The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  “Had, or perhaps still has, a German boyfriend. It has to be done, Li. Somehow we have to lure her to the brothel. We must go back to her, and you must chat her up.”

  Liane drew a deep breath. “You are right, of course. But you stay here. I will bring her to you.” She went back round the corner, looked left and right along the crowded street and saw Gabrielle again. She went towards her, then realized that she was talking with a German officer. Shit, she thought, and turned back. But Gabrielle had seen her and was pointing. The German officer shouted and people closed on her. Many of them had to be French, but they were instinctively obeying the conqueror’s command, as they had done for the past four years.

  After four years, Liane thought. One moment of bad luck.

  Eleven

  The Brightest Day

  James could only watch in horror as policemen arrived and Liane was handcuffed, her precious shoulder-bag ripped away, and she was marched up the street in the direction of Gestapo Headquarters. She made no effort to resist the clutching hands. He could not believe that Liane would tamely accept her fate; she would await her opportunity with that deadly patience that was her outstanding characteristic as a guerilla leader. But if the opportunity never came…

  The temptation to draw his revolver and dash into their midst was overwhelming. But it would be a pointless act of suicide and would certainly not save Liane. So… Gabrielle had clearly not recognized him, which was hardly surprising. She had only known him for a couple of days, and he could not now look less like a British officer, therefore the whole business had been dumped in his lap.

  It was odd how helpless, how lonely, he felt. Giving orders, whether over the radio or in person, even leading the guerillas into battle, or fighting fierce defensive actions such as the Vercours, had never affected his confidence; because of his confidence in Liane. He had been utterly shattered by the thought that she might have been killed. That she had re-emerged, unharmed and, after that brief moment of despair, as confident as ever, had restored his faith in her immortality.

  Now it was he must make the final decision. She was going to be delivered to Roess, a man who had sought her and hated her for four years, whom she had once hit so hard as to put him in hospital for several weeks and, James guessed, affect his mind. He had never met Roess, but he had heard enough about him, from both Liane and Joanna… and Rachel, who had briefly been his prisoner. Roess liked to enjoy his victims, especially if they were attractive women. When he was presented with the most attractive woman in the world, with so much already between them, he would wish to enjoy her to the maximum. The question was, how long it would take him to reach that maximum and how much of that “enjoyment” could Liane stand. But he knew he could not stand a moment of it. He hurried back to the bar.

  *

  “You wish to go in now? Without adequate preparation?” Duvivier hunched his shoulders. “That is madness. Suicide.”

  “It is Liane de Gruchy’s life. Do you wish to be responsible for ending it?”

  “You make it hard, monsieur. You are asking me to sacrifice how many lives, for one, however famous.”

  “Do you not suppose lives will be lost if we wait until Tuesday?”

  Duvivier pulled his nose. “By then we will at least know if the Allies are prepared to come to our rescue.”

  “But you would be committed whether they agreed to help or not. Now you can tell them that the rising has already begun.”

  Duvivier finished his wine; James reckoned that he must have had quite a lot to drink, although like most Frenchmen it did not seem to have affected him greatly. “I cannot alert sufficient of my people before this evening,” he said. “Mademoiselle de Gruchy will have to survive until then.”

  “This evening,” James agreed. He knew he could not improve on that. “And then?”

  “Then… I will tell you what we are going to do.”

  *

  “Now, then,” Roess said, studying the map that was spread on the desk in front of him. “These sites obviously have to be approved by General von Choltitz, but I am having lunch with him this morning, and I am sure he will agree to our proposals.” He looked around the anxious faces of the officers grouped beside him. “Come, come, gentlemen. I am aware that we are in a dangerous situation, which may well turn out badly. But as we must do out duty to the Reich, for God’s sake let us be cheerful about it.” He raised his head in irritation as the door to the office opened without a knock.

