by Janet Tanner
‘Yes,’ Christian said with a touch of irony. ‘ Yes, it is.’
Kathryn could feel her heart pumping uncomfortably yet suddenly her mind was crystal clear. Without stopping to give it a moment’s further thought she heard herself say: ‘It really is a stroke of good fortune. Paul is a teacher and he has just lost his job when the school where he was working in Bordeaux closed. I was just saying to him it’s high time Guy had a tutor. I’m going to ask Charles if we couldn’t offer him a position.’
One corner of Christian’s mouth lifted in a slight smile.
‘Were you indeed! I wonder what he will say?’
‘I very much hope he will agree,’ Kathryn said with acerbity. ‘ I know Paul would be very good for Guy.’
‘Yes.’ But the small smile was still there, faintly mocking. ‘What about it then, Katrine? Can I give you a lift home or not?’
‘I’m not ready to go yet. I still have to see Anne-Marie and in any case Maurice would be offended if I didn’t ride home with him.’
‘Very well. I’m just leaving myself. I’d like to get home before it begins to get dark – my lights are not as good as they might be.’ Christian held out his hand. ‘Nice to have met you, Monsieur. Perhaps we shall meet again before too long.’
Then he was gone, swallowed up by the market-day crowds.
Kathryn looked at Paul, the fear naked in her face now.
‘Oh my God, do you think he …?’
‘Not here!’ Paul warned her. ‘ You did well, Kathryn. You see – I told you you could do it.’
‘I feel like a jelly!’ she confessed. ‘But I suppose that’s it, isn’t it? Decision made. And I hardly had time to think about it.’
‘You must go now. Speak to your husband – you’ll have to now, or your brother-in-law will do it for you. And I’ll call the château in a few days.’
‘When …?’
‘Just leave that to me.’ Then he too was gone, a tall figure in an overcoat and soft trilby hat disappearing down the street just as Christian had done.
Three days later Paul telephoned the château as he had promised.
‘Well?’ he said when Kathryn came on the line. ‘Have you spoken to your husband about me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘He wants to see you. I’m to make an appointment for you.’
‘Good girl.’
‘I don’t know about that …’ Kathryn stopped abruptly, realising that she must not say anything out of keeping with the charade she had begun. One never knew who might be listening. ‘My husband will be free all day tomorrow. Could you come then? About eleven, say?’
‘Make it later. I’m not sure how I’ll get there. Two would be better.’
‘All right. I’ll tell him. I’ll see you then, Paul.’
She replaced the receiver. Her hand was trembling. She was in this now up to her neck and she was still not certain she had done the right thing. It was, she knew, very dangerous.
Talking to Charles, however, had been surprisingly easy. She had put the suggestion to him that same night after running over and over the story so often in her mind that she had felt like a gramophone record stuck in a single groove. But at least there had been no indecision, no wondering when would be the right moment. The fact that Christian had seen her with Paul had forced her hand.
‘I really think it’s an opportunity we can’t afford to miss,’ she had said and Charles, somewhat preoccupied and distant as he so often was these days, had nodded.
‘Well, it would seem to be. It won’t be entirely easy to get Guy a good education with things as they are these days. This Paul Curtis would be suitable, you think?’
‘I do, yes. I can’t actually speak for what sort of a teacher he is, of course, but it was certainly always a vocation with him.’
‘He’s Swiss, you say?’
‘Yes. Would you like to interview him, Charles?’ she rushed on, turning the conversation away from awkward details; she was not sure enough of Paul’s cover story to want to answer too many questions on his background.
‘Yes, I suppose I’d better if we are entrusting him with our son’s education,’ Charles said. ‘Arrange it, would you, Katrine? You can check my diary for a suitable date.’
So – it was done, and still she did not know what had possessed her. The need to do something positive in the struggle against the Nazis after the months of frustration and shame at her husband’s acceptance of them, she supposed.
And refused to admit to herself that the fact that she wanted to see Paul Curtis again, very much, had anything to do with it.
‘So – this tutor you are engaging for Guy is a good man, is he?’ Guillaume asked.
Dinner was over; they were in the salon enjoying a cup of coffee – real coffee, supplied by von Rheinhardt.
‘I think so, yes,’ Charles said. ‘He is fluent in three languages and he has a degree in mathematics. He impressed me very favourably.’
Kathryn sat very still, holding her hands twisted tightly together in her lap. Paul had impressed her, too, when he had come to the château for his interview with Charles, but for quite different reasons. It was his sheer nerve that had taken her breath away, the confidence and total credibility of his performance. He would certainly have convinced her he was exactly who he said he was if she had not known differently.
‘But surely Guy is a little young for that sort of thing?’ Louise said. ‘ He’s just a baby. He can’t even do simple sums yet – it will be years before he’s ready for higher mathematics.’
‘He’s a bright child,’ Guillaume said. ‘The sooner he begins lessons the better – it will keep him out of mischief. And Charles is quite right to ensure he has the best tuition from the very start. How he copes later on will depend very much on the early foundations.’
