by Martin Lake
‘I shot him.’
Weiser nodded and turned to Schorn. ‘You were saying, Herr Schorn?’
Schorn did not reply.
Weiser bowed towards Viviane. ‘I trust you are completely recovered, Madame Renaud?’ he said.
‘I am, Colonel, thank you.’
He smiled, turned his back on Schorn and limped out of the room.
‘Madame Pine,’ Mundt said. ‘Perhaps you could send for Sergeant Ferber to escort the Kriminaldirektor to his car.’
Schorn glared at him and strode out with Gerard hurrying in his wake.
Viviane spent the rest of the day in a daze. Marie looked after the children while Dorothy sat Viviane in a chair in the kitchen and prepared lunch.
‘I didn’t think you could cook,’ Viviane said, after a while.
‘I can’t. But I’ll make a better fist of it than you will after your shock.’
Viviane closed her eyes. Her anger and fear had dissipated completely, replaced by an emptiness which seemed to crawl crab-like from her heart towards her flesh. She thought she would soon become hollow, a thing dead on the inside.
‘Why did he do it?’ she asked at last.
‘Who? The Colonel?’
‘Yes.’
Dorothy tossed a badly peeled carrot into the pot and came to sit beside her.
‘I don’t know, honey. I guess he’s old school and doesn’t care for the Gestapo. Maybe he doesn’t even care for the Nazis.’
‘I thought all Germans are the same.’
‘Are all French people the same? We Americans certainly aren’t. There’s good and bad in every nation.’
She took Viviane’s hand in hers and was surprised how chill it was. ‘Do you want some fresh coffee?’
Viviane shook her head. The cup beside her was untouched. She turned eyes devoid of life to her friend. ‘What will happen, Dorothy? Will the Gestapo come back for us?’
Dorothy shook her head decisively. ‘Not while Colonel Weiser and Major Mundt are here.’
‘But the Gestapo man said that he had jurisdiction over us all.’
‘I think that the jurisdiction of a squad of armed soldiers will prove more powerful.’ She peered at Dorothy. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t go to bed? Maybe take more of that sleeping draught?’
Viviane shook her head violently. She had to stay awake.
Dorothy leaned back in her chair and watched her quietly. After a while she got up and made her way back to the oven.
‘Lunch won’t get fixed by itself,’ she said. Then she groaned, loudly. ‘Wow, this is going to take some digesting.’ She glanced back at Viviane. ‘Hey hon, you couldn’t give me a hand could you?’
Viviane started out of her stupor and walked over to her. She peered into the pan bubbling on the hot plate. It resembled a sink of grubby dishes.
‘Shall we start again?’ Viviane asked.
‘That’s my girl,’ Dorothy said, pleased that her ruse had worked.
Viviane poured the liquid down the sink and retrieved the vegetables with a spoon. ‘I’ll peel the carrots again,’ she said. ‘And the potatoes and turnips.’
‘Whoops,’ Dorothy said, ‘I think I forgot to peel the turnips.’
‘And you left half the field on them.’ A little smile came to her lips.
I may not be a cook, Dorothy thought, but I can still work magic.
CHRISTMAS GIFTS
Villa Laurel, 24 December 1943
Pierre Sorel put the final decoration on the Christmas Tree. He never understood the point of it but Dorothy was adamant that they have a tree and would always choose which one for him to dig up and pot. This year a small fig tree stood proudly in the sitting room.
‘That’s not right,’ Dorothy said. ‘Put it on that branch, to your left.’
‘If Madame would like to do the job herself —’
‘Madame would not. What’s the point of employing a handy-man if he refuses to be handy?’
Pierre pretended to grumble but put the final bauble on the tree.
‘The kids will love it,’ Dorothy said.
Pierre stretched and gave her a pointed look. ‘Do you think the children are alright?’
‘They don’t know anything: the Gestapo, the threats. And they never will.’
‘But the boy is a Jew?’
‘He is. Does that bother you?’
