That he had become involved with such people — financing them in their surreptitious activities of smuggling downed British airmen out of France — had been because Mademoiselle Liane had commanded him to do so, illegally using company funds for the purpose. But no man he had ever known had been able to resist Mademoiselle Liane’s beauty and charm, particularly when these were backed up by the deadliness of the dedicated assassin. But following the news of her death, Henri had not been able to suppress a sigh of relief. If he had often dreamed of having her as a mistress, he had also known that it had never been the least possible. Nor could he still dream of her memory without the disturbing apprehension of her next appearance in his life, requiring him to carry out some new task that would endanger both himself and his family.
He would even be able to tell Madame Constance that he could no longer support her activities. How he had got away with it for so long without the books being audited and his repeated embezzlement uncovered, he had no idea. He had told her last messenger that it would have to stop … But now he’d received this peremptory summons, and to such a place! At least there was no one about in the middle of the afternoon, but the thought that he might be spotted — entering a brothel!
He rang the bell and was faced with Marguerite. ‘I am to see Madame Constance,’ he announced.
‘Monsieur Brissard, is it?’
‘My name is not important.’
‘I am sure it is, to someone, monsieur. Come in. Give me your hat and coat.’
‘That will not be necessary. My visit will be brief.’
Marguerite shrugged. ‘This way, monsieur.’ She led him across the hall while he looked around himself and up the stairs, wondering … Presumably at three o’clock in the afternoon they were all asleep. Marguerite knocked. ‘Monsieur Brissard is here, mademoiselle.’ Brissard’s head jerked.
‘Ask him to come in, Marguerite,’ said the woman beyond the door. Brissard gasped, but Marguerite had opened the door. ‘Henri!’ Liane had risen and come round the desk. ‘It is good of you to come so promptly.’
‘But … They said … ’
‘Thank you, Marguerite. Please don’t say it, Henri. Everyone says it, and it is becoming tiresome. Unless you believe in ghosts, I cannot possibly be dead.’ She embraced him, kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Do I feel like a ghost?’
‘Oh, mademoiselle … ’ With difficulty he kept his arms at his sides. ‘There is so much — ’
‘I know. Sit down.’ She indicated the chair before the desk. ‘Madame Constance tells me you are concerned about the money.’
‘It is a serious matter, mademoiselle. The books should have been audited in October. I do not know why they were not. But it must happen soon. And then … I shall go to prison.’
Liane leaned against the desk, almost touching him. Now she squeezed his hand. ‘Of course you are not going to prison, Henri. I have arranged it. There will be no audit until next April. When it happens, any irregularities will be overlooked. I have also arranged for funds to be supplied from England, so you will no longer he involved. You will be able to go into honourable retirement, knowing that you have played your part in our eventual victory.’
Brissard did not look entirely convinced. ‘But … Monsieur Bouterre … ’
‘Monsieur Bouterre is on our side.’
‘You have spoken with him?’
‘In my father’s absence, he is managing director, and as such he takes his orders from me. So you see, you have nothing to worry about. All you need to do is continue to supply the funds here in Paris until the English source takes over. Then you can forget all about us.’
‘I could never forget about you, mademoiselle. Will you be staying in Paris?’
‘For a while, certainly. Now, as you are here, would you like someone to accommodate you? It will be on the house.’
‘Oh, mademoiselle … ’
‘Come on, Henri, be a devil.’ She had remained half-sitting on the desk, her hip almost against his arm. Now he gave a heavy sigh as he gazed, not at her face, but at her groin, and the penny dropped. ‘Why, Henri,’ she said. ‘You are a devil, after all.’ She held his hand again and drew him to his feet. ‘Come upstairs with me.’
‘Have you heard the news from Bordeaux, Herr Colonel?’ Captain Marach asked.
Johann Roess raised his head. He was a small man with a toothbrush moustache and sharp features, precise in his manner and his dress. Only recently appointed head of the Gestapo in Paris — although he had served in France for over a year — he always wore uniform, his tie knot tight against his collar. ‘I have heard the news.’
