The Lavender Keeper

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Markus, listen to me. If I’m right, and you are part of something that is trying to bring about the very change that we raised our glasses to, then let me help.’

  His gaze narrowed. She seemed to take his silence as his permission to continue.

  ‘I can move with far more freedom than you. If I can prevent you from exposing yourself or making yourself vulnerable, then I want to. I can be a messenger for you.’ Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. ‘I can even be an interface to the Allies, if you need.’

  He sat back, wiped his mouth. ‘We’re leaving.’

  She looked surprised.

  ‘Get your things.’

  ‘But your food, your—’

  ‘I said we’re leaving.’ He stood, found the maître d’ and explained that an urgent matter had arisen. He apologised and paid the bill, leaving a large tip. With his mind in tumult, he grabbed Lisette’s arm and propelled her forward along the Seine.

  ‘Markus, you’re being rough.’

  ‘Am I? Walk faster.’

  They hurried in silence, him pushing her through the sunlit streets back to the Hotel Raphaël, not exchanging a word with her until he’d slammed the door in his hotel room.

  He noticed she didn’t look scared, and couldn’t help but be impressed. But he was also angry, mortified and unnerved all at once. This was so much bigger than him. He could not care less about his own life but there were too many others involved in this conspiracy – and he’d be damned if his lover was going to bring the whole thing down.

  ‘You look as if you could kill me,’ she said, surprising him with her calm.

  ‘That was very dangerous talk, Lisette. I’d like to know how you formed such an opinion of me.’

  ‘All right. Your sudden secrecy while we were away, your touchiness at my mention of General Stülpnagel – even though you spoke to him regularly – your deliberate distancing from me, your weight loss, and now this behaviour. I’ve obviously touched a nerve.’

  She was so poised he was curious. ‘Do you not think such an accusation would touch a raw nerve in anyone in a public place like that?’

  ‘Yes, but you’re not offended by my suggestion – as most would be – you’re mystified, and definitely angry.’

  ‘You’re very observant, Lisette. Very cool.’

  ‘Well, then, those attributes should be put to good use, don’t you think? I can move without the scrutiny that you are subjected to daily. Tell me how to help, Markus.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can keep you safe.’

  ‘Safe from an execution squad?’

  She blinked in consternation. ‘I can keep the Gestapo from knowing of your involvement.’

  ‘I doubt it. The Gestapo already has you under surveillance, from what I hear.’ Had he been duped? It was time to rattle her composure.

  It worked. Her shock was evident, ghosting across her face. She quickly adopted a neutral expression, but he’d seen it. He’d even noticed her clench a fist momentarily.

  ‘So, I see Herr von Schleigel has been stirring up trouble for me.’

  ‘Yes. He paid me a friendly visit.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘Why would I? I had no reason to mistrust you. Was I misguided?’

  She shook her head. ‘Anything I now say just sounds incriminating.’

  ‘Not really. The truth usually is the best course.’

  ‘I haven’t lied. I told you myself about von Schleigel.’

  ‘Yes, you did. Did you tell me the truth about your time in Provence, though?’

  ‘What do you think I might have to hide?’ she asked, looking at him, aghast.

  ‘This fellow called Ravensburg, perhaps.’

  ‘I told you about him as well,’ she replied reasonably.

  He nodded, unbuttoned his uniform jacket. ‘Yes, you did,’ he repeated in a weary tone. ‘Frankly, Lisette, that’s all your business, which is why I’ve left it alone. But you don’t follow the same protocol. You are poking your nose into my business.’

  ‘I’m trying to help you.’

  ‘You could get yourself killed!’ he snapped.

  ‘So could you. And then I’d rather be dead anyway,’ she countered.

  They were both breathing heavily now. ‘It’s too late,’ Kilian said. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘Markus, just tell me. Tell me what you’re doing.’

  He shook his head. ‘I want you to go.’

  ‘No, Markus, please …’ She reached for him.

