by Susan Lewis
Her words stayed with him throughout the journey to Paris. She was right, it had shaken them all. But he alone knew how much; he alone knew that the very thing he had been dreading since Claudine first came into his life, had finally started to happen. Which was why he now wanted to get as far away from her as he could, for as long as he could – and why he would pray every day to the Holy Mother that he had done the right thing in talking to Liliane.
Élise hadn’t had to arrange for Philippe Mauclair to be removed from the château, Doctor Lebrun had done that for her. But, she had organized his transfer to a hospital in Paris just as soon as he could be moved, and from there to a clinique privée in the thirteenth arrondissement. It was there that she visited him, almost two weeks after Claudine’s fall.
‘Why?’ she seethed, the moment the doctor had moved out of earshot. ‘Why did you do it when you had received no instructions from me?’
Philippe gazed up at her with an expression of intense irritation on his face. He was still in pain, and could do without the tantrums of Élise Pascale. ‘I am feeling much better than I was, thank you for asking, Élise,’ he remarked acidly.
‘Don’t be clever with me!’ she snapped.
‘I thought you would have been pleased,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you want …’
‘Pleased! How can I be pleased when the baby is still alive and you are lying here strung up like a turkey?’
‘Yes, well, that wasn’t supposed to happen,’ he admitted.
She glared at him. ‘How can you call yourself a stuntman,’ she sneered, ‘when you can’t even fall down the stairs in one piece? And why the hell did you do it without talking to me first?’
‘I saw the opportunity, I took it.’
‘And broke her fall by letting her land on top of you!’
He looked at her with genuine surprise. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I’m asking the questions,’ she snapped.
He nodded. ‘François de Lorvoire. He told you.’
‘I haven’t spoken to François since the day it happened. I won’t repeat what he said when he left me, just suffice it to say he knows about you.’
‘Knows what about me?’ Philippe asked cagily.
‘That you were sent to Lorvoire by me, you fool.’
‘How did he find out?’
‘How the hell do I know? It must have been something you did or said.’ She waved away his attempts to defend himself. ‘I don’t care about that. All that matters is that you’re of no more use to me. Just thank God that baby didn’t die, or I should have lost François for good. And you, Philippe …’
‘But that was what you sent me there for – to get rid of the child,’ he snarled.
‘But since you let François know who you were working for,’ she snarled back, ‘it was just as well you didn’t succeed, wasn’t it? Now, you can start saying your prayers that when I tell him I knew nothing about the fall, he believes me – because if he doesn’t, I swear you’ll go out of this clinic in a coffin.’
His top lip curled in an ugly sneer. ‘Same old Élise,’ he spat. ‘But you don’t frighten me with your threats …’
His scream of agony reverberated through the corridors as she wrenched back the toes of his broken leg. ‘You’re finished,’ she hissed, as an army of nurses came running. ‘You’ll never work again, Philippe Mauclair, do you hear me? And if François wants to know where to find you, be in no doubt that I shall tell him.’
Still wincing with pain, Philippe watched her stalk out of the ward, and for a fleeting moment remembered the time when that proud, sashaying little rump had been exposed for his pleasure – his recruitment fee. But then her parting words came thundering back to his brain, and the throbbing in his leg became unbearable. He knew that his only protection from François de Lorvoire was Rudolf von Liebermann, and he hoped to God that the man sent someone soon. With equal fervour, he hoped it wouldn’t be that bastard Halunke.
When Élise returned to her apartment she found François waiting for her. He was standing at the window, wearing his heavy black coat and Homburg hat. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and his dark, aquiline face bore an expression of murderous, though carefully controlled, rage. He waited until the door had closed behind her, then turning from the window, he said, ‘There is a part of me that would like to kill you, Élise, and make no mistake, if my child had died I wouldn’t hesitate. I perfectly understand why you wanted to kill it, and I also understand that you hoped to deprive me of my wife at the same time. I will make you no threats – you know me well enough to appreciate the danger you have now put yourself in – but I do strongly advise you not to try again. And I give you my solemn vow, Élise, that no matter what happens to Claudine, you will never be the Comtesse de Loryoire.’ He raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. ‘Never!’ And he walked out of the room.
It took a few moments for her head to stop spinning, but then, with surprising calmness, Élise crossed to the window. By the time François emerged from the building into the street below, a knowing smile had settled on her lips.
He’d be back – if for no other reason than that she knew too much about him for him to have her as an enemy. And as for his vow that she would never become the Comtesse de Lorvoire … Here her lips did tremble and a look of pain crossed her face. But once she had devised an efficient way of disposing of The Bitch, she could use her knowledge, to blackmail him into marrying her. François de Lorvoire was a traitor to his country, and she knew it, and would make good use of the power that knowledge gave her.
The following week, at four o’clock in the afternoon, François met Rudolf von Liebermann in the garden of the General’s Muncheberg home. Max Helber was there too, and since they had already exchanged perfunctory greetings, François came straight to the point. ‘It is my belief,’ he said, ‘that should the Führer wish to take the Sudetenland he will meet with little resistance from the Allies.’
‘Your belief?’ Helber repeated, with marked cynicism.
