The Seven Letters

by Jan Harvey

  He ran a finger over her left breast and, as it grazed her nipple, it hardened responsively. He kissed her neck and her earlobes, sucking on them, sending a wave of desire through her. He undid the small pearl buttons on the bra and it fell away. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said. His eyes were drinking in her nakedness. ‘Very beautiful.’ He parted her legs with his hand and felt her hot wetness. Then he was entering her, him in full uniform, her half-undressed. He pushed and thrust himself at her, biting her neck and arms. His mouth moved over her skin. She wished it would go on forever, never coming to an end, always him here with her. When at last he released himself into her he collapsed onto her, his face contorted with pleasure.

  ‘I’m your first, it’s true isn’t it?’ She nodded. The back of her head pressed against the pillow, as if it might anchor her in time so that she could never forget what had just happened. She was gazing up at him. ‘And you don’t care about protection?’ he asked.

  ‘I am Catholic,’ Claudette replied. ‘It is against our beliefs.’

  ‘I’m a Catholic too,’ he said, rolling off her. ‘And I know we are not to have sex before marriage.’ He covered himself, buttoning his flies. ‘Looks like we have committed a sin…but, it must be said, a very enjoyable sin.’

  ‘I don’t care about any of that,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think we stand much chance of seeing this war out.’ Keber patted his breast pocket and then pulled out a silver cigarette case. He flicked it open and offered her one. She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t,’ she said.

  ‘Everyone should smoke, it’s what gets you through this shitty war.’

  ‘I can’t afford to have a habit,’ she told him. ‘Not on my wages.’

  ‘You seem very intelligent for someone who cleans other people’s houses.’ He leaned back against the pillow, watching her, taking in her body. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, then he turned onto his side and looked into her eyes.

  ‘Where would you be now if you hadn’t ended up here?’

  ‘At home, on a farm, in a small town with a big lake,’ Claudette was lying flat on the bed, her dark hair spread out behind her, her body naked, liberated by him. Her mind wandered back to Vacily. How she wished they were there lying together on the side of the lake. ‘We have a pair of swans on there, always. Sometimes I sit on the bank and watch them. If they are startled they flap their wings and rise out of the water. It’s so majestic. Once I was there at nightfall and I stood on a twig that snapped I saw them rise up and fly in front of the moon. I have never seen a sight like it. That’s when I tell myself that there isn’t a more beautiful place in the world.’

  ‘And, you spend a lot of time, at night, observing these birds?’ He was watching her intently as she spoke his words almost mocking her, but gently.

  ‘No, only occasionally, and nowhere near as often now that your colleagues can arrive at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘You’re with the Resistance, aren’t you?’ he said without expression.

  She froze, still staring up at the ceiling. She couldn’t bring herself to move a muscle. Suddenly she was vulnerable, naked, someone who had given herself to the enemy with no mental struggle, who lusted after him more with each passing moment.

  ‘I thought so,’ he said plainly. ‘I’m not stupid. I knew this when you hesitated about your parents’ names. It is always the hesitation that gives you people away.’

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ she asked, the fear creeping through her as she realised she was completely at his mercy. He took a long drag on his cigarette, expanding the agonising period of silence.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said eventually. ‘Firstly, because I want you, no matter who you were or what you were, I would want you.’ She let out a small gasp of relief. ‘And secondly, because I’m sick of it all. A friend of mine, a man I went to school with, was killed the other day outside a café. The Resistance carried arms in wine boxes into the shit hole and then came out, guns blazing. They mowed Alaric and his lady friend down.’ He was silent for a moment as if he needed to dwell on it. ‘You know what? Most times you’d sense something was wrong and demand to have the crates opened, but Alaric was stupid, he let it go. He’s…he’d become too relaxed, got the Paris bug. I can’t forgive him for that.’ He shifted position on the bed. ‘And now look at me.’ Claudette was still feeling tense, what did she know of this man? Nothing. ‘I’m just sick of it all. I was forced into this by my father and his military friends, he told me I had to do my duty. It was like a magnet, like being pulled into something you can’t stop and being given no choice because of words such as family pride and honour.’

