Tony being an officer, and Sandrine being his woman, they had been allowed a two-room apartment in one of the houses appropriated by the Partisans. It even had its own bathroom and kitchenette, although they usually ate at the communal mess hall just down the street. Sandrine sat on the bed to pull off her boots, and then stretched out on her back. ‘Do I smell?’
Tony took off his own boots and lay beside her. ‘I think you smell delicious.’
‘I think I stink. I shall always stink. I think that shit is in my nostrils.’ She sat up, got out of bed, and undressed. ‘Look at me.’
‘Happy to obey, ma’am.’
‘Look closely.’ She lay on her stomach. ‘I am sure there is something.’
He traced his finger up and down the velvet skin. ‘There are a couple of scratches from those bushes. Nothing else.’
She rolled over. ‘I wish I could believe you. What about my front?’
‘I like this bit better. But there really is not a blemish, save on this tit.’
‘The bars did that. Will I get cancer?’
‘Why should you do that?’
‘My mother always said that if you got bruised on the breast you would develop cancer.’
‘Who am I to argue with your mother? On the other hand, I promise to keep looking for lumps. Tell me, does your mother know what you’re at?’
‘My mother is dead,’ Sandrine said.
‘Hell. I’m sorry.’
‘Both my parents were killed in a train crash. When I was sixteen.’
As he knew that Sandrine was roughly the same age as himself – twenty-seven – that meant she had been an orphan for eleven years. Which accounted for a great deal. One of the odd things about their relationship was how little they knew about each other.
He had met her as a sophisticated and even high-powered French journalist working in the Paris-Temps office in Belgrade. However attractive he had found her at first sight, the fact that she considered herself engaged to Bernhard Klostermann, and that he himself had become involved with Elena Kostic at the same time, had prohibited questions about the past. And since then, as their world exploded over and over again, what they had been before the explosion was no more important than what they would be when the explosions ended. Only survival mattered – and the growing certainty that they could trust each other and that they could find, in each other’s bodies, some relief from the trauma in which they lived and with which they were surrounded.
Tony had always been quite sure, from the way she spoke, the way she acted, the way she had dressed before the war, and indeed the job she had had, that she was from at least a middle-class background, although if some of the occasional mentions she had made of her youth were true, she had always been something of a rebel. Perhaps the tragedy of her parents had played a part in that. But whenever he allowed himself to dream, it was of them both surviving the war, and her returning with him to the quiet Somerset village in which he had been born and brought up, and where his parents, so far as he knew, were still living.
So now he squeezed her hand, and she put her arms round his neck, and they both started when there was a knock on the door. ‘Shit!’ Sandrine said. ‘We are off duty,’ she shouted.
‘May I speak with you, please?’ a man replied.
They looked at each other; it was not a voice either of them recognised. ‘I suppose we’d better,’ Tony said. Sandrine rolled beneath the sheet, and pulled it to her throat. Tony straightened his clothing, and opened the door. ‘Yes?’ There was something familiar about the face.
‘My name is Josef Brolic,’ the young man said.
Tony had never met him, but like his father he wore a moustache, and now the resemblance was obvious. He became watchful, unsure of what the visitor’s reaction was going to be. ‘I am sorry about your parents,’ he said.
‘The fortunes of war,’ Josef Brolic said, looking past Tony at the bed.
‘Oh, let him come in,’ Sandrine said. Only her eyes and her hair were visible, however suggestive the fact that she was in bed might be.
Tony stepped back, allowed the young man to enter, and closed the door. ‘But you managed to get out,’ he remarked.
‘Yes. I …’ Brolic licked his lips, and gave a short bow towards the bed. ‘Madame.’
‘You were lucky,’ Sandrine observed. ‘And it is mademoiselle.’
‘I apologise, mademoiselle. I heard my parents speaking of what would happen. I am not very brave. I ran away.’
‘But you know that your parents and your brother and sister were arrested,’ Tony said.
‘Yes. Yes, I know that.’
‘Do you know if they are still in custody?’
‘I think they would still be in custody.’
‘And you know what that means?’
‘Yes,’ Brolic said. ‘Yes. It is my duty to avenge them.’
‘It is all of our duties to do that.’
‘But mine more than any other. I would like to serve with you, Colonel Davis.’
‘You mean you would like to serve with General Tito. I thought you were already doing that. And you must know that my command consists entirely of women, so it is not possible for you to join my regiment.’
‘Yes, sir. But it is well known that you, and Mademoiselle Fouquet, carry out special missions for the general. Missions such as that of three days ago. I would like to serve on your squad.’
‘Hm,’ Tony commented. ‘You understand that what we have to do can be very dangerous? As on this last mission.’
