The Lavender Keeper

by Fiona McIntosh

  Armand laughed. ‘A trap? Are you mad? What’s to gain? The whole German garrison manoeuvring to capture a young female operative on the brink of their own defeat?’

  Luc looked sheepish. ‘All right, all right, but I won’t change my mind. This is Kilian trying to lure her back. I’m not going to give him a chance to hurt her in any way.’

  ‘Have you talked to her?’

  He shook his head. ‘She doesn’t know I’m back. I want it kept that way.’

  ‘Well, if you’d talked to her as I have, you’d know that Kilian helped her. He made it easy. He all but threw her out of his life in order to keep her safe. Whatever he was up to was dangerous. She could have been caught in the same net.’

  Luc brooded, staring out unhappily at the tireless blackbird.

  ‘He specifically asked for her,’ Armand pressed again.

  ‘Well, he can’t have her. He’s not the one in a position to bargain. Don’t you see, Armand? For the first time they’re scared. They know it’s over, they know their lives are hanging by a thread. They need to bargain. And while I agree we don’t want all-out slaughter, and I certainly don’t want to see Paris burning, he can’t make this sort of demand. He can ask for our help and we’ll consider giving it, but Lisette is not in the bargain.’

  Armand sighed. ‘All right, Faucille. I will pass it on. What about you?’

  ‘He can have me. Where?’

  ‘I’ll set it up. Stay at Avenue de Wagram until you hear.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to be seen. I’ll stay in Montmartre – I’m squatting at her old bedsit. I repeat, Lisette is not to know. Do you understand?’

  Armand shook his head with pity. ‘There are thousands of insurgents about to rise up from the shadows and hit the streets of Paris.’ He began to count off on his fingers. ‘Communists, liberalists, anarchists, students, academics, Roman Catholics and Protestants. Their hatred of the Fascists has united them. And somehow SOE is trying to arm these impassioned people while trying to control all that hatred. Believe me when I say that I have bigger things on my mind, my friend, than your curious love triangle.’

  On the evening of 18th August, Luc waited by the entrance of the Jardins du Luxembourg. The night was as black as ink with only a vague wash of moonlight blanketed by clouds. Even so, he’d positioned himself behind a bush and watched the car approach. It was habit rather than real fear – he couldn’t imagine any traps were going to be sprung at this point. Besides, he didn’t truly believe traps were Kilian’s style. The colonel, he was sure, would rather confront him face to face.

  And no doubt that was part of this whole charade. Why else would Kilian have specified Luc and Lisette as his points of contact?

  He could see that Kilian was alone in the back of the car. Did Kilian know about him and Lisette? If so, how? No doubt he’d learn soon enough.

  The car slowed. He could see both Kilian and the driver looking out the window. It was time. If Kilian wanted to, he could have Luc killed and still attempt to negotiate with the Allies through the Spiritualist network. In spite of that, Luc took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the bush, casting his hopes against his measure of Colonel Kilian.

  Klaus braked and Luc hopped in as the car kept rolling slowly. While he was still hauling the heavy door closed, Klaus immediately took off, speeding in the direction of the Place Vendôme. It was nearing four a.m. and Paris was silent, save the sound of their engine and the deafening silence in the car.

  Luc turned to stare at his nemesis. ‘Colonel Kilian,’ he said evenly, his tone appropriately polite.

  The Wehrmacht officer regarded him with a glacial gaze. ‘Do I call you Ravensburg?’

  Luc nodded. ‘It’s my name.’

  Kilian closed the glass compartment between Klaus and the back seat, and turned to Luc. The confined space was thick with tension. Kilian was armed, although his hands rested quietly in his lap, and was in full uniform. It was impressive, and Luc could understand why any woman would throw him a second glance. He thought about Lisette in this man’s arms. The images were still in his mind, and he could replay them time after bitter time; Kilian’s hands on Lisette, Kilian’s lips at her neck, Kilian’s mouth on hers.

  ‘You know he’s a dedicated Nazi,’ Luc said, his head gesturing towards Klaus. Luc was relieved his voice was steady.

  ‘Yes. Germany is full of the wretched swine,’ Kilian responded. ‘I don’t fear him, however.’

