‘I’ve kept you out long enough. I don’t want to excite Walter’s wrath.’
She stood and let him wrap the stole around her shoulders.
‘Tell the driver to turn the heater on in the car please, for mademoiselle,’ he instructed the maître d’, who had returned silently.
‘Very good, Colonel.’
Kilian escorted her out of the fabulously ornate chamber with its trompe l’oeil ceiling of dusky pinks and soft golds.
‘Will you be accompanying me home?’ Lisette asked, suddenly unsure.
‘I don’t think it will be good for you to be seen too often with a German officer in your neighbourhood.’
‘And you think your car slipped out of Montmartre unnoticed earlier today? Or how about Corporal Freyburg delivering your gifts in broad daylight?’
He paused in the hotel lobby.
‘You’re right, of course. We shall have to think that through better next time.’
Next time.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, grinning. ‘How about you ride with me to my hotel and then go on with the car? It means a little longer together.’
‘That sounds nice,’ she replied. Had she lost control of this situation? She had hoped he would ask her to spend the night. For a woman like her it was not the done thing to say yes, but she did not have the luxury of propriety. There was no time to worry about what others might think. But now he seemed reticent, almost apologetic. She had to press him. ‘But, please don’t feel you have to do anything more for me. You have ensured I’ve had the most glorious birthday in years – in fact since I turned five and my father gave me my own pony,’ she said. She had never ridden a horse in her life. ‘I will treasure tonight always, Markus.’
He stepped around to face her. ‘You sound as if you are not wishing me goodnight but goodbye, Lisette.’
‘No … I …’ Damn her hesitation. And now he was laughing at her. ‘Don’t grin like that at me.’
‘I rather like to see you flustered. It’s endearing.’
She straightened and found a smile. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Markus.’
He grinned more widely. That was plain infuriating. She turned to leave but felt him take her arm, and then he was pulling her around the corner, away from the main lobby to where a small telephone cubby was. He pulled her inside it and closed the door. He stared at her in the soft gloom of their compartment. The air was close and warm between them.
‘All night long I’ve wanted to do this,’ he said as he bent to kiss her.
It was the reaction she’d intended to provoke – certainly what London needed her to achieve – but nothing could have prepared her for her feverish response. He pulled her so close that she could feel almost every inch of his body. And while one hand held her in the small of her back, his other hand pushed away her stole so he could kiss her shoulders, her neck.
He groaned, returning to kiss her lips.
‘Markus, stop.’
Kilian pulled away, breathing hard. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me. That was wrong of me, I …’
‘Take me back to your hotel,’ she urged softly.
‘What?’ Again she’d surprised him. He stared at her, his breathing slowing. ‘You’re sure?’
She nodded. ‘I want to be with you.’
‘You’re young, beautiful, Lisette. And I should know better.’ He shook his head, looking irritated with himself. ‘I have already behaved badly and it would not be fair to—’
‘I’m not a child. This is my decision. Please.’ Her gaze slid over his body. ‘Let me help take your mind off things.’
He grinned in surprise. ‘I adore you, you know.’ He held her face between his hands and gazed at her for several seconds before kissing her tenderly.
‘Let’s go before we’re seen,’ she begged, but he took his time wrapping his heavy military coat around her shoulders.
‘There. Now Walter can’t entirely blame me if you catch a cold.’
The doorman opened the car door for them. It was warm inside and she relaxed as the heat enveloped her. Kilian put an arm around her. ‘What would your mother think of you?’
‘She’d remind me that history repeats itself. She was French and fell in love with a German.’
He smiled softly, cradling her hand in his lap. ‘Hotel Raphaël,’ he called.
The driver stared ahead and simply nodded. Lisette barely spared him a glance as Kilian leant forward to close the glass partition. The drive was a blur. She was aware of moving through streets she recognised, but beyond that her attention was fully focused on Kilian. He was certainly paying no attention to the cityscape that was rolling by.
He pulled her closer and first kissed her hair. ‘You smell unbelievably good,’ he said, gently nipping at her earlobes and grazing her neck with soft lips.
‘It’s your fault,’ she whispered, surprised at how aroused she felt.
She closed her eyes, sure that the driver was watching them in his rear-view mirror … but she didn’t care.
Kilian kissed her deeply. She couldn’t help herself; her treacherous arms snaked around his neck and she could feel the small curls of hair at his collar under her fingers. Just for that minute, nothing else seemed to matter – not that he was German, that he was wearing a Nazi uniform, that he had probably killed dozens in the war. For this tiny window of time he was her lover … and, she hoped, one of the courageous few who might bring down the Nazi regime from within.
The car lurched to a stop, a little violently, but Kilian didn’t seem to notice. He reached forward to open the partition and speak with the driver. ‘Wait until you are sent for. Later I will need you to take mademoiselle to an address in Montmartre. You are to park outside her doorway and watch that she goes inside safely. Better still, escort her up. Understood?’
She saw the man’s head nod.
‘Lisette.’ Kilian sighed. ‘You can still change your mind, you know. I will not be offended. I did not anticipate this, but now that it has happened I feel as if I’ve been given a glimpse into heaven. I’m not sure I deserve it.’
