by Susan Lewis
‘The young men have gone,’ he said sadly, when she questioned him. ‘They have been leaving every day for the past week. I’d have gone myself, but I’m too old. Too old at thirty-two, I ask you.’
Knowing now was not the moment to express her relief, Claudine tried to tease him out of his dejection, but even she was finding it difficult to remain unaffected by the pervading air of pessimism. ‘Shall we sit outside, under the trees?’ she said, and they took a rug and sat in the shade, her head resting on his shoulder while she told him about Monique and Karol Kalinowski.
‘Poor Monique!’ he said. ‘Where is she now?’
‘At the château, She clings to Solange like a frightened child, and Solange talks to her and listens in a way that tears at your heart. She’s the most wonderful mother, you know. Crazy and capricious as she is, she loves her family to distraction, and in their times of crisis her strength is amazing.’ She sighed. ‘You know, François has seen to it that Kalinowski is never allowed back into France. But I can’t help thinking about his wife and children – it could be that their only means of escaping the Germans is to seek asylum in France. He should have told Monique from the start that he was married.’
Armand nodded soberly. Then he chuckled. ‘I shouldn’t have liked to be in Kalinowski’s shoes when he came face to face with François!’
They sat quietly then, and as Claudine trailed her fingers lazily over his bare arm, inhaling the acrid smell of sun-dried grass and listening to the buzz and rustle of the forest, she felt herself beginning to relax at last. Bringing his hand to her mouth, she kissed it, almost in gratitude – she had been half-afraid that nothing, not even Armand’s love, would be able to exorcize the restlessness and doubt that had plagued her since the night of the July ball.
At first she had told herself that she had drunk too much champagne, that it was because she was missing Armand that she had felt that dreadful, demeaning desire for François again. But in her heart she knew that didn’t explain it. It didn’t explain why she had lain awake night after night, waiting to hear his footsteps on the stairs, dreading, and hoping that he would come to her bed. He had not come, and on the few occasions when their paths crossed she had had to turn away, terrified he might detect the anarchic lust she experienced whenever he looked at her. But it was a feeling that was mercifully starting to fade as she sat with Armand’s arms tight around her and the breath of his kiss on her cheek.
‘Did you talk to François about the other matter?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘He wanted to know if there had been any strangers in the area, but there’s only Claude Villiers. He said he would have him checked out. What do you think? D’you think there’s still someone here?’
‘While you were away I did get the impression I was being watched once or twice, but it’s difficult to know whether one is imagining it or not. Is François intending to return to Lorvoire?’
‘He didn’t say. But I don’t think so.’
‘Mm. A pity. I wanted to talk to him.’
‘What about?’
It was some time before he answered, and in the silence a strange foreboding stole over her. She felt his mood beginning to change, she felt him withdrawing from her into the sadness she had detected in him when she arrived. She waited, hardly daring to breathe lest it should inject further life into her dread.
‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘if they do raise the age for recruitment, I want to go, Claudine. I shall have to discuss it with François first, because it’ll mean there’s no one here to run the vineyards, but I don’t imagine he will raise any objections – except that neither of us will feel happy about leaving you here unprotected. Which reminds me, you shouldn’t have come through the forest alone, however eager you were to see me. Don’t do it again.’
‘No sir!’ she said, saluting. But there was more to come, she knew it.
‘Why didn’t you write while you were away?’ he said suddenly.
She was stunned. Not only because of the reproach in his voice, but because it hadn’t even occurred to her to write.
‘I take it you did miss me?’
She sat up and turned to look at him. ‘Of course I did,’ she answered, her voice imbued with feeling. ‘I’m surprised you even need to ask.’
He smiled. ‘That’s all right then, isn’t it?’
But it wasn’t. There was something in his voice … ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What are you thinking?’
He lifted a gentle hand to her cheek. ‘Of how much I love you.’
‘No. There’s more, Armand. Tell me, what is it?’
