The Eden Inheritance

by Janet Tanner

  ‘I was afraid you might not come back,’ she said when Guy was safely out of earshot.

  ‘I nearly didn’t.’ His voice was very low, very serious. ‘I have to talk to you, Kathryn.’

  ‘Talk away then,’ she said gaily. She was too happy to see him to allow his sombre tone to affect her. ‘Where have you really been? Did you have anything to do with blowing up the arms dump?’

  ‘You know better than to ask me that.’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘And what I want to talk about is the future, not what’s over and done with.’

  The first bolt of alarm darted within her.

  ‘Look, I’ll be as brief as I can in case Guy comes back,’ he went on. ‘I’m worried about your safety, Kathryn.’

  She raised a hand to brush her hair away from her face; the sun caught the tiny golden hairs on her arm, making them shimmer.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’ll try to explain.’ He repeated what Dr Ventura had told him and saw the slow-dawning horror come into her eyes.

  ‘But that would be crazy! Heaven knows what the Nazis would do if one of their high-ranking officers was murdered here, in Savigny!’

  ‘Exactly. But try telling the Communists that. And of course, what makes it even worse is that this Heydrich is a personal friend of von Rheinhardt. He’d stop at nothing to find out who was responsible and if he couldn’t do that he wouldn’t care who was taken by way of revenge.’

  ‘My God!’ She was very pale, remembering the promises of reprisals she had heard, from von Rheinhardt’s own lips. ‘They’ve got to be stopped!’

  ‘I don’t think they can be.’

  ‘Supposing Charles talked to them – or Guillaume. They might listen to them.’

  ‘I doubt it. They’d look on it as interference by known collaborators. They are fanatics and the danger with fanatics is their absolute conviction that they are right and everyone else is wrong.’

  Guy came running towards them, clasping his butterfly net.

  ‘Look – look – I got one, Monsieur Paul! Isn’t he a beauty?’

  For seemingly endless minutes they examined Guy’s prize, Kathryn marvelling at Paul’s ability to appear totally normal. Her own brain was spinning and she was trembling inwardly. When at last Guy ran off again Paul turned to her.

  ‘Look, Kathryn, I want to get you out of this. I want to pass you and Guy down the escape line to Spain. From there you could get back to England – and safety.’

  Her hands flew to her mouth, pressing her nails into her lips. Then she shook her head.

  ‘I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t just walk out on all of them. I’d feel like a traitor.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but they are adults and citizens of France. Don’t you think your first consideration should be for your son?’

  ‘They wouldn’t hurt Guy … would they?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to guarantee it. They can be total unconscionable bastards. If they want to teach someone a lesson they won’t have a single scruple about how they do it. And even if they didn’t touch Guy, what would happen to him if you were taken?’

  Her nails picked nervously at her lips, her eyes flew to Guy, happily chasing yet another butterfly. If anything should happen to him … But she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t envisage the German officer who played games with Guy doing anything to harm him.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be all right,’ she said stubbornly. ‘And whatever you might think, I do owe a debt of loyalty to my husband’s family. Things are bad enough here as it is without me making them worse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She told him about Celestine.

  ‘She needs me here,’ she finished. ‘She is in a terrible state about what happened in Paris and frightened out of her wits in case the Germans discover that her baby is half Jewish. Now there’s someone who should be passed down the escape line if it could be managed! But to be honest I don’t think her state of health would allow it. She’s not fit to hide in barns and woods or walk for days on end. She’d never make it. When you meet her you’ll understand what I mean. Oh – here she is now!’

  Celestine had emerged from the house and was coming towards them. In her blue cotton frock she looked thin and frail but the bulge of her stomach where her baby was growing was beginning to protrude.

  Paul touched Kathryn’s arm urgently.

  ‘Promise me you’ll at least think about what I have said.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Well, don’t think for too long. I don’t know how much time we have before the balloon goes up. When it does, it will be too late to do anything about it.’

  She nodded and raised a hand to her sister-in-law.

