by Susan Lewis
‘It doesn’t matter, really,’ he said. ‘You’ll get it right by the time we’re together, you see.’
She smiled, and they stood quietly watching the rain falling over the forest. Night was beginning to draw in and she would have to return to the château soon, but later, after everyone was in bed, Armand was going to meet her at the bridge and bring her back so that, for the first time, they could spend a whole night together. Meanwhile, the smell of wet earth, mingled with her scent, was beginning to arouse him.
She turned her face into his neck, moaning softly as he started to unbutton her blouse, and when he pushed his hands inside he could feel the hardened buds of her nipples. He knew she enjoyed their love-making just as much as he did, but he also knew she continually failed to reach her climax. He had never questioned her about it, guessing that it had something to do with François. He was afraid that if they spoke of it, the spectre of her husband would destroy everything else they had too.
She unfolded her arms as he eased her blouse over her shoulders, and her breath started to quicken as he unhooked her brassière and let it drop to the floor. Then he pulled her back into his arms and they continued to watch the rain as he gently fondled her breasts.
Suddenly she shivered, and pulling away from him, turned back indoors.
‘Cold?’ he said, closing the door.
‘A little.’ She picked up his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
‘Shall I light the stove?’
She nodded. ‘It’ll make it nice and warm for later.’
She stood watching him as he picked up the coal-scuttle and began emptying it into the furnace. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?’ he said, after a time. ‘It isn’t just tonight – you’ve been edgy for weeks now. What is it?’
She wandered over to the window. ‘You’re probably going to think I’m crazy, that I’m imagining things,’ she said, pulling aside the curtain and peering into the gloom, ‘but I keep getting this feeling that someone is watching us.’
‘You too?’ he said.
‘You mean …?’
He nodded. ‘Like you, I thought I was imagining things, but at the same time I couldn’t seem to be rid of the feeling.’
‘When did it start?’ she asked him.
He shrugged. ‘Several weeks ago, I guess.’ Suddenly his eyes shot to hers, and she felt a chill of alarm. ‘What is it?’ she said, edging away from the window.
‘Nothing,’ he smiled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. It was just something that occurred to me, but it doesn’t matter.’ He’d been about to tell her that he had had the feeling while he was in Burgundy, but then he thought better of it.
‘It does matter,’ she said. ‘Was it to do with François? Do you think it’s François who’s watching us?’
Armand shook his head thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘It could be, but we’d know if he was in Lorvoire, wouldn’t we?’
‘He could be paying someone else to do it.’
‘Yes, he could.’
She sat down at the table and pulled Armand’s coat tighter around her shoulders. It was a long time since she’d thought about Hortense, but every time the feeling of being watched came over her she instinctively connected it with François, then found herself remembering what he had told her about Hortense.
Armand sat down and reached for her hands. ‘What are you thinking?’ he said gently.
She took a while to answer, but finally she said, ‘I was thinking about a woman called Hortense de Bourchain. Have you ever heard of her?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, and she thought she sensed him withdraw.
‘What do you know about her?’ she asked.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
Armand saw that this answer had unsettled her even further, but he still wasn’t sure what direction her thoughts were taking.
‘I didn’t believe him,’ Claudine said at last. ‘When he told me, I thought he was just saying it to try and stop me marrying him. Then after we were married, I thought …’ She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. ‘I keep telling myself that if he had killed her, someone would have …’
‘Just a minute,’ Armand interrupted. ‘Are you saying that François told you he killed Hortense?’
She nodded. ‘But if he had, surely it would have gone to trial? People don’t get away with murder, do they?’
Her eyes were beseeching him for the reassurance she craved, but as he continued to say nothing he felt her horror as if it was almost tangible. ‘Did he kill her, Armand?’ she whispered.
When again he didn’t answer she felt a scream of denial curl through her gut. ‘He did, didn’t he?’ she croaked.
‘Yes. I saw him do it.’
‘You saw him!’ she gasped. ‘But how? What happened? Oh my God, I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it.’
‘Ssh,’ he said, trying to calm her.
‘But why?’ she cried. ‘Why did he kill her?’
‘All I know is that it had something to do with Lucien. I don’t know what exactly, but when I heard them fighting in the wine cave, I heard Lucien’s name …’
Her mind was racing and her skin was beaded with a cold sweat. She took a deep breath. ‘You’d better start at the beginning, Armand.’
He nodded slowly, then letting go of her hands he stood up and started to pace the room. Her eyes never left him, following him back and forth as he told her everything he had seen and heard that night in the wine cave. He even told her of Louis’ involvement, and his own reasons for not informing the police.
‘Maybe if Jacqueline hadn’t been so close to giving birth,’ he said, as he reached the end of his story, ‘I’d have acted differently, but I’m not sure. The de Lorvoires are a powerful family, to stand against them alone would have been madness. Then when Louis told me Hortense’s family did not want to press charges, it showed me more than anything else what pressure the de Lorvoires could bring to bear. But even then I might have done something if I hadn’t known that a scandal would break Solange’s heart – not to mention what it would do to Lucien’s career and Monique’s hopes of marriage … I’ve known that family all my life, I just couldn’t do it to them.’