He laughed, and turned his eyes into the forest. ‘The truth,’ he said. ‘I’ve been so terrified of losing you these past weeks that somehow, in my mind, I’ve managed to convince myself that it has already happened, but I’m refusing to see it.’
‘But Armand, I love you!’ she cried. ‘You know I do. Nothing has changed, except perhaps that having been away from you, I love you more than ever.’
‘Even though I can never give you the life you have now? Balls at the Polish Embassy, soirées at the Bois de Boulogne, visits to the opera, a household of staff? They will all be things of the past if you come to live with me.’
‘But they don’t mean anything! All the time I was in Paris I wanted to be here, with you, the way we are now. I love you, Armand. You’re all that matters to me.’
He shook his head. ‘No, Claudine. I know you’d like that to be true, but it isn’t. I’ve been thinking about it while you were away, and I know, as you do too in your heart, that there’s no future for us, and if we go on like this I’ll only make you unhappy. That’s why I want to talk to François. I want him to pull strings for me to join the army, because that way it will be easier for us to say goodbye.’
Her face was ashen. A terrible panic was beginning to stir inside her. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No, you don’t mean that!’
He held her away as she made to throw herself against him. ‘I do mean it, Claudine. This time apart has shown me how futile our love is. You don’t belong to my world, any more than I do to yours. I want you to think about that, and I want you to be honest with yourself. You can’t leave your family, and you know it.’
‘But we’ll think of a way, Armand! We’ve always said that, that one day we’ll find the answer. I couldn’t bear to lose you. If you want to go and fight for France, I’ll even talk to François myself for you, but if you’re going just to be away from me, then I beg you not to do it.’
He looked away, but she saw the tears in his eyes and threw her arms around him. ‘I beg you, chéri!’ she cried. ‘I beg you. Don’t do this.’
He buried his face in her shoulder, and suddenly he started to sob. ‘Dear God, if only I had the guts!’ he said savagely. ‘If only I had the courage to walk away from you now. I want to fight for my country, but I’m afraid to leave you. Afraid you won’t be here when I get back. I love you so much I can hardly think straight. I wanted you to beg me to stay. I needed to know that you love me that much. I’m so afraid of losing you, of having you tell me that it’s over. I thought about nothing else while you were away. I waited for your letters, and when they didn’t come I thought you’d stopped caring, that maybe you’d found someone else. Someone who is worthy of you, who can give you the life and happiness you deserve. Claudine, hold me, please, hold me. Tell me you love me. I’ve got to hear it. I know I’m a coward, that I don’t deserve your love, but without it I’m nothing.’
‘Oh, mon chéri,’ she cried, lifting his face and holding it between her hands. ‘Of course I love you. And you’re not a coward. You’re wonderful and kind and the biggest idiot I’ve ever met in my life. How could you have put yourself through such torment? But I’ll never go away again, and nor will you. We’ll find an answer. I will find the answer. Trust me.’
His eyes were still clouded with uncertainty as he looked at her, and she smiled at the way his tears had left furrows in the dust on his cheeks. ‘Will you spend t
he night with me tonight?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
By the time he left her at the bridge he was more his old self, and was even laughing about his ‘pathetic display of tears’. Whereas, in the past, she had always been the one who was reluctant to let go, this time it was Armand who found it hard to part. Claudine wondered if he had noticed the change. But inside the château, on the nursery landing, Magaly was waiting with news which pushed all thoughts of Armand from her mind. She flew down the stairs to the family sitting-room, where she found Louis and Solange talking quietly.
‘Magaly told me,’ Claudine said. ‘But what does it mean?’
Louis took off his spectacles, and her heart almost ground to a halt as she saw the terrible anguish in his eyes. ‘It means that in a matter of days France will be at war,’ he answered soberly.
‘But Communist Russia and Nazi Germany!’ she cried. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How could this have happened?’
‘Nobody knows,’ Louis said in a voice that cracked with fatigue. ‘Maybe the details will come out later, but it will be too late to change anything. A non-aggression pact between Russia and Germany means that Poland and all her people are already lost.’ He turned to Solange and gripped her hands between his own. ‘I’d like to lie down for a while, chérie,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to come with me.’