  ‘Celestine – over here!’ she called. ‘Come and meet Guy’s tutor!’

  For the moment the time for confidences was over.

  ‘So – he’s back,’ Charles said. His face wore its now customary shut-in look. ‘ I hope you haven’t forgotten our conversation about his future, Katrine.’

  Her lips fastened in a tight line.

  ‘How could I possibly forget?’

  ‘Good. Remember, if you give me the slightest cause to think you have resumed your liaison I’ll have him out of here so fast his feet won’t touch the ground.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Charles, I won’t give you cause. I, at least, have my son’s welfare at heart.’

  ‘I hope you stand by that.’ He turned away and Kathryn felt the jaws of the trap closing in around her once more. Would this nightmare never end? She thought again of the conversation she had had with Paul, his fears for Guy’s safety and his suggestion to get them away. His talk of the Communists’ crazy plans and the reprisals which would follow had frightened her badly but she had also found herself wondering, unreasonably she knew, how he could want to send her away if he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him.

  Now, on top of everything else, here was Charles reminding her how impossible even the smallest contact would be if she was not to endanger Paul’s position at the château.

  Kathryn covered her face with her hands and wondered, not for the first time, just how much more she could take without breaking, and where it would all end.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IT WAS A beautiful Sunday morning and the family were returning from church when von Rheinhardt’s big black staff car overtook them on the drive.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Celestine demanded, her thin frame stiffening.

  ‘Celestine, please!’ Guillaume cautioned her. ‘Don’t make more trouble, there’s a good girl. Heaven knows what damage you have done already.’

  Celestine’s mouth tightened rebelliously but there was a frightened look in her eyes. Since her outburst it had been noticeable that von Rheinhardt had visited the château less often, and when he did, some of the cordiality had gone from his manner. She had offended him deeply, Guillaume was sure, and although he had tried to explain that his daughter had been tired and unwell, besides being in a delicate condition, he was not at all sure that von Rheinhardt accepted the explanation. The result was an awkwardness which Guillaume found surprising; he had thought von Rheinhardt’s skin was thicker than that, but he could not help wondering if the Nazi had in fact realised that Celestine had merely voiced what they were all thinking beneath the pretence of friendship, and he was very afraid that she had undone much of the hard work he had put in to establish a good relationship.

  ‘It’s all right, Celestine.’ Kathryn linked her arm through her sister-in-law’s, but inwardly she too was quaking. Two weeks had passed since Paul had warned her of the Communists’ plans to murder Heydrich and so far there had been no developments, though whether that was because they had been persuaded to change their minds or whether it was simply that the opportunity had not yet presented itself she had no way of knowing. Now, with a cold wash of fear, she found herself wondering if something had happened in that direction. It was, after all, a weekend
, just the time when Heydrich was likely to be staying at the cottage he had commandeered. Was it possible that the hotheads had struck and von Rheinhardt’s unexpected visit was the result of it?

  The Nazi emerged from his car and stood waiting for them, an impressive figure resplendent in his uniform, stern and unsmiling.

  ‘Otto! What brings you here?’ Guillaume greeted him. ‘It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? I would have thought you would be taking advantage of the weekend to relax a little.’

  ‘I am afraid the commandant in charge of a district has very little time for relaxation,’ von Rheinhardt returned stiffly. ‘This isn’t a social visit, either. I want to talk to you about certain things that are disturbing me.’

  ‘Oh dear, that sounds very serious,’ Guillaume said casually, but Kathryn was not deceived by the lightness of his tone.

  ‘It’s serious,’ von Rheinhardt agreed. ‘I would like to talk to you and Charles in private.’

  The lump of nervousness tightened in Kathryn’s throat. She steered Guy past the car, which always made him goggle-eyed with admiration, and up the steps to the front door of the château.

  ‘Come on, darling I think you should get out of your best clothes before you start playing in the garden.’

  She took him upstairs and her hands were unsteady as she unfastened the buttons of his shirt and helped him into clean shorts and a casual top.

  ‘I want to play with my toy farm,’ Guy announced.

