The words Édouard had spoken slowly sank in. Surely, Connie thought, the weeks of training, the mental and emotional preparation, could not be for nothing?
“I see. What will you do with me?” she asked eventually, knowing she sounded plaintive.
“That’s a very good question, Constance. I’ve already informed London you’re here with me. And that they must cancel immediately any record of you arriving in France. Word will be sent out to the few who knew of your arrival, and there will be no contact with them from now on. You will bring your papers to me immediately and we will burn them together in the fireplace. You will also hand over your suitcase, which I’ll dispose of for you. I’m having new papers prepared for you as we speak. From this moment on, you are simply Constance Chapelle, resident of Saint-Raphaël and known to those who have already met you as my cousin.”
“So what will happen now? Will I be sent back home to England?”
“Not yet, it’s too dangerous. I cannot take the risk of your capture. Constance”—Édouard offered her a grim smile—“I’m afraid that for the next few weeks you must act out the story you gave last night. You will stay here in this house as our guest. Perhaps, sometime in the future, you can travel down to the south, as though you were returning home to Saint-Raphaël, and we can see what we can do to remove you to England from there. But for now, through no fault of your own, you are trapped here with us.”
“And London has agreed to this?” questioned Connie in disbelief.
“They had no choice.” Édouard brushed the question aside as irrelevant. He turned to her, his eyes suddenly softening. “I can understand your brave wish to help your country and your disappointment that you are not able to carry out your task. But, believe me, sacrificing your career is for a worthy and higher cause. Besides”—he gave a shrug—“there are maybe other ways you can help. You’re a beautiful woman, who made a very good impression on a powerful man. Falk is a regular guest here. You never know what he might tell you.”
Connie inwardly shuddered at the thought, but understood what Édouard was saying.
“Meanwhile, Sophia has called her dressmaker and she will be here shortly. You’ll need a wardrobe that befits a noblewoman from the line of the Montaines and the de la Martinièreses. And it will be pleasant for Sophia to have another female in the house. She rarely goes out, due to her … condition, and she’s lonely. She also misses our mother very much. Perhaps it will be possible for you to spend some time with her?” Édouard suggested.
“Is her condition from birth?”
“Sophia had some sight when she was born, so my parents didn’t spot the weakness immediately. Her vision deteriorated slowly, but by the time they realized the extent of the problem, it was too late for the doctors to remedy it. Sophia has adapted to her disability well. She can write, a skill which she learned before she went totally blind, thank God. Her poems are beautiful. Quite beautiful.”
Connie could see the emotion in Édouard’s eyes. “How old was she when she finally lost her sight?”
“Sophia was seven when the light dimmed completely for her. Yet it is amazing how her other senses have made up for that. Her hearing is the sharpest of anyone I know, and normally she can tell who it is entering the room simply by the sound of their movement. She enjoys reading so much; I’m having a number of books from this and my library in Gassin made for her in Braille. She has a special passion for the English romantic poets, such as Byron and Keats. And she can draw too. From feeling her subject, she’s somehow able to transfer the shape and color onto paper.” Édouard gave a gentle smile. “She’s very artistic and she’s the dearest thing I have.”
“And very beautiful too.”
“Yes. Is it not sad that Sophia can never see that for herself in a mirror? She has no idea of it. Men who meet her for the first time and don’t know of her handicap … well, I watch the effect she has on them. She’s glorious.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Now”—Édouard’s expression changed suddenly—“you will go and collect your suitcase and your papers from upstairs. I’m not comfortable while they are still in the house.”
This was not a request, it was a demand. Connie did as she was bid and went upstairs to retrieve her suitcase. Ten minutes later, she watched her identity go up in flames. The contents of her suitcase, Édouard transferred to a sack. Then he indicated her shoes.
“Those too, Constance. We both know what one of them hides inside the heel.”
“But I have no other shoes.”
“We’ll provide you with new ones immediately.”