  He needed to be strong but he melted beneath her touch; it had been so long. He allowed her to kiss him and found himself responding. Before he knew it she was guiding him to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, her sweet mouth all the while seeking his.

  It took all his reserves of willpower to extricate himself from her embrace.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said, frustration and weariness crowding into his voice.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I won’t endanger you. I really do need you to go now, Lisette.’ He began to rebutton his shirt. She stood, looking confounded. ‘And I won’t be able to see you … not for a long time, not until …’

  ‘Not until it’s over?’

  He nodded. ‘And if you’re a spy, then whatever you think I’m doing is playing right into the hands of the Allies. You could hardly complain. And if you’re not a spy, then I know I’m keeping you safe. You have to trust me. You are stepping into an arena that I have no control over. You are best away from me right now, no matter which side you belong to.’

  ‘Do you care?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Because it doesn’t matter any more. The war is as good as lost but some of us want to restore our honour in some small way; we’ll find out shortly if we can. As for you, where you belong is irrelevant. If you’ve lied, I don’t want to know about it. Because if I discovered that you’d been lying to me, I would hate myself for being weak enough to fall for your charms – and for what you promised in my life. Right now I can let you walk out of the door believing myself in love with you, and with the memory of our relationship intact. Whatever you are, Mademoiselle Forestier, leave me with my memories.’

  He tucked his shirt back in and walked to the door, opening it before she could say any more. He steeled himself. He had to let her go. She reached for her bag and straightened her hair. Spy, friend, foe … he loved her more than Germany itself, and because of that he had to protect her from Germany.

  ‘Am I never to see you again?’ she asked in a small voice. Her composure had finally slipped; she looked heartbroken.

  He took her hand, bent and kissed it, clicking his heels lightly, as he had the first time they’d met. ‘Let’s just say until next time. Farewell, Lisette.’ He closed the door before she could turn and say any more.

  Lisette left the Hotel Raphaël feeling lost. She walked, without direction, trying to make sense of what had just occurred. She had played her last card with Markus, driven by her mission and by her real desire to help him, to keep him safe. But it had failed. And all the time – stupidly – she kept thinking about the meal Markus had left at the restaurant; how many people might actually kill for such a meal? And would he remember to eat again this evening? He was looking so gaunt. Thoughts clashed in her head, and wouldn’t let her return to the bank, to her flat, not even to the familiar streets of Montmartre. And so she walked aimlessly in the sunshine, clinging to her small bag and the overriding notion that she’d seen Markus Kilian for the last time.

  Sorrow gripped her, fisting into her belly, making her feel nauseated. She didn’t want to examine herself too closely. Underneath there was fear – not only that her mission might just have blown up in her face, but that Colonel Markus Kilian had just seen her for the impostor she was. Had she broken his heart? Had he broken hers?

  They were over.

  If only she could tell him that she’d never wanted to hurt him. How overworked that phrase sounded, and yet it express
ed her genuine sentiments. How could she ever want to hurt him? She had compartmentalised her life so skilfully that she had discovered two Lisettes. One was pro-German but pro-peace, in love with a German colonel with an easy smile, a quick wit and an heroic approach to life. She had even daydreamed of a life for them in Germany, beyond the war. It was a life of privilege, where Lisette would rediscover her love of painting, perhaps plan a grand garden, entertain society people and mother a brood of golden-haired children with perfect manners. She told herself these daydreams were important in strengthening her cover; the problem was that Kilian had affected Lisette in ways she didn’t want to admit to herself. She did fear for him, she did want to see him again … she did love him.

  But then there was the other Lisette – the one whose heart was lost to a troubled, enigmatic lavender farmer, as damaged by loss as she was. It was his sorrows, his sentimental nature and his painful past as much as the truth of who he was that had first attracted her to him. He trusted her. And their shared adventure in the south had bound them in intangible ways. She didn’t daydream about a life with Luc, or about having his children. She could barely bring herself to think about him because she was frightened that she’d already lost him to the war. He was probably fighting in the south, where men were dying by the hundreds every day. She felt sure it was her determination to put her mission first that had sent him south. It wasn’t right that she felt this way – Luc made his own decisions, after all – but she felt the burden of guilt all the same.

