‘Go to him? You mean leave Paris? No, no. Let Constance go — ’
‘She and Papa are estranged. I told you, when Papa left Paris to return to his home, he abandoned Constance here.’ ‘You mean she would not go.’
‘Well … ’ Liane shrugged. ‘Either way, they quarrelled. She hates him. She does not care whether he lives or dies. I must go, Johann. I would hate myself for ever if he were to die and I not be there.’
Roess considered. ‘I do not want you to hate yourself, Jeanne. If you feel so strongly … How long will you be gone?’
‘Well, if you will give me a train pass, so that I can travel quickly, and a passport to cross the border, I should be gone not more than a fortnight.’
‘A fortnight?’
‘I do not know how long he will take to die. And then there will be the funeral arrangements … ’
‘A fortnight. I cannot do without you for a fortnight. I want you again. I want you now.’
‘I will come to your apartment tonight. Free of charge.’
‘I am leaving Paris tonight. For Bordeaux.’
‘Bordeaux? Whatever for?’ As if she could not guess.
‘It is a case they seem unable to handle. Listen, Jeanne, I intend to take you out of that brothel and set you up in a place of your own, as my mistress. Would you like that?’
‘Oh, I should adore it, Johann. The moment I come back from Limoges.’
He gazed at her for several moments, then grinned. ‘I know what we will do. We will go to Limoges together.'
‘What? You will cross the border?’
‘I do not think Vichy will object. I told you, I am required to go to Bordeaux on business. So we will go down together. I will drop you off in Limoges, continue to Bordeaux, and pick you up on the way back. Would you not like that?’ Liane drew a deep breath, but yet again her decision had to be instantaneous. ‘I would like that very much.’
‘Then hurry home and pack. We are leaving on tonight’s train.’
Chapter Three
Betrayal
The dripping hawsers were dragged on board and secured, then winched tighter, and the Baltic ferry was slowly brought alongside the Liibeck dock. Apart from the stevedores there were not many people there to welcome her. Most of Germany was still holding its breath, waiting to see what, if anything, was going to happen next. A great number of Germans had relatives living in the United States, and it was not believable that a stroke of a pen could turn these into deadly enemies.
It was also very cold. Joanna hugged her mink tighter about herself as she waited, with the handful of other passengers, for the gangplank to be run out. Then the officer stood back, saluted, and the passengers disembarked. Joanna was in the centre, and on reaching the dock she and the others went to the customs and immigration building. This was a routine she had followed many times before, and as usual she was carrying only an overnight bag; she kept a complete wardrobe in the suite she maintained at the Albert Hotel in Berlin. But today her heart was pounding as she presented her passport. Pound Twenty-Three, a rather nervous young man, certainly when in her company, had been aghast at her decision to disobey a direct order from London and proceed with her journey. She felt he had been close to placing her under arrest. But his nerve had failed him. Not only was she bigger than he — and undoubtedly stronger and better trained in martial arts — but in Sweden she was the daughter of a well-known government minister, and not to be trifled with, at least in public, as they were when he caught up with her on the Malmo dockside.
‘You understand that I must report this to London. It is my duty,’ he had said.
‘And you must do your duty,’ she had agreed. ‘Just remind them that I am doing mine.’
‘But why take the risk? You wouldn’t be letting anyone down by quitting; London has ordered you back. It’s their decision.’
‘And it’s mine to go on with the job.’
He had finally given up, and she had boarded the ferry. She wondered herself why she was doing it. Perhaps because she was, if not an Anglophile, certainly a Francophile. She felt as devastated at what had happened to France over the past eighteen months as if it had happened to Connecticut, where she had been born and spent her childhood. The fact that her oldest and dearest friends were so closely involved was an additional factor in her determination to fight beside them until the job was done.