‘You really are a romantic, aren’t you?’
He shrugged bashfully, not meeting her gaze.
‘Take me upstairs.’
Once again she moved in a daze. She didn’t register leaving the car when the doorman rushed to open their door, or entering the hotel, or arriving at Kilian’s room. She was vaguely aware of the plush interior of the lobby – not as grand as the Ritz with its huge mirrors and crystal chandeliers, but full of rich ornamentation and plenty of German uniforms. Kilian spoke to a couple of men and she was sure she was introduced, but although she went through the motions of politeness, she felt disconnected.
And then they were truly alone and he was pulling off his coat from around her, sliding his fingers tenderly over her bare shoulders.
‘Lisette? Are you all right?’
She blinked and came out of her curious stupor. It had been filled with the smell of lavender and of blood, and of another German she barely knew – one whose memory was tugging unfairly at her heart when she least wanted it. Kilian was staring anxiously at her. The room was still dark, although moonlight had seeped in to illuminate the bed.
‘If this is too fast for you—’
‘Hush,’ she whispered as she reached up on tiptoe to give him a teasing, lingering kiss. She began to unbutton his tunic.
‘Champagne?’ he murmured.
‘Just you,’ she breathed as the zipper on her beautiful new dress was expertly undone and the silk chiffon slipped away from her body.
He stared at her in the soft, ghostly light and sighed. Lisette couldn’t believe this was her, standing near-naked, allowing a man to hungrily watch her as she carefully unrolled her precious stockings. Finally she was brazenly naked; an alter ego had emerged and a new Lisette was carrying her through this evening.
Markus ripped off his tunic, flinging it carelessly towards a chair. She was sure he would tear buttons on hi
s shirt but finally that too fell away and she caught her breath. Silvery scars on his muscled body traced memories of wounds and battles she knew nothing of, but reminded her that this was a soldier … the enemy.
Looking at him standing there, vulnerable and filled with the same helpless lust that she was experiencing, she didn’t see his nationality or his age. It made her smile inwardly to hear an echo of her grandmother’s voice: ‘Choose an older man for your first lover. He’ll worship you, like no young man ever would.’ Markus would not be her first lover, but he would be her first older man. Lisette was bewildered, suddenly unsure whether she was doing this for King and Country or for herself. It would be a lie if she said she didn’t want him to be her lover in this moment.
To Markus she whispered, ‘Hold me.’
Suddenly they were locked together in a slow and sensuous kiss, sinking them deeper and deeper, lasting long enough for Lisette to lose sense of time. As he lifted her onto the bed, she wasn’t sure she was ready. But once there she gave herself entirely over to the laughter and the loving that Colonel Markus Kilian lavished upon her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lisette stirred first. Her wristwatch, the only adornment she still wore, told her through sleepy eyes that it was a few minutes to four. Not even a bird was awake with her. The silence was comforting, and although the realities of life were now crowding into her thoughts, she managed to hold them at bay – for just a while longer – to enjoy this private aftermath of her birthday celebration.
They’d made love for hours, it seemed; Markus claimed that he was determined not to sleep as long as she was in his arms, but of course he’d lost the fight. She’d made sure he knew that of all his rivals on and off the battlefield, he had been her conqueror. He’d drifted asleep still smiling.
The memory of the last few hours would always be sweet. The colonel had been tender, generous and above all funny. They’d laughed together as much as they’d loved together.
She had thought when they moved to the bed that it would be a fierce, rushed affair; she had been so eager to feel him on her, in her, that in fact it was Lisette who had been the more hurried. She sighed softly, recalling his gentle, rhythmic lovemaking and the tender way that he’d paused to stare at her until she began to feel shy.
Although her British school had been all but Victorian in its straitlaced attitude to men, Lisette was far from prudish. Nonetheless, there was something about the intensity of Kilian’s gaze that had caused her to blush.
She watched his face in repose, lit softly by the moonlight that had seeped into the room. As he slept she admired his strong jaw, furred by a shadow that he would shave in a few hours. His face was symmetrical and perfectly balanced; even the slight greying of the hair near each ear was identical, as though a mirror reflection. She carefully reached to touch the tiny wisp of hair that curled on the pillow at his neck. Golden and soft. An Adonis, she thought, imagining all the hearts that trailed broken in his wake.
And so it was time to go; she must leave him wanting. She instinctively knew they would never have a night like this again. She leant forward and brushed his lips with hers. His eyelids flew open and she saw alarm flare before he blinked and smiled.
‘Is it morning?’
‘No, but I have to go.’
He sighed, tried to reach for her, but she had already slipped away from his grasp and tiptoed to the bathroom, gathering up clothes as she went. Not much later in the gloom of the lobby, lights out for the curfew, and with barely even skeleton staff in the early hours, he asked if he could see her again at nightfall.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve got some work to catch up on.’
‘Change your plans.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t hold back on me, Lisette.’
She took a risk. ‘You held back on me last night. You wouldn’t tell me about your work, about Stülpnagel.’ She tried to make it appear airy but worried it sounded far too specific.
