by Susan Lewis
He was woken early the following morning by a knock on his door, and as Jean-Paul came in with the letter on a silver salver, he knew even before he opened it that the shred of hope he had clung to was already gone. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper, and on it was written just one word – LOUIS.
Over the next few days, as first Tante Céline arrived and then her father, Claudine watched François build a barrier around himself so invincible that she feared she might never get through to him. He went out of his way to avoid her, and though it hurt her deeply to do it, she decided to keep her distance too, knowing that her presence only brought him pain. But she always knew where he was, and if he wasn’t with Solange or in the nursery with Louis and Corinne, he was out riding in the forest. When he returned, soaked by the rain or frozen by the wind, she could see he was still no closer to sorting out the confusion in his mind than when he had set out. Occasionally she would find him watching her, maybe at the breakfast table, or as she walked up the stairs to their apartment – but the instant she met his eyes he turned away. They had barely spoken since the night of Louis’ death, yet somehow she knew that she was almost constantly on his mind, and instinct told her that he was trying to reach a decision concerning their marriage.
Then one morning she saw him talking to Armand outside the wine caves. She watched from an upstairs window, dreading to think what he might be saying. But no matter what, and even if he told her there could never be anything between them, she had made up her mind that she would remain his wife until the day she died. He couldn’t stop her loving him – but how much easier it would be for them if he could find it in himself to trust her! To tell her what was going on … When he left, as she was sure he would sooner or later, and Lucien rejoined his regiment, she would be responsible for Solange and Monique. And if they faced a threat as dangerous as she now suspected, then the only way she could see of combating it was to know precisely what it was.
It was in the early hours of the morning following the day of the funeral that Erich von Pappen finally came to the château. François let him in through the nursery landing and led him past Claudine’s bedroom to the sitting-room.
‘How is Élise?’ he said, knowing that von Pappen had been with her for the past five days.
‘Better now,’ von Pappen answered, taking the cognac François held out. He went to sit on the chair beside the fire. ‘It was the worst I’ve seen her,’ he said with a sigh, ‘or I would have come sooner.’
‘She was bad the night I was there,’ François said, lighting a cigarette. ‘She woke up screaming, but when I went into the room she wouldn’t let me near her. She thought I was Halunke.’ He drew on his cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘It was terrible, I’ve never seen anything like it. It was as though she was possessed by some kind of demon. I guess she is, if fear is a demon.’ He paused for a while as he remembered that night, and how she had gnashed her teeth, torn her hair and thrown herself savagely against the wall. But once she recognized him she had allowed him to carry her back to bed, where he had lain with her, holding her in his arms until she had finally fallen asleep again.
From the corner of his eye von Pappen watched François curiously. He had been in François’ employ for five years now and probably knew him better than any man, which was why he was so quick to detect the change in him. He wasn’t sure yet what it was, except that the customary harshness was absent from his eyes. Perhaps the death of his father had in some way softened him – which, von Pappen decided, was no bad thing, providing it didn’t in any way affect his judgement.
‘I just wish to God she knew who he was,’ François sighed. ‘What about you, have you come up with anything yet?’
Von Pappen twitched as he too lit a cigarette. ‘No. But I think I’m a little closer now than I was before.’
‘Oh?’
‘I still have no idea who he is, but I think his revenge could have something to do with Hortense de Bourchain after all.’
François showed no sign of surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked, going to sit on the sofa.
‘I don’t know. It’s just a hunch, but it’s one I’m going to pursue a little further.’
François said no more on the matter. This was von Pappen’s way; and as soon as he had anything worth reporting, he would do so. ‘Did you see my father before he died?’ he asked, feeling himself tense in dread of the answer.
‘Yes.’
‘You told him everything?’
‘Yes.’
François’ relief was evident. Grinding out his cigarette and lighting another, he said, ‘So what happened that morning?’
Von Pappen twisted in his chair so that he could see François better. ‘I did as you said, and made contact with Corinne,’ he told him. ‘She arranged for me to meet the Comte down at the mairie first thing in the morning. The Mayor of Chinon was due to arrive at eleven, with a delegation of officials from Tours, to discuss the distribution of rations. I was to go in as an early arrival from the delegation – in disguise, of course – which I did. By the time the delegation arrived I had managed to persuade your father to disown you, and though he was unhappy about it, he was finally persuaded that it was the only way. I stayed for the meeting, and as we left the Comte whispered to me that he was going over to the chapel to pray for you, and that I was to tell you that he loved you deeply. That was the last time I saw him. I knew nothing of his death until Béatrice told me when I arrived back in Paris.’
François’ face was strained. He took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the sofa.
Von Pappen waited quietly, puffing on his cigarette and staring down at the flickering flames in the hearth. ‘I am truly sorry, François,’ he murmured finally. ‘I know how much he meant to you.’
They both looked up as the door opened and Claudine, pulling a blue satin negligé around her, came into the room.
Von Pappen immediately got to his feet, and as François looked at her, her beautiful face flushed from sleep and her raven hair tousled around her shoulders, he felt the pain of his love shoot straight through his heart.
