Resistance

by Christopher Nicole

  James drew a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.’

  ‘Don’t give me any twaddle about endangering them. War is a dangerous business.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But Mademoiselle de Gruchy is on the run from the Gestapo.’

  ‘Already? Why?’

  ‘She appears to have killed one of them.’

  ‘Well, that’s a step in the right direction. But that doesn’t mean her brother can’t reach her. If she’s in trouble she’ll be relying on her family for support. Now listen very carefully, James. You set this thing up; thus you are going to have to carry the can. By all means confirm Jonsson’s story, if you can. But that will not alter the fact that she has defected after having been thoroughly trained in the methods we intend to use for the movement and security of our agents. Now we’re in the same position as Jerry. We can’t touch her legally because she’s a high-powered neutral. But we can’t leave her roaming loose, either. I’m putting our people in Sweden on to it, but our agents in France also need alerting, and especially de Gruchy. If she returns to France, as she is a friend of his, it is pretty certain she’ll contact him. When she does, he will have to handle it.’

  ‘Ah... what exactly did you have in mind, sir?’

  ‘I am talking about executive action, James. Just remember two things: one, we are fighting a war for our very existence, and two, it is your neck that is ultimately on the line. If you require any additional support, let me know. Good evening.’ Slowly James replaced the phone, and looked at Rachel, who had been listening at her extension. Her mouth was open. ‘Don’t say a word,’ he recommended.

  ‘I was just going to ask if I should call Pierre now?’

  ‘No. To make two calls in one evening would be highly dangerous for Pierre. And if Joanna left England last night for Sweden, there is no way she can get back to France, supposing that is what she means to do, for another week at the least. There’s even a chance her ship might be torpedoed, even if Sweden is on good terms with the Nazis. Anyway, I need to think what I am going to say to him. She is a close friend of his family, and of him. And I have just been instructed to order him to kill her on sight. I’m not sure he would be able to do that.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘At this moment, probably yes. Unfortunately, I am not likely ever to see her again.’

  ‘What if she is playing her own game, with your friend Liane as a partner?’ James glared at her. ‘I know that’s hard to accept, sir. But we have to consider every possibility. And if they are up to something of their own, and maybe working for the Germans, well, the whole family could be involved. Including Pierre.’

  ‘That idea is obscene. And impossible. Why should Liane kill a Gestapo agent if she was working for them?’

  ‘With respect, sir, do we know that Mademoiselle de Gruchy has killed anybody? We only know what Pierre has told us.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus! What a fucking awful mess. If only we had someone on the ground we could trust.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He raised his head. ‘Believe me, I’d happily go myself, if the brigadier would wear it. But with my French I’d be done in a minute.’

  ‘I speak perfect French,’ Rachel remarked. ‘I spent a year there as an exchange student, in 1936. I lived in Bordeaux,’ she added.

  Amalie de Gruchy walked by the river. It was early in the morning, and the mist was thick; although the water was only a few feet away, and she could hear it, she couldn’t see it. And as all traffic invariably waited for visibility to clear, the whisper of the rushing water was the only sound.

  Amalie walked by the river every morning at this time. The sensation of being the only person left in the world suited her mood. Because she was the only person left in the world, her world. Henri was dead; she had to accept that now. Dead without ever having shared her bed. She did not know if, after what the Gestapo had done to her, she would ever be able to accept sex from any man, even her husband. But it would have been so nice to have lain in his arms. Mama and Papa were strangers, their lives so shattered that they could only go through the motions of living. Madeleine did not bear thinking about. She might claim she was doing it to protect them, and she could claim that von Helsingen had secured her freedom, but that could not excuse her marrying one of the hated Boche. Pierre had also changed. She could not be sure how, or why, but she did know that he had gone to Paris to sell wine to the Germans, make them into friends and customers.

  Only Liane had preserved her honour, and Liane was either dead or soon to die. Therefore should she not do the same? The river, whispering by, so softly and so enticingly... No one would even suspect what had happened for several hours, and they would probably never find her body as it was swept into the bay. They would be so unhappy. But did they not deserve to be unhappy?

