by Susan Lewis
‘You can’t stop me!’ Monique sobbed.
‘I can stop you, and I will. I care a great deal about you, Monique, so do the rest of your family, and think what it would do to your mother if she were to find out.’ Then, realizing that she was being perhaps a little too harsh, she softened her voice and said, ‘Come and sit down, Monique. Sit down and listen to what I have to say.’
Once they were sitting side by side on the bed, she took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the tears from Monique’s cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I flew off the handle,’ she said gently, ‘but I was afraid for you. I still am.’
Monique’s wide, amber eyes looked at her, searching her face as if she might find the answers to the misery of her life. ‘Oh, Claudine,’ she said, her voice catching in her throat. ‘Claudine, I don’t know what to do any more. I’m so lonely. I can’t find anyone to love me, to care about me. What’s wrong with me? Please tell me. Why is this happening?’
‘I don’t know, chérie,’ Claudine answered, hugging her. ‘I wish I did. But you can’t go on seeing Hans, you know that, don’t you?’
‘But what if he’s the right one for me? What if we’re meant to be together?’
Claudine shook her head. ‘He’s not, Monique. This may hurt you, but I have to make you understand that he is simply using you. Armand tells me that Hans has quite a reputation in Chinon, that he sleeps with a lot of the girls.’
‘That’s not true!’ Monique wailed. ‘How would Armand know, anyway?’
‘Estelle told him. She was the one who first saw you at the cottage with Hans. Now listen, I’m going to let you into a secret. It won’t exactly make up for anything, but I think it’ll make you a little happier than you are now. But you have to swear to me first that you won’t tell Solange.’
‘I swear,’ Monique said.
Claudine took a deep breath, sent up a silent prayer that she was doing the right thing, then put her hands on Monique’s shoulders and said, ‘I’ve seen Lucien. He’s been here …’ But she got no further, for Monique let out a howl and fell sobbing into her arms.
‘Lucien!’ she cried. ‘Lucien! Where is he now? Oh, Claudine, why didn’t he see me too? But I know why. Oh, Claudine, I can’t bear it. I love him so much. And François. They love me, they’re the only men who love me. I want them back here, Claudine. I want François. François makes everything all right. He understands. He knows about Lucien and he understands the way I feel. But I can’t feel it, Claudine. I mustn’t. It’s wrong, but I can’t help it. I love him so much …’
A cold dread was starting to run through Claudine’s veins, and pulling Monique away from her shoulder she looked into her eyes. ‘What are you saying, Monique?’ she whispered. ‘What do you mean, it’s wrong?’
Monique started to shake her head, and tearing herself away, she pushed her face into the pillow. ‘Nothing!’ she cried. ‘I don’t mean anything. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone. Only François knows.’
‘Knows what, chérie?’
‘Nothing! I shouldn’t have said …’ Her body was convulsed with sobs and Claudine could only stare at her in horror.
‘Monique, are you in love with Lucien?’ she said finally, staggered that she should even be thinking such a thing.
The silence that followed was confirmation enough, and for the moment Claudine felt too shocked to move. She looked at Monique. She was so still that for a moment Claudine thought she might have fainted. ‘Does Lucien know?’ Her voice was like an echo inside her head.
After what felt like an unbearably long time, Monique pulled herself up and looked into Claudine’s eyes. But she couldn’t hold the gaze and lowered her head. ‘No one knows,’ she said huskily. ‘Except François.’
‘How does he know?’ Claudine whispered.
