sun lit them, like cornflowers … no, like the lapis lazuli gemstone Lisette’s grandmother wore set in a beautiful brooch. There was a fire glinting within the blue – just like the gemstone – and it warmed her. But Markus’s eyes were the opposite. His were every bit as haunting, but they were pale, his gaze sharp enough to cut through her. She was yet to see them by day but she suspected they would sparkle in their glacial way.
The Lavender Keeper Page 27