  She got it out for him, then, leaving him to arrange the little tin animals, she went along thepassage to Paul’s room. There was no reply when she knocked at the door and after a moment she opened it and looked in. The room was empty. He must have gone out Where? she wondered, her anxiety growing.

  On the stairs she met Christian.

  ‘Father has taken von Rheinhardt into his study,’ he said.

  She nodded, pale and tense. She and Christian stood for a moment outside the door, trying to listen. But the murmur of voices from the other side was unintelligible.

  ‘There is an agent working in this vicinity,’ von Rheinhardt said.

  Guillaume and Charles exchanged glances.

  ‘Surely not,’ Guillaume said at last. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘There’s no doubt, I’m afraid.’ Von Rheinhardt was standing in front of the window, and the sun, slanting in, caught the buttons on his uniform and refracted the light. ‘We have picked up radio transmissions which are being made to London on a regular basis.’

  ‘From here? But where?’

  ‘That we do not yet know. Obviously the transmitter is being moved about. Several times our detection vans have been on the point of finding it but always the transmission ends before they can close in. It is just a matter of time, though. We will find it, and when we do the illegal operator will be dealt with with the utmost severity.’

  ‘As he deserves!’ Charles said harshly. They both looked at him and he cleared his throat. ‘This kind of behaviour undermines everything we are working to achieve. What can they hope to gain?’

  ‘A little victory of some kind, I imagine.’ Von Rheinhardt’s tone was grim. ‘It is of course futile. The Third Reich will never be threatened by anything so puny. But they must be taught that we will not tolerate this kind of insubordination.’

  Guillaume spread his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you. I have no idea who could be doing such a thing.’

  ‘As I say, our detector vans will find them before long. But I thought a warning to you would not come amiss.’ As he spoke von Rheinhardt reached out and picked up a porcelain figurine which stood on the mantel shelf, his thick fingers stroking the delicate china with something close to tenderness. Then he replaced it, his eyes growing hard once more.

  ‘If there is a Resistance cell working in this district the chances are that the radio transmissions are only a small part of their activities,’ he went on. ‘As I have said before, these resisters are becoming very troublesome and I will not stand for that. You had better warn your people and tell them to spread the word. If anything untoward happens here I shall see that the perpetrators pay the price – in full.’

  ‘And if you cannot find the perpetrators?’

  ‘Then I shall make an example of whoever I think fit. The axe will fall where I consider it will have most impact.’

  He was looking directly at Guillaume and there was a barely veiled threat in his cold blue eyes.

  From the window of her bedroom Celestine saw von Rheinhardt leave. She stood, rigid with fear and hatred, her arms wrapped protectively around the growing bulge of her stomach, watching the big black car disappear down the drive between the tall cypress trees, and as the tension slowly ebbed from her body she began to cry, softly at first, then harder as she relived once more the horror of what had happened in Paris. Her thin shoulders shook and her body seemed almost to fold in on itself, racked by grief that was a physical pain.

  Oh God, would this nightmare never end? She had thought that if she came home she would find escape from it, as if somehow Savigny, peaceful haven of her childhood years, would have survived exactly as she had remembered it, an oasis in a war-torn world. She had fled here blindly, desperate for the balm she had believed she would find to soothe her jangling nerves and help mend her breaking heart, and she had been devastated to find that here too the domination of the Nazis was complete.

  Walking through the door and seeing von Rheinhardt sitting at her father’s table had been a shock on every possible level and she had thought that night that she now knew what it felt like to be raped. Her refuge had been violated. Added to that was the desperate fear for her unborn child. Lying sleepless night after night Celestine had wondered if she might be losing her mind. One thing was certain – the laughing, carefree girl she had once been had gone for ever.

  As her sobs began to ease Celestine heard footsteps on the stairs; she went to the door and opened it to see Charles coming up. He looked weary, she thought, old beyond his years, his hair receding prematurely from a face that had forgotten how to smile and a stoop to his shoulders as if he was bearing an unseen burden. The Nazis had done this too, she thought, wrought their evil on all her family so that they were subtly changed from the people she knew and loved.