She was silent for a long time, trying to take it all in. Finally she said, ‘Does François know that you know?’
‘I don’t think so. If he did …’ He left the sentence unfinished as he suddenly realized what she was getting at. ‘You think that perhaps he does, that that’s why he’s having us watched? But why should he be afraid of me telling you when he’s already told you himself?’
But as she continued to look at him he saw that her mind was travelling much further than that. As reassuringly as he could, he said, ‘You aren’t in any danger from him, chérie. He must be only too aware that if he did anything to you, his father wouldn’t stand by him again. Besides, he has no reason to want to harm you.’
‘So why is he having us watched?’
‘We’re only assuming that it’s him.’
‘But who else could it be?’
He smiled. ‘I’m afraid there are people with some rather odd sexual habits. It could be one of them.’
She laughed half-heartedly, and got up to put her arms around him. He held her tightly, stroking her hair as he mulled everything over in his mind. Then, deciding that there was only one way to take her mind off her fears, he took his coat from her shoulders and lowered his mouth to the most beautiful breasts he had ever touched.
– 16 –
‘AREN’T YOU GOING to say anything?’ Élise asked, pulling down the sun-visor and checking her lipstick in the mirror.
François took their passports back from the sentry, and sliding the car into gear, drove across the border into France. ‘What about?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. The fact that there isn’t going to be a war, I suppose. I take it that’s wh
y we were in Munich at the same time as all those leaders – so that you could get your information first-hand?’
‘We were there for the opera,’ he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘Did you like it?’
‘As a matter of fact, I did.’
‘Good.’
Knowing she was unlikely to get any further than that, Élise lapsed into silence, and running a finger under her chin to loosen the ribbon of her hat, she turned to look out at the passing countryside.
She was managing to hide it well, but she was still quite shaken by this trip to Germany, not least because of what she had seen while she was there. Two weeks ago they had driven to Berlin, and after checking them into a hotel near the American Embassy, François had disappeared for two days. Élise had used the opportunity to try and make contact with von Liebermann, as she had been instructed, but it transpired that he was away. So, with nothing else to do she had gone shopping, and it was while she was wandering about on foot that she had come across the bands of young men who called themselves the Hitler Youth.
Their behaviour had astonished her. She had seen them kick down doors, smash windows, throw a woman and and her children into the gutter, and beat one old man half to death in front of her eyes. Someone told her later that the victims were all Jews, and though she had no great love of the Jews herself, she was still sickened by what she had seen. However, when François eventually returned and told her they were to be guests of Hermann Goering at his forest lake home of Karinhall, where the Nazi leader was holding a weekend party to celebrate the birth of his daughter, Edda, she promptly forgot the plight of Berlin’s Jews in her eager preparations for the visit.
After Berlin they had headed for Munich, making several stops along the way, the last at a place called Dachau. There they met the dashingly handsome Reinhard Heydrich, a young SS officer who proudly showed them the Death’s-head Unit in training. At first Élise was fascinated by the strength and fitness of Heydrich’s nubile young men, but when she was confronted with the ruthless discipline inflicted on the prisoners in the camp – most of whom were Jews, Heydrich told her – she was horrified. She stayed no longer than ten minutes before returning to the car and waiting until François had finished whatever business he had come to conduct. So far, neither of them had mentioned what they had seen.
Once in Munich she had settled into their hotel, made love with François in the shower bath, and then, while François was out purchasing their opera tickets, she had received a telephone call from von Liebermann asking her to meet him the following day.
She had behaved with extreme caution on her way to von Liebermann. She had taken a taxi, then a tram, then another taxi; she had entered a hotel, walked through it, and taken a third taxi which finally delivered her to her destination. She was afraid François might be having her followed.
Ever since he had first suggested she accompany him, she had been suspicious. In the past she’d asked on a number of occasions if she could go with him to Germany, but she had always met with a point-blank refusal. So why now? she wondered. And why, after what had happened to his wife and the things he’d said as a result, was he being so exceptionally attentive? Could it be, perhaps, that Monique had told him about the rape? But she had seen Monique before she left, and Monique had assured her she’d said nothing. She had no reason to disbelieve Monique, for they were now friends again, Élise having promised Monique that she meant the child Louis no harm. But even if Monique had relayed to her brother the carefully edited story Élise had given her – how an old flame had broken into her apartment and raped her – Élise couldn’t imagine for one moment that sympathy and concern were behind François’ motive for taking her with him. There was something else behind it, there must be, and her great fear was that he must know of her intention to meet von Liebermann. But the General had assured her that was impossible, and when she’d returned from her meeting with him there had been nothing in François’ manner to suggest the least suspicion.
