by Martin Lake
‘You’ve come to ask about Alain?’ she asked.
Gerard nodded.
‘I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen him for the past six weeks.’ Six weeks and three days, she thought.
Then a horrible thought came to her. ‘You don’t know anything, do you? He’s not hurt or anything?’
Gerard was about to answer no, but then thought better of it. Her reaction showed that she really didn’t know where Alain was. But he might be wise not to say anything one way or another. Keep her in the dark. Give her the feeling that he knew more than she did. It might give him some leverage over her, some power.
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ he said.
She heaved a sigh of relief. His heart pained at this. She still loved him, then.
‘He’s not in the town,’ he said, more harshly than he intended. ‘My superior, Herr Schorn, thinks he may have joined the Maquis in the mountains. Or perhaps gone over to one of the criminal gangs in Marseille or Nice.’
Viviane did not respond. ‘Would you like some coffee?’ she asked after a moment.
‘Please. If you’re having one.’
She poured two small cups of coffee. He took a sip and gave an appreciative grunt. It was the best he had tasted in years.
He felt his heart begin to pound and was not sure if it was from the coffee or the thought of what he had come here to say. He stared at her in silence for a while. He could not think how to begin.
Then he blurted it out.
‘Let me take care of you.’
Viviane gave him an incredulous look. ‘Take care of me? And how would you do that, Gerard?’
‘You could move into my house. We could be happy. Maman would be happy.’
He was amazed at how the words came tumbling out. They had been in his brain so long they tumbled out in one wild rush. Yet at the same time his voice sounded strangled, as if the words were actually too alien to utter.
And then he said: ‘We could even get married.’
Viviane looked astonished. ‘But I’m already married. To your best friend.’
‘But we don’t know what’s happened to him. He might not return, he might be dead or wounded.’ He was sounding ever more desperate. ‘He may even have found another woman.’
She gasped. ‘How could you even –’
‘I’d be a good husband to you, Viviane.’ He placed his hands together as if in prayer. ‘And a good father to Celeste.’ He fell silent; pleading with his looks and gestures, imploring.
Viviane’s hot anger now turned icy cold. ‘Only Celeste? What about David?’
Gerard could not bear the look in her face and his eyes dropped to the floor. ‘I know about David, Viviane. I know that he’s a Jew.’
He looked back up at her. ‘You should not be looking after him, Viviane. He’s a danger to you and to Celeste.’
‘A little boy? A danger?’
‘Yes.’ He gave a decisive look. ‘When we’re together we shall have to give him up.’
‘To who? The Nazis?’
‘They will take care of him —’
‘Of course they will, you bastard. Like they’ve taken care of all the Jews, the Gypsies and poor disabled folk. Take care of him by a bullet in his back.’
He searched for a reply but could find none. His words, hitherto so powerful, appeared to have deserted him.
‘I want you to leave now,’ Viviane said.
Gerard looked anguished and snatched at her hand. ‘You’d be safe with me, Viviane. I’m an important man in the Milice.
‘Get out of my sight,’ she screamed, leaping from her chair and going to the window.
He got up but did not leave.
As if in a dream he followed her, stood behind her, and placed his hands upon her shoulders.
She tensed, tried to free herself from his grasp.
‘Let me go,’ she cried.
‘I love you Viviane,’ he said. ‘I always have.’
‘Let me go.’
He was in despair, so close yet so far.
He reached out and took her breasts in his hands, kneading softly and moaning as he did so.
‘Stop it,’ she cried, ‘let me go.’
She managed to wriggle free of his clutches. But he could not let her leave and backed her into a corner. He reached out to grab her once again.
Her eyes grew wild and desperate. He lunged, his hands reaching out to catch her.
She raked her nails across his face, drawing blood.
He cried out in pain and grasped her hands. She tried to push him away, kicked at his ankles but he was relentless. She kneed him in the crotch.
He doubled over and she slipped free. But he reached out as she tried to run past, grabbed her leg and pulled her down beside him. He was up in a moment and straddled her but the pain in his groin slowed him down.