Pierre considered it for a moment. ‘It might have done five years ago,’ he said, at last. ‘Nobody in France liked the Jews then. We blamed them for the hard times, the unemployment, the Depression. But I grew to like Leopold Blum after he became Prime Minister. Just think, a Jew as Prime Minster of France. He looked after ordinary people. And now…’
He fell silent. Dorothy stared at him with curiosity.
‘Now, look what’s happening to them,’ he continued. ‘They have their possessions stolen, they are dragged away to camps, they are murdered in the streets. It’s not right. Not right at all. And the poor little lad. He’s a good boy.’
She went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of wine.
‘I have no liking for the Bosch,’ he said. ‘But I’m glad that the Colonel and Major are here. I dread what will happen when they leave.’
Dorothy gave him a glass. ‘Me too, Pierre. I’ve been racking my brains about how to prevent it. But Colonel Weiser’s leg will be better anytime soon and then he’ll return to barracks.’
‘And afterwards, the Gestapo will come back for the family.’
Dorothy pursed her lips. She didn’t want to think about it.
‘The tree looks good,’ she said, determined to cheer herself up.
‘I’ve made some gifts for them,’ Pierre said. ‘A little horse for David and a doll for Celeste.’
‘That’s very sweet of you. Now I’m gonna see what’s cooking. Get the car will you please?’
Dorothy had cajoled Lucile to come over to help Vivian with the preparations for dinner and the kitchen smelled wonderful.
‘Wow, ladies,’ Dorothy said, ‘this looks fantastic.’
‘I shall have to go very soon,’ Lucile said. ‘I have to prepare supper for Maman.’
‘I know. And I’m very grateful.’ She went to the sideboard and retrieved two parcels. ‘Gifts for you and your Maman. Toilet water and some very nice soap.’
‘You shouldn’t have done, Madame. I have no gift for you.’
Dorothy snorted. ‘You don’t call this dinner a gift? It’s a magnificent one.’
‘It is,’ Viviane said. ‘I couldn’t have made anything as lovely.’
‘Now get on home,’ Dorothy said. ‘Pierre’s got the car at the front, he’ll take you.’
‘You’re so kind, Madame,’ Lucile said, so grateful she gave a little curtsy.
Dorothy gazed at the food on the sideboard. The meal had cost her an absolute fortune on the black-market. There were oysters, three for every adult and thin sheets of smoked salmon. Pierre had shot a brace of pheasants and they were resting in a cool part of the oven. Boulangère potatoes were simmering and some green beans were waiting for a quick reheat.
Major Mundt had provided a hearty German sausage and a smoked cheese, both of which Lucile pronounced inedible but Dorothy had insisted be served. There was also a small Bûche de Noël.
‘Marie,’ Dorothy said, ‘go and ask the Colonel and Major to join us in the sitting room for drinks. And fetch the children. You come as well.’
She glanced round the kitchen. ‘Is everything in order here?’
Viviane nodded. ‘Lucile is a wonder. She’s given me instructions on what to do. The potatoes will take forty five minutes and the pheasant will keep hot until we’re ready.’
‘Come on then, apron off, you’ve got to look your best.’
Viviane was surprised that she said this and for a brief, desperate moment, she wondered if Alain had arrived. But she dismissed the thought immediately. No good would come of hope.
‘I need to get the children’s presents,’ Viviane said, ‘and put o
n something more presentable. I’ll be back down in a minute.’
Dorothy glanced at the food once again. Yes, it was a lovely meal, considering the circumstances. But she couldn’t help but contrast it with the festivities in Beverly Hills. She took a deep breath and headed back to the sitting room.
The room looked lovely. A warm fire flickered in the grate, holly and laurel festooned the mantle-piece and the tree was decorated with baubles and trinkets. The side-board was laden with drinks.
Marie came in with the two children who gasped in astonishment. David ran to the tree and stared at it with wonder.
The two German officers entered, dressed in their best uniforms. Mundt clicked his heels together.
‘Alas I cannot do the same,’ Colonel Weiser said pointing at his leg and giving a wry grin.
Viviane arrived, having changed into her best frock and tidied her hair.