Von Liebermann put a hand on Helber’s arm. The Wine Supplier would never reveal his sources, and Helber should know by now that de Lorvoire always prefaced his intelligence reports in that fashion. ‘How little is little?’ he asked.
‘There will be a show of protest, naturally,’ François answered, ‘but it will be no more than that. Neither country wants a war – particularly France.’
‘Yet France has deployed a number of her factories for rearmament,’ von Liebermann pointed out.
‘She is also about to call up her reservists,’ François told him, unperturbed.
Von Liebermann nodded. He already knew that. ‘Do you have details of these factories?’
‘Yes.’
Von Liebermann glanced at his watch. ‘I have an appointment at four thirty. Afterwards I am meeting with the Foreign Minister. You will give the information to Max, who will bring it to me before I see von Ribbentrop.’
François nodded, then wandered on through the garden while von Liebermann took Helber to one side.
‘You have the information he requires in return?’ von Liebermann asked. ‘That is good. We shall see what he can do with it. My belief is, nothing.’
Helber smiled, and von Liebermann patted his arm. Turning to leave, he remembered there was something else he had to say concerning the Wine Supplier. ‘I have had a request from Halunke. He wants to make contact with the Pascale woman personally. I see no reason why he shouldn’t, do you?’
‘Is there any danger that she might recognize him?’
‘Halunke assures me not.’
‘Then I see no objection.’
‘Good. Give him the authorization.’
Helber waited until von Liebermann’s chauffeur had closed the car door before turning to follow François to the end of the garden. ‘Shall we go inside?’ he said affably.
François eyed him with distaste; he would have preferred to remain outdoors but he knew Helber would not allow it, so he no
dded curtly and followed him into the dark, oak-panelled library.
Here, Helber handed over the documents he and von Liebermann had prepared as an exchange for the information François was about to supply. Helber’s cherubic face was smiling. He was afraid of the Wine Supplier, but would never let it show, and besides, being the kind of man he was, his fear only made what he was about to do all the more pleasurable.
He remained standing at the desk as François settled into a chair and started to read. Helber watched him, his body beginning to tremble with lust. He had never come across a man who exuded such potent sexuality as François de Lorvoire, and he had promised himself that one day, when the time was right, he would have him. But for now he had to content himself with taking his penis from his trousers so that he could fondle himself under the gaze of those darkly hooded eyes.
Knowing precisely what Helber was doing, François continued to read to the end of the documents before looking up and asking Helber to clarify several points.
Helber answered, and they continued to conduct their meeting as though both men were as composed as François. François knew that he would have to stay until Helber ejaculated, for it was Helber’s way to hold back a vital piece of information until he had climaxed. So he waited, watching the man’s fumblings with a cold detachment – if he turned away it would only lengthen the process. Sometimes, he thought, as Helber’s eyes began to roll back in their sockets and the sweat oozed from his face, the price of obtaining information was almost too high. But when Helber finally handed him the last paper, he was in no doubt that on this occasion it had been worth waiting for.
– 14 –
NOTHING IN THE world could have prepared Claudine for the way she felt when her baby boy was put into her arms. Her skin was still coated with sweat, her hair plastered to her head, but she was conscious only of the beautiful, puckered little face with its mop of inky-black hair and anger-reddened cheeks. Even the indescribable agony of the past twelve hours was forgotten, and laughing at her son’s furious objection to being tugged so unceremoniously into the world, she surprised everyone by pushing aside her nightgown and putting his mouth to her nipple. Almost immediately he started to suckle. She stared down at him, mesmerized by the perfection of his tiny limbs. Then her heart stood still as his eyes suddenly opened and he seemed to look straight into her own.
‘Mon Dieu!’ she breathed. Then she looked up at Doctor Lebrun and burst into tears …
Later, she slept. When she woke the doctor and midwife had gone, and François was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was holding his son, and was apparently engrossed in the way he was opening and closing his eyes. Claudine lay quietly watching them, captivated by the comparison between François’ big hand and the tiny head it cradled. It was the first time she had ever seen her husband not perfectly in control of a situation. Even now he seemed to be coping remarkably well, but the expression on his face suggested that his son’s presence in the world was having a profound effect upon him.
After a time she reached out a hand and pulled aside the baby’s blanket so that she too could see his face. As she gazed down at him she could feel François’ eyes on her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to look up in case he said something to spoil the moment. In the end it was the baby who broke the silence, and Claudine couldn’t help laughing at the look of horror that came over François’ face.
‘I think he’s hungry,’ she told him.
‘Of course,’ he said, clearly amused by his own stupidity. He placed the baby carefully in her arms. ‘Shall I call Magaly?’ he offered.
‘Why?’
‘For his milk.’
‘But I have it here,’ she said, starting to smile. This was the first time, too, that she had ever seen François embarrassed.
‘I’m afraid I have no experience of babies,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Would you like me to leave the room while you feed him?’
She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to go or not. ‘Only if you want to.’
He too seemed undecided, but then Magaly came in and he left.
‘Is monsieur happy?’ Magaly asked, when the door had closed behind him.
