by Martin Lake
To everyone’s astonishment, David seemed little troubled by his ordeal. He had stared open-mouthed at Weiser threatening Schorn with his gun and even more when Mundt had punched him hard enough to send him flying.
He chuckled with pleasure as Viviane took his left hand and Weiser the right and headed to the street.
‘Do you want to come in my car, David?’ Weiser asked.
‘Yes please.’
‘It’s safer for both of you,’ Weiser explained to Viviane. The driver opened the door for her and the boy.
‘Otto, you go with Madame Pine,’ Weiser said. ‘And keep right behind us.’
Viviane cuddled David as the car sped through the streets. David wriggled out of her grasp, climbed over her and put his nose to the window. ‘We’re going so fast,’ he yelled with delight.
A smile came to Weiser’s face and he leaned over to the driver. The man nodded, put his foot down and the car hurtled down the road even faster.
Viviane was thrown about a little and Weiser took her arm.
‘Thank you for rescuing David,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be forever grateful.’
He smiled but could find no words to say.
Once back at the house, Dorothy took charge. She ordered Weiser and Mundt to go into the sitting room and told the driver to join them. He looked nervous and stared at Mundt to know what he should do.
Mundt simply told him to do as she said.
‘Cognac for all of us,’ Dorothy said as she followed the Germans into the sitting room. ‘Pierre, please do the honours.’
They heard footsteps pattering down the hall. It was Marie and Celeste. They screamed with delight when they saw David.
‘I’ve been in a soldier’s car,’ he yelled. He clenched his fist and waved it in the air. ‘And Major Otto punched a nasty man, wham.’
‘Major Otto?’ Dorothy said. ‘How delightfully informal of you, Major.’ She indicated Weiser.
‘He calls the Oberst by his first name as well,’ Mundt explained with a shrug. ‘So does Celeste.’
Pierre passed around with a tray of tumblers brimming with cognac.
Dorothy raised her glass to the room. ‘To everybody here,’ she said. ‘Humanity at its best.’
Viviane sipped her cognac. Over the rim of her glass she saw Weiser regarding her with a warm and comforting gaze.
She spent the rest of the day in a daze, worn out by the ordeal. She and Marie were told to sit down and do nothing. Dorothy bustled about, ably supported by Pierre who showed himself well able to perform the role of cook, barman and server.
The German officers brought a welcome addition to the lunch - two big bars of chocolate.
‘Where on earth did you get these from?’ Dorothy asked. She studied them askance. ‘They look British to me.’
‘Chocolate is in short supply in Germany,’ Mundt said. ‘We rely on our British friends to supply it.’
‘Taken from the Red Cross, I assume.’
‘We ask no questions,’ Mundt said.
She undid the wrapping and broke it into squares. ‘Knowing the provenance, I can’t say I’ll enjoy this overmuch. But I’ll try hard to.’ She bit on a piece of the chocolate. ‘You Germans really can be bastards.’
‘We know this,’ Weiser said. ‘War makes villains of us all. Enjoy your chocolate, Madame Pine.’
Dorothy grinned. ‘Touché, Colonel. I’m suitably chastised.’ She popped another square into her mouth.
Viviane took a piece and nibbled at it a sliver at a time. It was milky and there was little taste of chocolate.
Celeste and David crammed several squares into their mouths.
‘What do you think will happen now, Colonel Weiser?’ Viviane asked.
She had gone over this question continually since they had returned to the villa. Gone over it without the slightest hint of an answer.
Weiser leaned back in his seat and glanced out of the window. ‘Hopefully, nothing. Men like Schorn are bullies. He won’t dare bother you when Otto and I are around.’
‘But how long will you be around?’ she asked. ‘Surely you cannot stay here forever? As soon as your leg is better, won’t you have to return to your barracks?’
‘If I keep charging around the place looking after your children my leg will never get better,’ he said.
But he did not answer her question.
Later that night, Viviane lay in her bed and listened as the house drifted into silence. The last one to retire was Dorothy, humming very low to herself as she moved along the corridor to her room. Tonight, unusually, she paused outside Viviane’s room.
Viviane smiled, certain that her friend was listening to make sure that she was alright.
Reassured by the silence, Dorothy resumed her humming and went to her room.
Viviane tried to relax but without success. The events of the day circled around her mind, as they had for the last ten hours. Marie running screaming into the house, the panic and sense of despair she felt as they raced off in search of David, the sight of Schorn and Gerard. The cold, shattering despair when Schorn told her that David would be murdered.
And then, more fleetingly, she saw Weiser point his pistol at Schorn, saw Mundt punch him so hard she thought his neck might have broken. She sighed. She wished it had.
What would happen to them now, she wondered. She could not believe they were of any real interest to Schorn and his contempt for Gerard in bringing David to him seemed to underline this. But things might be different now that he had been so humiliated by the German officers. Her heart began to pound.
Maybe Schorn would thirst for revenge. Maybe he would come for her and the children. Memories of the day slithered around her head. Only Weiser and Mundt could keep her safe.