  “Ah, Marach!” Captain Marach had served with him the last time he had worked in Paris, and he did not appear to have changed in the intervening two years, seeming still a fresh-faced and somewhat excitable youth. “What is troubling you?” Marach stood to attention and drew a deep breath. “We have taken a prisoner, Herr Colonel.”

  “My dear Marach, I understand our cells are full of prisoners no one has yet got round to interrogating. Do we really need another one?”

  “This one, sir. I have outside Liane de Gruchy.”

  Roess gave a snort of derision. “Liane de Gruchy is dead. She was killed in the Battle of Vercours.”

  “I have her outside, sir.”

  “If this is some kind of joke, Marach—”

  “It is her, Herr Colonel. We have positive identification.”

  “Positive identification? Do you know the number of people who have positively identified Liane de Gruchy? And you… you have never even seen her.”

  “I did see her, sir, two years ago, when she was working in Madame Constance’s house. That was just before…” He gulped as Roess glared at him. “I know she was disguised then, sir, but I could never forget her face. Or her voice. And besides, sir, we have a positive identification, from a woman who knew her when she lived in the Massif Central. She is the one who denounced her, not half an hour ago.”

  Could it possibly be true? De Gruchy’s body had never been found. But as she had not been heard of, either, for more than a month, it had seemed certain that she had to be dead. If she had actually survived again, and was now here… He felt almost sick with excitement. But he had to preserve the ice-cold calm that was expected of him. “Who is this woman?”

  Marach took out his notebook. “Her name is Gabrielle Chartrin.”

  Roess frowned. “Chartrin? I know that name. Her brother was a member of the Resistance. He assisted us in our first assault on the Vercours. By God! Yes, she would know de Gruchy. She is a member of the Resistance herself. Is she under arrest?”

  “Well, no, Herr Colonel.”

  “Why not? Because she denounced another woman as de Gruchy? It is some trick. They are always up to tricks, these people.”

  “With respect, Herr Colonel, this woman, Chartrin, well…” Marach looked embarrassed. “She belongs to Captain Dieter Hammerach.”

  “Belongs?”

  “In a manner of speaking, sir. Captain Hammerach was stationed in Aumont, after your coup in capturing the man Moulin. While there he apparently formed an… attachment to this woman and when, following the Allied invasion of the South of France, our troops were pulled out, he was transferred to Paris and he, ah, brought this young woman with him.”

  “Good God! What is the German army coming to? This Hammerach did all this, knowing this woman to be a member of the Resistance?”

  “Well, sir, I don’t think he did know that.”

  “I will see this fellow. And his doxy.”

  “And Mademoiselle de Gruchy?”

  It was Roess’ turn to draw a long breath. “If it is de Gruchy. Has she been searched?”

  “Yes, Herr Colonel. She was carrying a pistol in her bag. As far as we have been able to ascertain she has no other weapon.”

  “But she is restrained?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. She is handcuffed.”

  Roess nodded. “Very good, gentlemen, I will see you later.”

  The other officers, looking totally confused by the conversation, filed from the room. Marach followed them but returned a moment later. “Captain
Hammerach, Herr Colonel.” Roess regarded Dieter coldly. “Mademoiselle Chartrin,” Marach announced. He might have been a majordomo at a grand reception. Roess’ eyes were colder yet. “And Mademoiselle de Gruchy.”

  Roess leant back in his chair. He had also only ever seen Liane in disguise, with flamboyant red hair and an abundance of rouge and lipstick and eye shadow. She had not struck him then as being the most beautiful woman in France, as was her reputation, yet she had been attractive enough for him to wish to make her his mistress. And, like almost every man who had ever met her, he had fallen in love with her voice. Now he looked at a truly beautiful woman, for all her shabby clothes. As she wore no make-up, her features were utterly exposed, and the headscarf had been taken away to allow her hair, straight and blonde, to rest below her shoulders. Her eyes were the clearest blue. Her arms were pulled behind her back by the handcuffs.

  He gazed at her, and she gazed back. But there remained her voice. “Speak,” he commanded.