  She loved him. She’d been in love with him from the moment she’d first seen him, but hadn’t realised until he kissed her … so tenderly, so full of grief, coupled with desire. Luc was exciting, dangerous even, while Kilian was measured, stoic. Both were courageous – and now they were fighting for the same side!

  Choose! the voice she feared from the back of her mind warned again. It will come to it.

  And she knew it was true.

  Lisette looked up and found herself standing in front of the café on the Rue Pergolese. She must have walked in circles for more than an hour, for it really wasn’t that far from where she’d left Kilian.

  Inside, a woman was working behind the counter, a red tea towel over her shoulder. She was the owner’s cousin.

  ‘Café?’ the woman asked in a bored tone.

  ‘Thank you,’ Lisette said. ‘I’ll just visit the bathroom.’

  The woman nodded.

  Inside the bathroom Lisette hurriedly wrote out a note on cigarette paper, explaining that her mission had been compromised – Gestapo was involved and she had to distance herself immediately. Within moments she was back at the counter, waiting for her coffee to be poured.

  ‘Do you have a spare newspaper, please, madame?’ she asked as she paid the woman.

  ‘I’ll check.’ The woman walked to the end of the counter and reached beneath. ‘It’s yesterday’s. Best I can do,’ she said, looking away immediately.

  ‘That’s fine, thank you.’ Lisette took her coffee to a table. There was only one other patron at the counter and he was far away with his back to her. She checked that there were no mirrors, nothing reflective around that he could be watching her in. Satisfied, she surreptitiously stuck the note into the newspaper and began her usual routine of flicking absently through the pages.

  She was surprised to discover a note a few pages in for her. It was from Armand, and as he’d promised, he had a job for her. It seemed to jolt her out of her mist. Her fuzziness cleared as she sat and took stock of her situation; she couldn’t stay in her flat any longer. In fact, she couldn’t go home at all. If the Gestapo really had decided to put her under surveillance, then she’d be mad to tempt fate any more than she already had. She experienced a brief moment of regret for Kilian’s birthday gown and her precious perfume, but she had to let those go. Thank goodness she had all her ID papers with her and her money. Her clothes, her small suitcase, were all that was left in the flat. She hoped the new tenant enjoyed her soap!

  And her job – she could no longer work at the bank. Walter was already linked to her, and she couldn’t drag him any deeper into suspicion. No, she would have to resign today, but she couldn’t go back there; she would have to do it by letter or phone. She looked around. Was someone watching her now? Had her café been compromised as well? No, the woman would have found a way to let her know.

  Lisette had lived in such a bubble of security since arriving in Paris that she’d never fully understood the anxiety of discovery. This is what it must feel like to be Playboy, she thought, who she’d learnt often sent his messages to London from the woods, having ridden out miles on his bicycle, because he was rightly paranoid at being traced. This was how Sylvie lived, working in a place she would attempt to sabotage, and then moving quickly once her mission was complete, only to set up again and start on a new mission. This is how they all lived … Armand, Sylvie, Luc. Especially Luc, who had been forced to look over his shoulder constantly. Lisette felt suddenly humbled as she remembered that he had always looked over her shoulder too.

  She’d had a lot of help, most of it without her knowing. Meanwhile she ate exquisite food, drank expensive liquor, dressed in fine clothes, wore Chanel No. 5 and even danced at a cabaret hall in Lyon one evening, arm in arm with Markus, as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Now she felt the panic; the pounding heart, the ragged breathing. But she trusted her training to kick in. Calm was her greatest friend. Think clearly, make sound decisions. Safety first and foremost. Yes, she had to move and make sure that she was not followed. She must go through the procedures she’d been taught. Look in shop windows for reflections, watch if there was anyone following her. Move erratically around streets – take big circles, backtrack …

  There was no doubting that she’d uncovered a plot, but what and when, she couldn’t say; all in all, she’d been useless, while other agents risked life and limb. She thought of Luc fighting, putting his life on the line for faceless strategists in London.