‘Is Monique in her room?’ Claudine asked. ‘I’d better go and tell her the news.’
As Claudine walked up the stairs in front of Solange and Louis, she was thinking again of Armand. She had never seen him like that before, so uncertain of himself, nor had she ever seen Louis anything but strong – and the bewildering change in two men she had come to depend upon so much was in its way as horrifying as the imminence of war. But it wasn’t until later that night that she began to feel the full impact of the day’s news; to face up to the chilling reality of war with Germany, and even the possibility of defeat.
The nation’s mood over the next eleven days vacillated between dread and hysteria as Britain and France signed a formal alliance with Poland, then tried to persuade her to negotiate with Germany. Poland refused, and in the early hours of Friday morning, September 1st 1939, German troops crossed the frontier into Poland.
François telephoned at eleven thirty on the morning of September 3rd and asked to speak to his father. Claudine took the call, since Louis was in the chapel with Solange. ‘Where are you?’ she asked him.
‘In Paris.’
‘Are you coming home?’
‘No. I can’t. But I’m glad to talk to you, Claudine, because I want you to start packing, now. I want you and Louis to come to Paris, and from here I’ll see you on a flight to the United States. I don’t want you to argue, I just want you to get out of France while you still can.’
‘No!’ she cried. Tears were stinging the backs of her eyes and the ghastly panic she had been trying to stave off over the past eleven days suddenly threatened to overwhelm her.
‘Claudine, listen to me,’ he said. ‘Neville Chamberlain is going to broadcast to the British nation at twelve fifteen on the BBC. It will be a declaration of war on Germany. France will follow within hours. So please, start packing.’
There was a pause as she took in the full impact of his words. Then, as she slowly started to come back to life, her shoulders straightened, her head lifted, and in a voice of inflexible resolve she said, ‘No, François.’
‘Claudine …’
‘No, François! I won’t discuss it any further. I’m not coming to Paris. I’m staying here where I belong.’ There was a fierce determination in her voice that she had never used with him before, and she thought he was smiling as he said, ‘All right, I won’t force you, though I ought to. But if it is your wish to remain in France, you’ll have to understand what it will mean. This is a war we cannot possibly win, Claudine. Now the Russians have signed their pact with Germany, our case is hopeless – unless the United States decides to back us. So far they have not committed themselves, and I don’t believe they will until forced. By then France will probably be a defeated nation.’
She could hear him breathing at the end of the line, and for a moment, more than anything else in the world, she wanted him to come home.
‘I will, as soon as I can,’ he answered her. ‘But I don’t want you looking to me for your strength. You have your own strength, Claudine, and if you stay at the château you’re going to need it. Our son is safe as long as Corinne is there, but you are a different matter. I’ll come home as often as I can, but I have no idea yet what will be required of me in the months ahead. If Armand stays he will give you the support you need, for as long as he is able.’
There was a choking dryness in her throat as she said, ‘What do you mean, as long as he is able?’
‘I’m saying that I am doing all I can to see he stays at Lorvoire, at least for the time being. But the day is not far off when France will need all her men – no matter what their age – to defend herself. Armand will have to go, he’ll want to go. It may seem petty, just at this moment, to remind you of the man who is watching you, watching all of us, but when I tell you that he’s working for the Abwehr – German Intelligence – you will understand why you’re in danger if you stay in France. Will you reconsider your decision now?’
‘The Abwehr?’ she breathed. ‘He’s working for the Abwehr? My God, François, what have you been doing? Why have you put us in this danger?’
‘Will you reconsider your decision?’ he repeated firmly.
‘No! No, damn it, I won’t! And I want you to come home. I want you to explain this to me, and make me understand. Do you hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ he said, ‘but I won’t be coming. You have to stand on your own feet and take responsibility for your decision. I’ve tried to help you, and believe me, if I was there I’d force you to leave. Listen to your Prime Minister at twelve fifteen, maybe he will change your mind.’