  ‘But you’re known as a rising star,’ she told him. ‘You must believe in it.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m very intelligent, that’s all. They use me to work out strategies and if I’m honest, truly honest, I don’t care who wins, I only want life to get back to normal, whatever normal means at the end of all this.’ She shuffled across to him supporting herself on her arm and she kissed his lips as tenderly as she could.

  ‘If I can get messages to the Allies, give them the information they need, the war will end in the right way,’ she said.

  ‘And, if I’m found out I get shot, and no doubt tortured before I’m shot. No, I’m not inclined to help anyone anymore, I’m finished.’ She saw the vague threat of a tear in his eye, his arrogance had all but evaporated. ‘I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve done things I hate myself for and always will, but Alaric was the tipping point for me.’

  Claudette reached up and teased her fingers through his hair. ‘There’s no exit strategy for people like us,’ she said. ‘We’re absolutely stuck here, in the here and now.’

  ‘There is always exit through death,’ he told her. ‘I see it written all the time on paperwork they are sending to the camps, ordering one death or another on a whim. Now, because of paperwork and my involvement I’m nailed down more than I ever thought possible.’ He was suddenly distant, as if his mind was elsewhere. Then his expression changed again. ‘I sometimes think exit through death is my best option, my own death, by my own hand.’ The sense of alarm in her was all consuming, she couldn’t bear him talking like that. She put a finger over his lips.

  ‘Don’t talk like that, nothing’s worth that.’ He rolled on top of her and began kissing her face as if to distract himself from his thoughts.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Daniel’s hair was still light brown, only a smattering of salt and pepper greys in it and he didn’t have a beard. He had deep brown eyes, an aquiline nose and he was about Freddy’s height, but slimmer. He was sitting in a blue salon chair, the evening light highlighting areas of the room in warm gold. The room was blue, a blend of different hues and shades, but with a shock of red here and there, an artistic touche de rouge.

  Matt and I were sitting on a hard sofa, the same salon style as Daniel’s chair, the fabric a most stunning ice blue. We were each holding a large glass of chilled Pineau and on the low table before us were olives and cubed cheese.

  ‘It is lovely to meet you, yes, yes, quite lovely,’ said Daniel. ‘How nice to have a visit from people who knew Freddy.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, sir,’ Matt replied, ‘I came on the scene after Freddy passed away, but Connie knew him very well indeed.’

  I was so relieved that Daniel spoke English that I hadn’t said very much at all. Matt had started in French until it was revealed that our new friend was fluent in English and, as it happened, German too. And friend he was. He had given us a warm welcome, supplied us with a very large glass of vino and asked us all about our work even before we sat down.

  ‘Of course, the person who thought the world of him was Harriet, his housekeeper, they were inseparable,’ I ventured. ‘She’s been hit very hard by all this.’

  Daniel looked down at his chest and mumbl
ed something about it being a bad business. Then, he seemed to gather his thoughts and said, ‘And you are here because you discovered me amid all the fall out? I understand you need some of the gaps filled in?’

  ‘We do,’ I nodded hopefully. ‘If you can help us, that is.’

  ‘And where, if I may ask, is all of this leading?’ He reached forward for some cheese. ‘Are either of you writing about him, some sort of article?’

  ‘No, no, far from it, we’re not journalists or anything, we simply find that Freddy’s story is a mystery, particularly his mother.’ I hoped I sounded completely honest because I found Daniel’s tone of voice a little accusatory. He reminded me suddenly of Bertie. The windows were open and there was the sound of chatter in the square below. A cyclist was ringing his bell. It was a warm and very pleasant evening. Perhaps the backdrop just made his voice seem a bit more tart.

  Matt picked up the conversation for me, sensing I was losing focus. ‘From what we know his mother was French, her name was Madeleine March and she brought Freddy over to England after the war.’ Daniel raised an eyebrow as he listened. ‘She found a job as a translator, seemingly learning English very quickly, and one of her employers thought she was so wonderful he made Freddy a ward of court.’

