by Jack Higgins
It was very heavy, which surprised her, but her hand fitted round the butt quite easily. And then there was the challenge, of course, to show him what she could do. She extended her arm, closed one eye, squinted along the barrel, pulled the trigger and missed completely.
'It's always a shock the first time,' he said. 'You don't think it's possible. I mean, how could you miss a man who is standing that close. Oh, and keep both eyes open.'
He turned, dropping into a crouch, the revolver extended, taking no apparent aim that she could see, firing very rapidly. As the echoes died away, she saw a neat pattern of four holes in the heart of the middle target. He stayed there for a moment, full of power and control, a kind of efficient deadly weapon. When he turned to look at her, she saw only the killer in the grey eyes.
'Now that would take some considerable practice.' He placed the revolver down and picked up two other guns. 'The Luger and the Walther are both automatic pistols and used a great deal by the German Army. I'll show you how to load them and how to shoot them. There isn't much more I can do in the time. I mean, this sort of thing isn't your cup of tea, is it?'
'No, I don't think so,' Genevieve said calmly.
He spent twenty minutes patiently showing her how to load a cartridge clip, how to ram it home and how to cock the gun for firing. Only when she had proved that she could do that did he take her forward to the other end of the range.
It was a Walther she was using now with a Carswell silencer on the end, specially developed by SOE for silent killing. When fired, it made only a strange coughing sound.
They stopped a yard from the targets. 'Close to your man,' he said, 'but not too close in case he tries to grab you, remember that.'
'All right.'
'Now hold it waist-high, shoulders square, and squeeze, don't pull.'
She closed her eyes when she fired, in spite of herself, and when she opened them again, saw that she'd shot the target in the stomach.
'Very good,' Craig Osbourne said. 'Didn't I tell you it was easy as long as you stand close enough? Now, do it again.'
****
She spent the late afternoon and early evening going over those background notes again and again until she really felt she knew her facts about all those people, then went to join Rene for another Song session in the library.
Afterwards, there was dinner in the kitchen with Craig, Munro and Rene and Julie's cooking was superb. They had steak and kidney pudding, roast potatoes and cabbage and an apple pie to follow. There was also wine on the table, a very good red Burgundy, although even that didn't bring Craig out of himself. He seemed moody and preoccupied and the atmosphere was strained.
'A superbly traditional English meal.' Munro kissed Julie on the cheek. 'What a sacrifice for a French woman.' He turned to Craig. 'I think I'll take a walk down to the pub. Care to join me?'
'I don't think so,' Craig said.
'Suit yourself, dear boy. How about you, Rene? Fancy a drink?'
'Always, General.' Rene laughed and they went out together.
Julie said, 'I'll bring coffee up to the Blue Room. Craig, show Genevieve the way.'
It was a pleasant sitting room next to the library with comfortable furniture and a fire burning and there was a rather nice grand piano.
Genevieve lifted the lid, fitting the rod under carefully.
There had been a time when this was what she had wanted to do more than anything else in the world, but then life rarely came out the way one expected it.
She started to play a Chopin prelude, deep, slow, crashing chords in the bass and the infinitely sweet crying of death at the top. Julie had come in with the tray and put it down by the fire and Craig came forward and leaned on the end of the piano, watching Genevieve.
His eyes were questioning as she started to play 'Claire de Lune', beautifully, achingly sad. She played well - better, she told herself, than she had done in a long time. When she finished and looked up, he had gone. She hesitated, put the lid down and went after him.
****
She could see him at the bottom of the steps on the terrace in the dark, smoking. She moved down and leaned against the parapet.
'You were good,' he said.
'As long as I stand close enough?' Genevieve asked.
'All right,' he said. 'So I've given you a hard time, but that's how it's got to be. You don't know what it's like over there.'
'What do you want, absolution?' she said. 'I've got to go, you said so yourself. There's no choice, because there is no one else. It's not your fault. You're just an instrument.'