Later, after he had gone out to have dinner with the French Foreign Minister, she had telephoned Max Helber, and using the code von Liebermann had given her, had told Helber who François was with. She disliked making these calls, chiefly because she didn’t know why she was making them. Oh, she knew what they had told her, that in return for information they would help her be rid of The Bitch, and she was more than happy to have them do that for her, but she wanted to know why the Abwehr were so interested in François. They didn’t trust him, that much was obvious. But what was it von Liebermann had said? ‘We want only to make certain that he does not waver from the path.’ The only path von Liebermann could have been referring to was his own, the Nazis’, which could only mean that François …
‘As a matter of fact,’ François said, startling her with his abrupt break into her thoughts, ‘there will be a war.’
As she turned to look at him, he smiled, and reached out for her hand. ‘But Daladier said …’
‘I know what Daladier said,’ he interrupted, ‘but I can assure you that our German friends will not be satisfied with the Sudetenland, and Daladier, Chamberlain, and everyone else who was at that conference, knows it. In short, ma chérie, to use an American expression, the Allies have just sold Czechoslovakia down the river. The problem is that by doing it they think they have rescued themselves from the brink of war.’
‘And they haven’t?’
‘No. Hitler has no intention of stopping at Czechoslovakia.’ He paused, as if uncertain whether to continue, then puzzled her by saying, ‘If he doesn’t, or even if he does, I’m sure you saw enough in Berlin – and in Dachau – to make you share my sentiments.’
‘Which are?’
‘God help the Jews.’
Again François smiled, and bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed it. He enjoyed feeding her titbits of information like that; he was fascinated to see how long it would take her to work out what he was up to. He was also intrigued by her meeting with von Liebermann in Munich. He had no intention of revealing that he knew about it, of course, and he didn’t know how their association had come about – though he was fairly sure it had something to do with the rape Monique had told him about. That was what had prompted him to take Élise to Germany with him. Once there, he was convinced she would betray herself somehow, and she had proved him right.
Élise too was thinking of von Liebermann at that moment; she was wondering who her new Paris contact would be. She hadn’t actually seen the man Halunke since the day he raped her, but just the sound of his voice on the telephone sent a chill of revulsion slithering down her spine. Von Liebermann had been most sympathetic when she told him what Halunke had done to her, and promised that her contact would be someone quite different. ‘I’m afraid Halunke is not always an easy man to control,’ he had said. ‘In fact there are times when he reminds me a great deal of your lover.’
As she recalled those words now, Élise turned to look at François. With his hawk-like features and long black hair, he was not an attractive man, though how he compared with Halunke she had no idea, for Halunke had worn a mask. But of course von Liebermann had not been referring to physical characteristics. Well, there might be similarities between them, but ruthless as François could be, Élise could never imagine him perpetrating such a vicious act of sodomy as Halunke had visited upon her. Which led her to wonder if François was aware of the designs Max Helber had on him. Of course, Helber was wasting his time, François would kill him before he allowed Helber’s fat little hands anywhere near him. But for a moment she almost pitied Helber, for she knew exactly what he was missing.
‘François,’ she said, slipping her hand out of his and pushing it between his legs.
‘Mm?’
‘I want you to know that no matter what you do, whoever you decide to follow – the French, the Germans, Italians, even the British – I will support you.’
‘Will you, chérie?’ he smiled. ‘I am touched. But what makes you feel you have t
o say that now?’
She chuckled. ‘To be frank, your display of affection these past few months has unnerved me. It makes me feel as though you don’t trust me. I doubt if I’ll get a straight answer, but is there anything behind it?’
He laughed, then cast her a quick look as she started unbuttoning his fly. ‘I told you while we were in Berlin, Élise, I have come very close to falling in love with you. It is true I don’t want you as my wife, but I have no intention of losing you as my mistress.’
She was right, she hadn’t received a straight answer, but resigning herself to the one she’d got, she lifted his penis from his trousers and said, ‘You’ll never lose me.’
He picked up his cigarettes from the dashboard and lit one while she moved her hand back and forth.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked a few minutes later as he pulled over to the side of the road.
‘It is not what I am doing, Élise,’ he answered, turning off the engine. ‘It is what you are going to do.’
‘But I’ve still got my hat on,’ she protested, as he put a hand behind her head.
‘So you have,’ he replied, and pulled her face down to his lap.
Six months later, as François had predicted, German troops marched into Prague. The following day Hitler declared that ‘Czechoslovakia has ceased to exist’.
Élise heard the news while entertaining the contact von Liebermann had supplied her with – Philippe Mauclair. Now she was over the shock of discovering that he had been the Abwehr’s spy as well as hers, they met on a regular basis, though she had had very little to report since returning from Germany as François had taken himself off to Lorvoire and showed no signs of leaving. However, von Liebermann didn’t seem to mind, and sticking to his side of the bargain, he kept Élise abreast of The Bitch’s movements via Philippe. It seemed she was still engaged in a torrid affair with the vigneron. She saw him almost every day in a house at the edge of the forest, where she cooked for him, swept floors, sewed his shirts and bathed him in an old tin bath in front of the stove.