Monique blew her nose noisily. ‘I told him. When I was fifteen. He found me crying one day and made me tell him why. I’d just come from Lucien’s room where I’d caught him making love to the maid. They didn’t see me, but I stood there for a long time watching them, and I was so jealous that I just wanted to kill her. François said it was natural for me to be jealous. He said that it had come as a shock to me to realize that Lucien could love another girl. He said that when I was older and had a relationship of my own, I’d understand how it was possible to love in two different ways. But I knew the way I was feeling wasn’t normal. Lucien’s my brother, my own flesh and blood, and I wanted him to hold me the way he …
‘Oh Claudine, I tried so hard to believe what François had told me, but I knew I couldn’t wait until I was older, I had to find out then. So I got one of the men from the vineyards to make love to me, but it was no good, I couldn’t get Lucien and the maid out of my mind. I kept imagining that Christophe, the man from the vineyards, was Lucien … I told François, but he only said that it was because I didn’t really love Christophe. He dismissed Christophe then, I know he did, though he told me that Christophe had left of his own accord …’
She looked up and Claudine’s heart turned over at the anguish in her eyes. ‘The worst thing,’ she went on, ‘is that François said the memory would fade – but it hasn’t. Every time I make love with someone I see them together, her legs wrapped around Lucien’s waist, Lucien’s back, his shoulders, the sweat glistening on his skin … and I start to imagine that I’m the maid and the man I’m with is Lucien. I’ve tried so hard not to, I keep trying, but it’s all I can think of. I so desperately want to fall in love with someone else, to prove to myself that I’m normal, but …’ She looked off into the distance and swallowed hard on her tears. I don’t know what to do, Claudine. I just don’t know what to do.’
Claudine felt a gurgle of laughter in her throat as relief overcame her. ‘Oh Monique!’ she said, taking her hands, ‘Monique. It’s not what …’
‘Don’t! Don’t say anything. I should never have told you, but I … It’s so horrible and it’s never going to change. I know you despise me now, I don’t blame you! I despise myself. I want to die, so many times I’ve just wanted to …’
‘Ssh!’ Claudine soothed. ‘Just tell me, when did you last talk to François about this?’
Monique shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A long time ago. When I was twenty, I think.’
‘Then you’re a silly goose. You should have talked to him again.’
‘Why? It’s his brother I’m talking about as well as mine. And he knows I still feel the way I do, but he’s as disgusted by it as you are. But he understood, at first … Oh Claudine, so many awful things have happened because of it. François … François killed someone because of it.’
Claudine’s face turned white. ‘What do you mean? What are you saying, Monique?’
‘François killed a woman because she loved Lucien. He knew I was jealous, so he killed her. I didn’t want him to do it, but it was … No, I can’t think of it. It was all so terrible. It was all my fault …’
‘Monique, calm down,’ Claudine said firmly. ‘Now tell me, who was the woman?’
‘Her name was Hortense. Hortense de Bourchain.’
It was the name Claudine had expected to hear, yet still she was stunned. ‘No, Monique,’ she said slowly. ‘You’re wrong. I don’t know why François killed her, but he wouldn’t have done it for the reasons you think.’
‘How do you know? You weren’t here. He’s never told you …’
‘He told me he killed her, but I know he wouldn’t have done it because of the way you feel – you think you feel – about Lucien. Monique, you’ve got to listen to me, and you must try to understand what I’m saying. François was right when he told you you were shocked by finding Lucien in bed with the maid, and the way you responded was quite natural, given your age and how close you are to Lucien. But somehow you’ve managed to build it out of all proportion; you’re so obsessed by the image of Lucien making love that you can’t see beyond it. But you aren’t going to exorcise the image by sleeping with every man you meet. Either your desperation will fr
ighten them – as it did with Freddy – or your vulnerability will lead them to use you – as happened with Karol and with Hans.’
‘You’re not listening to me,’ Monique cried. ‘I think of Lucien when I’m making love with them, that’s why things go wrong. Oh, they don’t know it, I can hide it, but it’s true, and somehow they must sense it.’
‘No! All they sense is that they’ve got hold of a woman they can turn into a slave. The answer doesn’t lie with these men, it lies with you. You have to face the truth – which is much, much easier than the terrible misconception you’ve been living with. Oh, if only you’d talked to François again. He would have helped you, things might never have gone this far … He probably thinks you’re over it.’