He got to his feet and threw the cigarette end down. It rolled into the gravel and glowed red. 'We've a full day tomorrow,' he said. 'You've to see Munro again in the morning. Timeforbed.'
'I'll be in soon.' She reached for his sleeve. 'And thanks for acting like a human being for once.'
His voice, when he replied, was strange. 'Don't be kind to me now, not now. We haven't finished with you yet.'
He turned and went inside quickly.
They came for her in the night. It was a rude awakening. A flashlight in her eyes, the bedclothes thrown back and then she was pulled upright.
'You are Anne-Marie Trevaunce?' a voice demanded harshly in French.
'Who the hell do you think you are?' She was thoroughly angry, tried to get up and received a slap across the face.
'You are Anne-Marie Trevaunce? Answer me.'
And then she realised that both of them, the shadowy figures just beyond the circle of light, were in German uniform and the reason for the whole nightmare struck her.
'Yes, I'm Anne-Marie Trevaunce,' she said in French. 'What do you want?'
'That's better - much better. Now, put your robe on and come with us.'
****
'You are Anne-Marie Trevaunce?'
It must have been the twentieth time they had put that question to her as she sat at the table in the library, bounded by the hard, white lights which they turned into her face.
'Yes,' she said wearily. 'How many times do I have to tell you?'
'And you live at Chateau de Voincourt with your aunt?'
'Yes.'
'Your maid, Maresa. Tell me about her family.'
She took a deep breath. 'Her mother is a widow and has a small farm about ten miles from the Chateau. She works it with one of her sons, Jean, who is a bit simple. Maresa has another brother called Pierre who is a corporal in a French tank regiment. He's working in a labour camp in Alderney in the Channel Islands.'
'And General Ziemke - tell me about him.'
'I've told you about him - all about him, at least four times.' 'Tell me again,' the voice said patiently.
Suddenly, it was over. Someone walked across to the door, and switched the main light on. There were two of them, as she had thought, and in German uniform. Craig Osbourne was standing by the fire lighting a cigarette.
'Not bad. Not bad at all.'
'Very funny,' she said.
'You can go to bed now.' She turned to the door and he called, 'Oh, Genevieve?'
She turned to face him again. 'Yes?' she said wearily.
There was a heavy silence, they looked at each other. She'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
'Try not to do that over there, won't you?' he said calmly.
EIGHT
IN THE MORNING, it seemed like a nightmare. Something which had never happened. One of the most frightening things about it had been the mingling of personalities that she had begun to feel. The constant insistence that she was Anne-Marie Trevaunce was something that she'd almost come to believe herself during the moments of most intense strain.
She sat at the window, smoking a Gitane, coughing a little less now and gradually it grew lighter and the first orange-yellow of the sun slipped up amongst the pale trees and glinted on the lake down there in the hollow.
What happened next was impulse. She found an old toweling robe hanging behind the bathroom door, put it on and went out. The hall was sil
ent and deserted when she went down the main stairway, but there were kitchen noises somewhere at the rear of the house, Julie's voice raised in song, muffled and indistinct beyond the green baize door.
She tried another door and found herself in some sort of sitting room with French windows beyond, which opened on to a terrace. When she crossed it and stepped on to the grass, the cold morning dew sent a shiver through her entire body and she ran down the slope, her white robe flying out behind.
The small lake in the hollow was gold and silver in the early sun, what was left of a dying mist curling above the surface.
She took off her robe, pulled her nightdress above her head, waded out through the reeds and plunged into deep water.
It was so cold that she didn't even feel her body go numb, simply floated in a kind of limbo, watching the reeds sway in the breeze, the trees beyond. How still the water was, like black glass and she recalled, very clearly, a dream she'd had the night before of waters just as dark, Anne-Marie drifting up to meet her, hands in slow motion, reaching as if to pull her down to join her.