  She stopped walking, stared into the white wall before her, and heard a sound. She turned, sharply: there should be no one else about at this hour. Then she drew a sharp breath. ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’ Liane asked.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Amalie said again, and was in her arms. ‘Everyone thinks you’re dead.’

  ‘Let’s keep it that way, at least for now,’ Liane suggested. Amalie stepped back to look at her. ‘But...’ Never had she seen Liane, the most elegant, perfectly groomed of women, looking so like a scarecrow, her shirt and slacks torn and earth-stained, her hair tied up in a filthy bandanna, her lace-up boots cracked and muddy, her face gaunt and entirely lacking make-up.

  ‘It hasn’t been fun,’ Liane agreed. ‘But thank God I bumped into you. Are there any Germans at the house?’

  ‘No. But...’

  ‘Thank God for that, too. Do you know what I have dreamed of for the past week? A hot, scented bath and a glass of Gruchy 1914.’

  ‘You can’t go to the house.’ Amalie brought her up to date as succinctly as she could.

  Liane rubbed her nose. ‘You really think they would turn me in to the Gestapo? Mama and Papa?’

  ‘Mama and Papa, no. But if they saw you they’d have such hysterics the whole Gironde would know of it. And Madeleine... she’s gone over completely.’

  Liane’s knees gave way and she sat on the ground. ‘Shit! You mean I’ve wasted all this time getting here? And you say Pierre is in Paris?’

  ‘I wouldn’t trust him too much, either.’

  ‘What’s happened to us, Amalie?’

  ‘I guess we just weren’t brought up to handle crises. What will you do?’

  ‘What can I do? Disappear. One of the people who helped me on my way down said there are some refugees in the Massif Central, people, like me, who won’t accept the Nazis. If I can get there...’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘I got here, didn’t I? There are always people willing to help, even if they won’t do it openly.’

  ‘But your hot bath? Your wine?’

  Liane gave a sad smile. ‘They’ll have to wait.’

  ‘Not the food and wine. You stay here. Can you manage until this evening?’

  ‘I have a bit of stale bread left.’

  ‘Right. Leave it to me.’

  ‘And some clean clothes?’

  ‘Of course. And you know what? I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘I’m not staying here. Do you know what I was going to do if you hadn’t turned up?’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Of course. I’ll do it anyway. That way they’ll never know.’

  *

  ‘How are they?’ Frederick had driven down from Chartres the moment he had heard of the tragedy.

  ‘They are quite shattered,’ Madeleine said. ‘I think we all are.’

  ‘And there is no doubt?’

  ‘The police do not have any. Her clothes were found on the bank. And then, her behaviour, ever since... well...’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘That memory haunts me. Now, listen. This changes things. We will be married immediately, quietly, and you wi
ll come to Berlin with me, now.’

  ‘I cannot abandon Mama and Papa.’

  ‘Pierre will look after them.’

  ‘Pierre is in Paris.’

  ‘As soon as I heard what happened, I went to Paris myself, and saw him.’

  Madeleine’s eyes were enormous. ‘You have seen Pierre?’

  ‘I saw him the day before yesterday. He was a little stiff, until he heard what I had to say. I have secured him permission to do as he thinks best. He has a permanent travel permit, enabling him to move from Paris to Bordeaux and back again as he chooses, and also permission for him to take his parents to Paris to be with him, if he thinks that is necessary.’

  ‘Oh, Freddie! The things you are doing for us.’

  ‘I am doing them for you. But I cannot escape my own feelings of guilt, that this should have happened at all in the name of Germany. Now, Pierre is on his way here. He just had some loose ends to tie up. Once he is here, he will take charge, and do as he thinks best. He is happy to assume this responsibility. But you, me, we, have our own lives to live. Tell me that you understand this.’

  ‘I do, but... I am so miserable about it all.’

  ‘About marrying me?’