She reached for a chair and slammed it against his arm. But he grabbed it from her and threw it against the table, sending the coffee mugs crashing to the floor.
He bore down upon her now but she fought him every inch of the way, pummelling on his chest, spitting on his face. It inflamed him even more and he tried to find her lips with his. Drawl from his mouth dripped on her face and she screamed more loudly.
Suddenly the weight was gone from her. Someone had pulled him off.
She sat up, gasping for breath, and saw Colonel Weiser dragging Gerard across the floor. Gerard lashed out blindly, punching him hard in the eye.
Weiser groaned but didn’t let go. Then his leg gave out and he crashed to the floor. Gerard kicked him on his knee, in a frenzy, making him yell in pain and fury.
Then, suddenly, Gerard stopped himself, realising his adversary. He was assaulting a German officer. He cried out in terror and fled.
Viviane clambered to her feet and went over the Colonel who was writhing on the floor.
‘Are you hurt?’ both asked at the same time.
‘I’m not,’ Viviane said.
‘Well I am.’ Weiser said. ‘But my pride most of all.’ He gave a feeble grin.
She helped him to his feet and onto a chair. Then she burst into tears.
Major Mundt flew into the room, pistol in hand, his eyes searching everywhere for danger. Viviane watched events unfold as if in a dream. Marie ran into the room; her hand going to her mouth at the scene. Dorothy was hot on her heels, spoke to Marie then hurried over to Viviane and threw her arms around her.
Mundt was tending to the Colonel and bellowing at the top of his voice at the same time. Four soldiers ran through the door and Mundt sent two of them off to hunt for Gerard. Then he put his friend’s arm around his neck and got him to his feet.
‘Help me get him to his room,’ he barked at one of the men. ‘You, take a motorbike and fetch a doctor from the barracks,’ he told the other.
Viviane collapsed into Dorothy’s arms, weeping uncontrollably. Years of resentment, years of trying to keep control, years of powerless anger overwhelmed her, flooded through a shattered dam.
‘I’m all alone,’ she cried, ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘I’m putting you to bed,’ Dorothy said. ‘Marie, give me a hand. No, better still, you take care of the children. I left them in the garden with Pierre.’
Dorothy grabbed Viviane firmly round the waist and began to walk her towards the door. But Viviane’s legs were shaking and it looked like she might not make it. Luckily, Pierre appeared, his face wide with concern. Without a word he slipped his arms under Viviane and hoisted her into the air.
‘Let’s get her to her room,’ Dorothy said. ‘The children?’
‘They’re with Marie,’ he answered. ‘She sent me in to help.’
Pierre carried Viviane up the stairs quickly but carefully and laid her on her bed. She was still weeping and was shaking as if in a fever. He stood by her side, wringing his hands with anxiety.
‘Get her some cognac,’ Dorothy told him. ‘One for me as well. And bring some weapon, anything.’
He rushed from the room, grateful to be given a task he could easily do.
Dorothy turned to Viviane and stroked her gently on the forehead, as if she were a sick child. ‘Everything is okay,’ she said. ‘There’s no need to worry.’
But her mind raced with concern. What the hell had been going on? She’d no sooner got back from her walk with the children when Marie collared her to say that a member of the Milice was here and was talking to Viviane. Her heart had hammered at the news and she called to Pierre to take the children back into the garden. Then she heard a crash from the kitchen and raced after Marie to find out what it was.
She was desperate to ask Viviane what had happened but thought better of it. Pierre arrived a moment later with a bottle of cognac and a cudgel. He pulled two glasses from his pocket and swiftly filled them.
‘Help me sit her up,’ Dorothy said.
They pulled Viviane into a sitting position and Dorothy put the glass to her lips. She coughed and spluttered as she swallowed a drop and then gestured to Dorothy to stop.
‘Lay her back down,’ Dorothy said to Pierre.