‘Well, I’m not over it.’ Monique stood up abruptly. ‘I don’t want to discuss it any more. Please, I beg you, don’t ever refer to it again. I’ll stop seeing Hans, I’ll do anything you ask of me, but please …’ She broke down again, and before Claudine could stop her she had run out of the room.
If she hadn’t at that moment heard the haunting owl hoot that was her signal to receive a message from Lucien, Claudine would have gone after her. She had no intention of letting the matter rest there. Monique was not in love with Lucien, but it was going to take a great deal of time, patience and understanding to help her put that adolescent trauma into perspective. However, for the moment the call from the forest was more pressing, and putting her coat round her shoulders, she let herself out into the icy rain and ran to the far edge of the bridge.
She waited, and after a few minutes a dark figure loomed out of the shadows. Her heart lurched into her throat. He was wearing heavy boots, a belted fur jerkin, and a voluminous black cap was pulled down over his eyes. She dreaded to think what Armand, or more particularly François, would say if they knew what she was doing now, but she pushed the thought to one side and watched the man approach.
‘It’s snowing in Paris,’ he told her, his voice barely reaching her through the howl of the wind.
‘It often does in spring,’ she answered, her heart thudding wildly.
The stranger smiled briefly, then said, ‘Two coming through tomorrow night. Go to the tabac in Monts. Hand over these ration tickets,’ he passed them to her, ‘and ask for five packets of Gauloises. The answer you receive should be I have only three. Ask to smoke one there – since women aren’t permitted to smoke in public it won’t be such an unusual request – and he will take you through to the back of the shop. Smoke your cigarette, tell him two are coming through, then when he gives you the three packets, leave. If he has a message to relay to us it will be in the cigarettes. Don’t open them, bring them here.’ He took her by the arm and pulled her into the shadows. ‘Put them there,’ he said, pointing to a hollow in the bole of a tree, ‘and I will collect them tomorrow night.’ He bent down and reached inside the hole. Then standing up again, he pressed something into her hand. It was a gun.
‘Bonne chance!’ he said. Then he pulled his collar up round his face and sprinted off into the forest.
Claudine returned immediately to her room, secreted the gun beneath her pillow and went off to find Monique. But when she tried the door of Monique’s room it was locked, and nothing Claudine said would persuade her to open it.
The following morning, while Claudine was in her sitting-room trying to concoct a reason for going to Monts, Solange came in and told her Monique had gone to stay with some friends at L’Île Bouchard.
‘For how long?’ Claudine asked, trying to swallow her frustration.
‘Two weeks. Now, where is that grandson of mine? I expected to find him here.’
‘He’s in François’ bathroom,’ Claudine told her, ‘having a shave.’
‘What?’ Solange shrilled.
‘It’s all right, there aren’t any blades,’ Claudine laughed, as Solange hurtled off in the direction of François’ room, ‘he’s just pretending.’
Damn it, Claudine thought, what was she going to do about Monique? It was maddening to think that she was putting herself through such unnecessary misery. But there was nothing she could do about it for the moment, Claudine thought. She would just have to wait for her return.
As it turned out, it was almost five weeks before Monique came back. And the night before she returned, something happened to put Monique’s problem, and everything else, right out of Claudine’s mind.
– 28 –
EXHAUSTED, AND NEVER having been quite so eager to climb into bed, Claudine dragged back the covers. She checked the time on her watch, snapped off the lamp and snuggled down into the crisp linen sheets Magaly had only moments before stroked with the warming pan.
It was approaching one in the morning, and three times during her cycle ride back from Montsoreau she had been forced to throw herself into a hedge to escape a German patrol. She had been terrified, not only of the Germans, but because it was the first time she had been out after curfew without Armand, and the driving rain, coupled with the almost solid blackness of the moonless night, had thrown up all manner of imaginary evils. But Lucien himself had come to the Château the night before, to ask her and Armand to attend a meeting of the local resistance group at an old barn on the road between Montsoreau and Saumur. Armand had left for Le Mans that morning and wouldn’t be back until the following day, so Claudine had gone alone, her gun tucked safely beneath the blanket in the handlebar basket.