  Liane considered for a moment, and he felt his muscles tensing. Then she seemed to accept the situation. Her shoulders gave a slight twitch, as if she might have shrugged. “Good morning, Johann,” she said. “How is your head?”

  His jaw had dropped. Now he snapped it closed again. “Better than yours is going to be.” He looked at Gabrielle, who was trembling. “You denounced this woman? Why?”

  “She is a faithful servant of the Reich,” Hammerach said.

  “I did not ask you,” Roess pointed out. “Answer the question, girl.”

  Gabrielle licked her lips. “She was responsible for the death of my brother.”

  “Well, only indirectly. But you knew her from Aumont. You must have known she was a Resistance leader, then.”

  “I… well…”

  “You, and no doubt your family, are guilty of aiding and abetting an enemy of the Reich. That carries the death penalty.”

  “But, Herr Colonel—” Dieter protested.

  “Oh, get out!” Roess snapped. “Be thankful I do not have you cashiered for associating with an enemy of the state.”

  Dieter opened his mouth, then closed it again. He gave Gabrielle a despairing glance and left the office.

  “Now,” Roess said.

  His secretary appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, Herr-Colonel, but your luncheon appointment with the general…”

  “Damn,” Roess said. “Very good, Margrit. Marach, I leave you in charge. Place these two in Cell Twenty-Seven. You understand me?”

  “Yes, Herr Colonel. But… both in the same cell?”

  “Yes, in the same cell.”

  “You cannot do this,” Gabrielle protested. “She will kill me.”

  “You will chain them each to the wall, facing each other,” Roess said. “But in addition, either you or Margrit will be with them at all times.”

  Marach clicked his heels. “Yes, Herr Colonel.”

  Roess got up and stood in front of Liane. “I once told you that I liked to hear women scream. Do you remember that, Liane?”

  “And did I not scream?”

  “But now I know you were acting. When I return, this afternoon, we shall take the business more seriously.” He held her chin between his fingers and moved her head to and fro; she never took her gaze from his face. “Oh, indeed. We shall have an amusing time. Marach,” he said. “I wish her fed a good meal and given some wine to drink. I do not wish her senses to be impaired by any extreme discomfort.” He smiled. “Until I inflict it. Oh, one more thing. Do not under any circumstances release her hands. You will have to feed her yourself.”

  “Ah… suppose she wishes to go to the toilet?”

  “Well, then, you will accompany her and assist her. Will you not enjoy that?” He left the office.

  *

  “You will have to assist me, Margrit,” Marach said.

  “Me, Herr Captain?” Margrit was a small, rather plump woman with fair hair and somewhat crumpled features.

  “I know nothing of women.” Margrit raised her eyebrows, and he hurried on. “I mean, in their private, er, matters.”

  Margrit’s lip curled. “Very well, Herr Captain. And this one?”

  “How can you arrest me?” Gabrielle protested. “Did I not deliver this woman to you?”

  “You are an enemy of the Reich,” Margrit said, obviously intending to take control as Marach did not seem able to do so. “You will not speak unless spoken to. Will you come quietly, or do you wish to be handcuffed?”

  Gabrielle licked her lips. “I will come with you. But I protest most strongly.”

  “You protest,” Margrit said scornfully. “Sergeant!” The sergeant came in. “Hold her arms.”

  The sergeant grasped Gabrielle’s arms, pulling them behind her back. Gabrielle gave a little shriek. “Colonel Roess said that nothing was to be done to these women until he returns,” Marach protested.

  “No, no, Herr Captain. He said that nothing was to be done to de Gruchy. He made no reference to this one except to say that she must be placed in the same cell. So…” She stood in front of Gabrielle. “Are you still going to protest, mademoiselle?” Gabrielle opened her mouth and uttered another little shriek as Margrit stepped against her, grasped the collar of her dress and pulled it down with all her strength, ripping the material to the waist. Then she did the same to the petticoat beneath. “Now, there,” she said. “You are all exposed, and I am sure you are such a modest, well-brought-up young lady. Now you will have to walk through the entire building with your tits hanging out.” She pulled the torn material left and right further to expose the heaving breasts. Gabrielle burst into tears. “Now,” Margrit said. “If you utter another sound I will take off your knickers as well, eh?”