  ‘Well, of course not. But that I should be looking forward to so much happiness, while Amalie is dead, and Mama and Papa are so unhappy, and Liane is gone, almost certainly dead...’

  Frederick held her close and stroked her hair.

  *

  Hans Kluck studied the report on his desk. ‘They would appear to be a most unfortunate family,’ Captain Roess remarked. He had replaced Biedermann.

  ‘Or a most devious one. Have you seen this?’ Kluck indicated another report.

  Roess picked it up and scanned it. ‘Did you follow this up, sir?’

  ‘Of course I did. It led nowhere, and frankly, I have received so many reports of a strikingly handsome blonde woman being spotted in various parts of France that it is hard to take them very seriously any longer. However, I am still convinced she will eventually turn up in Paulliac. That is the only place she can hope to find shelter.’

  ‘But it has been more than three weeks since Biedermann was murdered. How has she survived?’

  ‘Oh, she will have had help. These peasants may bow and scrape when we pass by, but they hate us. And she had a considerable amount of money with her. But here, you see, the last supposed sighting was four days ago, there. Twenty-five miles north of Blaine. That is on the Gironde. And the sister is supposed to have drowned herself two days later. Do you not think that is a coincidence?’

  ‘Would not our surveillance team have reported it?’

  Kluck snorted. ‘We are not allowed to keep the house under close surveillance. That bastard Helsingen would not permit it. Harassment, he says. If he wasn’t so well connected I’d have his balls for breakfast.’

  ‘You know he has been recalled to Berlin? To the Führer’s personal staff?’

  ‘Yes, I know it. And is going to marry that bitch, with the Führer’s blessing. Have you seen the telegram I have received from Heydrich? Lay off these people, he says. Personal feelings must not be allowed to influence our behaviour. If the woman is not already dead, she will eventually turn up.’

  ‘But if she has turned up,’ Roess said, ‘are we not entitled to act?’

  ‘Only if we can prove that she is there. Or has been there.’

  ‘Or been there and run away with her sister. The point I am making is that Colonel von Helsingen, and his bride, are leaving in a week’s time. If after they have gone we were to pay the Gruchys a visit...’

  ‘Don’t you suppose the fair Madeleine will be keeping in close touch with her parents?’

  ‘We will be acting on information received, which we are entitled to do.’

  ‘And you seriously think that after more than a week you will be able to turn something up? Without frightening the Gruchys into a complaint?’

  Roess grinned. ‘Leave it with me, sir.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ James said into the mike. ‘We have been calling every day for the past week. Where the devil have you been?’

  ‘I have been in Paulliac,’ Pierre said, stiffly.

  ‘For a week?’

  ‘We have had a tragedy. My sister is dead.’

  James stared at the radio in consternation. ‘Liane?’

  ‘Oh, I imagine she is also dead. Nothing has been heard of her since she fled Paris. I am talking about Amalie.’

  ‘Amalie? How did she die?’

  ‘She drowned herself.’

  ‘Oh, my God! I am most terribly sorry, old man. How are the family taking it?’

  ‘My mother and father are in despair.’

  ‘And Madeleine?’

  ‘Madeleine has married a German officer and gone to live in Berlin.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘She has abandoned us for the good life.’

  ‘I cannot believe that.’

  ‘Because you found her attractive? You did not know her well enough. Neither did I. My own sister!’

  ‘Shit!’ James muttered. ‘Does she know what you are doing?’

  ‘Of course not. I am not that much of a fool. No one knows except my father. There is someone at the door. Over and out.’ James remained staring at the set for several seconds.

  ‘You didn’t warn him about Jonsson,’ Rachel remarked. ‘How the hell was I to tell him to murder an old friend when this has happened? My God, that lovely little girl, dead. Madeleine, defecting...’

  Rachel took off her glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief, then placed them on the table. ‘I thought Liane was the one you were interested in.’

  ‘Liane... but Madeleine... shit!’