Connie stood in the library in her stockinged feet, now feeling horribly vulnerable. She had not a thing of her own in the world except the clothes she stood up in.
As though he’d done it a hundred times before, Édouard removed the francs hidden in the lining of the suitcase. He handed the money to her, noticing her strained expression. “You may of course keep this, courtesy of both the British and French governments, for the trials they have put you through. Sophia and I will see to it that you’re cared for materially while you’re here with us. And it will, of course, be of the best. Sophia is waiting for you upstairs to introduce you to the dressmaker. One more thing …” Édouard paused at the door. “It’s unlikely that anyone will try to contact you. Few people from your organization know you’re here. But in case by some chance they hear of your location, you must not, and I repeat not, attempt to return their messages. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Otherwise”—Édouard’s eyes bored into her—“all this would be for nothing and you would put many lives in grave danger.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now run along upstairs to see Sophia.”
12
A month had passed since Constance had become a member of the de la Martinières household. She had taken delivery of a beautiful wardrobe of clothes, soft leather shoes—the kind she had not seen since before the war began—and several pairs of silk stockings. As she laid them out in her chest of drawers, Connie sighed at the bitter irony of her situation. She was living like a princess, in a household where money seemed to be no object, and where she was waited on hand and foot by the household staff. Yet the outer sumptuousness of the life Connie was now forced to live did nothing to stem the pain of what was no more than captivity. Not only did she lie in bed at night missing Lawrence until her heart physically ached, but tormenting herself with thoughts of the other brave men and women who had trained with her and were now out in the field, constantly in danger, suffering the kind of deprivation she could only imagine. The guilt of her situation ate into her constantly. In this gilded prison, deprived of any contact with the outside world, Connie thought she might go mad.
Her saving grace was Sophia, whom Connie had already grown fond of. With a perception honed from her blindness, she would know in an instant when Connie was low, simply by the tone of her voice.
Sophia, at twenty-five, exactly the same age as Connie, was eager to learn and hear of her English life. She had never traveled out of France due to her disability. Connie sat in the heat of a July afternoon describing the bleak but magnificent moors of Yorkshire, and Blackmoor Hall, Lawrence’s family home. It comforted and disturbed her in equal measure, but at least it kept her husband alive in her memory.
Recently, as they had sat out on the terrace under a balmy sunset, Connie had confided in Sophia about her husband and how she ached for him. Sophia had been sweetness itself, asking details about Lawrence and comforting Connie with calm words of reassurance.
Afterward, Connie had panicked. She had said too much; after all, she had no proof that the de la Martinièreses were not keeping her as a prize to hand over to the Nazis, if and when the whim took them—but she had to trust someone.
And then, two nights ago, Colonel Falk von Wehndorf had appeared unannounced on the front doorstep. Sarah had come to find Connie, sitting with Sophia in the library.
&nb
sp; “You have a guest, Madame Constance,” Sarah had said, only her eyes giving a warning.
Connie had nodded and, her heart rate increasing, walked into the drawing room, where Falk had been ushered in.
“Fräulein Constance! Why, I think you are looking even more beautiful than when I saw you last.” He’d walked over to her and kissed her hand.
“Thank you, Colonel, I—”
“Please, remember,” Falk had interjected, “we’re to call each other by our first names. I was simply passing on my way back to headquarters, and I thought to myself, I will visit the charming cousin of Édouard to see if Paris is suiting her. And it seems it is.”
“Yes, it’s certainly a pleasant change from my rural life in the south,” Connie had replied stiffly.
“I was wondering”—he’d paused—“whether later, after I’ve concluded an interview, I might pick you up and take you to a club for some dinner and a little dancing?”
Connie’s stomach had churned. “I—”
At that moment, obviously alerted by Sarah to the colonel’s presence, Édouard had entered the room. “Falk! What a pleasant surprise.”
The two men shook hands heartily.
