Single to Paris

by Single to Paris (retail) (epub)

  ‘Shall we be serious, Jacqui?’

  ‘What exactly do you want?’

  ‘I’d like you to back me up – as Jeanne-Marie Lefèvre with whom you made friends in Rouen a year ago, and whom you ran into again this morning – where, by the way?’

  ‘Wherever you like!’

  ‘Somewhere Gerhardt would know you might have gone to shop?’

  ‘Rue Froidevaux, then. Near the Montparnasse cemetery – off Boulevard Raspail. I go to a dressmaker there sometimes.’

  ‘Well, fine. I could have been trolling around there, for the old woman and my child. Cheap hotels and rooming houses around there, aren’t there?’ It was where Ben had lived when he’d been struggling to become a painter, just before the war: keeping his head above water by washing dishes in the big hotels. ‘Subject of my background, Jacqui – you’d have asked me this – to start with I could have hung around in Rouen a few weeks longer than I did; he wouldn’t have known; he was leaving that weekend, wasn’t he? But eventually I had to admit you were right, I couldn’t make any sort of living flogging scent – so I gave that up and went back to nursing. I’d done some training, never completed it for various reasons. Then I found the old woman had moved from the farm where I’d left them into Nantes itself, and more recently from Nantes to Dijon – all that. You wouldn’t remember every detail, it’s not all that riveting.’

  ‘You want me to back you up, you say. But in what way, and what for?’

  ‘Well – if I should meet Gerhardt, for instance.’

  ‘Do you expect to?’

  ‘I’d like to. Didn’t we more or less agree this, Jacqui – meeting by chance so we can then see more of each other – not as if I’d deliberately sought you out? So then naturally I’d meet him as well – if you were so kind as to invite me?’

  ‘With what object?’

  ‘Actually, that’s a bit vague. But not to steal him from you.’

  ‘What a relief!’

  ‘I thought it might be. But seriously, not with any intention of damaging his interests, either. In your own words, not in any way to do the dirty on him.’

  ‘You hope to get information of some kind, obviously.’

  The soup-bowls had been removed. Rosie said, ‘Nothing to his detriment. Or yours, of course. For instance, you can be sure I wouldn’t say anything that might suggest you’d ever worked for us.’ She saw that register: followed up with, ‘But it did occur to me – tomorrow being Sunday—’

  ‘That I’d ask you for lunch.’

  ‘Oh. Lunch… Well – would you?’

  The waiter was smiling at their smiles. Serving the chevreuil from a small casserole; there was some kind of sauce with it, and mashed swede. A much younger waiter, a lad of about fifteen, poured the wine – which was cold. When they were left alone again Rosie said, ‘You mentioned that you get good rations from some German source, Jacqui. I’d very much like to lunch with you at your flat. Let this be my lunch, therefore.’

  ‘It’s not cheap here.’

  ‘Never mind that. But listen – is there any risk, if I did come, of that Lafont creature barging in?’

  ‘You know his name, then. Yesterday you didn’t.’

  ‘I’ve remembered. There and then I thought he might be some high-up Milicien. But his bodyguards wouldn’t have been in mufti, would they, even though he was? Anyway, I realised – I did know about him and his organisation. Operating from Rue Lauriston, and – frankly, not nice at all. A partner by name of Bonny – and an office lined with steel? He was a petty criminal, wasn’t he, the SD or the Abwehr took him on and he recruited his gang of thugs from that same source – prisons?’

  ‘Quite a lot, you know.’

  ‘We got to know of him because he was considered a danger to us and to Resistance groups.’

  ‘And to Jews. Especially rich ones. He had a huge commercial racket going. They went to the camps, and a large cut of whatever he could prise out of them went into his pockets. He has a very high style of life and – I told you – a whole succession of women.’ She murmured, ‘A marquise, even, and other – oh, high society.’

  ‘That amazes me.’

  ‘Well. Power, and lots of money, the very best of everything. Scent of danger too – I suppose…’

  ‘Is he a friend of Gerhardt’s?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘But they work together?’

  ‘They know each other, their paths cross, but—’

  ‘He wouldn’t turn up at your place if – well, if he saw Gerhardt’s car outside, for instance?’