  Marach was also breathing heavily, and now at last he glanced at Liane, but she was not to be tempted to speak; she had no intention of providing these people with any more amusement. She had to brace herself for what was coming, for survival in the face of extreme pain and humiliation. But James was still free. And thus there was still hope.

  *

  Constance listened to what James had to tell her with terrified consternation. “Then we are done,” she said.

  “We are going to get her out of there.”

  “You?”

  “And Duvivier’s people.”

  “That is madness.” She fanned herself, sitting on the bed once shared by James and Liane. “I feel quite faint.”

  “Do you feel nothing for Liane?”

  “Well, I am very sorry for her, of course. I loved that woman, you know. We could have done great things together. But now…” She stood up. “I must go and see my mother.”

  “I think you should stay here.”

  “I may never see my mother again.”

  “Constance,” James said. “You do not have a mother.” Constance stared at him, eyebrows arched. “Liane has told me all about you,” James explained.

  “I am going out,” Constance said.

  “I’m sorry. I cannot allow you to do that.”

  “You do not trust me.”

  “That is exactly it.”

  “You seem to forget that this is my house, filled with my people.”

  “And you have forgotten that you are a whore, who has come to this bedroom of her own free will. You are attracted to me, and you are going to spend the next few hours having sex with me, which will leave you so exhausted you will be unable to move until this evening.”

  She glared at him. “You flatter yourself. I don’t even like you. I don’t like any men, and I especially dislike Englishmen, but you are the bottom of the list.”

  “Well, that is very agreeable, because I don’t like you either, and in any event, I am not in the mood for sex. But that is what I am going to tell your girls.”

  “Don’t you think I will tell them the truth?”

  “Of course you will. This evening. Now help me tear up these bedclothes.”

  “You are mad. Why do you wish to tear my bedclothes?”

>   “Because I wish to use the strips to tie you up. And gag you.”

  “You would not dare.”

  “Constance, we don’t know each other very well. But if Liane were here, she would tell you that I am twice as ruthless as she is.” He opened his haversack and took out his clasp knife and opened it. “You have a choice of remaining here, lying on this bed in comparative comfort save for being bound and gagged, with every prospect of being able to resume your life and career after I have gone, until tomorrow morning; or of lying here, in no comfort at all and, as far as you are concerned, with nothing to look forward to as your throat will be cut from ear to ear. The choice is yours.”

  When Constance had been attended to, he lay beside her. He figured he was going to need all his energy in a few hours’ time. But he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking of Liane at the mercy of Roess, undergoing utter hell… but she would be thinking of him, knowing that he would be coming for her.

  At half-past three, he got out of bed, grinned at Constance who, after a restless period, had subsided, red in the face, glaring at him. “Who knows,” he said. “If you’re unlucky, you may see me again.”

  He closed and locked the door, pocketed the key and went down the stairs. At the foot he encountered Marguerite. “Is madame ready for her bath?” she inquired.

  “Madame is sleeping. She is quite exhausted. I’m afraid it is a long time since I have had a woman. She asked me to tell you that she will call you when she is ready.”

  “We open in two hours’ time.”

  “I am sure she knows that. Good afternoon to you.”

  *

  Duvivier waited in a crowded bar, which was not unusual on a Saturday afternoon. But every man was in a state of some excitement. “They are ready,” Duvivier said. “We are ready. My men are in position. Well, most of them. We will seize our objectives at half-past four. You must not begin your assault until we open fire, and then you must allow at least ten minutes for the Boche to react.”

  “I understand.” James looked around the somewhat villainous faces. “Which are my men?”

  “These are all your men.”