‘Maman, look at the tree,’ David called, running up to it and staring, wide-eyed.
Mundt glanced at Dorothy, Viviane and Marie and bowed. ‘The Lord may have been visited by three Kings but we are blessed with three beautiful ladies.’
Marie giggled with delight and the others exchanged smiles.
‘A drink, Colonel?’ Dorothy asked. ‘We have some spumante left by your Italian predecessor.’
‘That is very kind, Madame Pine,’ Weiser said. ‘But Major Mundt has brought some champagne.’
‘Krug,’ Mundt said. ‘The best of both worlds. A German name and a French flavour.’
‘Talking of names,’ Dorothy said, ‘we should knock all this formality on the head. I’m Dorothy.’
Mundt glanced at Weiser who gave a nod.
‘Then I am Otto,’ he said. ‘And the Colonel is called Ernst.’
Weiser turned to Viviane who found herself blushing at his look.
‘I’m Viviane,’ she said. ‘And this is Marie. You know the children.’
‘We do indeed,’ Weiser said. ‘It is a joy to share this day with you all.’
There was an embarrassed silence, broken only by the arrival of Pierre.
Mundt opened the champagne with a pop which made the children squeal with delight. Weiser gave a toast to Dorothy. ‘And may next year bring peace,’ he added, his voice tight with emotion.
Major Mundt cleared his throat. ‘Now is the time for gifts,’ he said.
‘We have no gifts,’ Dorothy said. ‘Other than the fine food and wine we’re about to share.’
‘For the children,’ Mundt explained. ‘It is the German way.’
‘And the French way, too,’ Pierre said quickly. ‘I also have gifts for the children.’
Celeste took hold of his hand, her face shining with anticipation.
He reached behind the tree and retrieved two packages wrapped in brown paper. The children fell on them.
‘Children,’ Viviane said, ‘thank Monsieur Sorel for your gifts.’
‘Thank you, Pierre,’ both of them said, tearing the wrapping paper off.
‘A dolly,’ Celeste cried, hugging it to her chest.
‘A horse,’ David said in wonder, holding it up for Viviane to examine.
‘And you have something, gentlemen?’ Dorothy asked.
Weiser gave a parcel to David. He shouted with pleasure and began to tear at it.
His gift was a little toy drum, with two yellow drumsticks. He began to beat it immediately.
‘We may all come to hate you for giving him this,’ Dorothy said with a smile.
‘And for Celeste,’ Weiser said.
Celeste gave him a nervous glance and began to open it. She gasped with astonishment. It was a pair of red shoes.
‘How did you know?’ Viviane asked.
‘Marie said that she yearned for red shoes,’ Mundt said. ‘I found these.’
‘Thank you,’ Viviane said.
Celeste immediately put on the shoes and skipped up and down the room.
‘Have you got us anything, Maman?’ David asked.
Viviane smiled and gave them their gifts, a book about fairies which she had been given when she was a child. It was a little dog-eared but was precious. For David she had a toy fire engine which had once belonged to Alain. He gasped in astonishment and promptly sat on the floor to examine it.
The adults watched them play while they sipped their champagne.
‘One last gift,’ Weiser said. He produced a little box from his pocket and gave it to Viviane.
She looked bewildered but he gestured her to open it. ‘You have been greatly troubled,’ he said. ‘It is the least I could do.’
She opened the box and blinked in amazement.
‘It was my mother’s ring,’ he said. ‘One she wore for the theatre.’
Viviane stared at the ring. It was beautiful, lovelier than anything she owned. She ran her little finger along it, feeling its smoothness. Then she held it out to Weiser.
‘I can’t accept this.’
‘But you must. I fear that with the perils of war I may come to mislay it.’
‘But it should go to your wife.’
He shook his head. ‘My mother and wife hated each other with the utmost passion. Mother would erupt from her grave to curse me if I were to give it to Hilda.’
Viviane stared at him, wondered at the look in his eyes. There was sadness there but something else. Something too elusive for her to capture.
‘It’s lovely,’ Dorothy said, firmly. ‘Thank the Colonel, Viviane.’
