The Retreat

by Anne Morgellyn

  ‘Like Lily of the lamplight?’ She laughed.

  ‘That’s one of my absolute favourite songs.’ He crooned a bit of it: ‘We will create a world for two. I’ll wait for you the whole night through. For you, Lily Marlene. For you, Lily Marlene. Did you know that it was played to German troops every day during The Second World War? Then the Allies started playing it to them in a strange attempt to lower the enemy’s morale: ‘When we are marching through the mud and cold. And when my pack seems more than I can hold. My love for you renews my might. I’m warm again. My pack is light. It’s you, Lily Marlene.’

  She found herself joining in: ‘Maybe tomorrow you’ll feel blue. But then will come a love that’s new for you, Lili Marlene. For you, Lili Marlene. I like that.’

  ‘Hitler forbade any negative talk about conditions on the front or the possibility that Germany would lose the war. The soldiers were only supposed to love the Reich. Above everything.’

  ‘I’ll come and find you later,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a few calls to make first.

  ‘I’ll be waiting. I want you to sing to me again.’

  6

  Banned from helping on the market, her offers to help in the garden refused, she didn’t know what to do with herself . She couldn’t stop thinking about the nights with Roman. This wasn’t good. She decided to drive to the beach in her car, which she’d left on a verge by the gatehouse for easy access. There were a few scratches on the sides which hadn’t been there previously. No passing car could hit her here, so she assumed it was done maliciously by someone in the community. Scout was the prime suspect, then Sofka, then Joanna. Or maybe Joanna, then Sofka. Gerald and Herbert were unlikely vandals. Herbert vented his spite with waspish remarks. Gerald looked too ill to care. His appearances at meals were less and less frequent. She wondered if he had seen a doctor recently.

  She drove to a nearby resort and sat on the beach. There were many English voices. The schools had broken up. Brittany, like Cornwall, would be a popular destination for quiet family holidays. Buckets and spades, but no funfairs or piers or burger bars and pubs. She wondered what had attracted Roman to the Celtic fringe. He was wealthy. He could have bought a flat in Monte Carlo and lived tax free. He didn’t seem angry with the funders for pulling out. But if he resented them, that could be a route to turning him and gaining intelligence about their plans. She didn’t fancy turning him in the bedroom, although that was where they were intimate. It was shaming to reduce that feeling to intelligence-gathering. Please God, don’t let me fall in love with him, she prayed. That would finish it. Think of him as a lightweight, a cold philosopher, a pompous upper class twit. But her mind returned the image of his kisses, tenderness, expert love making. She resisted: He’s a sack artist. He’ll have had shedloads of women. He went back for his wallet because that’s where he keeps his condoms. The ones she was given at The Euro Pride parade were still in her handbag. They could have used those.

  She felt increasingly hot in her jeans, and decided to go back to the château estate, where there was plenty of shade. It was stifling in the car. She opened the windows on both driver and passenger sides, pressing the up button when she reached the turn off. There were branches jutting out over the road and she didn’t want to scratch her bare right shoulder and arm. She parked the car on the verge in front of the gatehouse, and walked up the drive. Joe le Taxi passed her with a passenger in the back. A man with cropped blonde hair.

  She found out who he was at dinner that evening. Iris was in Roman’s chair, the visitor placed beside her where Mackie usually sat. They had all budged up to fill Iris’s place, which left three free spaces at the bottom of the table because Gerald and Scout weren’t there. She sat opposite Herbert.

  Iris commanded them to make the usual round of introductions, although with three people missing, they went quickly. She didn’t qualify information like Roman did. Sofa and Joanna just gave their names. Mackie said she was here for a trial. That was ill put. Herbert laughed: ‘She’s had that all right.’

  The visitor introduced himself as Lorenz Schmidt. In flawless American English, he told them he worked in an investment bank in Frankfurt but wanted a change of lifestyle. The simple life. He had read Roman’s books and heard good things about the community. Murmurs of approval came from Sofka and Joanna. They both played up to him, clearly impressed by his expensive shirt that revealed a smooth, tanned chest. His eyes were sky blue. He was the very image of an alpha male. An Aryan,even. Mackie made her excuses before the dessert. Iris, as the host, would have to stay till after coffee. The bathroom would be free for at least an hour. Schmidt didn’t look like an early retiring type so Sofka and Joanna could fight over him in the library, or maybe in the garden. It was a warm evening and still light. Just perfect for a romantic stroll.