‘I heard voices,’ she said, looking at him.
He smiled, and keeping his eyes on hers, said, ‘Erich, I don’t believe you have ever met my wife. Chérie, may I introduce you to Erich von Pappen.’
‘Madame la Comtesse,’ von Pappen said, walking over to her and taking her hand.
François smiled again as he saw her confusion. This was probably the first time anyone had referred to her by her title, and it was also the first time since the day his father died that he had shown her any affection. But he had done a lot of thinking over the past few days, and had now reached a decision. He hoped to God it was the right one, for it entailed telling her everything. It would be a tremendous burden for her, he knew that, but of all the qualities she possessed, the two he admired perhaps the most were her resilence and her determination. Later, no doubt, von Pappen would accuse him of insanity for listening to his heart rather than his head, but that would only come once Erich was over the shock of seeing him do something he had never done before – which was to trust a woman, and more particularly, a woman he loved.
‘Come and sit down,’ he said, surprising both Claudine and Erich. And as she walked uncertainly towards him, he patted the cushion beside him and pulled her into the circle of his arm. ‘I’m sorry if we woke you,’ he murmured, kissing the top of her head as she rested it on his shoulder – and he almost laughed to see the astonishment on von Pappen’s face.
He knew that for a while Claudine would be too dazed to take in much of what they were saying, but he would go over it again in detail when Erich had left. For now, he could feel the barrier he had built around himself over the past few days begin to re-erect itself – this time to include Claudine. And he was amazed and gratified by how right it felt.
‘Have you any messages for me?’ he said to von Pappen, who had returned to his chair.
‘You mea
n from…?’ Von Pappen’s eyes moved incredulously to Claudine.
‘Yes, I mean from von Liebermann,’ François said, keeping his eyes on von Pappen and at the same time running his fingers lazily through Claudine’s hair. ‘Erich,’ he added, looking down at her, ‘is my courier.’
She nodded, remembering now where she had heard the name before. Louis had mentioned it the day the lorries full of boxes arrived.
‘Go ahead, Erich,’ François encouraged.
‘Er well, yes,’ von Pappen stammered. ‘Er, he sympathizes over the loss of your father, but would like you to return to Berlin within the next week.’
Claudine stiffened, and François hugged her. ‘His condolences are somewhat out of place, Erich,’ he said. And suddenly he wished Claudine wasn’t there to hear this; he would have liked to break it to her more gently. ‘The General, by way of Halunke, is responsible for my father’s death.’
Claudine gasped, and von Pappen’s queer face froze.
‘But it was a heart-attack,’ von Pappen finally uttered. ‘Béatrice said that he had a heart-attack in the chapel.’
‘He did,’ François confirmed. Then reaching out for the envelope on the table, he handed it to von Pappen. And when von Pappen saw what it contained, he was clearly too stunned even to twitch.
He looked at François, and when François nodded, passed the note to Claudine.
‘I will explain it later, chérie,’ François told her. ‘I don’t know how Halunke managed to bring on the heart-attack, but that’s clearly what he did,’ he went on. ‘And just as clearly, he wanted me to know it.’
Von Pappen sucked in his round lips and bowed his head thoughtfully. He didn’t like what he was hearing. Things were starting to add up in a way he didn’t like at all. But for now he would say nothing. Although François was suffering from the temporary insanity of trusting his wife, he was willing to stake every franc of the considerable salary François paid him that she knew nothing about Hortense de Bourchain – and he was most definitely not going to be the one to tell her.
When he lifted his head again he saw that François was whispering to her, their faces so close that for a moment he thought they were kissing. Then, as François’ hand took hers and their fingers entwined, von Pappen could feel the magnetism between them as though it were alive in the air. Quickly he averted his eyes, wishing he could remove his entire self with such speed and silence. Of course he had always known that François loved his wife, he could even pinpoint the day François had realized it himself. But he had never dreamt that François would let it get the better of him like this.
Hearing François give a low, intimate laugh, he fumbled in his pocket for another cigarette. It was only as he lit it and stole another quick look at them that he realized François was laughing at him. And when he saw the way Claudine’s magnificent blue eyes were glittering, how her full lips, so red and enticing, were parted in a smile, he found himself wondering how François had managed to resist her for so long.
‘Are you going back to Paris tonight?’ François asked him. ‘Or would you like to stay here?’
‘I think I’d like to get back, thank you,’ von Pappen answered. ‘If I leave now I should be there by dawn.’
‘As you please,’ François said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll see you out.’
‘Are you sure this is wise?’ von Pappen hissed, as François walked him round to the nursery landing.
‘I take it you’re referring to my wife?’ François answered with a smile. ‘Well, the answer is, I don’t know Erich – but I’m going to tell her anyway. She has a right to know. Meanwhile, tell Élise I shall be in Paris sometime in the next few days, but at the same time prepare her for my hasty departure. And Erich,’ he said, as he pulled the door open, ‘thank you for looking after her.’
Von Pappen blinked, then turned to cross the bridge into the forest. Not only was François de Lorvoire’s wife one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen, he thought, but she must also be a remarkable woman. In the space of a few short days she had changed her husband beyond recognition. Never, in all the time he had known him, had he seen François display anything approaching the kind of tenderness he had shown that night.