  ‘Why? Because you think the connection you’re making with the Resistance and the Allies might save your skin?’

  ‘No, Ravensburg. I don’t expect to survive this war. Frankly, given how it’s all gone, given that I never agreed with it in the first place, given that I have committed treason against my country, I think death now is the best option.’

  ‘To escape reprisal?’

  ‘To find peace,’ Kilian replied quietly. He cleared his throat. ‘I requested Lisette be here. Is she … well?’

  Luc’s jaw tightened. Now they were getting to it. ‘What you have to say can be said to me.’

  ‘But you have no idea what I might want to say,’ Kilian replied.

  ‘Nevertheless, I chose for her not to be involved. Besides, I haven’t seen her for a long time.’

  That caught Kilian’s attention. He glanced up, fixed Luc with his pale stare. ‘How come?’

  ‘I left for Mont Mouchet, to fight.’

  ‘I envy you.’ Kilian sounded wistful.

  ‘I am a lavandier, not a fighter. If I survive, that’s what I’ll do again.’

  ‘Then I envy you all the more. Tell me something, Ravensburg – and I give you my oath it will not be repeated—’

  ‘The oath of a German officer about to give up Paris?’

  Kilian smiled coldly. ‘The oath of an honourable man.’

  Luc nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Are you also the Bonet that von Schleigel spoke of?’

  Luc felt sorrow bleed again. He hadn’t permitted himself to think about Wolf in a long time. ‘I am. And I owe von Schleigel on a private debt. The day of reckoning will come.’

  Kilian gaze narrowed. ‘I sincerely hope it does.’ He sounded genuine. ‘Bonet is a Jewish name?’

  Luc didn’t want to talk about this, least of all with a German colonel. But there was something about Kilian. In another place, another time, they might have even been friends. ‘I have Bavarian parents; my father died fighting for Germany, my mother died when I was born. I was born in Strasbourg but adopted by a Jewish family in the south of France, and raised as their son. I loved my family as you may love yours, and I watched the milice drag them away after beating my grandmother to death.’

  ‘Do you know where they are? Perhaps I can …’

  ‘I don’t need your pity, Colonel. You asked me who I am. I’ve told you. As for Lisette, I refuse you access to her.’

  ‘You are right to. I suppose I selfishly wanted to see her one more time … to apologise.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘That’s between her and me. Does she know we’re meeting?’ Luc shook his head.

  ‘Best kept that way,’ and Luc heard a deep sorrow in the colonel’s words. Kilian cleared his throat. ‘To business, then. General von Choltitz is aiming to make direct contact with the Allies.’

  ‘Go on.’ Sylvie had been correct.

  ‘He wants them to hurry up. He can’t hold the German garrison entirely at bay. But you must know that he is trying to keep Paris as undamaged as he can. Hilter is howling for every bridge to be destroyed. The Luftwaffe wants to raze the key monuments. Von Choltitz refuses to sanction those orders. He will surrender the city peaceably to the Allies as soon as they can get to Paris, but the problem is your Resistance forces. We can sense the mood; the insurgents will explode onto the streets any minute, and the German garrison will be forced to defend itself. Your people, your leaders, have to find a way to contain the rage for a while longer.’

  ‘We can’t protect you,’ Luc growl
ed. ‘That would not—’

  ‘We’re not seeking protection,’ Kilian snapped. ‘I’m trying to prevent a slaughter on both sides. We’re better armed, better equipped, better organised. On the run or pinned down, we’re going to take a lot of your partisans with us, if it comes to an all-out fight in the streets. Take my advice – get through to your networks and contain the hysteria long enough for von Choltitz to manufacture some sort of truce. He’s talking with the Swedish ambassador to Paris right now. I thought I could reach you and Lisette quicker to aid this. Can you at least try?’

  Luc nodded. ‘I’ll try. But the Communist elements are very determined. They want to claim victory and take control of Paris before the Allies arrive.’

  Kilian gave a scornful sound. ‘History can write her pages however she chooses. But please remember that the soldiers will respond with strength if attacked. There’s only so much von Choltitz can do in terms of holding off.’