‘I understand that, sir. But if it will help to avenge my parents …’
‘You should also understand that anyone who lets his personal feelings override his judgement – again, as happened on this last mission – is a liability, and will not be tolerated.’
‘I understand, sir. I will keep a cool head.’
‘Well, I will discuss your request with the general.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He bowed again towards the bed. ‘Mademoiselle.’
Tony closed the door behind him, and Sandrine sat up. ‘You’re not really going to take him on board?’
‘Don’t you like him?’
‘He gives me the creeps.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘I do not know. I just do not like him. I think it would be very dangerous to have him along.’
‘Do you know, I agree with you,’ Tony said.
‘Then why did you not just throw him out on his ear?’
‘Because there are several aspects of what happened in Belgrade that I don’t like, and that I think need explaining. Such as, just for starters, how did the Germans know that we would be using the fifth exit after the Brolic’s cellar?’
‘But … Maric told us to do that. And he died covering our retreat.’
‘Actually, we don’t know that he did die. But in any event, he had to have been told by someone to use that exit.’
Sandrine was frowning. ‘It can only have been Brolic himself.’
‘Yes. But it could have been arranged in front of the rest of the family.’
‘And you think that that boy … But that was his own mother and father! His own brother and sister! That would make him a monster!’
‘It would, wouldn’t it,’ Tony agreed.
Wassermann was on the platform to greet the returning general and his daughter. Angela wore a severe black dress, and looked, as always, quite superb. ‘Herr General!’ He saluted. As with the general’s departure, there was no guard of honour this time, and a minimum of fuss, just the stationmaster perspiring beneath his silk hat.
Blintoft acknowledged the salute, and went straight to the waiting Mercedes. Angela sat beside him, and Wassermann, as usual, sat on the jump seat facing them. ‘I trust you had a satisfactory visit,’ Wassermann suggested.
‘If a funeral can ever be satisfactory,’ Blintoft remarked.
‘Of course, sir. But … in Berlin …’ He glanced at Angela. Her face was as unemotional as ever.
‘Ah. We have received a message from General Mihailovic, wishing to convey to you his deepest sympathy in your bereavement.’
‘The treacherous, murdering swine,’ Blintoft remarked. Again Wassermann glanced at Angela – he had not known the general in this mood before – but again there was no response from her. ‘He has not even the guts to claim responsibility,’ the general said.
‘I do not think Mihailovic had anything to do with it, sir,’ the major ventured.
‘Is he not in overall command of the guerillas?’
‘As I have explained, he does not necessarily know everything that is happening, or planned. Nor is he always obeyed.’
‘That is not relevant. He claims to be in command, thus he must take responsibility for everything done by his people.’
Except that, as I have tried to explain, I do not believe that the Partisans are his people, Wassermann thought. But he decided against saying it.
‘So who has claimed responsibility?’ Blintoft asked.
‘To this moment, no one.’
‘Ha. And have you caught the murderers yet?’
‘Not yet, sir, but we will. May I ask, have you, and Berlin, determined what is to be done about the general situation?’
‘Yes.’ Again Wassermann waited. ‘We will discuss it tomorrow.’
‘Ah … yes, sir. May I enquire what your plans for the evening are?’
‘I am very tired. I shall have an early dinner and go to bed. There is much to be discussed, much to be planned. Tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Wassermann looked at Angela, and at last got a response – a waggle of the eyebrows. ‘Would it be in order for me to invite the Fräulein for dinner?’
‘Ha ha,’ Blintoft said. ‘If you think Angela will tell you my plans, she will not, because she does not know them. Besides, I am sure she is as tired as myself.’
‘I am not the least tired, Papa,’ Angela said.
Wassermann took her to a small restaurant, exclusively reserved for the use of German officers. ‘Are we safe here?’ she asked. She still wore the black dress, and looked enticingly demure.
‘Safer here, probably, than in any place in Belgrade, at least outside the army headquarters or the official residence.’
‘But …’ She glanced left and right at the other diners; the restaurant was almost full. ‘Are all of these women German?’
‘Very few of them, I would say. But they, or their families, have – what is the word? – Nazified.’
‘Are they not afraid of reprisals?’
‘Only if, for any reason, we ever leave.’
‘Are we going to do that?’
‘No. You are not afraid, I hope.’
‘Not when I am with you.’
‘Well then, you must try to spend as much time as possible with me from now on.’ Was he travelling too fast? He was rather relieved when the maître d’hôtel arrived with the menu and wine list, and they could spend the next five minutes discussing the various dishes and ordering. ‘Was it a terrible ordeal?’ he asked when they were again alone.
‘I was very close to my mother.’
‘I understand. I am sworn to avenge her death.’
‘I know this. And I am grateful, believe me. I would also like to help in any way I can. You know this.’
‘I do. But all the help I need from you is the knowledge that you are always there, willing me on.’
