“Yes, sir,” Roess said doubtfully, both on account of the secret weapons, in which he had no faith, and of this holding to the last man idea. “But I am not a soldier, Herr Reichsfuehrer. I am a policeman.”
“That is exactly it. We are sending a new commanding general, Choltitz. As I have said, his orders will be to defend Paris to the last man, and I may tell you in confidence that he also has secret orders that when he is down to the last man, he will destroy the city by means of previously placed explosives, so that only a burnt-out shell will eventually fall to the Allies. But frankly, I personally have no great faith in Choltitz’s strength of mind. I am sending you back, as Gestapo overlord, with two objectives. Firstly, we know that Paris is riddled with the Resistance. This must be stamped out before they can mount a rising. I give you carte blanche. Deal with them as you dealt with the people in the Vercours. Shoot anyone you have to, as many as you have to. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. And the other objective?”
“Will be to stand at Choltitz’s shoulder and, if it comes to the crunch, make sure that he carries out his orders – or, if necessary, give the orders yourself – for the firing of the explosives.”
“Yes, sir. And… ah… afterwards?”
The two men gazed at each other. “My dear Johann,” Himmler said. “I am giving you the opportunity to die for the Fatherland. What higher honour can there be than that?”
*
“Up there,” Liane said, “is my apartment. The fourth floor.” James looked up at the curtained windows. But then, most of the windows in the building were curtained. “Is anyone living there now?”
“I have no idea.”
“But we’re going there?”
“No, no. We are going to… Shit! Act.” Two German soldiers had come round the corner. Liane immediately bowed her back and pulled her shawl over her head, tapping the ground with her stick. With her threadbare clothes and her deliberately filthy hair – she had rubbed it with mud and dirt – she looked at once old and unhealthy.
James, at her shoulder, carrying a small satchel, was equally decrepit, wearing a soiled beret and shabby, dirty clothes, his boots a mass of cracks, and was also walking with a stick. He did not suppose he would recognize himself, just as he could hardly believe that they had made their way through an entire retreating army; but then a great many people had been doing that, either to remove themselves from the vicinity of the next battle or, if they had got too close to their erstwhile conquerors, from the clutches of their vengeful fellow countrymen.
He had never doubted Liane’s courage, but always in the past when they had operated together, they had been working to his plans and he had been in control. This was the first occasion on which he had been the junior partner, and he had been astounded not only by her total confidence and self-assurance, but by the way she had submerged herself in the role she felt necessary, refusing to bathe even when water was available, deliberately and extravagantly allowing herself to become more and more dishevelled and odorous through the three weeks of their journey, aided by the hot July going into August sun. And she had required him to do the same.
Now she hobbled unhesitatingly towards the two soldiers, who exchanged comments in German before switching to poor French. “Hey, old woman,” one of them said. “You got a pass?”
“Pass?” Liane gave a high-pitched cackle. “What do I want with a pass?”
“You have to have a pass,” he explained. “Or we shall have to arrest you.”
“You’ll take me in?” Liane give another cackle. “Give me something to eat. Give him—” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder “—something to drink? That’s all he wants, drink.”
The soldiers had come right up to her, now they recoiled. “Jesus!” the first one said. “She smells like a dead dog.”
“Get away with you,” said the other. “Be off.”
“You said you’d arrest me, give me something to eat,” Liane protested.
“Off,” he said again. “And you.” He aimed a kick at James, which sent him staggering.
Liane shouted curses as she hobbled down the street, James following. “Whew!” he commented when they were out of earshot. “That was a close one.”
“The smell works every time,” she said. “It is not far now.” A few minutes later, they came upon the house, large and foursquare, set back from the street in its own grounds. It looked decrepit, and terribly in need of a coat of paint, but that could be said of just about every house in Paris. The quite spacious grounds were also unkempt and unweeded, and the iron gate squealed as it was pushed open. “This is my home,” Liane said. “Wheren I am in Paris.”
“You mean… the house we’ve been using for evaders? The brothel?”
She smiled. “They won’t charge you.”
She led the way up the drive, which was in surprisingly good repair, but then, James realized, it would be in regular use. Liane went up the steps and rang the bell. It was some minutes before the door was opened. “We are closed,” the somewhat raw-boned woman announced.
“One day, Marguerite, “Liane said, “you are going to be pleased to see me.”
The woman stared at her, then uttered a shriek. “Mademoiselle Liane! After so long!” She looked past her.
“My man,” Liane explained. “Aren’t you going to let us in?”
“Oh, mademoiselle.” Marguerite stepped back to allow them entry to a large hall, then closed the door, before turning to the staircase that mounted the far wall. “Madame!” she called. “Madame!”
James looked around him. Three doors opened off the hall, one at the back, obviously leading to the kitchen, an elaborate double to his right and a single to his left. Then his attention was drawn to the woman descending the stairs. Tall, elegant, with flowing red hair, she wore a dressing-gown and high-heeled mules. Her features could have been attractive but for the hardness of the expression, nor did they lighten at the sight of her visitors. “Liane?” she asked. “My God, Liane. Why did you come back? How did you come back?”