  ‘I understand. We’ll do whatever we can. Where can I find you? Communication is going to become even more difficult as our people start to cut all lines.’

  Kilian nodded. ‘See what you can do. I’m at the Hotel Raphaël but I don’t know for how much longer. Can I drop you back somewhere?’

  ‘No thanks. I’m better off on foot.’

  ‘Good luck, Ravensburg,’ Kilian said. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘I can’t make any promises,’ Luc said.

  ‘The fact that you’re trying is enough.’

  Kilian was surprising; Luc almost wished he wasn’t a German officer. ‘By the way, Lisette was right, wasn’t she? You were part of the assassination attempt?’

  ‘On the fringe, but committed to it, nonetheless.’

  Luc dipped his head, almost in salute. ‘Then we are almost on the same side.’

  Kilian smiled ruefully. ‘It’s a pity we have to be enemies.’

  Luc opened the car door. ‘Well, we’ll always have one thing in common.’

  ‘Indeed. But there can only ever be one winner … in war as in love. I hope the best man won.’

  ‘Only she can decide that.’ Luc stepped out of the car and walked away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The Resistance leaders were failing to contain the growing anger raging among the vast numbers of resisters. Meanwhile, the Communists began calling for a general mobilisation of all partisans, urging Parisians towards insurrection.

  The day after Luc met Kilian, the first of the dangerous skirmishes began. Luc’s thoughts fled to Lisette, but Sylvie had assured him she would stick close to her during these dark days of unpredictability. That Saturday the Prefecture of Police, a puppet organisation of the Nazi occupiers, surrendered to the Resistance and Colonel Rol, head of the Communist resisters, assumed full control of the uprising partisan fightback against the Germans.

  It seemed there would be too many differences, too many varying agendas to achieve any sort of cohesion, but somehow General von Choltitz did bolt together a tenuous truce. Brokered through the Swedish consul-general, a temporary and fragile ceasefire was agreed by Saturday night. On Sunday Paris seemed to be on a rollercoaster as more and more strikes added to the tension. Skirmishes kept breaking out and by the evening the resisters occupied the town hall.

  Kilian led troops to respond to the combat in the streets, despite the ceasefire. Loudspeakers from German vans demanded that weapons be put down, but Kilian knew the Parisian Resistance fighters, particularly the Communists, had smelt blood. They wouldn’t stop now.

  By Monday the ceasefire was being openly ignored by both sides and by midweek the resisters began to die in the hundreds as the superiority of the German fighting ability and equipment began to take its toll. Parisian streets were barricaded again, like the early days. Kilian felt sickened as he watched the unnecessary carnage on both sides, but he could no longer expect his men to show lenience; they had to defend themselves. He knew the Allies were just hours away from entering Paris and that von Choltitz would surrender Paris.

  By Thursday, all the military high command and most senior German officers had retreated to the Hotel Crillon on the Rue du Rivoli or the Hotel Majestic, which was near the Raphaël, to await the handover. Kilian, however, refused to join them. He was not a man who surrendered. He was glad that von Choltitz had saved Paris and glad that the end was close. And while he had no intention of taking some sort of last stand, he refused to cringe in a hotel lobby and await the enemy like a thrashed dog.

  Instead he decided he’d get drunk. The last time he was drunk he’d been a young and irresponsible man, but today he felt so old he needed to drown his sorrows. He wanted to be out in Paris, in the warm summer night, perhaps with his boots off and feeling the grass of the Tuileries beneath his feet. He headed for the Ritz and grabbed a half-full bottle of calvados from behind the bar. The hotel was still crowded with Nazis, all awaiting the official word that Paris was no longer theirs, but he ignored them all.

  As he left he heard a rumour that some of de Gaulle’s forces had already entered the city ahead of the main column. It seemed Paris was to be liberated by the French after all. He smiled wryly, imagining the wrangling that must have gone on within the Allies to permit that.

  He stepped outside warily. There was still fighting in pockets but the skirmishes had dissipated significantly over the past twelve hours. But he had no fear for his life one way or the other … all he could think about was drinking calvados and remembering a sparkly spring evening when a young woman had reminded him how good it was to be alive.

  Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to see Ravensburg leaning against a nearby tree. He’d had a feeling their paths would cross again.

  ‘Not celebrating, Lukas?’

  ‘Plenty of time for that, Colonel. What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going for a drink.’ He shook the bottle in Luc’s face. ‘Care to join me?’

  ‘Kilian, I think you should join your companions at the Crillon before it’s too late.’

  ‘It’s already too late. And I don’t want to be there. Anyway, go on … I’m ready for your rightful and perfectly understandable gloat.’

  ‘I didn’t come to gloat. I came to find Lisette.’

  Sylvie and Lisette had stayed off the streets for days. It was dangerous for anyone to be out on foot. But while the rest of Paris was awakening with joy that day, Lisette’s morning had begun with a vague sense of gloom. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She should be excited, she should want to rush out into Bastille and cheer like some of the other locals. But the prickly notion of foreboding had not dissipated as the hours wore on, and by the afternoon of Thursday 24th August it had deepened into anxiety. She’d never thought of herself as having a sixth sense but her instincts were screaming at her.

  Sylvie was sitting on the window ledge staring out, a cigarette smouldering in her hand. She’d begun chain-smoking over the last ten days. Lisette never knew how or where Sylvie got the money to buy them, nor did she ask.

  ‘Sylvie …’

  ‘Mmm? Can you feel it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Paris stretching, reasserting herself. She’s French again,’ Sylvie said, pride rich in her voice. ‘By tomorrow the Americans and the British will be marching down our streets … but we did this. The French reclaimed Paris.’

  Lisette held her tongue. Sylvie should be allowed to savour this moment.

  ‘Listen. Can you hear them?’ Sylvie hummed a few bars of ‘La Marseillaise’ along with the distant revellers. There was sporadic gunfire in the wind, bursts of snipers. Lisette flinched each time she heard one, imagining another person had just died for their cause.

  ‘Sylvie. Please be honest with me. Of all nights, this is the night to be frank.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Lisette?’

  ‘I want the truth.’

  ‘About what?’ Sylvie said, and then held up her hand as if about to swear an oath.

  ‘I’m being serious.’

  ‘I can
see.’

  ‘Have you heard from Luc?’

  ‘Luc? Now, why would you ask me that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter why. Have you heard from or seen Luc?’

  ‘When?’ Sylvie asked, flicking ash absently at an ashtray. She missed. Sylvie never missed.

  Lisette’s eyes widened. ‘You have,’ she said, aghast.

  ‘I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘You don’t have to. Where is he? Paris?’

  Sylvie licked her lips. ‘I’m not allowed to say.’

  ‘Where is he, Sylvie?’

  ‘He’s in Paris. Now be done!’

  ‘Damn you!’ Lisette cried. ‘Where?’

  ‘That I can’t say.’ When Lisette came closer, murder in her look, Sylvie shrugged. ‘I can’t say because I don’t know. I have no idea where he comes from or goes to.’

  ‘How long has he been here?’

  ‘Who knows?’ She took a drag, then stubbed her cigarette out. ‘I saw him nine, maybe ten days ago.’

  Lisette looked even more stunned. ‘Where?’

  ‘Pigalle! He doesn’t want to see you.’

  It was like a slap. ‘What is he doing?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Do I have to go and try to find him?’

  Sylvie’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Because you made a promise to Luc that you’d keep an eye on me?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, fuck you both! I don’t need babysitting.’ Lisette started gathering up her few things.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I’m going to find Luc myself.’

  ‘They’re killing each other out there.’ Sylvie pointed towards the window.

  ‘I don’t care. I’m not going to sit in here with you smiling knowingly to yourself. You’ve been good to me, Sylvie, but thanks and good luck.’

  ‘He’s been with Kilian!’ Sylvie snarled. ‘Happy?’

  If Sylvie had said Luc was on the moon, it would have seemed less fantastic. ‘What?’ Lisette asked, her voice small.

  Sylvie’s temper cooled as fast as it had flamed. ‘Look, I don’t know if he’s with him now. I just know that he’s been in contact with him.’ She told Lisette everything she knew.