Then there was the desire for vengeance. This was not just on account of the rape she and Liane had suffered at the start of the invasion. It was also because of Aubrey. Aubrey had been her kid half-brother, ten years younger than she, the product of her mother’s second marriage. Like Joanna, he had come to France to attend Amalie’s wedding. And, like her, he had been caught up in the excitement of that unforgettable day in May. They had both volunteered to accompany Liane on that mad drive to return Pierre de Gruchy and James Barron to their respective units on the Belgian frontier. That had been successful enough. It had been on the return journey, when they had got enmeshed in the endless stream of refugees, that catastrophe had struck, first in the form of a strafing attack by German planes, which had left Aubrey’s body torn to pieces by machine-gun bullets. Then, when she and Liane, both shaken and grief-stricken, had sought refuge in an abandoned village, they had been raped by the deserters.
But she knew she would be lying to herself if she did not admit that she enjoyed the life she had lived for the past year. Like Liane, gifted with too much money, too much animal magnetism, and too little parental control, she had spent the half-dozen years before 1940 living an utterly hedonistic life.
Unlike Liane, she had obtained a job, but the job — as a roving reporter for a leading American newspaper — had been secured for her by her mother, who was a personal friend of the editor, and had actually encouraged her lifestyle by requiring her to roam from Berlin to Vienna to St Moritz, to Cannes, to Rome and to Paris, reporting on what European women were wearing, eating, saying and thinking. And, incidentally, drinking. She had known she was drifting. Perhaps Liane had known it too, about herself. Neither of them could possibly have expected what was actually going to happen to them, yet both had reacted as if it was something they had anticipated all of their lives. A certain amount of luck had been involved, of course. Gaining London after her flight from France, bruised, battered and outraged, both mentally and physically, knowing that she had to do something, yet having not a clue what she could do, she had bumped into, quite by accident, the same James Barron she had last seen about to go into a disastrous battle. From the lunch they had shared that day had come this.
James, while immediately recognizing her potential value as a neutral who possessed both Swedish and American passports, and was well known and accepted in all the important capitals of Europe, had mistrusted the motivation behind her volunteering to work for him, and she had a strong suspicion that neither he nor the brigadier — not to mention Rachel — had ever been able truly to trust her. Her decision to allow herself to be ‘turned’ by Oskar Weber had added to their doubts. But as her value to them had doubled, they continued to employ her.
She was under no illusions. She thought that James was a great guy, and she wouldn’t have minded getting between the sheets with Rachel — if only to be amused at how shocked that prissy English aristocrat would be — but she had no doubt that their apparent concern for her safety was caused by fear of what she might divulge were she to be ‘interrogated’ by the Gestapo. And the fact was, they had absolutely no employment for her apart from the information she brought to them from Germany, and more recently, the information she provided them about what German agents in England were up to. If she once went crawling back, they would pat her on the head and send her home to the States.
So what was the risk? Presumably some people at home would call her a traitor, but when the war was over, she would have the testimony of James to prove that she was actually pretty much a heroine. As for the Germans, as long as Oskar was panting to get his hands on her body, sh
e was inviolable. She had reminded herself of this throughout the brief voyage. Yet now that the man behind the desk was actually examining her passport, she was aware of a certain shortage of breath. Because she had encountered this man before, on her last trip.
He raised his head. ‘I did not expect to see you again, Fraulein Jonsson.’
‘Didn’t you? I regard Berlin as my home now.’
‘That is very nice. What have you done with your American passport?’
‘I left it in Stockholm. With my father. I didn’t think you would let me in as an American.’
‘That is a good point. Would you go with this gentleman, please?’
A door at the back of the room had opened and a man stood there. He wore plain clothes but was very obviously a policeman. ‘Am I under arrest?’ Joanna enquired pleasantly.
‘Not at this moment, Fraulein.’
‘Then I am entitled to refuse to be interrogated by the Gestapo.’
‘In that case you would be placed under arrest.’