  Before she got into the foreshortened bath, Mackie sent a text to Rudyard: Newcomer at château. Lorenz Schmidt. German. Works in bank in Frankfurt. Speaks fluent English with a US accent. She sighed. Why do some of these Europeans speak English so well when the best that the majority of Brits can muster is half remembered songs from school? Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot. What use was that when you needed to buy a kettle and report an incident to the police?

  7

  She found the newcomer in the library the following morning. He was reading the news on his tablet computer.

  ‘Enschuldingen,’ she said.

  He looked up in amazement: ‘You speak German?’

  ‘I know how to excuse myself.’

  He closed the tablet. ‘There’s no driver today?’

  ‘No. There’s a conference on. Are you thinking of leaving already?’

  ‘Not at all. I want to explore the town.’

  ‘I could take you, if you like. I have my car here.’

  ‘That’s great. You’re going now?’

  ‘If you like. I can show you the sights. But perhaps you’d like to do your own thing.’

  ‘You have no work here, like the others?’

  ‘No. I’m not a member of the community. I’m officially a guest here.’

  ‘So we’re both at leisure. Great. Let’s go.’

  They walked in silence down the drive. He was very tall, even taller than Roman, and she didn’t want to look up at him to make conversation. When they got to the car, they saw that their plan had been thwarted. Two of the wheels had been removed. The tyres on the remaining wheels were slashed. The driver’s window was broken, the sides and bonnet dented by some heavy object – possibly a sledgehammer. Someone had it in for her.

  ‘I’ll have to get this sorted,’ she said. ‘It’s not far to walk or you could use one of the bikes.’

  ‘It’s a British car. That’s OK. They’ll have universal tyres. You’ll have to get it recovered.’

  ‘Well I can’t drive it to the garage, can I?’

  ‘Hm. I think not. I’ll get along.’

  ‘If you want a beer, there’s a bar down on the quay with a red light. They sell Heineken.’

  ‘That’s not a German beer. So long.’ He raised his right arm, the palm showing. Had it been any higher, it would have been a salute.

  She found L’Oiseau amongst the lettuces and tried to explain that her car was Kaput. He shrugged, though she had the feeling that he understood her. Joanna was on her hands and knees further up the garden. She didn’t turn round when Mackie went up to her.

  ‘You were told not to bring a car.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. I was only told when I got here.’

  ‘L’Oiseau’s brother has the garage. Didn’t Roman tell you? He services the minibus and van.’ She straightened up and looked at Mackie. ‘Don’t you feel like calling it a day,’ she said. ‘I would.’

  ‘I need to speak to Roman. D’you think there’s be a rumpus if

  I go over to the conference centre? I know we’re not supposed to but this is kind of emergency.’

  ‘Why don’t you try? You’re well in with him, aren’t you?’ Joanna had a runny n
ose.’

  ‘Have you got a cold?’

  ‘It’s hayfever.’

  ‘Do you take tablets for it?’

  ‘Yes. I buy them at the pharmacy. Look, I’ve got to get on.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll bother Roman. The police won’t do anything.’

  She went back to her room and called Forrest, who looked after her car in London. He had a repair shop in a mews in Belsize Park and had been recommended to her by Sergeant Harris because he was cheap and did a good job. It hadn’t taken her long to discover he was offering backhanders to the motor engineers who assessed damaged cars for the insurers — probably to Harris too for keeping quiet about it. She turned a blind eye. Forrest was a nice guy. A big guy with a big heart. He’d come over from Zimbabwe when the Kaffirs, as he called them, took over. He had eighteen pounds in his pocket, got a job as a mechanic in one of the little garages, worked his socks off, and ended up buying the whole mews. He now had an electrics workshop, a panel beating outlet, four service bays, and three recovery trucks. There’d be no problem in sending one of them to Brittany. He would keep her car in the mews till she returned.