“I was just suggesting to your delightful cousin that perhaps I could have the pleasure of her company later tonight.”
“Unfortunately, we’ve already been invited out for dinner near Versailles by a mutual cousin of ours.” Édouard had looked down fondly at Connie. “My dear, you’ve been away from Paris too long. It seems you’re in demand. But perhaps another time you would like to join Falk and accept his kind invitation?”
“Yes, I’m honored that you ask me, Herr Falk.” Connie had forced a smile.
“Fräulein, it is I who would have the honor. As you say, Édouard, another time.”
Falk had clicked his heels together and, in a parody of what Connie had only ever seen on grainy Pathé newsreels, stuck out his arm in front of him and uttered, “Heil Hitler! Now, I must leave.”
“Perhaps we will see you at the opera on Saturday night?” Édouard had said as he led Falk to the door.
“You’re taking a box?” Falk’s eyes had settled upon Connie.
“Yes, would you like to join us, Herr Falk?” Édouard had asked.
“That would be most pleasant. Until then, Fräulein Constance.” Falk had bowed and kissed her hand.
When he had left, Connie had sunk into a chair as Édouard reentered the room.
“I’m sorry, Constance, but it seems our colonel has a penchant for my beautiful cousin.” Édouard had taken her hands in his. “I suggested he accompany us to the opera because at least we’ll be there to protect you.”
“Oh, Édouard …” Connie had sighed helplessly and shook her head.
He’d patted her hands comfortingly. “I know, my dear. It’s a terrible deception. And perhaps it’s a pity we did not invent a fiancé down in the south for you on the evening you met Falk. But it’s too late now. And you must cope as best you can.”
• • •
The Place de l’Opéra was humming with a glamorous crowd, consisting of high-ranking Germans, officials from the Vichy government, and the bourgeois population of Paris. The French Milice stood guard around the entrance.
The July evening was excruciatingly hot, and Connie, in the tight-fitting bodice of her emerald-green evening dress, felt like a trussed-up chicken put on too warm a setting in the oven. She glanced at the Opera House and saw that Nazi flags replaced the Tricolor on the flagpoles. Connie closed her eyes for a second, the lump in her throat immediate and overwhelming. Even though the scenario here tonight was life going on as normal, it was fraudulent—a grim pastiche of what it should be. Of course it wasn’t the same … nothing was the same.
As Édouard stopped to greet friends on the way to their box, Connie guided Sophia up the grand staircase.
“I’m greatly looking forward to this evening,” said Sophia, her beautiful face creasing into a smile as Connie sat her down in the comfortable velvet chair. “Although I wish it wasn’t a Wagner opera.” She wrinkled her nose. “But, of course, it’s what our friends who rule the country prefer. For myself, I like Puccini.”
Next to arrive in the box was Falk.
“Fräulein Constance,” he said, after the usual kiss of her hand. He surveyed her. “Your dress is exquisite. It’s true that the French ladies are the most elegant in the world. Perhaps some of the French chic can rub off on our own countrywomen.”
He took a glass of champagne from the proffered tray, and as he did so, the door opened again to reveal Édouard and … Connie stared in confusion, a facsimile of Falk standing behind him.
Falk smirked at Connie’s surprise. “Fräulein, you think you’re seeing double? I assure you, you have not yet drunk too much champagne. May I present my twin brother, Frederik.”
“Madame, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.” Frederik moved forward to take Connie’s hand and shook it politely.
Standing next to his brother, Connie noticed that, although they were identical in build and bone structure, Frederik’s eyes were warm as he smiled at her.
“And this,” interrupted Édouard, “is my sister, Sophia.”
Frederik turned to greet Sophia. He stared at her and opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged. He stood as if hypnotized, gazing at her in wonder.