‘François! Don’t go!’
‘I’m still here,’ he answered.
She didn’t know what she wanted to say, but just knowing he was at the end of the telephone gave her sense of security that would start to crumble the moment he rang off. She needed to hear his voice again. ‘Where can I contact you?’ she said.
‘You can’t. I shall contact you.’
‘Why?’ she shouted. ‘All I need is a telephone number!’
‘Listen to Chamberlain,’ he said, and the line went dead.
She turned as the door opened and Louis and Solange came into the library. ‘What is it, chérie?’ Louis asked, alarmed by her stricken face. ‘Who was that on the telephone?’
‘François,’ she answered.
Louis and Solange exchanged glances. ‘Did he say where he was?’ he asked.
‘In Paris,’ Claudine said – and Louis seemed almost to crumple with relief.
‘Louis,’ Claudine said, putting a hand to her head as if trying to hold in her sanity. ‘Can you tell me what’s going on? What is François doing? Who is he with?’
‘Chérie, please don’t ask questions you would rather not know the answers to,’ Louis said.
‘Don’t patronize me! I have a right to know. He’s my husband, for God’s sake!’
‘In name only, Claudine.’
She looked from Louis to Solange, then back to Louis. For a moment it was as if they were strangers instead of the people she had come to love as her own parents. She took a step back, as if to run away, then checking herself, she raised her chin and said, ‘I didn’t deserve that, Louis. Your son has never shown me a moment’s affection in the entire two years we have been married. I tried to love him at the beginning, I tried, but he pushed me away, he didn’t want me. He still doesn’t want me. So if there are accusations to be made, they should be made at him. And if I’m facing danger because of something he has done, and you know what it is, then I think you owe it to me to tell me.’
Louis looked at her for a long moment. ‘I think we coul
d all use a little brandy, chérie,’ he said to Solange, and while Solange went to fetch the cognac, he beckoned Claudine to the chair beside him. ‘Sit here,’ he said. Then he turned to face her and removed his glasses.
‘If I knew what François had done, Claudine,’ he said earnestly, ‘I would tell you. You have my word on that. But as it is, I would only be guessing. And I beg your forgiveness for what I said earlier. You are right, you didn’t deserve that. There are difficult times ahead, and François will be involved in a way I neither understand nor approve of …’ He paused, and turned his pale grey eyes to the hearth.
‘Louis,’ Claudine ventured, ‘François mentioned something about the Abwehr. Is that …? Does that mean …?’
Louis shook his head. ‘If you’re going to ask me if he is working for them, then the answer is that I don’t know, Claudine. I hope to God he isn’t. He’s my son, and I love him, but if I ever learned that he’d become a traitor to his country …’
Claudine looked at him, aghast. She hadn’t been going to ask that at all, it had never even crossed her mind that François might be working for the Abwehr. ‘Did you know we’re being watched?’ she said. ‘All of us.’
Louis nodded.
‘François says the man is affiliated to the Abwehr. So surely that must mean he is as much their enemy as we are?’
‘If only it were as simple as that, chérie,’ Louis sighed. ‘There was a time when François always took me into his confidence. Now he tells me only what he wants me to know, which over these past few months has become less and less.’
‘Why were you so relieved just now, when I told you he was in Paris?’ she asked, after a pause.
‘Because I was afraid he had gone to Berlin.’
Solange came back into the room then, with a decanter of brandy and four glasses. ‘Monique is about to join us,’ she told them.
‘Good.’ Then turning back to Claudine, Louis said, ‘There’s always the hope that he’s keeping us in the dark for our own protection. That there’s a method in the madness of what he’s doing which one day we will understand.’ He looked away, and the tired lines around his eyes visibly deepened. ‘But you have my solemn promise, Claudine, that as soon as I find out exactly what he’s doing, and for whom he’s working, I will tell you. As you said before, you have a right to know.’