It was revulsion more than any panic that made Genevieve turn and swim back towards the reeds, wade through to dry land. She pulled on the robe and started to dry her hair with her nightdress as she walked up through the trees, back towards the house.
Craig was sitting on the balustrade of the terrace, smoking the inevitable cigarette, very still, so that she wasn't aware of his presence at all until she was half way across the sloping lawn.
'Did you enjoy your swim?'
'You were watching?'
'I saw you go out and I followed — yes.'
'Like any good intelligence officer? What did you think I might do - drown myself? That would have been inconvenient for you.'
'Highly.'
****
When she opened the door of her bedroom she found Julie arranging breakfast on a small table by the window. She wore a green velvet housecoat and looked very pretty.
'You're not pleased, cherie, I can tell. What's wrong?'
'That damn man,' Genevieve said.
'Craig?'
'Yes, I went for a swim in the lake. He followed me down. Watched me.'
She said soothingly, 'Drink your coffee and try the scrambled eggs. They're a specialty of mine.'
Genevieve did as she was told. 'We just seem to rub each other up the wrong way,' she said as she attacked her eggs.
Julie sat down opposite and sipped her coffee. 'Really? I should have thought it was the other way about.'
The door opened and once again Craig Osbourne looked in without knocking. 'There you are.'
'My God, it gets worse,' Genevieve said. 'Still no privacy.'
He ignored the remark. 'Munro would like to see you as soon as possible. Grant's flying in to take him back to London this morning. I'll be in the library.'
He went out, closing the door. Julie said, 'I wonder what Munro wants.'
'To wish me luck? Who knows.' Genevieve shrugged. 'He can wait. I'm going to have another cup of coffee,' and she reached for the pot.
****
What had happened to the men who had interrogated her the night before, she had no idea. The house was quiet, no sign of anyone else around as she went down the stairs. Craig was standing by the library fire reading a newspaper.
He glanced up casually. 'You'd better go straight in. The last door.'
She walked to the other end of the library, paused at the leather-covered door and knocked. There was no reply. She hesitated, opened it and went in. It had no windows and was furnished as a small office with another door in the far corner. Munro's Burberry was draped over a chair, and there was a briefcase on the desk holding down one end of a large-scale map. She could see what it was at once - a section of the French coast. The heading said Preliminary Targets, D-Day. As she stood looking down at it the door opened and Munro came in.
'So, there you are.' And then he frowned, crossed the room quickly and rolled up the map. She had a feeling he was going to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he put the map in the briefcase and closed it. 'Amazing how different you look.'
'Isn't it?'
'Have they been giving you a hard time?' He smiled. 'No, don't answer that. I know how Craig operates.' He stood at the desk with his hands behind his back, suddenly serious. 'I know this hasn't been easy for you, any of it, but I can't impress the importance of it too much. When the big day comes, when we invade Europe, the battle is going to be won on the beaches. Once we get a foothold, the final victory is only a matter of time. We know that and so do the Germans.'
It sounded as if he was making a speech to a group of new young officers.
'That's why they put Rommel in charge of co-ordinating their Atlantic Wall defenses. You see now why any information you can get us from that conference this weekend could be vitally important.'
'Of course,' she said. 'I can win the war for you at one fell swoop.'
He managed to smile. 'That's what I like about you, Genevieve. Your sense of humour.' He reached for his Burberry. 'Well, I've got to go.'
'Haven't we all,' she said. 'Tell me, Brigadier, do you enjoy your work? Does it give you job satisfaction?'
He picked up his briefcase and when he looked at her his eyes were bleak. 'Goodbye, Miss Trevaunce,' he said formally. 'I look forward to hearing from you.' And he walked out.
When Craig returned, she was standing by the library fire. 'Has he gone?' 'Yes. He wasn't too pleased. What did you do to him?'
'Lifted a corner of his personal stone.'
He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at her gravely. 'Hardly calculated to please.' He moved to the table. 'I've got something for you.'