  Jacqui sipped some of the odd-coloured wine. She shook her dark head. ‘I told you, I am not conducting an affair—’

  ‘But he’s chasing you and Gerhardt doesn’t know it.’

  ‘I don’t think Gerhardt suspects it. He’d have no reason to be concerned at all. And I don’t want – trouble, especially at this juncture. On the other hand he is very perceptive, and one doesn’t always know what he’s thinking.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be as well to tell him, rather than have him find out? Since in any case you’re innocent of any—’

  ‘Is it Lafont you’re after?’

  ‘After?’

  ‘Come on, Jeanne-Marie. This isn’t just a social get-together, is it?’

  ‘I happened to be accosted by that man when I came to visit you. Since then I’ve remembered what we were told about him, but when I came to see you I’d forgotten his existence. So – no, I’m not after him, just wary of him.’

  ‘Could I persuade you to tell me what you are after?’

  ‘Yes. There’s something I believe your Gerhardt might help me with. I want you to introduce me as your former acquaintance from Rouen, so that – well, in the hope I might establish enough of a rapport with him to be able to discuss it. It seems to me that if he accepted me as your friend – and with the balancing consideration that I could help you, Jacqui—’

  ‘To put that over, you’d have to admit who you really are.’

  ‘Oh. Well…’ A shake of the head. She’d known this was going to be difficult. But also that it was what she was here for, she simply had to get on with it. Would almost certainly have to face Clausen himself – unless of course Dénault came up with the goods this evening. Meanwhile, why should it be easy or even half easy? Léonie wasn’t sitting in any restaurant, sipping wine… ‘Perhaps not exactly who or what I am. I’m well aware that he’s SD – and getting myself arrested wouldn’t do either me or anyone else, including you, any good at all. But I might admit to having some personal involvement with—’

  She’d checked, thinking about it. Then: ‘Jacqui, I’ll tell you. Friends who might be in SD or Gestapo custody. Two people for whom I have – a warm regard.’ She gestured… ‘I suppose I’ve said too much now. Putting you in a difficult position. The fact is, I’m in quite a hole. So – may I ask you to respect that confidence? It’s an explanation for you alone, I’m not asking you to do or say anything at all—’

  ‘Just have you to lunch.’

  ‘That’s all.’ Then she’d have to take the bull by the horns, all right. Hoping to God there’d still be some point in it, that they were still alive and had not been either broken or shipped east. She drank some of the now somewhat less cold but still refreshing, clean-tasting wine. ‘Is Gerhardt a kind man, Jacqui?’

  ‘In himself, he is. And certainly to me.’

  ‘Does he feel as strongly for you as you do for him?’

  A flush – whether of embarrassment or annoyance. Then: ‘I believe he does.’

  ‘Is it possible he’ll take you back to Germany with him?’

  ‘Possible but unlikely. There’s a complication – of the obvious kind—’

  ‘I only asked because I was told the German embassy’s issuing passports to – what’s the word they use, I don’t speak German – Vertrauen, is it?’

  ‘I am not pro-Nazi, Rosalie.’

  ‘Jeanne-Marie – please. No, I didn’t think you w
ere. Oddly enough. The word I was trying to remember means “trusted ones” – how I imagine they’d regard you if he did ask for a passport for you.’

  ‘You say “oddly enough”, but the simple truth is I’m pro Gerhardt Clausen and I’m pro me, Gerhardt’s business is his own, my business is him… Listen – talking about you for a change – would your papers stand up to close examination?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Why, if you have friends to lunch, does he ask to see their papers – at the door, or before the soup, or—’

  ‘The German embassy closed yesterday, incidentally.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Jacqui put down her knife and fork and reached for the carafe, topped up both their glasses with the little that was left. Forgetting, perhaps, that Rosie was the hostess now. Adding, ‘Gerhardt mentioned it last night. Both of us knowing how that affected us, why he was telling me. How it is, that’s all. Except that in the longer term—’

  ‘He’s married, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’ Taking a sip. ‘And it’s been no secret at any stage, I’ve always known it.’

  ‘In the longer term, you began to say – might sort itself out?’