‘Do you believe it, sir? You were there when the de Gruchy gang was wiped out.’
‘I was in Bordeaux,’ Roess said carefully. ‘I did not take part in the raid on the de Gruchy hideout, and so had to accept the report made by Colonel Weber and that American harpy he trails around.’
‘Then you think this assassin could have been the de Gruchy woman?’
‘That de Gruchy woman, very probably. But she will go the way of her sister. Do you know, I once had that woman, Amalie, in my cells in Dieppe, and was forced to let her go. By this same idiot, Hoeppner. That is why she did not shoot him as well as Kessler, you know. She owes him her life.’ He flicked the paper on his desk. ‘Now they want me back, to find her all over again. Would you believe it?’
‘You are going to Bordeaux, sir?’
‘That is what I have just said. I am going to find and arrest the last of this devilish brood. And this time I am not going to let her go. You will have to hold the fort here for a few days.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Marach, an eager young man, delighted to be working with such a famous officer, bristled with enthusiastic curiosity. ‘Did you ever meet her sister, sir? The famous one.’
‘If I had ever met Liane de Gruchy, Hermann, her fame would have ended there and then.’
‘I wonder if she was as beautiful as people say.'
‘Very probably yes, judging by her photo. But she was a cold-blooded murderess. Remember that.’
‘Yes, sir. Speaking of the American woman, sir, what will happen to her now that we have declared war on the United States?’
‘That will be very interesting. If she has any sense she will not return to Germany.’
‘But if she does … ’
‘She will either have to declare her allegiance to the Fiihrer, and become a traitor in the eyes of the Americans, or she will be executed.’
‘May I ask, sir … What is she like?’
‘Oh. Very Aryan. Her father is a Swede, you know. What with her American millionairess mother, that is why she carries so much clout.’
Marach studied his expression. ‘I do not think you like this woman, sir.’
‘I do not like Fraulein Jonsson, Hermann. I think she is leading Weber up the garden path. In which direction I do not know. But I will tell you this: I would give a month’s pay to have her down in our cells, right this minute.’ He looked at his watch and stood up. ‘I will go home now. I have some packing to do. I am to leave on tomorrow night’s train.’ Marach held his topcoat for him. ‘Do you think this American development is bad for us, sir?’
‘I don’t think you need lose any sleep over it. It had to come. That it has come sooner than perhaps we intended is neither here nor there.’
‘But this talk of American power … ’
‘It may be a powerful country, Hermann, in terms of industrial production. But the production is all consumer oriented. The Americans live in luxury, and believe in it. They are not going to give up one iota of that luxury to fight a war. And, incidentally, how are they proposing to fight this war? The two oceans, which have protected them from foreign invasion, must also inhibit their ability to invade other countries. They are more than three thousand miles of water away from us, and more than six from Japan. Let them fight a naval war for a year or so, supposing they can find the ships. By then this Russian business will have been completed,
and we will be able to deal with them ourselves. Have a good evening.’
‘Thank you, sir. Ah … Would you not care to have a good evening?’ Roess raised his eyebrows. ‘I was thinking of going to Madame Constance. Have you been?’
‘A couple of times, last year.’ Before / became commandant, he thought. Dignity above everything. Besides, he remembered how critical Constance had been when he had told her his requirements.
‘It is really very good,’ Marach said. ‘And you know you will meet no one but German officers there. No one else is accepted.’
‘I know that, Marach. But the same six girls, night after night … Don’t you get tired of them?’
‘Well, actually, sir, there is a new girl. Constance’s sister. She is an absolute knock-out. I’m sure you would enjoy her.’
Roess considered this. But when Constance had refused him permission to indulge his sadistic tastes, he had been a mere captain, and of no great importance. Now he was Commandant of the Paris Gestapo. She would not dare refuse him anything. But a sister?
‘Constance does not have a sister.’
‘Well, that is what she says she is. They have the same colour of hair.’
What does one do, Roess wondered, with an army composed of innocents? On the other hand … ‘Do you know, Hermann,’ he said, ‘I think this may be worth investigating.’