“I told you I would come back,” Liane said. “It just took a little longer than I expected.”
“And you expect to stay here? That is not possible. Who is this?”
“Of course it is possible, and necessary,” Liane said. “This is Major James Barron of the British Secret Intelligent Service. He is my commanding officer, which means that he is also your commanding officer.”
“And you have brought him here? My God, you must be mad. Do you know what Roess did to me when he returned after you attacked him on that train?”
Liane looked her up and down. “You do not look too badly damaged to me.”
“He was going to flog me,” Constance said. “Me!”
“But he didn’t, apparently. Now, Constance, stop having hysterics. There is no need for it. The War will soon be over. The Allies are getting closer every day. They will be in Paris by the end of this month, at the outside. All we need is the use of your house for that period. Do you have any evaders in residence?”
“No, no. There have been none for over a month.”
“That is because they are not being shot down any more. And it is ideal. We shall use the attic. And the first things we want are a hot bath and a square meal, and then a change of clothing. I know you can arrange this.”
“We will all be hanged,” Constance said.
“Of course we will not be hanged. You have the best house in Paris, and you cater only to German officers. Why should they suspect you of anything? And if they once suspected that you had harboured me, well, now they suppose that I am dead.” She smiled. “Again. Now, we also want information about some prisoners sent up from the south a few weeks ago. One of them would have been a woman.”
“A woman?” Constance asked, both interested and suspicious.
“What you do not know cannot harm you. We wish to know where these people are being held and if any of them have been shot.”
“How am I to know this?�
��
“You will get your girls to ask your clients. Tonight.”
“You do not understand.” Constance’s voice was almost a wail. “You think you can come here and take up just where you left off, two years ago? I told you that Roess arrested me, after you assaulted me. You pretended to be my sister.”
“Yes, yes,” Liane said. “I remember all of that. But he let you go.”
“Because I told him I was certain that you would return to Paris and come here. He made me swear an oath that when you did, I would inform him so that you could be taken.”
“Well, isn’t it fortunate that I could not get back. Now Roess is far away, and you do not have to break your oath.”
“You still do not understand,” Constance said. “Roess is back. He returned two days ago to take over the Gestapo in Paris.”
*
“Can she be trusted?” James asked.
He soaked in the hot bath with Liane leaning back against him; their legs were over the sides. Absently, he soaped her breasts. “That feels so good,” she said. “Constance can be trusted because she knows that if I am taken she will be arrested too. And her girls.”
“But if she was promised immunity for handing you over…”
“She would not dare do that. The woman, or the man, who betrayed Liane de Gruchy would not only be lynched by the mob the moment the Allies get here, but her name would go down in history as an example of infamy. But it is serious that Roess is back. If he should get his claws into Amalie…”
“If she is still alive,” he reminded her.
“She is alive,” she said fiercely.
“So, what is your plan? If Roess is back in charge, things will be tightened up.”
“Let us first see what Constance can turn up.”
*
By two in the morning, the last client had gone. It had been a boisterous evening. The German officers had to know the War was all but lost, but they seemed determined to enjoy themselves, drinking Constance’s “champagne”, singing songs and of course taking the girls of their choice upstairs to the bedrooms. From their attic, Liane and James could hear much of what was said immediately beneath them, the squeals of laughter or pain, the gasps of pretended orgasm from the girls, and once even the snap of a cane and the real shrieks of agony from the recipient.
They had not switched on the light but James could feel the tension in Liane’s body.
“Did you really work here?” he asked.
“Does that make you angry?”
“Nothing you could do could make me angry. But… were you ever whipped?”
“Once. By Roess. He did not know who I was.”
“He thought you were Constance’s sister. But, my God…”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I have always intended to kill him. Without knowing if I would succeed. But if he is here… and if he has harmed Amalie…”
He squeezed her hand. “But you will not commit suicide.”
Before she could reply, the door opened. They both sat up, James with his revolver and Liane with her pistol thrust forward.
“It is me,” Constance said. “We have found out that some prisoners from the south arrived here three weeks ago. One was a young woman.”
“And they are still alive? There has been no word of any execution?”
“Not that anyone here knows of.”
“Excellent. And where are these prisoners being held?”
“In the cells beneath Gestapo Headquarters.” Constance shivered. “I have been there. You cannot get them out.”
“We shall have to see. Who is now the head of the Resistance here in Paris?”
“How am I supposed to know that?”
“Because I am sure you do know it.”
“His name is Emile Duvivier.”
“Very good. Arrange a meeting between us.”
“Your think he will come to a meeting? He will be afraid of betrayal.”
“He will come to a meeting with Liane de Gruchy,” Liane said. “Or I will go to a meeting with him.”