  When Rudyard called, she asked him if she should use her own insurance or claim expenses.

  ‘Claim for it. We’ve checked out Schmidt.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There is a Lorenz Schmidt at the Frankfurt Bank. He’s not on the Babel list you sent me.’

  ‘I know. I looked him up.’

  ‘Keep an eye on him anyway. He may be a sympathiser. See how he gets on with Roman — if they’ve met before, and so forth.’

  ‘He’s read Roman’s books. The man himself is tied up all week at the conference centre. Schmidt’s gone into town. I sent him to the bar where the bikers hang out.’

  ‘Focus on the château. We’ve checked out the community members They’re all clean, excepting Scout Dingle. But they may have some involvement with the funders.’

  ‘I think Scout and his mates were involved in firing the restaurant. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was them that damaged my car.’

  ‘You can manage without it, can’t you? You need to gain their trust. If you report this to the magistrate, you’ll alienate them.’

  ‘I’ve already done that.’

  ‘Act more like a disaffected police officer, it shouldn’t be difficult. Otherwise, you’ll have a them and us situation. You don’t want that. By the way, your superintendent has briefed officers to look out for men with flashes.’

  ‘Most of them grew up with Stop and Search laws.’

  ‘I said look out for. We don’t want the police coming down heavy on people with tattoos. That would cause a public protest. The Chief Constable is aware of it. We don’t want to inflame the situation. It’s the leaders we want. That’s the best chance of nipping it in the bud. There’s been another clash in Athens. The same pattern: a peaceful demonstration sabotaged by warring factions and agitators. Did you hear about it?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to catch up with the news. I’ve been preoccupied with the car.’

  ‘That’s a minor detail. I want results.’

  8

  She learnt from the group that was gathered around the food box that Gerald had taken to his bed. Iris and Herbert had been trying to persuade him to see the local doctor, but he was terrified by the prospect of going into hospital.

  ‘Roman has a friend who practices Chinese medicine,’ Sofka said. ‘I’ll ring Jacqueline and ask her to get the contacts from him.’

  ‘Can I help in any way?’ Mackie asked.

  ‘I don’t see that there’s anything you could do.’

  ‘I could take Gerald’s place in the garden.’

  ‘We’ve got enough people,’ Joanna said frostily. ‘Lorenz said he’d lend a hand this afternoon.’

  ‘He went into town.’

  ‘Well he’s back now.’

  ‘I’d like to help.’

  ‘Really, we don’t need you,’ Sofka tightened her lips.

  ‘I seem to have offended you all. I don’t know why.’

  ‘Because you make us sick,’ Joanna exclaimed. ‘Toadying up to Roman. We know what’s going on. Iris saw you.’

  ‘She must have x-ray eyes. Those thick glasses can see through walls, can they Iris?’

  Schmidt whistled through his teeth.

  Mackie went to get the bike. A police car drew up and blocked in the minibus. Scout wouldn’t like that. Two officers got out and went down the rhododendron path. One of them was Jacqueline’s father. There was no point in telling him her car had been vandalised. She remembered what happened when she reported the biker incident: Parlez francais. Fous le camp.’ She knew now what that meant. She’d asked Roman: ‘He was telling you to fuck off. You should complain to JP about him.’

  ‘I don’t want to bother him with something like that. He’s busy investigating the fire in the restaurant. He’s been sent here to shake them up. They’ve got it coming.’

  She rode into town and looked at the clothes shops. It wasn’t exactly Parisian style, but there was one boutique that sold nice blouses. She picked out a cream one in soft, good quality cotton, When she took it to the till, she noticed there was a button missing.

  The sales assistant took the blouse from her and examined it. ‘Pas de problème,’ she said stonily, producing a mother of pearl replacement from a box next to the till. ‘C’est vite faite.’

  Mackie waited while she sewed it on and folded the blouse in tissue paper before putting it into a bag.

  ‘Quarante euros.’