Joanna considered. But there was no point in making a fuss out here; there were several people in the line behind her, waiting patiently, and making it quite plain by their studied indifference that they had absolutely nothing to do with her. So she smiled at the officer. ‘Then I had better see what the little man wants.’ He gestured her round the desk, and she went to the waiting policeman, who stepped aside to allow her past him, then closed the door behind them. Inside the small, windowless room there waited another man, as well as a table with two straight chairs, one on either side. Joanna’s travelling bag, already open and disturbed, waited on the table.
There had better be nothing broken or missing,’ she remarked, and sat down.
‘I did not give you permission to sit,’ the first man said.
‘I reckon I’ve been standing long enough,’ Joanna said. ‘In that line out there.’
‘Well, now you must get up again.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wish you to undress.’
‘Why?’
it is standard procedure, when an arrest has been made. You have to be searched.’
Joanna had been searched by the Gestapo before. ‘You can forget that.’
‘Do you think you can defy the Gestapo?'
‘That’s what I’m doing. In the first place, you haven’t arrested me yet. In the second, you have to allow me to make a phone call.’
i do not have to allow you to do anything. You have no rights.’
‘Have it your way. Then you make the call.’
‘We do not play games here, Fraulein.’ i am sure you don’t. But 1 bet you like to survive. If you do not call the number I shall give you, and ask to speak with Colonel Weber, you and your friend here are going to lose your jobs, your pensions and your futures. I won’t talk about your lives, or those of your families.’
The man glared at her, but she met his gaze with her smile. ‘I will make that call,’ he said. ‘And when I come back, I am going to take you apart.’
‘Sounds like fun. By the way, if you’re going out, bring me back a glass of cognac, will you?’
‘You understand, Fraulein,’ the Gestapo officer said as he escorted Joanna to the waiting black Mercedes saloon, ‘I was but doing my job. Your name was on a list given to me.’
‘I understand entirely,’ Joanna said. ‘And I will tell Colonel Weber that you have been most helpful, even if I’m afraid I cannot recommend your taste in brandy.’
She sank into the leather upholstery and he saluted. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again, Fraulein.’
‘What an exciting thought.’ She rolled up the window, and the car moved away. Now at last she could allow herself to relax. She opened her handbag to find her handkerchief, took off her gloves, and dried her fingers. She had not allowed herself to consider her situation had Oskar refused to acknowledge her. But as he had, she could only wait to discover what plans he had for her. If James felt that her cover was blown in Germany, Oskar had to feel that her cover was equally blown in England. She would have to persuade him otherwise.
The drive took a couple of hours, and she actually dozed off before they arrived at the Albert. ‘How good to see you back, Fraulein,’ said the reception clerk. Joanna waited for the ‘we did not expect to see you again’ routine, but he merely said, ‘Colonel Weber is waiting for you.’
‘Thank you, Walter.’ She rode up in the lift, again feeling a slightly anxious anticipation — she did not doubt that the coming hour was going to be boisterous. She turned the key, opened the door, and stepped inside. The lights were on, as the day outside the windows remained gloomy, and for a moment she did not see him. Then she was swept from her feet in a bear hug, carried across the sitting room and through the open bedroom door, and flung on to the bed.
‘Oskar!’ she protested.
He was on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his weight. With her training in unarmed combat she could easily have disposed of him, but he was her future in Germany. He squirmed on her as he sought her lips, his hands running up and down her coat and at last getting inside to reach her dress and fondle her breasts. Then he was scooping her skirts up to her waist, dragging off her knickers, and unfastening his pants to be inside her in a matter of seconds. Totally unprepared for such a greeting she gasped and bit her lip, but got her arms round him to hug him against her, and remained lying there when he was finished. He rolled off her, pulled up his pants, and went into the sitting room to pour her favourite cognac. Joanna sat up, slowly, then stood up, kicking off her shoes as she did so, and taking off the mink. Weber returned to hand her a glass.
‘I did not expect ever to see you again.’