‘I suppose so. I still think that all he really needs at the moment is a playmate.’ Louise glanced meaningfully at Kathryn. It’s high time Guy had a brother or sister, that look said.
Kathryn averted her eyes. There was scant chance of that, when she couldn’t bear Charles even to touch her. But she did not want her mother-in-law to know that. She and Charles still retired to their rooms together each night as they had always done. It was only when the door closed behind them that she dared to let her disgust with him show.
‘He’s going to live in, is he, this tutor?’ Christian asked.
‘Yes – he can have the blue room on our floor,’ Charles replied laconically – domestic arrangement bored him. ‘And the little room next door can be used as a schoolroom. It should be quite convenient.’
‘Very convenient, I’d say.’ Christian sounded almost amused.
Kathryn looked up sharply and found his eyes on her. His glance matched his tone – the amusement was there in his eyes, but there was something else, too, a glimmer of something that might have been not so much suspicion as understanding.
Of course he had seen them together outside the café and although they had been at pains to explain that, Kathryn realised with a quicksilver dart of fear that he had known there was more to it than a chance meeting between old friends.
I shall have to be very careful of Christian, she thought, and I must warn Paul to be wary of him too. But then perhaps Paul did not need warning. Perhaps he was used to subterfuge where she was not. Certainly his performance this morning had suggested as much.
Paul moved into the château a week later, his belongings packed in a battered brown suitcase. He also brought with him a pile of books and a Gladstone bag, purporting, Kathryn supposed, to be full of teaching materials. In fact it contained his little two-way radio for contacting London, as she discovered when she showed him his room and they were alone.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t use it here at the château,’ he assured her. ‘I don’t want to put you at risk if there are any detector vans in the vicinity.’
‘Where will you use it then?’ she asked.
‘I have a few spo
ts lined up.’ He didn’t want to tell her about the fanner who had offered the use of his hay loft, or the station-master’s office – the less she knew the better. Not that he didn’t trust her, but what people didn’t know they couldn’t tell under pressure.
‘I’m a little worried about Christian,’ she said. ‘I may be wrong but I think he’s a bit suspicious about you. Be careful, please.’
‘I will be. Don’t worry about me. Worry about you. You must stop thinking of me as anything but Guy’s tutor. If you’re anxious it will show.’
‘Has it, do you think?’ she asked nervously.
‘No. You’re doing marvellously.’ He smiled at her and something in his eyes sparked a response in her. For a moment, the conspiracy was there, linking them. Her heart thudded. Then with an abrupt movement, as if he too was aware of it and had decided to put a stop to what was happening between them, he turned away. ‘We’d better get the details of the story ironed out. What have you said about me?’
‘Nothing, except what we agreed.’
‘Not even to your husband?’
‘No. Charles and I don’t … talk much any more.’
It was there in her voice, the bleakness of their relationship laid bare momentarily.
‘The man’s a fool,’ he said bluntly.
‘No … no, he’s not …’ To her astonishment Kathryn found herself defending him. ‘He’s just toeing the family line – doing what he thinks is for the best.’
‘Yes. I shouldn’t have said that.’ He did not explain that he had not been talking about Charles’ collaboration but the fact that he had somehow let a woman like Kathryn slip away from him. All the more reason why he should not have said it, should not have thought it even. One of the first rules of the SOE was not to become emotionally involved. However attracted he might be to Kathryn – and he had to admit he was attracted to her – she was off limits.
‘I’ll fill you in on the life and times of Paul Curtis,’ he said roughly. ‘Listen carefully. It’s vital that our stories coincide.’
‘I know. Go on – I’m listening.’
As he talked she stood by the door, one ear to the crack so as to hear any sound of movement in the passage outside that might warn of someone coming. When he had finished she nodded.
‘Right, I’ve got all that – I think.’
‘I hope so. Now you’d better go before anyone thinks you’ve been spending too long with me. Where is Guy?’
‘Bridget has taken him for a walk. When they get back I’ll bring him up and introduce you to him.’
‘Good. Just one more thing. Does that wireless set work? He indicated a crystal set in the corner of the room.
‘It should do. Unless the batteries need recharging. Why?’
‘I’ll need to listen out for messages sometimes. It’s illegal to tune in to London, of course, so I’d be grateful if you’d make sure there’s no one within earshot around seven each evening. Can you do that for me?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ She half opened the door to leave, then closed it again. ‘It will be all right, won’t it?’
‘I hope so.’ His face was serious. She felt a dart of panic at what she had done.
‘What do you mean – you hope so?’
‘Kathryn, you know as well as I do that there are no guarantees with this. It’s a dangerous business. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure no harm comes to you, but I am here to do a job.’
‘But you promised! You said …’ She was angry suddenly.
‘I said I would be careful. That’s the best I can do. But think of the alternative. If we don’t beat the Germans one way or another, nothing in the western world that we value will be worth a candle. Think about that.’
‘I am thinking. And I’m suddenly seeing it from Charles’ point of view. At least we’d be alive!’
‘And what about all the innocent people who have died already?’
‘I don’t know anyone who has died – not really.’