She heard the sound of movement in the corridor. It was Groucho the cat, on the hunt for mice. It seemed so normal a sound, so familiar. Yet the rest of their lives were in turmoil.
What had they done to deserve these terrible times? Were every last man, woman and child in France secretly monsters and being punished because of it? Were the British, the Dutch and the Jews?
And the Germans? They might be winning the war, but she wondered at what cost to themselves. Their fate might be every bit as awful as the people they conquered.
She thought of Weiser and wondered what she could do to repay him. What she could do to show her thanks.
The clock in the hallway began to chime. She counted them. One, two, three. It was the middle of the night and she had not slept a wink. Her thoughts went to Colonel Weiser once again. If it hadn’t been for him then David would have been killed.
A wild desire to thank him seized her. But what if it were too late? He had threatened a senior Gestapo officer. Perhaps Schorn would arrange for his dismissal. Perhaps he would even be executed.
She got out of bed. She had to thank him. She had to do it now, immediately.
She lit the candle beside her bed and opened the door. She rehearsed a speech of thanks in her mind, struggling to find the words to convey the immensity of her gratitude. It was cold in the corridor and, as she made her way down the marble staircase, she realised that her feet were bare. But she did not pause, she had to thank him.
She stopped outside Weiser’s door, listening as Dorothy had done at her room four or five hours earlier.
Then she took a deep breath and walked in.
She was surprised to find that he was sitting up in bed, reading by the light of a candle.
He glanced at her in astonishment. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked.
‘No. Nothing’s amiss.’ She stepped closer to him.
‘Is that your ancestor’s book?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Huckleberry Finn. It’s about an American boy. I love him. His wayward spirit, his kindness and honesty.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’
He held it out to her. ‘Take it. Keep it.’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve already
done so much for me. I can’t accept anything else.’
She managed a fleeting smile. ‘In fact, I came here to thank you. I’ve been fretting about it for hours.’
‘I need no thanks,’ he said.
But she realised, trembling, that his eyes said different.
Without a word, without a thought, she pulled off her night-gown.
He gasped, blinked repeatedly, and then drew back the sheets.
She slipped in beside him. His lips were warm, the touch of his hands gentle and consoling.
She lay on her back and pulled him onto her. Opened her legs and felt him lower himself. She held her breath, waiting for him to move inside her. But he didn’t.
He made a little sound, a soft sound, like the mewing of a cat or a frightened child.
‘I can’t,’ he said.
‘But it’s alright,’ she said. ‘I want you to.’
‘I don’t mean that.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not you, Viviane, believe me. I’ve wanted you since first I met you.’
‘Then why —’
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m aroused, believe me. Everywhere but where I want to be...’
She reached between his legs and felt the truth of what he said.
A rush of feelings crashed over her, part relief, part resentment. When she came to his room, she had no intention of offering herself to him, but she had. And he was unable to respond.
His head dropped on her shoulder and he began to weep.
‘It’s this war,’ he said. ‘It changes you.’
She did not answer for a long time.
‘I know,’ she said at last. ‘I know.’
THE COOLEST LOVE
Grasse, Spring 1944
Viviane made up her mind to avoid Weiser after that first night. She was ashamed of herself, horrified at her betrayal of Alain. She began to wonder if Odette’s view of her was justified.
Weiser acted scrupulously towards her, the perfect gentleman. She fretted that he was becoming more distant, that he might decide to leave the villa. Leave her and the children defenceless.
A week later she went back to his bedroom. She returned most nights after that. But Weiser, although he longed to, could not respond to her.
‘Is it me?’ she asked nervously, one night.
He shook his head. ‘How can it be? You’re beautiful and utterly desirable.’ He looked away. ‘I don’t deserve you.’
One night in May she managed to arouse him sufficiently for them to begin to make love. But he could not sustain it and soon rolled away from her in tears.
She held him close and whispered consoling words in his ear. It was only later in the night, as she lay awake, that she thought how lucky she had been. The last thing she wanted was to fall pregnant with another man’s child. Especially that of a German officer.
She was not sure if Dorothy knew what was going on, although she suspected that she had guessed at the liaison. If she did, she never made any comment. Of course, she had lived in Hollywood with its wild parties and loose morals. And for this, Viviane was grateful.
She felt certain that Marie suspected, however. Sometimes she had slipped from Ernst’s bedroom in the hour before dawn and found Marie nearby. She was certain that on one occasion Marie had actually witnessed her leaving. Yet she never said anything about it.
But then again, Viviane was a little suspicious of Marie. She was very friendly with Major Mundt and not above flirting with him. This was especially the case whenever Dorothy was near, almost as if Marie were doing it to get some reaction from her.
She wondered if Mundt was as unresponsive a lover as Weiser. It would be a shame if he was, she thought. After all, Marie had lost her boyfriend long ago. And Viviane still had Alain.
She closed her eyes at the thought. He had been gone for six months now and she longed for him to return. Whenever she thought about him, she grew hot with shame at her attachment to Weiser.