  ‘Well, you know more than me,’ said Daniel. I must have looked at him askance because he added quickly; ‘About the English side of things, anyway.’ For a moment I think Matt and I thought we’d squandered the fare home on Eurostar for nothing.

  ‘You see, Freddy was very private,’ Daniel continued. ‘He had a public persona and a private one. I bet you’ve tried to Google to no avail, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact we have,’ I told him.

  ‘He always kept everything about his private life very close to his chest. You see, people didn’t know it, but he was gay. When he and I were young men that was a sin. Do you remember Alan Turing?’ We both nodded. ‘They killed him, drove him to do what he did. In those days you could be prosecuted for homosexuality. They gave Turing oestrogen injections and the like in an attempt to cure him. Freddy grew up in the shadow of all that, it scared the life out of him.’

  ‘But he was amongst creatives and people with far more liberal approaches to such things.’ I offered. ‘I mean people on the stage.’

  ‘Yes, Connie, but that cut no ice, you had to be very strong-minded to stand up for yourself. This was a time when people beat other people up for being different and the law backed them up, you must understand this.’ He steepled his fingers over his stomach, Freddy used to do that too. ‘Freddy was never that strong and his mother was a Catholic. In truth, I believe it was the lack of a father in his life that he railed against, that I suspect more than anything else. He’d built up a picture of his father as being quite a someone. His hero, in fact, though of course he had nothing to go on. But you see, that’s what we do, all of us. If it isn’t there we invent it for ourselves. Imagination can be a way of escape, but it can also be our prison.’

  ‘I see.’ I said thoughtfully. ‘And because he was gay he never married, never found anyone to spend his life with?’

  ‘Precisely,’ replied Daniel. There was a moment of silence. It was I who broke into it.

  ‘There was a photograph in his things of Marlene Dietrich,’ I told him, ‘From one sad German to another, it said on the back.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Daniel replied. ‘It was my father’s.’

  Chapter Thirty Four

  For some reason Claudette thought Christmas would be special in the house, but it was quite the opposite. A huge Christmas tree arrived and was erected in the entrance hall. The note said it had been sent from Bavaria by train. Perrine, who was now speaking to Claudette again, albeit in a more guarded way, was helping to decorate the tree with silvery baubles that contained miniature depictions of the nativity. The presence of anything religious felt at odds with the house. Claudette even found her rosary was out of place and she had kept it hidden in her valise under the bed.

  Presents piled up under the tree over the next few days, the labels scrawled with German names, and far worse, pet names: ‘Herr Licky;’ ‘Sex-sklavin.’ The ladies pulled the present wrappings apart on Christmas Eve with no ceremony. Half the contents were discarded, there was no cherishing of anything and no gratitude. Claudette wondered if the German officers imagined the opposite, but in truth she didn’t care one way or the other. As for her, Keber had not been in touch for six weeks. She was crestfallen, which is why she suspected Perrine had started being kind to her again.

  At one in the morning on Christmas Day they were clearing up the discarded wrappings and separating out the presents left behind. The ladies had gone to bed, Christmas Eve was the one night they had free of clients.

  There were beautiful things in the pile of presents, a diamanté bracelet, a compact inlaid with turquoise flowers and pearl leaves. Claudette held up a scarf made of purple silk, the edges scalloped in gold.

  ‘Find homes for all of those.’ It was Madame Odile, she had been walking quietly down the stairs. ‘Keep them yourselves if you want, but obviously don’t wear anything in sight of the Boches.’

  ‘Really, Madame?’ said Claudette, she had never owned anything nearly as beautiful as the compact.

  ‘Yes, why not? The ladies won’t want reminding of their clients all year long. It’s bad enough that they have to do it on an almost daily basis, anyway.’ Perrine threw Claudette a look of total surprise and Claudette mirrored it. Madame Odile sat on one of the salon chairs in the lounge, her legs, elegant and long, crossed over at the knees and slanted sideways. Since Lilia, they had seen a change in Madame Odile, she looked more lost and lonely than anything else.