  ‘You, sir, are a man of hidden depths,’ Rachel said. ‘Do you wish me to log that call?’ James raised his head. ‘Well, sir, if the call is logged, the brigadier may wonder why the executive instructions were not given. Or does he know how close your involvement with this family is?’

  ‘No, he does not,’ James said. ‘But if it is not logged and he ever finds out it was made, you could lose your job. You could even wind up in the glasshouse.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But if it is not logged, how is he ever going to find out, unless you or I tell him?’

  They gazed at each other. ‘Your depths are also considerable,’ James observed. ‘Aren’t you afraid of disgracing your family? Your boyfriend?’

  ‘I don’t have a boyfriend, sir. At the moment. I think you need a drink. There is half of that bottle of scotch left. Would you like some?’

  James realized that he did need a drink. It was dawning on him that he was totally unfitted for this job. The brigadier had asked him if he could make difficult decisions, and he had blithely said yes, not imagining for a moment that the decisions could possibly involve someone like Liane or Madeleine, even after he had been warned of their possible danger. He had supposed he would be able to protect them, and even more, Amalie, that so tragic figure. He had still not come to terms with the possibility that Liane might be dead, or about to die if she were to be captured. Now Amalie was gone as well. And Madeleine... the thought of her in the arms of a Nazi made his skin crawl.

  As for Joanna, she would have to go. The very next time he spoke with Pierre. No more weakness. No more sympathy. No more humanity. The concept of the job he had been given as a great romantic game had become obscene. Rachel placed a glass in his hand. ‘I didn’t bother with water.’ She had poured one for herself. ‘So, here’s to...’ She raised her glass. ‘What, exactly?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Well... what about us? Seems to me that we either progress together, or we fall together.’

  ‘Rachel, if you stay here tonight, in my present mood, I’m likely to do you an injury.’

  ‘You keep promising that.’ She drank. ‘I’m protecting my rear. Well, up to a point.’

  ‘And Mrs Hotchkin will know about it.’

  ‘Mrs Hotchkin has assum
ed we have been sleeping together ever since my first day.’ She reached behind herself to unbutton her dress.

  ‘You weren’t by any chance educated at Benenden?’

  ‘Good God, no, sir.’ Her tone was contemptuous. ‘I went to Roedean.’

  *

  ‘Liane,’ Amalie whispered. ‘There are people. All around us.’

  ‘I know,’ Liane said.

  They had been climbing for some time, and were now several hundred feet above the valley where they had sheltered during the day. This was their usual pattern, the pattern adopted by Liane since fleeing Paris: hide by day, move by night. This meant very slow progress, but also meant safety. Nor had she varied it since entering Vichy territory, which in fact had been reached only a few kilometres east of Bordeaux. They had crept across the frontier in the dead of night, and immediately gone into hiding; Liane had no doubt that she was a wanted woman throughout the whole of France, whether occupied or not.

  When they sought civilization, it had invariably been at dusk, entering a village to knock on the door of the bakery or the charcuterie to buy food. They were never refused, nor had they yet been betrayed, although the appearance of two very handsome but bedraggled young women must have been a fruitful source of speculation after they had disappeared into the night.

  But their situation remained hazardous. The general feeling of the people they had spoken with was that Petain, or certainly Laval, who seemed to be actually running the rump of the country, was utterly in Hitler’s pocket. If that were true, she did not suppose they could look for any official help in escaping the Gestapo.

  Thus the future looked very grim, certainly now that they had just about run out of money. When she thought of the luxury of her Paris apartment, or of any of the family houses, she felt quite sick. But when she thought of all the other things that had happened to her, and to Amalie, since the invasion had started, she felt nothing but anger. Certainly she felt no guilt, or even remorse, at what she had done, even if she did have a continuing sense of disbelief that she had actually done it, had actually knelt, naked, above the unconscious man and drawn that knife across his throat, so decisively that it had been accomplished with a single stroke. She remembered that she had been thinking less of what his like had done to Amalie, or even the soldiers to her and Joanna, than of the dead bodies scattered across the road after the strafing of the refugee column.