François was still grinning to himself as he walked back into the sitting-room. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I imagine I’ve got a lot of explaining to do now.’ He turned to look at Claudine, and the smile fell from his lips.
She was standing before the dying embers of the fire, lit only by the amber glow of a lamp behind her, so that her hair, cascading over the blue satin on her shoulders, was like the blaze of a setting sun. She was so beautiful that all he could do was look at her. She turned to face him, almost in a dream. She could hardly dare to believe the depth of the love she sensed in him now. She had waited so long, had wanted him so much, and now he wanted her too.
Suddenly an overpowering surge of longing swept through her body, and as if he felt it he moved swiftly towards her, lifting his arms to take her. As their lips met, he eased her head onto his shoulder, pulling her body round so that he could untie the ribbon at her throat. She moaned softly as he drew the robe from her shoulders, then gasped as his hand lifted her breasts free of her nightdress. She looked down at what he was doing, but he took her chin and lifted her mouth back to his. Then, as he pushed his tongue between her lips and sought her nipples with his fingers, a sudden blaze of passion soared through her and she fell against him, sobbing. He pushed her nightgown to the floor, running his hands over the satin smoothness of her thighs.
‘Oh François!’ she choked as he drew her to him. ‘François. Please! Take me here. I want you now. Oh my God!’ she cried, as his fingers found the opening between her legs.
‘Be patient, my darling,’ he whispered, and lifting her up in his arms, he carried her into the bedroom.
‘I want to see you,’ she murmured, as he laid her down on the bed, and she reached out to turn on the lamp.
She watched him strip away his clothes, feasting her eyes on the powerful muscles of his arms, his shoulders, his abdomen. And when he removed his trousers a cry escaped from her lips as she saw the sheer magnitude of his erection.
‘François,’ she sobbed, as he lay on the bed beside her and she turned to push herself against him. ‘Please! Don’t make me wait any more. I want you now.’
The turbulence in her voice so inflamed him that he knew he could not hold back any longer, and quickly he rolled her onto her back, pushed his legs between hers and positioned himself over her. Then, sliding a hand under her hips, he lifted her to meet him, all the time looking down into her face. He eased himself slowly, slowly into her, watching her eyes widen and her head press back into the pillow as he filled her. But before he reached the full depth of penetration, he pulled back and started to push again.
‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she moaned, arching her back to take more of him, but again he pulled away. Then he thrust himself so violently into her that she screamed. He pulled back, and thrust again, and again and again until the storm of their passion broke, engulfing them in a love and desire so all-consuming that it was though they had become one. Her nails dug into his back, her legs encircled his waist, and her breasts bounced over her ribs as he slammed into her harder and harder. He held himself up on his arms and they watched him pump in and out of her, so savagely, so hungrily that her breath stopped and her limbs started to lose power.
He was shooting sensations through her that shattered and exploded and soared into every corner of her body. She was on fire, she could neither see nor speak, all she knew was the unbearable, exquisite sensation that burned around the pulsating stem of his penis. She tried to hold onto him, tried to utter his name, but her breath wouldn’t come and her arms fell away as the blinding rapture of what he was doing shuddered through her in great spasms of ecstasy.
Then she heard herself sobbing, knew that her head was twisting from side to side. Then his mouth was crushing hers, his hands were pushing
her legs wider, and as he began to thrust into the core of her orgasm it burst against him, gripping him, pulling him, commanding the seed from his body.
‘Claudine,’ he groaned. ‘Oh my God! Claudine. God help me!’ And with an agonized cry he ground into her with such fury, knowing such ecstasy, that the seed spurted from him. His heart was thumping, his skin glistening with perspiration, and still his seed came. He pulled back, pushed into her again, waiting for the blinding climax to leave him.
When finally it did he lay over her for a long time, struggling to regain his breath and feeling her heart pound against his. He held her tightly in his arms until the strength started to return to his limbs, but when he tried to pull away she clung to him, holding him with her legs. ‘No,’ she murmured, ‘don’t leave me. Don’t go.’ And as her fingers slipped down over his buttocks and pushed between his legs, he knew that he was going to take her again.
Quickly he turned her over, raised her buttocks and buried himself to the full length of his penis. Again she cried out, screaming through clenched teeth, and he took her heavy breasts in his hands, tugged hard at her nipples, squeezing them between his fingers, then pulled her face round to his and sucked greedily at her lips. Then, as he started to circle her clitoris with his finger, she pushed her face into the pillow and sobbed.
A long time later she lay sprawled across him, her arms and legs entwined in his and every pore of her body still tingling with fulfilment. He watched her try to lift her head, but she was still too weak and he chuckled as she gave up. She sank her teeth gently into his arm and idly he traced his finger through the crease between her buttocks. The bed was in turmoil, but he managed to wrench a sheet from the chaos to cover them. Then finally she managed to pull herself up, and looked down at him with eyes that were still dazed.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered. ‘I never knew it could be like that. I never knew … Oh, François …’