‘No,’ Viviane cried, swinging her legs to the floor. ‘The children —’
‘They’re safe with Marie.’
‘That’s not safe.’
Dorothy glanced at Pierre. ‘Go and find the kids. Bring them back to the house. And don’t leave them.’
She held Viviane’s arm firmly, keeping her on the bed. ‘Come on, darling,’ she murmured. ‘Stay here a while. Everything will be okay. Pierre and Marie will look after the children. You just rest up for a little. I won’t leave you.’
Viviane was too weak to argue.
Dorothy leaned her back against the pillows and gave her another sip of cognac. ‘You’re not hurt?’ she asked, softly.
Viviane shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’ Tears began to well once more. ‘He tried to rape me, Dorothy. And he said that Alain might be dead.’
Dorothy squeezed her hand. ‘Do you know who he is?’
Viviane nodded. ‘Gerard Pithou. He’s been Alain’s friend since they were at school.’
Dorothy sucked in a breath. That figured, she thought. A man who’d probably always desired her and only just managed to bury it because of his friend. She’d seen in any number of times, written about it a couple, in fact. It was a can of worms and this war was opening plenty of them.
‘The colonel saved me,’ Viviane said. Her voice was distant, matter-of-fact.
‘He’s a gentleman,’ Dorothy said. ‘It’s lucky he was here.’
Viviane looked surprised at her words for a moment but nodded in agreement.
They were silent for a little while.
Then Viviane looked up. ‘Gerard knows about David,’ she whispered. ‘And he’s in the Milice.’
Shit, Dorothy thought. Then the game’s up.
But she gave a comforting smile and told Viviane not to worry about it. ‘Everything will be okay, honey. Don’t fret. I’ll look after everything.’
Yet even as she said these words, she knew they were straws in the wind.
AN AGREEMENT
Villa Laurel, 8 and 9 December 1943
Dorothy knocked on Colonel Weiser’s door. She heard a muffled conversation and then Major Mundt opened it.
‘The Colonel says you can come in,’ he said, his voice dripping with resentment.
Weiser was sitting on his chair with his leg resting on a stool. A German medical officer had just finished examining him and was packing up his case.
‘Nothing broken,’ Weiser told her, ‘although my knee’s pretty knocked about.’
He took a deep breath, fighting the pain. ‘How’s the girl?’
‘She’s pretty done in,’ Dorothy said. ‘I’ve put her to bed. She’s in shock.’
‘Do you want my doctor to see her?’
Dorothy blinked in surprise. ‘Can he give her anything?’
‘Something to calm her,’ the doctor said. ‘A sleeping draught, perhaps.’
‘Okay.’ She stared at the man and then turned back to Weiser. ‘But I’m going with him.’
‘Of course. But please come back here afterwards.’
She returned a little later. She had been surprised at the gentle, caring way the doctor examined Viviane. His manner was almost as calming as the drink he gave to her.
‘That was kind of you,’ she said as they walked down the stairs.
‘I was a junior doctor when the war started,’ he said. ‘I go back to my hospital when it’s over.’ He gave a huge sigh and headed out of the house.
She knocked on Weiser’s door again and this time walked in without waiting. Mundt looked as though he was about to remonstrate but kept his mouth shut.
‘Who was the man who attacked her?’ Weiser asked.
‘A friend of Viviane’s,’ she answered. She had decided it would be best if she spoke as truthfully as she could safely do.
Weiser glanced from Mundt to Dorothy, perplexed. ‘So why did he attack her?’
‘It’s obvious,’ Mundt said. ‘He’s probably always lusted after her for years and now he thought he saw the chance to satisfy his desires. I presume her husband is no longer around?’
Dorothy looked at him in surprise. ‘You should come to Hollywood after the war, Major. Help me write some scripts. You’re a real student of mankind.’
Weiser laughed. ‘A student of womankind, more precisely,’ he said.
She stared at him a moment, saw him now as a man and not an enemy. Then she glanced at Mundt who looked almost sheepish, gave a little shrug and smiled at her.