‘Then you’re lucky.’ He was thinking suddenly about Gerie and little Beatrice and the memory added bitterness to his voice.
‘But what about Guillaume and Louise, Celestine – Guy? Most of all, Guy.’
He gripped her arms.
‘You’re doing this for Guy. Remember that.’
He had meant to calm her by his touch. He had no way of knowing the ferment of emotion it unleashed in her. He felt her tense, rigid almost.
‘I’ll go through with it,’ she whispered through gritted teeth, ‘because somehow you’ve backed me into a corner and I can’t change my mind now without bringing everything crashing down. But all I can say is it had better be all right. It had just better!’
She pulled free of his grasp and ran from the room.
In her own suite Kathryn tried to collect herself. She was shaking from head to foot and tears were very close. How dare this man place her in this position? How dare he put them all in such terrible danger? She hated him – hated his self-assurance and that edge of arrogance that assumed that any risk was worth taking for the greater purpose. It wasn’t his child who was being used as a pawn in the game. It wasn’t his family who might be dragged away to face a firing squad.
She pressed her hands against her eyes, trying to dispel the nightmare vision and replace it with a positive one – a France returned to its former glory, a safe and happy home for her to raise her son, a heritage he could aspire to which meant something, not simply a place to exist as the chattel of an alien regime.
But she couldn’t dispel the antagonism she was experiencing for the man in the room next door, and she realised that it was not only the position he had placed her in that was firing it, but the ferment of confused emotion that he had aroused in her too.
What the hell was the matter with her? She blamed Charles and his family for their attitude towards the Nazis, yet she was now desperately wishing she had adopted the same position – and stuck by it. She despised Charles for his inaction and at the same time she hated Paul for quite the opposite reason. What did she want?
Slowly Kathryn’s anger ebbed away until nothing but despair remained. There was, it seemed, no way out of the terrible mess they were all embroiled in. Whatever action she took or did not take, there was no escape. She could only go on living from day to day and hope that in the end there would be some light at the end of the tunnel.
Chapter Nine
PAUL’S FIRST WEEKS at the château passed off peacefully enough and Kathryn found herself relaxing a little. Paul had been accepted into the household, using the, room next door to Guy’s which Charles had suggested would be suitable for him and taking his meals with the family, and a routine had been established – Paul took Guy for lessons twice a day, sessions short enough not to overtax his brief attention span, and the remainder of the time the child played in his room or out of doors if the weather was fine with either Kathryn or Bridget, leaving Paul free to come and go as he pleased.
With the continuing labour shortage Guillaume and Charles were kept too busy at the distillery to be much concerned with what was going on in the nursery, and in any case now that Charles had approved the employment of a tutor for Guy he was inclined to leave the practical details to Kathryn. The raising of a child as young as Guy was, he considered her domain, and the tensions between them caused by their continuing estrangement made him uncomfortable and bad-tempered in her presence. At least whilst he was working he was able to forget for a little while that his wife apparently despised him; when they were together there was no avoiding the hostility in her eyes and in every move she made.
Kathryn, for her part, was busy avoiding Paul as much as possible. The less she knew about what he was doing the better, she thought, and he must be of the same opinion. He went out a great deal but he never told her where he was going or why, never explained himself when he returned.
There had been a few unpleasant moments – the day when von Rheinhardt had come to lunch had been one of them. She h
ad held her breath when Paul was introduced to him, horribly certain that von Rheinhardt’s sharp eyes would see through the charade, but Paul had, as usual, been utterly convincing, every inch the rather dull tutor, and she had breathed again.
It was still Christian who worried her most. Sometimes she would look up unexpectedly and find his eyes on her, and the knowingness of his gaze sent a shiver of fear through her.
At other times the whole situation seemed vaguely unreal, a bad dream from which she would surely soon awake. Then one day when she went to collect Guy from his lessons Paul drew her to one side.
‘A word, Kathryn.’
‘About Guy?’ she asked. But she knew it was not about Guy. Paul’s serious tone had already told her that.
‘No. Something I want you to do for me.’
Apprehension flared in her.
‘What?’
‘Could you go to Périgueux – take a message for me?’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Guy had pushed back his little chair and was running across the room to them waving a sheet of paper on which he had been drawing with bright crayons. ‘ Look – see what I’ve done!’
She bent down, scooping him up, glad of the interruption.
‘Oh Guy, it’s very good. What is it?’
‘It’s General von Rheinhardt.’ The name was too difficult for him to pronounce, it came out as ‘Wine-hat’. ‘And there’s the sun – and that’s a tree …’
‘I need to speak to you in private. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important,’ Paul said.
She looked up at him over Guy’s small dark head. A pulse was beating in her throat.
‘All right. I’ll come to your room as soon as I’ve taken Guy back to Bridget.’
Fifteen minutes later she tapped on the door of his room. He opened it immediately and stepped aside for her to go in.
Anxious as she was she could not help noticing how much he had made the room his own during the few short weeks he had been there. Few as his belongings were, they somehow impressed an unmistakable maleness on the previously anonymous guest room.