‘You knew I would never leave you, Oskar. Here is Burton’s message.’
He took the envelope, slowly. ‘But your people … ’
‘The English aren’t my people, Oskar. And they know nothing of Burton.’
‘They can stop you going back.’
‘I do not think they will. I am not the least important, and I am travelling on a Swedish passport.’
‘But they are allied to the Americans. They will call you a traitor.’
‘But they can never reach me, Oskar. I have renounced my American citizenship. I am Swedish now.’
‘I would prefer it if you renounced that as well, and became a German.’
‘Then I would be useless to you. The British would never accept me back under those circumstances.’
‘You mean you would be prepared to go back?’
‘Of course. The moment you have something for me to take.’
He gazed at her for some moments. ‘I have never known a woman like you.’
‘I should hope not. Now, Oskar, I simply have to have a bath.’
‘Those stupid bastards did not harm you?’
‘No, no. Although I imagine they would have liked to.’ She undressed while he sat on the bed and watched her. ‘So what is the news here? Has Madeleine delivered yet?’
‘Yes. A girl. A week ago.’
‘And is Helsingen coming home?’
‘Not even Helsingen can obtain compassionate leave right now. The FUhrer is determined to have Moscow by Christmas, and that is only a fortnight off.’
‘Will he make it?’
‘Between you and me, no. The weather out there is simply unbelievable. Do you know, our panzers are having to light fires under their tanks each morning before the oil in the engines will liquify sufficiently for them to start up? And more men than ever are coming down each day with frostbite.’ ‘Sounds horrendous.’ Joanna went into the bathroom and turned on the taps, but left the door open. ‘Do you have any objection if I visit Madeleine? It must be a miserable business being a new mother and not knowing if bits of your husband are dropping off.’ if you must.’
‘You still don’t trust her.’ She gathered her hair and inserted it into a cap. ‘Because she is — was — a de Gruchy?’
‘That is a reason, certainly. I am still no
t satisfied with her part in what happened in September.’
‘I thought she was entirely innocent.’ Joanna sank into the water with a sigh of contentment.
Weber stood in the doorway to watch her. ‘She was there.’ ‘Tied up in her bed.'
‘By her own mother and sister.’
‘Well, in view of the way she betrayed them, I think she’s lucky they didn’t shoot her.’
‘It was all too pat,’ he grumbled. ‘And now … you know about Bordeaux.’
Joanna soaped, slowly and luxuriously. That way she could adequately disguise the beating of her heart; she had known this moment had to come. ‘What about Bordeaux?'
‘The commanding officer has been murdered.’
‘Oh, good Lord! Hoeppner? He really is an unlucky fellow.’ ‘Not Hoeppner. His replacement. But he was there. And he claims the assassin was Amalie de Gruchy.'
Joanna soaked, slipping right down into the bath so that only her head was exposed. ‘That’s not possible. He has to be mistaken.'
‘He should be able to recognize her. You said she was dead.' ‘I said she was almost certainly dead. I didn’t see her body. I'm sorry. I was so worried about you … ’
T understand that, and I will always be grateful. But still, there is a problem. If Amalie somehow survived, who else did so?’
‘If you are thinking of Liane, I saw her body, and put a bullet in it myself.'
‘I know. But the brother, Pierre — he was never accounted for.’
‘That’s true.’ Joanna got out of the bath and began to towel herself; the crisis seemed to have passed. ‘But Liane was the leader, the inspiration for everything they did. Without her … ’
‘They have still managed to kill a German officer. This has to be attended to.’
‘But … was Amalie not arrested?’
‘Not yet. There was a riot after the shooting and she got away.’
Joanna pulled off the cap, let her hair tumble past her shoulders. ‘But surely she will be caught.’
‘One would have supposed so. But it hasn’t happened yet. Frankly, I do not think Hoeppner’s heart is in it.’
Legacy of Hate Page 6