In the long pause, Sophia held out her hand toward him and spoke first. “Colonel von Wehndorf, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Connie watched as their fingers touched for the first time. Frederik had still not spoken, but he held her tiny hand gently in his for what became an embarrassingly long time. Eventually, Frederik managed an, “Enchanted, mademoiselle.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, and Connie saw Sophia offer a radiant smile, as though something wonderful had just happened. Luckily, Édouard’s attention was taken with another two guests’ arrival and Falk’s eyes were simply on Connie.
“So, who is the oldest of you twins?” she asked, trying to break the tension.
“Sadly, I’m the youngest,” answered Falk, “appearing an hour after my big brother. I nearly didn’t make it into the world; perhaps he had stolen all my mother’s energy for himself!” Falk threw Frederik a look that told Connie no love was lost between the brothers. “Would you not agree, Frederik?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said, Brother.” Frederik managed to drag his eyes away from Sophia to look at Falk questioningly.
“Nothing important. I was merely saying that you arrived in the world first. As you have done many times since.” Falk laughed at his own barbed joke, but his eyes were hard.
“And you will never forgive me for it, will you?” Frederik smiled easily and patted his brother affectionately on the shoulder.
“When did you arrive in Paris, Frederik?” asked Sophia. “It’s a surprise we have not met before.”
“My big brother has had larger fish to fry than looking after one city,” Falk interjected. “He’s been working directly for the Führer as part of his think tank. Frederik is an intellectual, not a soldier, and far above us mere mortals in the Gestapo.”
“I’ve been sent to visit Paris as an emissary, yes,” answered Frederik. “The Führer is concerned at the successful amount of sabotage organized by the Resistance recently.”
“In short, Frederik is here because he doesn’t think we Gestapo are doing our work well enough.”
“Of course it’s not that, Falk,” interrupted Frederik, embarrassed. “It’s simply that these people are clever and well organized. And they outwit us once too often.”
“Brother, we have just had our most successful roundup of Resistance members and SOE agents,” said Falk. “The Scientist network is in chaos. It can do no more damage for the present.”
“And you’re to be congratulated on that,” Frederik agreed. “I’m here simply to take an overview of the intelligence and see how we can continue to net the troublemakers.”
/> Connie watched the tension between the two brothers, trying to remain impervious to their words. Thankfully, the lights dimmed and the assembled company took their seats, Frederik hastily taking the chair directly beside Sophia. Connie found herself sandwiched between the two brothers.
“You like Wagner, Fräulein Chapelle?” asked Falk as he drained his champagne glass and placed it back on the tray.
“He’s not a composer I know particularly well, but I look forward to familiarizing myself with him,” answered Connie diplomatically.
“I’m hoping that you, Fräulein Sophia, and Édouard will join us for supper afterward,” Falk added. “I feel dutybound to show my brother the best of Paris while he’s here.”
Connie had no need to reply as Falk’s words were drowned out by the dramatic opening chorus of Die Walküre.
Having always disliked Wagner, finding his music and his stories too heavy, Connie spent much of her time discreetly glancing around the auditorium at the audience. She felt dreadfully uncomfortable being seen in public with the enemy, but what could she do? If, as Édouard had impressed upon her, her actions were for a higher cause, then she must swallow her revulsion as Falk reached a hand toward her silk-covered knee and somehow bear it.
Connie surreptitiously moved her eyes to the left and saw Frederik’s expression of bliss. Then she saw that his gaze was not on the stage below, but on Sophia.
• • •
After the interminably long performance, Édouard accepted Falk and Frederik’s invitation to join them at a club for supper. A black Gestapo limousine waited outside for them.
As Édouard followed the girls into the back of the car, something struck him on the back of his neck.
“Traître! Traître!” screamed a voice from somewhere in the crowd.
The chauffeur hurriedly closed the doors as the car was pelted with rotten eggs. As they drew away from the pavement, Connie heard shots ring out behind them. Édouard sighed, took out his handkerchief, and did his best to wipe the stinking egg off the shoulder of his black dinner jacket.
The Lavender Garden Page 13