At nine p.m. Madame Constance’s was full. She had a large reception room opening to the right of the central hall, which had an inner staircase leading up to the bedrooms in use. There was a bar where the clientele could help themselves to whatever they wished, and if there were only eight women, including Constance herself, there were a dozen men, all in uniform. Three of the women were already upstairs with their clients. A further nine men were downstairs with the remaining five prostitutes, drinking and choosing their partners. The talk was vivacious, the ‘champagne’ flowing. It was, in fact, exactly as Roess remembered it.
Constance advanced to greet the two new arrivals, smiling as always, but her smile faded when she recognized the colonel. Then it returned more brightly than before.
‘Herr Colonel! Captain Marach! We are honoured. It is not every day the Gestapo pays us a visit, except officially. You are not on an official visit, I hope?’
‘I am told you have a new girl,’ Roess said. ‘Your sister. Introduce her to me.’
‘She is presently upstairs.’
‘Then I will wait, eh?’ He had already handed his cap, coat, gloves and stick to Marguerite. Now he strolled into the room, acknowledging the respectful and somewhat apprehensive greetings of the other officers.
Constance hurried behind him, anxiously; she had no idea how Liane would react to the idea of being whipped, but she didn’t want to have to risk it. ‘You don’t want to wait, Herr Colonel. I have just the girl for you. Louise, Louise, come over here. Do you remember Colonel Roess? He commands the Gestapo.’
‘It is my pleasure, Herr Colonel.’ Louise was a dark-haired, voluptuous young woman whose decolletage was slashed to her navel, and who, perhaps more importantly, had a large backside.
‘I am charmed,’ Roess said. ‘But I will wait for … your sister’s name?’
‘Jeanne,’ Constance said.
‘Jeanne. I will wait for Jeanne.’
‘I will come with you, Louise,’ Marach said, as eager as ever.
‘Ah, Captain, you also will have to wait. There is someone in front of you.’
‘But … ’ Marach looked from woman to woman.
‘Colonel Roess is a colonel, Herr Captain,’ Constance explained in her most dulcet tones. ‘And Louise is entertaining a major, who is waiting for you now, Louise. But your turn will be next.’
‘The privileges of rank, my dear Hermann,’ Roess said to the frustrated young man. ‘My word!’
Constance turned to watch Liane descending the stars. ‘Shit,’ she muttered under her breath. There would be no holding Roess back now. As with all the women, Liane had showered and renewed her make-up following her trick. The decolletage on her blue dress was every bit as deep as Louise’s, and her deep-red hair floated above her shoulders as she moved. Although all the men in the room, save Roess, had seen her before, every head turned.
‘She is quite beautiful,’ Roess said, and went forward. ‘Jeanne, is it?’
Liane glanced at Constance; she had instantly recognized both the uniform and the insignia.
‘Jeanne,’ Constance said, ‘may I present Colonel Johann Roess, Commandant of the Paris Gestapo.’
Liane’s expression of eager anticipation never changed, but then, as Constance had suggested, she was a consummate actress. ‘I am charmed, Herr Colonel,’ she said softly.
‘As am I, mademoiselle. It is mademoiselle?’
‘At the moment, yes, sir.’
‘And will you accommodate me, mademoiselle?’
Liane gave Constance another glance as she said, ‘I will be pleased, sir.’
‘It will be one hundred francs,’ Constance said.
Roess raised his eyebrows. ‘She is that good?’
‘Yes. And it is to cover your special requirements. There will be a further hundred if you mark her.’
‘Very good. Captain Marach will pay you.’
Constance looked at Liane and waggled her eyebrows. Liane held the colonel’s hand and led him to the stairs. ‘You have special requirements, Herr Colonel?’
‘I have … tastes.’