*
“Liane de Gruchy,” said the short, thick-set man, seated in the corner of the bar. “I have waited all of my life for this moment. But… here in Paris? Undisguised?”
“The Germans think I am dead. Will any of these people betray me, Monsieur Duvivier?”
Duvivier looked around the bar, which was fairly full. “None of these people. They are all mine. And this gentleman?”
“Major Barron of the British Secret Service.”
“Your mission?”
“To lead a rising against the Boche, here in Paris.” Although James was in her confidence, her effrontery took his breath away.
Duvivier considered her for several moments, while he drank some wine. Then he asked, “Wheren were you ordered to do this?”
Liane replied without hesitation. “Two weeks ago. It has taken us that long to reach here.”
“Ah. Well, those orders are out of date. The Americans have decided to by-pass Paris.”
“What? Paris is the soul of France.”
“They do not think so. They think it would absorb too many men, cost too much materiél, and lives, to take Paris if it is properly defended, and they are sure that if they can continue this rapid advance and maybe get to Germany itself by the end of this year, Paris will fall of itself.”
“The end of this year? That is four months’ away.”
“What is four months in the context of this war?”
“It is forever. And you and your people accept this?”
“We do not like it. We have protested. And we have been instructed under no circumstances to start any action on our own, which could involved thousands of civilian casualties.”
“Our people. Who would surely die for the freedom of France. How many people do you have?”
“Almost the entire population is behind us. But if you mean how many have arms, it is less than 10,000.”
“But they would obtain more arms with every German they kill. What is the size of the garrison?”
“Now that is the silly thing,” Duvivier said. “It is dwindling every day. Even a month ago it was more than a hundred thousand. But so many drafts have been called away, either to try to stop the Allies, or back to Germany, that I do not think there is more than half that number now.”
“Then we start the rising, now.”
He frowned at her. “Our orders—”
“Were issued by some half-witted staff officer with no sense of the moral value of freeing Paris.”
“You are asking my 10,000 ill-armed people to take on 50,000 professional soldiers equipped with the latest weapons?”
“For a couple of days, yes.”
“A couple of days? They will take their time. Do you know what they did in Warsaw?”
“A couple of days,” Liane insisted. “Listen to me, Duvivier. Warsaw was supposed to be relieved by the Russians. But they never came. Because the Russians did not care how many Poles were killed, as long as they killed Germans as well and occupied their attention. We are not Poles and out there are not Russians. There is a Free French corps fighting with the Allies. If we start an uprising now and broadcast it on the radio so that the whole world knows what we are doing, the Allies, much less our own countrymen, must come to our aid or they will be damned throughout history.”
Duvivier looked at James. “I agree with her,” James said.
Duvivier finished his wine, went to the bar for a refill and sat down again. “When?”
“How long will it take you to alert all your people?”
“Three days.”
“Three days. That will be Tuesday. All right. Dawn on Tuesday. I will meet you here at four in the morning. And I need a squad of twenty well-armed and determined men.”
“To do what?”
“I will attack Gestapo Headquarters.”
“That will be suicide.”
“Not if we take them by surprise. You will not fail me.”
> “Four o’clock, on Tuesday morning, with a picked squad,” Duvivier said and shook her hand, “And may God help us if you are wrong about Allied support, mademoiselle.”
*
“I will say amen to that,” James remarked, as they made their way back towards the brothel. He wore an ill-fitting jacket and trousers, and Liane an equally ill-fitting and shabby dress, with her hair concealed beneath a headscarf, but he did not suppose there was much chance of her being recognized in any event, for the various German soldiers that they passed were clearly in a state of some agitation.
“Three days,” she said. “Three more days for Amalie to endure hell.”
“Well, if she’s survived a month in their hands…”
“That was before Roess arrived. If he discovers that my sister is in his cells… You know he had her there once before?”
“I know. But there is nothing we can do until Duvivier is ready to move. And you do realize that once an uprising starts they are liable to execute all prisoners out of hand.”
“That is why we are assaulting the Gestapo Headquarters the moment that it starts. Now…” She paused, staring across the street. “My God!”
“Eh?” Liane grabbed his arm and dragged him round the corner, then stood against the wall, breathing deeply. “What in God’s name is the matter?”
“Gabrielle Chartrin.”
“Who?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, James. You must remember Gabrielle. From the farm. You met her. And I told you about her German boyfriend. Now she is just round the corner.”
“Jesus! How? I mean, in Paris?”
“I don’t know what she is doing in Paris. But she recognized me.”
“Are you sure? With your hair tied up—”
“Gabrielle would recognize me anywhere and anyhow. She has known me for years.”
“And you think she will betray you?”
“I would never have supposed so. But…”
“Her brother did. Then we must do something about her right away.”
“I did not want this to happen.” Liane sounded quite distressed. “That family has been so good to me, so loyal… Philipe betrayed me because he could not have me. Gabrielle—”
The Brightest Day Page 23