  ‘I hate Christmas,’ she said, almost as if she were thinking to herself. ‘What is Christmas in a war with people being killed all around us? It’s the same as every other despicable day.’ Neither maid knew what to say, so they sat on their haunches awkwardly, each with a look of astonishment on her face.

  ‘Where is your family, Madame?’ asked Perrine after an interval of silence. Madame Odile looked as though she had been woken from a trance.

  ‘Mine?’ she asked. ‘Here,’ she said, but then checking herself, she quickly said: ‘Reims.’ She stood up and looked down on the girls. ‘Come now, let’s all get to bed. No men in the house, it’s time for some rest.’ Claudette saw a vague smile cross the lips of her boss, but it was gone in a trice.

  ‘Look,’ Perrine pointed to the lower branches of the tree after Madame Odile had gone. ‘There’s a little box with your name on it, look just there.’ Claudette reached out and pulled it towards her. She traced a finger over the writing. ‘Well, open it!’ exclaimed Perrine. Claudette pulled the ribbon and the box fell open. It was a silver pendant of a swan flying in front of a crescent of the moon. There was a note saying he would meet her in the Luxemburg Gardens on the first Wednesday of January at three o’clock. Her hands were shaking.

  Claudette took the note to Jacques, she had no choice.

  ‘Fritz Keber wants to see me on Wednesday next week, I have no idea why,’ she lied.

  ‘No, too dangerous,’ said Jacques, his eyes huge with disbelief and alarm. ‘I won’t let you do it.’

  ‘You have no choice, you need to tell them here that I have an errand to run. Just like the sewing materials.’ Claudette was determined.

  ‘No, that is the headquarters of the Luftwaffe, the security is tight, I won’t have you go anywhere near it.’

  ‘Jacques, if we need to gather information on Keber and he wants to see me, then we really have no choice.’

  ‘Why would Keber want to see you, for heaven’s sake?’ Jacques was rubbing his beard, flakes of skin and leftover food started falling from it.

  ‘I have no idea,
he asked me some questions before, maybe he wants to ask me more about the house, or our Madam, or something. It’s probably something completely insignificant and workaday.’

  Jacques stood up, and on doing so clasped her hand in his. ‘I would regret it very much if you got hurt,’ he said. He leaned into her. ‘I feel we have become good friends, eh?’

  Claudette stared at him, her eyes regarding his face. There was a look in his eyes she had not seen before; ‘I’ll tell you if there is anything worth knowing.’ She broke free, making for the stairs and a breath of less stale air.

  Paris had disintegrated since she had last been out. There had been Allied bombing, and talk was of violent attacks on Germans. There were Resistance leaflets pasted over Nazi declarations. Everywhere there was a feeling that something had cracked, a fissure had begun in the Nazi war engine. On the streets the soldiers Claudette saw were less bold. Jacques had told her that since the assassination in September of Julius Ritter, the SS Colonel, they had, as individuals, felt less sure of themselves. Nazi newspapers had described the shooting as an abominable act, as if their hideous exploits were dimmed by it.

  He was standing by the boat pond watching some young boys prod their galleons with long sticks. The boats swept serenely across the flat water carrying imaginings and secret stories. Keber looked lost in his thoughts.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, standing beside him with a broad smile across her face.

  ‘Hello,’ he replied, taking her face in his hands and kissing her. He looked terribly drawn and grey, and he had lost weight.

  ‘Are you all right?’ She asked. ‘You look awful.’

  ‘I’ve had flu,’ he told her. ‘In the end they sent me home. I haven’t been well at all, it was on my chest, and yet normally I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you better now?’

  ‘Getting there, it’s been weeks, lots of us have had it, but I seemed to get the worst dose of all.’ He looked at a little boy pushing his boat away from the edge of the pond, where it had become stuck. ‘Maybe I deserved it more than other people.’