‘Well, let me see if I can gratify them.’ She climbed the stairs in front of him, his gaze an almost physical presence on her buttocks. She felt a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. She genuinely enjoyed sex, but if sex with James was sublime, it was a rare event in their circumstances, and her Bohemian years before the war had accustomed her to more rough and ready methods — as typified by Hercule more recently. But always, even with Hercule, while he knew she needed his support, she had been in control, because of her money and the prestige of her family, as well as her own dominant personality. She had never encountered a man who, when Liane de Gruchy held up her hand and said enough, did not immediately obey.
But that was outside of this brothel. She had only worked here on a few occasions, when Constance had first hidden her from the Gestapo before she had hurried back south to resume control of the Group last August. It had been a strangely satisfying experience, to be forced to surrender herself absolutely to a man’s lust, yet knowing that it would be over in half an hour. This time she knew it was going to be different. She had never seen, much less met, Colonel Roess before, but she had heard of him; his reputation was known throughout France.
Thus it was extremely unlikely that he would be interested in straightforward sex — and Constance had seemed agitated.
On the other hand, for her to have sex with a man who would give his all to be able to hang Liane de Gruchy was a hoot. The last time she had been here she had entertained the even more fearsome Oskar Weber, and counted that her biggest triumph. But his desires had been oddly straightforward.
She led Roess along the corridor to the room she had been allotted, which was situated immediately beneath the attic in which two RAF officers were concealed. She wondered if they could hear what was happening beneath them? Obviously they would know they were being hidden in a brothel; they could hardly fail to be interested in what was going on. Roess shut the door behind them. ‘Constance speaks highly of you,' he remarked.
T am her sister.’ Liane released her gown and let it slide from her shoulders to gather round her ankles. She wore nothing underneath. She stepped out of it and felt him behind her. His hands closed on her arms, slid down them to her wrists, then moved inside them and grasped her hips. She waited, controlling her breathing, while he came up her sides to her armpits, then slid round to hold her breasts. So far he had been utterly gentle.
‘You are very desirable,’ he said into her ear.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I wish your lips.’
She
turned into his arms. His kiss was also gentle.‘And again.’
‘Of course. Do you prefer to lie, sit, or stand.’
‘I will sit.’ He chose the one chair, which had arms, and sat down with his legs apart. Liane knelt between them, released his breeches, and did as he wanted. It was very quick. He sighed, predictably. ‘You are very good.’
Liane swallowed. ‘I am a professional. Will there be anything else?’ As if any man would pay a hundred francs for a simple blow job.
‘Yes. Now I would like to attend to you.’
It could only be with his hands or his mouth, at least for the immediate future. ‘How would you like me?’
‘On the bed.’ She lay down. ‘On your face.’ She rolled over. ‘Spread you arms and legs wide. Grasp the bedposts with your hands. You understand that I do not wish to bind you, but you must not move. You may scream, if you wish. I would like to hear you scream. And then you must beg. I will beat you until you beg.’
Oh, shit, she thought. But she obeyed, wrapping her fingers round the bedposts, extending her toes as far as she could, clenching her buttocks and praying that he only meant to hit her there. She listened to the sound of him undressing, turned her head, and saw that he was already becoming erect again, in anticipation. Now he drew his belt, made of heavy leather, out from his breeches. His holster he laid on the chair. Then he stood by the bed. Time to beg, she decided.
‘Please, sir … ’
‘That is too soon. 1 wish to see your ass turn red.’ He swung the belt.
The pain was so immediate and intense it took Liane’s breath away as it seemed to cut through her body into her groin, and before she could recover there was another blow. She got her breath back for the third, and uttered a piercing shriek.
‘Ha ha!’ he shouted. ‘I like that.’
Liane knew that she was not going to be able to stand much more of this, and was terribly aware of the proximity of the holstered pistol. But to resist, and perhaps kill this appalling man, would not merely be to commit suicide — the house was full of German officers, and their cars and drivers were parked outside — it would also mean the deaths of Constance and all her girls, not to mention the destruction of the Route she had worked so hard to establish. She could not let that happen. So she clenched her teeth — she could no longer clench her muscles — received the next blow, and became aware of a very loud noise from downstairs, shouts, screams, and then several shots.
Legacy of Hate Page 4