  ‘He’s gone then, the pig. I saw the car drive away,’ she said, but she was peering past him down the staircase as if she still expected von Rheinhardt to materialise there.

  ‘Yes, he’s gone. Celestine, chérie, don’t be afraid. He won’t hurt you.’

  ‘How do you know that? You can’t be sure …’ She was crying again. He put his arms around her, trying to comfort her.

  ‘He’s all right. He trusts us, I think – as far as the Nazis trust anyone.’

  ‘But you can’t trust them,’ she sobbed. ‘You can’t, Charles – you must not! And if he was to find out what you’re doing …’

  Charles stiffened slightly.

  ‘What do you mean – what I’m doing?’

  ‘Oh …’ Celestine raised her head. Her eyes, swollen from crying, looked into his pleadingly. ‘I’m sorry, Charles, I know I’m not supposed to know, but Christian told me.’

  His fingers tightened on her arms.

  ‘Christian told you what?’

  ‘About how Guy’s tutor is really a British agent and you are hiding him here and working with him. I’m glad, of course – I hated to think that you were all just lying down and taking it, even entertaining Nazis under our roof. You don’t know what a relief it was to find out that that is just a cover. But I’m frightened all the same. If von Rheinhardt should discover what you are really doing, right under his nose …’

  ‘I see,’ Charles said. His eyes had grown very hard.

  ‘Don’t tell Christian I told you, will you?’ Celestine begged. ‘He made me promise not to tell anyone. He’d be angry if he thought I’d spoken of it, even to you. I expect he thinks you want to keep me in ignorance to protect me in case anything
… should happen.’

  ‘I expect so,’ Charles said.

  Celestine was too upset to notice the odd tone of his voice. She found a handkerchief in her pocket and blew her nose.

  ‘I want you to know though that I’m proud of you, Charles,’ she said, the defiance beginning to return. ‘We have to drive those bastards out of our country somehow. I just hope we don’t all the doing it.’

  ‘You can be sure, chérie, we all hope that.’ He touched her hair tenderly. ‘Are you all right now?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I suppose so. As right as I’ll ever be until this is all over.’

  ‘In that case I am going to change my clothes. I’ll see you at lunch.’

  He left her on the stairs and went on up to his apartment.

  As he passed the door of his son’s room Charles heard the voices coming from inside – Kathryn playing with Guy. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the handle, then he changed his mind and went on to his own room.

  Sunlight was slanting in, bathing the old brocade of the drapes in a golden glow and making the dark wood gleam richly. He took off his jacket, hanging it up with exaggerated care, and unbuttoning his shirt. He felt weighed down suddenly by the knowledge that Celestine had unwittingly revealed to him.

  So – Paul Curtis was an agent. Deep down he had suspected it for a long while but he had been so obsessed with Kathryn’s infidelity that he had allowed himself to be blinded to the possibility. Even now the thought of them together was so upsetting to him that it threatened to obliterate all other considerations, and Charles bent his head, massaging the nape of his neck, swamped by pain and self-recrimination.

  For too long, he thought, he had refused to acknowledge that he had played his part in the failure of their marriage. He had been all too ready to lay the blame at Kathryn’s door, telling himself she should be grateful for the things he had given her – a more than comfortable lifestyle, a secure future with the promise of a title, and a son she adored. He had been impatient with her expectations of him, considering her yearning for physical affection to be a sign of her immaturity, responding to her pleas for him to give more of himself to her with an almost calculated indifference. Later, when she had begun to turn against him, he had grown even more annoyed, putting her reaction down to a mixture of a total lack of understanding and a fit of childish pique and comparing her unfavourably with Regine. Only when he had seen the way she glowed when she was with Paul and noticed the looks that passed between them had he begun to see her in a different light and discovered, to his chagrin, that he was jealous. She was his wife, for God’s sake! She shouldn’t be playing up to another man! Yet still he had refused to accept any responsibility for what was happening.