Luckily he wasn’t paying close attention. ‘You don’t need my burdens. None of my secrets are relevant to the joy that is you. Happy birthday, beautiful Lisette,’ he said, escorting her to the car. Once she was inside, he leant in and kissed her once at length. ‘Time will drag until I see you,’ he said, when he finally pulled away.
‘Markus.’
He leant back in and pulled the connecting glass closed so the driver couldn’t hear them. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you …’ she hesitated. This was too fast. But she needed to give London something.
He grinned. ‘Am I in love with you? Ask me again tonight.’
She blinked with consternation, covered it with a cautious smile. ‘Don’t tease me.’
‘I thought you were the one who believed in love at first sight.’
Lisette had no answer for that. ‘I was going to ask something else, actually.’
‘Don’t be shy.’
‘Are you in some sort of trouble?’
He looked at her intently. ‘No. But trouble does seem to find me,’ he replied cryptically.
She covered his hand with hers. ‘There were moments last night when you sounded wistful, as though you wished you could change things.’
‘Most soldiers do. Few of us would choose war. And those of us who can effect change should … or we would regret our cowardice.’
She could see he’d said far more than he’d intended; she couldn’t push him any further at present. So she smiled. ‘I can think of no man further from cowardice,’ she whispered and blew him a kiss. Kilian stared at her longingly as he reluctantly closed the door. The driver eased the vehicle from the kerb and set off into the darkness of Paris. Lisette twisted in the deep leather to watch Kilian, noting that he was walking away from the hotel, not turning back inside. For a few seconds he cut the loneliest of figures, a solitary man on Avenue Kléber, and then he was gone, lost to the darkness as the car gained speed.
Something was on his mind. He’d alluded a few times to his regrets, and the contact from Stülpnagel had clearly surprised him. The meeting sounded plausible and yet her instincts judged that Kilian had not bought it. Why did the military commander of Paris, who with a single order could mobilise all soldiers in the city – in all of France if it came to it – need to discuss security arrangements with the liaison officer for the Church in Paris? Credible, perhaps … but only just. Stülpnagel had minions to do that sort of job. He would not call a sudden face-to-face meeting with Kilian, she was sure of it. She frowned, wondering whether she was just desperately trying to read more into it than there was.
The truth was she was feeling suddenly protective of Colonel Kilian. Damn him for being so likeable! And damn him for making her body react as it had to his touch. It wasn’t meant to be like this. She was the spy, the cold user of others … so why were her cheeks hot and her supposedly hardened heart pounding?
She felt self-conscious that she was alone with the driver, who had presumably witnessed their languid affections earlier. She was shocked when the driver reached behind his head to push the partition down. It was as though he had eavesdropped on her thoughts. He slowed the car to a halt.
She blinked, frowning in confusion and the beginnings of fear.
‘Yes, driver?’ she asked, nervously smoothing her hair.
‘Bonsoir, Lisette,’ he said, turning. Even in the dark she knew that voice, and even in shadow she knew the face of Lukas Ravensburg.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Luc had no idea how Lisette felt about him now after the previous autumn when he’d stolen a kiss in the back of a bus winding its bumpy way down from Gordes into Cavaillon. Seven months since that night in the Gestapo car, after a day filled with rage and blood, murder and despair, it was Lisette’s lips, Lisette’s arms, Lisette’s presence that he’d clung to like a raft in stormy seas.
How he had let her go he would never know. No woman had ever affected him as Lisette had, but then no woman had shared such trauma with him, or seen him so ra
w. Watching her train draw out from the platform in Lyon had been an agony, but he had been so anxious for her safety that the train was all that mattered in his fractured mind, which was still spinning with the memory of Wolf’s death. The chilling coup de grâce he had delivered under the gleeful orders of von Schleigel still haunted him most nights.
Over the weeks that had followed Wolf’s death, Luc’s grief had hardened. He hated how cold he’d become. Where was that man who had made carefree love in the fields? The man who could appreciate the sight of sunlight turning a single lavender stalk into a thing of luminescent blue beauty? Or who had seen the moonlight silvering a curious, magical-looking wild patch of white alpine lavender, whose seeds he carried with him, along with the blue?
Amid his grief, Luc could not stop thinking of Lisette. Neither of them had been looking for love, he was sure of that. And yet two wilful people had been thrown together and their sorrows had connected. It was her resistance to him, her ability to confront him and provoke him, that had broken through the barriers he’d put in place around his heart. And now she owned that heart. He knew all he needed to about Lisette – that he loved her. Ever since that realisation, he had committed himself to keeping her safe, as best he could.
At the start of the war his father had made him bury a box with money, among other items, in one of the family’s lavender fields away from Saignon. Luc had laughed at the time but Jacob had tapped his nose.
‘Trust me, son. That money could save your life one day.’
And save his life it had. He’d made his way back to Mont Ventoux, dug up the box and used some of the money to find his way to Paris. Once there he’d made contact with the Resistance network and discreetly discovered Lisette’s whereabouts. And it was then that he began to follow her. He told himself it was to keep her safe, but knew in his heart that it was to keep her close.
The Lavender Keeper Page 26