  ‘Might.’ She crossed two fingers. ‘Much longer term. If one could really see that far ahead – as sometimes one dreams one can. Or know how people will be, after such a length of time and God knows what upheavals. Yes, one hopes…’ She changed the subject: ‘You have a man, you told me. A fiancé – who’s in your Navy? But that wedding ring—’

  ‘Not his. Not yet. But – yes.’

  ‘I’m glad – for you, but also that you’ll understand me.’

  ‘Understand you very well.’ Not adding, this time, ‘oddly enough’: accepting what she was saying about herself and Clausen despite knowing very well that she’d had – well, more than just a few men. Hans Walther the rocket-site engineer for one, numerous others when she’d been working for a woman then known as ‘La Chatte’, a double agent who’d overplayed her hand and was currently in Wormwood Scrubs. When working for her Jacqui had become known as ‘La Minette’ – the kitten. Rosie asked her – in the hope of slipping this one past her guard – ‘What sort of work is Gerhardt doing now, in Paris?’

  A frown: ‘I don’t know anything about his work, we don’t discuss it. As I warned you—’

  ‘Only wondering whether he’s still laying traps for – you know, people like me. That evening in Rouen when I was in your flat and he blew in, I can tell you I was shaking in my shoes. Got away with it that time because – well, he was obviously crazy for you, hadn’t seen you for a long time, and—’

  ‘That’s exactly how it was.’ A smile in her eyes, remembering. ‘But in fact, why should he have suspected you of anything, at that stage?’

  ‘God knows. The way they work, you could just as well ask why should he not have. Just as now I’m wondering whether going to lunch with you might be – insane.’

  ‘Depends what you’re really up to, I suppose. But – it’s your risk, don’t look to me for—’

  ‘No.’ The risk had to be accepted, too; she had no alternative. ‘Come about midday, shall I?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘A second thought, though. The business of having run into each other just by chance… Thing is, since your man and Lafont see each other from time to time – might do today, tomorrow, even?’

  ‘For all I know—’

  ‘Lafont might have mentioned having seen me at your place? If he’d only been calling by on the off-chance of finding Gerhardt at home?’

  ‘I don’t know why he’d bother.’

  ‘But he might. And that’s too much of a risk – for you to have kept it from him, lied about it. So tell him I was there, and we arranged to meet today. I had the address from your Portuguese – went to see you at the salon, heard customers sneering about you and your German lover—’

  ‘Were they?’

  ‘Certainly. Gave me the willies. I was worried for you before, but the way things are now—’

  ‘It might make better sense if you had any practical way of helping. Unless you’re ready to admit what you are?’

  ‘Hardly. But I do have the beginnings of an idea – and I’ll work on it. We can say you didn’t want even to discuss it except in Gerhardt’s presence. It means getting you out of Paris – before he leaves, so you’re not left here on your own. D’you see?’

  ‘I would want him to hear it.’

  ‘There you are, then. The truth, nothing but the truth. Tomorrow, Jacqui.’

  Chapter 9

  Saturday afternoon now. During the forenoon a seaplane had appeared from seaward and circled around over this end of the fjord, Ben and the others holding their breath and suspending the operation of dumping the Ekhorn’s drums of petrol over the side. The seaplane, 3-engined, did a couple of circles and then flew away up-fjord, eastward, and they’d heard it again ten minutes later to the south of them, flying south-westward probably to search down-coast – Frojen, Norddals Fjord and half a dozen others between this one and the biggest of the lot which was Sogne Fjord, 5 miles across and 100 deep and with a dozen offshoots, most of them pretty big just on their own. That lot would take a bit of searching. Here in the mouth of Nordfjord MGB 600 was in what was really no more than a fissure in the rock – actually a narrowing gap between two rocks: she had anchors down at both ends, a tent of camouflage netting over her, two fathoms of water under her keel and room for the Ekhorn to lie astern of her – if by some miracle Iversen did show up.