She knew that she would be at the mercy of Gerard and Schorn were it not for Weiser’s feelings for her. And, of course, she had grown more than fond of him. She was living in a quandary and the torment and guilt wrenched her heart.
‘How’s the colonel?’ Dorothy asked her one day, out of the blue.
Viviane blushed and turned her face to hide it. ‘As far as I know, he’s alright,’ she answered. ‘Why do you ask?’
Dorothy shrugged. ‘He seems kind of troubled. Has he spoken to you about what may be worrying him?’
‘Why would he? I’m only the cook. He’d be more likely to tell you.’
Dorothy did not answer but gave her a look so shrewd Viviane almost confessed there and then.
‘If you get the chance, ask him, would you?’ Dorothy continued. ‘The last thing we want just now is for him to get the jitters.’
In truth she was concerned that Weiser might be planning to leave and return to the barracks. If that were the case then it would not be long before Herr Schorn came knocking.
‘I’m not sure why you think that I —’ Viviane began
Dorothy touched Viviane’s arm. ‘Just be a darling, would you, and ask him what’s wrong?’
As usual, Viviane waited for the clock to strike eleven before slipping out of her room. It was the middle of May and there was enough light for her to see without a candle. She opened Weiser’s door and closed it silently behind her. It was a warm night and he was sitting staring out of the open window, chin in hand.
She came behind him and caressed his shoulders. ‘You look thoughtful,’ she said.
He turned and half smiled. She bent and kissed him gently on the lips.
He reached out and took her hand.
She sensed an unease about him, a tense anxiety. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘The war,’ he answered, after a long silence. ‘For a long while now I’ve yearned for it to end. Now, I think that something is happening, something I can’t quite understand. It’s the final throw of the dice, I think.’
He reached out and pulled her onto his lap. ‘Perhaps Germany is on the verge of losing the war. There’s been a huge increase in Allied bombing raids this last few weeks. In the north mainly but also on the south, especially Marseille and Avignon. I wonder what may be afoot.
‘Yet, at the same time, we constantly hear that we’re about to unleash wonder weapons on our foes, weapons so powerful they will bring the Allies to their knees.’ He shook his head wearily.
She lifted his chin and stared into his eyes. ‘And what do you wish for, Ernst? For an end to the war or for German victory?’
‘I’m not at all sure, to be honest. And whatever happens I fear for what it may mean for us.’
She drew him into bed and there, for the first and last time, they consummated their affection.
She lay awake for hours, wondering at what had just happened. Part of her felt contented. But more of her was petrified at what the future may bring.
BEST OF FRIENDS
Grasse, May 1944
The man stopped and crouched down. He tilted his head this way and that, listening for any sound, the slightest sound. The dark streets loomed around him, empty.
But as he listened more intently, he realised that the streets were not silent. Water gurgled in drains, two tom cats hissed at each other, a fox barked on the edge of town. But there was no sound of footfalls. No sign of any person abroad apart from him.
He slipped across the street and went into the house. He was there a long while. When he came out he seemed perplexed and troubled.
He looked up and down the street, uncertain what to do next. The moon came out from behind a cloud and he checked his watch. Half past three.
He came up with an idea and hurried off to the edge of town.
There was no problem finding the house, even in the dark, for he had been coming here for most of his life. He knocked quietly on the door and pressed his ear against it. There was no sound from within. He knocked again a little louder. Again no response.
He bent and scrabbled in the gutter, then stepped into the middle of the road. He weighed the stone in his hand and threw it against one of the upstairs windows. Then another and another.
The window opened and a head peered out and searched the street below.
‘Let me in,’ he whispered to the figure at the window.
The head disappeared from view.
A few minutes later the door was flung open and a familiar figure beckoned him in, shutting the door behind them both, staring at him in astonishment.
‘I thought you were dead?’
‘Don’t be so stupid, Gerard. What on earth could harm me?’ Alain flung himself into a chair. ‘Have you got any wine?’
Gerard stared at him in silence for a moment. ‘Where have you been, Alain? With the Maquis?’
Alain shook his head. ‘No. With Gabriel Chiappe in Nice. I’m a full time black-marketeer now.’
Gerard chewed over this news in silence. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked, finally.
Alain did not answer immediately. He had come to Grasse because Chiappe had persuaded some friends in Corsica to take Viviane and the children there. The Italian and German forces had been pushed off the island and it was now in the hands of the Free French.
Chiappe had winced when Alain asked how much this act of persuasion had cost him but refused to divulge the price. But he also made it clear that Alain would have to remain in Nice to work for him.
‘Why did you risk coming back?’ Gerard repeated.
There was something odd in his tone, some edgy eagerness. He’s nervous at my being here, Alain thought and decided it would be best not to tell him the real reason.
‘To see Viviane. But she’s not at home. I realised she might still be at the American woman’s villa but I wanted to be certain before I went there. That’s why I came to you.’
Gerard did not answer.
‘Do you know where she is, Gerard?’ Alain asked.
‘Yes I do.’ Gerard paused for a moment and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘And I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I tell you about her.’
It had been Schorn who first put the notion in his head by calling Viviane a whore.