Viviane stared at her in surprise.
‘It would be ungracious to refuse such a lovely gift.’ She gave Viviane a determined look.
‘Thank you, Colonel,’ Viviane murmured at last. ‘I think it’s beautiful.’
She put the ring on her right hand. The room fell silent around them. Viviane held her hand up to the light. It looked lovely on her.
Weiser and Mundt exchanged glances. Neither wanted to make the obvious comment. In Germany people wore their wedding rings on the right hand.
And then David began to beat a rhythm on his drum.
‘That seems an appropriate signal for dinner,’ Dorothy said. ‘Take your places, everyone.’
Marie and Viviane hurried out to bring the food. At the door to the kitchen, Marie took her hand. ‘They’re nice men,’ she said. ‘Honestly.’
Viviane did not reply. She had her doubts about that.
WEISER’S THOUGHTS
Villa Laurel, 5 January 1944
The first week of January was miserable, with grey skies, a searching wind and persistent drizzle. The children were forced to spend much of the time inside but Pierre found them an old jig-saw puzzle in the store and they became engrossed in this.
Viviane awoke each morning and would drowsily reach out for Alain before remembering that he would not be there. Her heart clenched at the realisation.
Her next thoughts were always about the Gestapo officer and the threat which she believed he still presented. She felt sure that he would return for them as soon as Colonel Weiser left. She concocted plans of fleeing the villa, going to ground somewhere secret and secure. But she knew that this was futile. There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. She would be better off staying here with Dorothy and, if the worst come to the worst, hope that her brother-in-law would be able to protect them.
But she wondered if Roland would show any loyalty or compassion for her. He had always been pleasant enough but distant. And Odette’s influence would surely make him wary of helping her.
She glanced out of the window in the direction of the town. There were so few people she could trust now.
The image of Gerard slid into her mind and she shuddered. She wondered if she had ever actually liked him. Wondered if she had ever noticed that he lusted after her. Wondered, to her shame, if she had ever done anything to encourage him.
Her mind replayed their dealings over the years. She could honestly think of nothing she had done which might have given him the wrong message. And besides, even if she had be
en flirtatious, that was no reason for him to attack her. Not even reason enough for him to make demands upon her.
She rubbed a hand across her eyes and got out of bed. The water in the ewer was icy cold but she poured some into a basin and sprinkled some dried lavender into it, breathing in the scent which rose wraith-like from its surface. She dipped a hand-cloth into the water and gingerly rubbed it over her face, her neck and arms. Then she slipped out of her night-dress and washed herself more thoroughly. She shivered as she dried herself and wondered what the day might bring.
She went into the kitchen and was surprised to find Dorothy sitting by the stove.
‘You’re up early,’ she said. Dorothy was normally a late riser.
‘I was freezing cold so I came to warm up,’ she said. She held her hands out to the warm air wafting from the oven. ‘It’s a beautiful day outside but it feels really cold. I miss California on mornings like this.’
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Viviane said. ‘Has Marie brought the bread?’
Dorothy pointed to the baguette upon the table. It was, for a change, fresh this morning.
The children drifted into the kitchen and soon they were all tucking into breakfast. They halved the baguette, saving the rest for later. Dorothy still had enough cash to buy in the black-market but bread was not always available.
The children were growing fractious and Marie suggested taking them into the garden.
‘Make sure they have their coats,’ Dorothy said.
Viviane tidied up the kitchen and glanced outside. It was a beautiful day and she realised she had not left the house in over a week. She made up her mind and grabbed a coat. For a moment she wondered whether to follow Marie and the children. But she thought they deserved a bit of space without her glooming over them so instead she headed to the far side of the garden, where a grove of magnolias and fig trees grew.
It was very cold but she welcomed this. The wind seemed to blow the webs of doubt and despair from her mind. I should do this more often, she thought.
There were dozens of magnolia trees, many of them already beginning to bloom. Little clumps of primroses were showing, crocuses were peeping through the soil and there were a few stands of snow-drops dotted around. Half a dozen mimosa bushes were already bright with yellow blossom.