When she arrived at the barn, following the directions Lucien had made her memorize, she had been amazed to count as many as twenty-five faces, although apart from Lucien and the man Jacques – who had come to the bridge several times now – they were all strangers to her. She was introduced as Antoinette, and guessed that all the names she was given in return were also false. The meeting was to tell them of their successes and failures so far, and to see if anyone had any suggestions about how they might improve and expand their network. It seemed that to date they had seen no fewer than twenty-three airmen through their escape-line, and suffered only four arrests – one Résistant and three pilots. Lucien had also managed to locate someone with a radio in Saumur, and had made contact with General de Gaulle’s London headquarters three times in the past two weeks. He was now looking for a new hide-out for the radio operator, as the detector vans had picked up their last transmission. Claudine had immediately offered the cottage, as it was not only secluded but on high ground, which was vital. So the man would be arriving in the next few days, and would stay for about a week before he moved elsewhere.
‘Though we are primarily working for de Gaulle’s intelligence service,’ Lucien said, ‘I have been informed that the British have already started parachuting their own agents into France. I want everyone to dispense with any prejudice they might have towards the British,’ he added hastily as several of the men made noises of protest, ‘because it’s essential we work together. They’re bringing arms with them, small guns, hand grenades and the like, radio transmitters, canned food and even bicycles, all of which we need. These agents are going to need safe-houses, though most of them are fixed up before they leave England. But we must put ourselves at their disposal and help them in every way we can. They, like us, are working towards the liberation of France.’
Lucien cleared his throat. ‘For now we need to store the arms and ammunition, and get as much information as we can back to Britain on troop movements here.’ He turned to Claudine. ‘I want you and the rest of your family to cut all the labels from your French clothes and give them to me. I’m returning to Britain in a few days, so I can take them with me. Also, being half-English, Antoinette, you will know the kind of things British people do that might give them away as not being French. Write them down and let me have that too. They’re setting up training centres around the British Isles to educate their agents in, amongst other things, the habits of the French.’
‘What, you mean like…?’
‘… pissing on the side of the road,’ Lucien finished for her, and they all laughe
d. ‘Precisely,’ he said.
They went on then to discuss the réseaux – which was what the resistance groups were collectively known as – in other parts of northern France, and how the British were planning to send in their own agents to head them. There were more grunts of disapproval at that, but Lucien let it go; the agents themselves would have to deal with the discontent when they arrived. It was a pity, he thought, that the British had been compelled to blow up the French fleet at Mers-el-Kabir; it would be a long time before the French forgave them for that. But the British had had no choice, the ships would otherwise have fallen into German hands – and besides, the animosity between the two nations went a lot further back than July of 1940.
‘When I return from England,’ Lucien went on, ‘I fully expect to be asking you to form reception committees. That means that you’ll be lighting up fields at night so that the pilots can see where to drop their supplies – and indeed agents. I don’t have to tell you how risky that will be, but none of us is in this for the good of his health. In the meantime, Jacques here is arranging for us to join up with the Jupiter réseau, and Henri over there has found a printer willing to help us. We need a new forger, because Madame Germond has been arrested. As far as we know she’s told the Gestapo nothing yet, but the three men who were in contact with her are now in hiding.’
The meeting broke up soon after that, and Claudine was one of the first to leave. ‘I’m glad to have this chance to talk to you,’ she said, as Lucien walked outside with her. ‘I’ve told Monique that I’ve seen you. She’s away at the moment, but when she comes back I want to get her involved as a courier. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Armand told me about the business with the German.’
‘That’s over,’ Claudine said. ‘It was a touch of summer madness.’
‘In the middle of a wintry spring. Well, you’re the best judge, you see more of her than the rest of us. But remember, it’s not only her We you’ll be putting at risk.’