  Oh, Luc, she thought to herself. Stay safe. Don’t give up on me. And it was at this moment that she knew that she had chosen her path. She crumpled Armand’s note and left immediately after handing back the newspaper.

  Lisette knew what she had to do now, gratified at how the sharp threat of fear brought great clarity. Colonel Kilian had shown her the ultimate generosity when he showed her the door. He was offering her a way out of their relationship while keeping what they’d shared precious and intact. She would never be able to understand the swiftness and ferocity of their attraction, but Luc had been right – Kilian would put Germany before her but he was also protecting her. He’d stayed true to his cause. And now, while she still had the chance, she must stay true to hers. Her mission might be compromised but she could still play an active role for the Resistance. Redemption began tonight, sixteen kilometres from central Paris, with a small team of resisters and a railway line that needed disabling.

  But first she had to get to the safe house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  20th July 1944

  Kilian sat in his office, as still as one of the sculptures in the Louvre. He’d met von Hofacker very early that morning in the park behind the Notre Dame Cathedral.

  ‘Do we have a time?’

  ‘I can’t be specific. We think around midday, maybe early afternoon,’ his subordinate had replied calmly.

  Kilian was used to holding his nerve but he was also used to being in control of orders, making his own decisions; today he felt like a puppet with too many other people pulling the strings. ‘Are my instructions the same?’ He knew how often orders could be misinterpreted, and he wanted nothing left unchecked at his end.

  ‘Yes, Colonel. Remain at your office and carry on as normal. If all goes as we expect, I will call you.’

  Kilian had sighed and nodded. ‘I will await your call.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Incidentally, the general did ask me to check with you about that other business.’

&
nbsp; ‘Other business?’ he’d frowned, looking puzzled.

  For the first time since Kilian had met him, von Hofacker looked uncomfortable. ‘Er, yes. The file, sir.’ When Kilian still looked unsure, he prompted him again. ‘The one I gave you in your office. It’s not terribly relevant now, but even so, it pays to be careful.’

  ‘Forgive me, von Hofacker. I do recall the file. Just a lot of useless paperwork, surely?’

  ‘Not all of it, sir. Perhaps you’d like to take a closer look. My apologies, Colonel, but I am obliged to enquire whether you are still accompanied by Mademoiselle Forestier?’

  ‘I am not,’ Kilian had replied, icily. He’d momentarily considered reprimanding the man but held his tongue.

  ‘Again, my apologies, Colonel. Please … read the file. It is essential that you distance yourself from this woman.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We believe she may be a spy. All is explained in the file. The Gestapo has been alerted. Makes us look good. They are closing in on the conspiracy in Berlin, but we don’t want them sniffing around in Paris.’

  Stunned by the accusation, Kilian could only think about getting back to the office and ripping open the file.

  And now he sat in his office, mute. The file had been more than enlightening – buried deep within the nonsense paperwork was a series of photographs. They were grainy, shot through a window, and there were moments when Kilian could almost convince himself that it wasn’t Lisette and the driver he knew as Loewe kissing.

  The clandestine surveillance had been arranged by Stülpnagel, who’d been as good as his word; Kilian remembered now that the general said he’d look into Lisette. Here were the damning results. At first he’d stared at them in a shocked stupor; how could she be with Loewe? She didn’t even know Loewe. It didn’t make sense! But the written explanation clarified the whole tawdry affair. Loewe was an impostor. Stülpnagel had no idea of this man’s actual name but the real Christian Loewe had died years earlier. Lisette’s lover had used well-forged papers to get himself employed.