She took a deep breath. This was certainly turning into one strange day.
‘I know about the little boy,’ Weiser said.
Dorothy’s mouth fell open.
‘How?’ She cursed herself for saying this but there was no way of going back now.
‘I saw him in tears a few days ago,’ he explained. ‘He was asking for his mother. The little girl consoled him by saying their mother would be with him shortly. He said he didn’t want her; he wanted his real mother.’
He glanced at Dorothy to catch any hint that he had been correct. She had grown poker-faced, which suggested he was right.
‘I’m guessing the boy is a Jew,’ he said, quietly.
Dorothy swallowed hard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Mundt looked as startled as she felt.
‘Don’t worry,’ Weiser said. ‘The secret is safe with us.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Mundt with surprising vehemence.
‘What about the Frenchman?’ Weiser said. ‘Does he know about the boy? Is there anything we need to know about him?’
Dorothy licked her lips. They were as dry as sand.
‘He’s in the Milice.’
‘Damn,’ cried Mundt. ‘Then the Gestapo will know.’ He gnawed on a finger-nail.
Weiser leaned back in the chair. He was silent for a good while, running over the problem in his mind. ‘Madame Pine, who else knows the boy is a Jew?’ he asked.
‘My maid, Marie,’ she answered. ‘And my handyman, Pierre. We decided to tell them to ensure they kept David away from…’ She paused. ‘Well from you and your men, to be honest.’
‘It’s the Gestapo we must keep him from,’ Mundt said.
Weiser nodded. He drummed his fingers on the table beside him. ‘The young woman must stay here, with the children,’ he said finally. ‘Under our protection.’
Mundt nodded and appeared to relax.
‘Can you protect them from the Gestapo?’ Dorothy asked.
Weiser stared at her. ‘Let’s pray to God I can.’
Dorothy made for the door but paused on the threshold. ‘One thing more, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Please don’t tell Viviane that you know about the boy. It would worry her too much.’
The sleeping draught was very effective, Viviane slept the rest of the day. Dorothy spent the time in a very different state. She had been surprised by the reactions of the two German
officers, pleasantly surprised. But they were still Germans and she wondered how much she could trust them.
It was the avowed policy of the Nazi government to deal with what they saw as the Jewish problem and she had heard alarming rumours of how they were going about it. The work-camps people were being shipped to were places of misery, it was said. There was little shelter from the elements, little food and no medicines. The adults were worked until they dropped, sometimes until they died.
If she had heard this, then the Germans surely must have as well. How much could she trust men who might know such things yet still support Hitler?
And yet the Colonel had fought to protect Viviane, even to the extent of being injured. And neither he nor his friend liked the Gestapo, it was clear.
Her mind returned to the reaction of Major Mundt once again. He appeared even more determined to protect the boy than the Colonel was. She was surprised by this for Mundt had hitherto seemed colder and more antagonistic than his superior. There’s a story there, she thought. She smiled to herself. She would wheedle it out of him. It would be a challenge she’d enjoy.
Coping with Viviane would be an even greater challenge. The fact that Pithou knew about David would trouble her greatly and she’d soon come to realise that her rejection of him would only make things worse. And he had displayed a viciousness which boded no good at all.
Viviane would be terrified of the Gestapo coming to arrest them. Terrified of all Germans, in fact. It was this that made her change her mind about what she would tell her.
She had a troubled night and rose just before dawn to make herself a cup of coffee. She took it in to Viviane’s room and watched her as she slept. She looked peaceful, young and innocent. She never looked like this when she was awake. An anxious watchfulness shadowed her now, especially since Alain had left.
She pondered anew the decision she had come to. The last thing she had asked of Weiser was not to tell Viviane that he guessed correctly about David. Now she had determined to do the opposite, to tell her the truth. It would alarm her at first, no doubt, but then she would come to see that it afforded the only hope she had. A slim hope, at that, she thought, although she would never admit this to her friend.