He passed her a cigarette case made of silver and onyx. It was really very beautiful. She opened it and found it was neatly packed with Gitanes.
'A going-away present?' she asked.
'Rather a special one.' He took the case from her. 'See the engraving, here in the back?' He pushed his thumb nail in and a wafer-like flap of silver fell down to show the tiniest of lenses and a camera mechanism. 'The genius who put this together for us insists it will take good, sharp pictures even when the light is poor. So, if you see any documents or maps, you know what to do. Twenty exposures and it's loaded and ready to go. All you have to do is point it and pull this thing here.'
'Always remembering to stand close enough?'
Somehow she'd hurt him now, she could see that and took no pleasure in it. She could have bitten her tongue, but it was too late.
He gave her the cigarette case back and moved to the table, all business again. 'The rest of the day I suggest you go over your notes again and the photo and case histories until you're word perfect.'
'And tomorrow?'
'I'll go over everything again with you until you know it backwards. Tomorrow night we take off a little after eleven.'
'We?'
'Yes, I'll be going with you as far as your drop-off point.'
'I see.'
'If everything goes according to plan, you and Rene will be picked up by the local Resistance people, who will transport you to St Maurice by road. You'll wait there in the station-master's house until the night train' from Paris has passed through. Then Rene will go and collect your car as if you've just got off the train, and drive you home to the Chateau.'
'Where I'll be on my own?'
'You've got Rene,' he said. 'Any information you have, you pass straight to him. He has a radio. He can contact us here through the coastal booster station.'
'Here?' she said. 'But I haven't seen anyone else in the place except for those friends of yours last night.'
'They just keep out of the way, that's all. We have a very efficient radio room, I can assure you and then there's the costume department. Julie runs that. Not much she can't supply in the way of uniforms or clothing or documents.'
They stood there, a silence between them. Finally, he said, strangely gentle, 'Is there anything I can
do for you?'
'Anne-Marie. I'm worried about her. If anything happens to me…'
'I'll take care of it. I give you my word.' He lifted her chin with a finger. 'And nothing is going to happen to you. You've got luck. I can tell.'
She was almost in tears, suddenly vulnerable. 'And how in the hell can you know a thing like that?'
'I'm a Yale man,' he said simply.
****
She worked on the papers all morning. Julie had told her she would be going down to the pub at lunchtime so just after noon Genevieve stopped work, borrowed a sheepskin jacket she found hanging in the hall cupboard and walked down to the village.
She stopped on the quay to look down at the Lili Marlene where a couple of members of the crew swabbed the decks. Hare leaned out of the wheelhouse window.
'Come aboard, why don't you?'
'Thank you. I will.'
She descended the narrow gangplank gingerly and one of the men gave her a hand.
'Up here,' Hare called.
She went up the steel ladder and followed him into the wheelhouse. 'This is nice,' she said.
'You like boats?'
'Yes - very much.'
'The Germans call this a fast boat, Schnellboot, because that's what they are. Hardly a pleasure craft, but about the most efficient thing of its kind afloat.' '
'How fast?'
'Three Daimler-Benz diesels, plus a few improvements the Brits have added, give us about forty-five knots.'
She ran her hands over the controls. 'I'd love to go to sea in her.'
'Come on, I'll show you around.'
He took her down to the engine room, the tiny galley, the wardroom, his own minute cabin. She inspected the two torpedo tubes, sat behind the 20mm ack-ack gun in the fore-deck well and inspected the Bofors gun which had been fitted in the after deck.
When they were finished, she said, 'It's awe-inspiring. So much packed into such little space.'
'I know,' he said. 'Very thorough, the Germans, very efficient. I should know. My mother was one.'
'Are you ashamed of that?' she asked.
'Of Hitler, Goebbels and Himmler? Yes. But thank God for Goethe, Schiller, Beethoven and a few more I could mention.'