Claudine thought for a moment. ‘I think so. When did he arrive?’
‘About an hour before the baby.’
‘Did he come up at all? I mean, while it was happening?’
Magaly shook her head, and Claudine’s face hardened for a moment. ‘Have you seen Armand?’ she asked then.
‘I went to Liliane’s as soon as the baby arrived, to give her the news. Armand is still in Tours, but she expects him home soon.’
Claudine looked down at the baby and a lump rose in her throat preventing her from saying any more.
Later, François came back. The baby was asleep in his cradle, and after gazing down at him for a time he said, ‘Words seem inadequate at a time like this, but I want to thank you. He’s a fine son.’
‘Isn’t he?’ she smiled. Then, for no apparent reason, she remembered the necklace he had given her on her birthday. ‘There was a time, a few months ago, when I wanted to thank you.’
‘Oh?’
‘For the necklace. The one you left on the table for me.’
She watched him as he turned back to the cradle. ‘Where is it now?’ she ventured, when it was evident he wasn’t going to speak.
‘I presumed, when you didn’t mention it, that you didn’t want it,’ he answered. ‘So I gave it to someone else.’
An icy heat flared in the pit of her stomach, and she turned away before he could see her eyes.
‘I take it from your reaction,’ he said, ‘that I made a mistake.’
‘Not at all,’ she answered quickly. Then, unable to stop herself, she said, ‘Did she like it? The woman you gave it to, did she like the necklace?’
‘As a matter of fact, she didn’t say, but I imagine she did. Naturally, if there’s anything you want by way of replacement you have only to ask.’
‘There’s nothing, thank you,’ she said, and picked up the pile of telegrams she had been reading when he came in.
A few minutes later he said, ‘The baby will be baptized Louis François.’
She looked up. ‘Is the matter open for discussion?’
‘No. You already know that the first-born son of the de Lorvoires is called either Louis or François. Each generation alternates, so our son will be Louis.’
‘And if I want to call him after my father?’
‘We should be obliged to have another child for that. But as I have every intention of keeping to my promise, that’s unlikely. The sexual side of our marriage is now over.’
He looked at her, and when she saw the expression in his eyes her heart suddenly swelled in her chest. She stared back at him, and though neither of them moved she could feel herself going to him as though he were pulling her into his arms, enclosing her in a passionate tenderness he had never shown her before. But as quickly as it had come, the feeling between them vanished and he said, ‘You are free to live your life as you please, Claudine. You may even leave the château and live elsewhere if you wish. My son, of course, will stay.’
Her cheeks were suddenly suffused with colour, and fury flashed in her eyes. ‘Nothing on God’s earth will part me from my son,’ she said, ‘not even you. And if you’re hoping to be rid of me, if you think you can throw me off now that I’ve served my purpose, then you’re seriously mistaken. We will call him Louis, we will have him baptized and brought up the way you want – not because I’m afraid to stand up to you, but because I know that you’ll do what is best for him. But you will never again refer to him as your son, François, because he is not your son. He is our son.’
‘Indeed,’ he conceded. ‘And I’m glad that you have decided to stay at the château. Our son will need his mother.’
‘I’m staying because I have no choice. I resigned myself to that some time ago.’
‘Very wise. Now, if there’s nothing I can get you I shall bid you goodnight
.’
‘Goodnight,’ she snapped.
But when he reached the door, he turned back. ‘In case you are interested,’ he said amiably, ‘I thought I should let you know that Armand will not be returning from Tours. He will be taking the train to Burgundy, and when he has finished his business there he will go on to Bordeaux. But before you accuse me of trying to come between you, perhaps you should know that, though it is de Lorvoire business he is engaged on, he is doing it at his own request. It seems that he wanted to be away from Lorvoire for a while.’
Then, treating her to one of his more odious smiles, he closed the door.
As soon as she was able, Claudine went to see Liliane. She had intended to make her enquiries very casual, but she should have known that there was little point in pretending with a woman like Liliane St Jacques.
‘He has left a message for you, chérie,’ Liliane said, the moment she saw Claudine’s anguished face. ‘Now sit down, and I’ll pour you some coffee before I tell you what it is.’
Struggling with her impatience, Claudine pulled out a chair and took off her hat and gloves. Liliane seemd to take an age, and suddenly, unable to bear it a moment longer, Claudine said, ‘Can I have the letter now, Liliane? Please!’
Smiling, Liliane put the coffee on the table. ‘I didn’t say a letter,’ she answered, ‘I said a message, and it is here.’ She tapped the side of her head, then pulling out a chair for herself she sat down next to Claudine. ‘He has gone away for a while,’ she began, ‘because he is afraid. Afraid of his feelings for you, and yours for him.’
‘But why should he be afraid? I love him, Liliane. I know it might sound crazy when …’
‘No, it doesn’t sound crazy. I knew, probably before either of you, what was happening between you. I saw it, and knew that you were powerless to stop it. I don’t know if there is a solution for you, I cannot even begin to predict a future that would see you together, especially now you’ve had the baby.’ She sighed. ‘Of course, it is wrong even to be thinking like this – but we none of us can choose with whom we fall in love.’