  She rode on to a hamlet where there was a little park by the river and a café. Hardly anyone came here, apart from old biddies, so she could read her book in peace. She read a couple of pages but couldn’t get on with it now that Roman had over explained it and spoilt the story. She wondered about the hapless group of sales reps who would be suffering his explanations at the conference centre. He didn’t over-explain when he was in bed with her. He didn’t need to.

  That evening, he made a sudden appearance at the château table. Schmidt stood up, and held out his hand. Roman looked at it blankly.

  ‘I’m Lorenz Schmidt. I’m staying here. I’m a fan of your work.’

  There was a pause while the penny dropped.

  ‘Ah, the new guest.’ He took Schmidt’s hand and shook it. ‘I hope they’re looking after you.’

  ‘I’m having a great time.’

  ‘That’s good. Let’s talk at the weekend.’ He turned to the community: ‘Scout has been taken in for questioning.’

  There were gasps of ‘Why? What for? Oh no!’ Schmidt looked at Mackie with raised eyebrows.

  ‘I don’t know why they took him but I wanted to let you to know as soon as I could. They may come here to question you. I’m sure you’ll support our driver.’ He glanced at Mackie. She smiled at him. He looked away, confused. ‘I must get back to the delegates now.’

  Everyone was quiet when he went out. Then the silence erupted. Sofka pointed her finger: ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You welched on Scout.’

  ‘We don’t want the police coming here and questioning us.’ Herbert was panicked. ‘Gerald isn’t well. He’s in no fit state speak to the police.’

  ‘Dr Newfold is coming tomorrow,’ Iris said. ‘He’s coming from London. Roman arranged it. We have to pay his expenses.’ She glared at Mackie.

  ‘Did you grass Scout up for something?’ Herbert shouted. ‘Was it you? You’re in with the magistrate.’

  ‘I didn’t say nothing to nobody.’ No one corrected her grammar.

  ‘You’ve lost us our driver,’ Sofka said.

  ‘Give her a break,’ Schmidt put in. ‘Her car was wrecked.’

  ‘I didn’t say Scout damaged my car. Maybe they want him for something else.’

  ‘Such as what? He’s here with us all the time. He’s on standby at the conference centre. When he isn’t doing that, he’s driving us around.’

  ‘And when he isn’t doing that, he’s
with his mates in the bar.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that? You go there. He works hard. He deserves a break.’

  ‘He’s got one now.’

  Sofka put on a reasonable voice: ‘What can you have against him? He’s a working class boy who tried to better himself. He joined The Foreign Legion. They don’t just let anyone in. They must have seen something in him. Roman did, too. You shouldn’t judge people by appearances. I can see now why so many innocent people are accused of things they didn’t do.’

  ‘I haven’t accused Scout of anything. If you accuse somebody, you have to produce some evidence that the person you’re accusing did wrong. Give me some credit. I’ve been in the police a long time. I know the rules.’

  ‘Then go back to them,’ Joanna burst out: ‘You said you were thinking of doing something else, but you’ve behaved like a fucking police woman all the time you’ve been here. Always asking questions. Who’s who and what are they doing? Scout speaks better French than you. You’re jealous of him because he fits in.’

  ‘Are you jealous of me, Joanna?’ Mackie asked calmly. ‘I think you’re jealous of Lucie.’

  ‘And now it’s you in his bed, isn’t it? Come on. You’re sleeping with Roman.’

  ‘My private life is no concern of yours. I’m old enough to be your mother.’

  9

  In the morning, she stayed in her room drinking tea and dunking biscuits for breakfast. She was waiting for Forrest’s recovery truck. When she saw Terry, Forrest’s number two, crunching the gravel with his work boots, she ran downstairs to open the château’s heavy door. Terry, another working class boy who had bettered himself, though not from joining a foreign fighting force, had worked at the garage since he was sixteen. He must be in his thirties now. She walked back to her wrecked car with him and spotted Dev, the panel beater, who was leaning on the truck and drinking from a flask. He had once asked Mackie to marry him so he could keep his residence permit. That was awkward. He nodded at her without smiling, and went to hitch the car to the winch.