  It wasn’t likely; hence the decision to dump these drums. They’d be easily recoverable and of great value to some later clandestine visitor, were certainly much better stashed here than taken back to Lerwick. Other cargo – weaponry and explosives, etc. – might have to be taken back. Hughes was impatient to be off: obviously not now, in daylight, but in the first period of darkness after Vidlin returned with the escapers. He – Vidlin – had set off in his 16-foot dinghy – clinker-built, pointed at both ends, from a Norwegian point of view the real McCoy, even with an old fish-head or two lying around, and well-used gear, splintery oars and so forth – he’d rowed himself away up-fjord soon after piloting them in here yesterday just after dawn.

  If the Ekhorn had been going to show up, she’d have done so during the night. From about midnight onwards, had been Ben’s guess: allowing Iversen time to enter the fjord slowly i.e. quietly, and penetrate this far in darkness or semi-darkness. One hadn’t expected that he’d make it; but if he’d been going to, that would have been the timing.

  Vidlin, asked by Mike Hughes how long he expected to be away – collecting the agents/escapers and getting them back here – had shrugged, glanced at Ben as if surely he’d understand this, and told the skipper, ‘One day, two day. Three, maybe.’ Pointing in various directions then: ‘Is here – here – here. Ten kilometre, twenty. Who know?’

  Hughes had said, ‘Damn sure I don’t.’

  ‘I think he means he knows where his contact is but not where they’re keeping the other drongoes.’

  The double-ender with its odour of fish and litter of old gear had been in the water and riding alongside by then, it was fully daylight – high cloud, and cool for the time of year – and Vidlin had been breakfasting on eggs, bacon and corned beef before leaving. Daylight was fine by him, he had papers that would pass muster, probably would put his lines over and catch a few fish somewhere along the way. He’d gulped down the rest of his coffee, and got up. ‘I go. Saying goodbye.’

  The tail-end of a rocky holm hid this slot from the mainstream of the fjord. He’d raised a hand in farewell as he disappeared behind it, and Ball muttered pessimistically, ‘Let’s hope we see him back this side of Christmas.’

  They’d got the last of the petrol drums over the side before lunch – one drum at a time, using the davits of 600’s own 10-foot dinghy, and the drums all linked by manilla rope from the end of which a grass line ran up to a buoy – small, inconspicuous buoy, disguised in a wrapping of
seaweed. Meanwhile the rest of the crew had been cleaning up the ship, overhauling and greasing guns and doing whatever needed doing around the engines. Lunch was corned beef and pickles. Ben and Mike Hughes had theirs in the bridge, where the camouflage netting had small apertures from which to see out in various directions, although with that rock islet blocking any view of the fjord you’d see aircraft but not much else. From this height you might see some of that trawler’s upperworks – bridge and funnel – if it passed close enough, but not if it stayed out in the middle. The fjord was about two and a half miles wide at this point – but with a mass of holms and skerries in it, about as much rock as open water. Eastward – up-fjord – mountains stood massive against the lightly clouded sky; there was high ground behind the southern shore too.

  Hughes finished his corned beef and mug of coffee, gave himself a cigarette and offered Ben one. ‘Don’t know about anyone else, but I’m going to crash my swede.’

  ‘Good idea. Ball and I’ll stand watch and watch, if you like.’

  ‘Count me in on it – and young Cummings – far less strenuous.’

  ‘Right…’

  Nothing to do but wait, in any case. Nothing one could usefully do anyway, if disaster struck – for instance, a scenario such as aircraft over and circling, then the trawler presenting itself in the gap there with its four-point-one. All right, so 600 would give it a good pasting with her own not inconsiderable armament; in fact you’d shatter the bastard, and keeping a lookout would have been worthwhile because you’d have let rip pretty well as soon as he poked his snout in. But in the longer term – well, it wasn’t likely you’d get out of here. Not very far out, anyway.

  * * *

  The Ekhorn arrived as he’d guessed she might have done the night before, half an hour after midnight. Ben had been asleep in the wardroom and the young sub-lieutenant, Cummings, had sent a man down to wake them all, seamen-gunners meanwhile rushing up from the for’ard and after messdecks. Cummings had been keeping watch on the bridge and heard the Ekhorn’s engines; by the time the guns were manned and officers in the bridge, she was a low, black moving shadow in the gap at the end of that rock barrier. Engines slow-revving, a sound like some sea-monster coughing, in danger of bringing up its lungs.