This time the interruption of the waiters with their meal was less opportune, and they ate in silence while he wished he could gain even an inkling of what was going on behind that high forehead, those unfathomable eyes. He was totally surprised when, over coffee, she suddenly took the lead.
‘Why have you never married, Major? Or am I being impertinent?’
‘You could never be impertinent,’ Wassermann protested. ‘I have never married because I have never met the right woman. Until now.’
She did not respond to his last remark. Instead she said, ‘You have been married to your job, perhaps.’
‘You could say that. It has not been a very fruitful marriage, I am afraid.’
‘It will happen. If you are thinking of Papa, he has been lucky. Always in the right place at the right time. And, you could say, under the right eyes. You are a member of the party?’
‘Well, of course I am.’
‘I never really supposed you were not. Tell me what you wish of me, really.’ Once again he was taken completely by surprise. As he was so obviously lost for words, she smiled – a sufficiently rare occurrence for it to be almost frightening. ‘I think you would like to take me to bed,’ she suggested. Wassermann stared at her. ‘Now I have been impertinent,’ she said.
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I have said—’
‘That you would never consider me impertinent. Well then, will you not answer my question?’
He drew a deep breath, still not sure whether or not she was playing some game with him. ‘Of course I would like to take you to bed, Angela. I fell in love with you almost the moment I saw you.’
‘Love?’ she asked. ‘Do you only fuck women you love? Then you must fall in love very easily, or you have a very sterile sex life.’
Once again he was left reeling, this time by her use of a word he had never heard from a woman before. But he managed to pull himself together. ‘I was speaking of you.’
‘Did you fall in love with me because you wanted to fuck me, or did you want to fuck me because you had fallen in love with me?’
‘You are making fun of me.’
‘I apologise. But it is important, don’t you think, to know what is in a man’s mind when you let him have the use of your body.’
Once again her choice of words distressed him. ‘Is that what you are going to do? Let me have the use of your body?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Don’t you want it? You just said you did.’
‘Oh, I want it.’ He was regaining control. ‘But surely you understand that it is equally important to the man to know what is in the woman’s mind when she agrees to have sex with him.’ He smiled. ‘Especially when she is the boss’s daughter.’
‘You may not like it.’
‘I cannot form a judgement until you tell me.’
She put down her coffee cup and gazed at him. ‘Five days ago, I came to Belgrade with my mother and father. It was to be a holiday for me, before I decided what I really wished to do with my life, and it was to be in a place of which both my parents had fond memories. I was looking forward to nothing but happiness. And then, without any warning, I found myself kneeling beside my mother, watching her bleed to death.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘I understand that you have been through a terrible experience, that you are perhaps still suffering from shock. I intend to do everything I can to help you. Just tell me what you wish of me.’
‘All I have been able to think of since then,’ she went on, as if he had not spoken, ‘was that the bullet could easily have hit me. It was aimed at Papa, but struck Mama, who was standing next to him. But I was standing next to him as well, on his other side. Had the assassin aimed just a little to the right …’
‘That thought haunts me too.’ He was beginning to feel just a little uneasy.
‘Should I not have felt grief? I was closer to Mama than anyone else in the world.’
‘Well, the grief will come,’ he suggested tentatively, as he had done three days before. ‘Your immediate reaction was anger, a sense of outrage. That was entirely natural. I think we all felt that.’ He peered at her. ‘Perhaps you still do.’ He realized that he might have made a mistake in suggesting that anger was no longer an emotion controlling his actions, but she did not seem to notice.
‘Anger,’ she said. ‘Yes, I still feel anger. I want to hurt people.’ Was
sermann drank some brandy, unsure how he wanted this conversation to proceed, how he wanted this beautiful girl to turn out. ‘But I also want to feel,’ Angela said. ‘I could be lying in that grave … What is that horrible word they use about the dead?’
‘Disintegrating.’
‘Disintegrating, without ever having felt anything in my life.’
‘I’m sure that isn’t so. A girl like you, all your boyfriends …’
‘I have never had a boyfriend. I never wanted one.’
‘Well, girlfriends …’ He was nervous, venturing into unknown and, for him, uncertain territory.
‘No girlfriends, either,’ Angela said. ‘I didn’t want them.’ Wassermann gave a soft sigh of relief. ‘I didn’t want them,’ she repeated. ‘I didn’t want any emotional involvements, any feelings, to disturb my life. I felt there would be time enough for that when I was older … And now I realize that I could have died, without ever …’ She gazed at him, eyes huge.
Another squeeze of her hand. ‘I understand. I said I—’
‘Would do anything to help me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then will you help me feel?’
Sheer exultant desire raced through his system. But he remained uneasy. ‘If you will tell me what you wish, I will do it.’
‘Do you swear?’
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