Grabbing a chair, he pointed to it and found one for himself, their knees all but touching. ‘Whether you like it or not, you’re far too noticeable. Blue eyes, blonde hair, and a complexion so perfect even with the lack of food and milk and all the rest, Martine still can’t stop going on about it, yet you bring out the desperate in all of us. Myself, because you’ll not have been forgotten with that hand, and I must choose a safe way into Paris. Arie, because, though I’ve yet to tell him, he knows you’ll be the last we deliver. Thanks to you, it has simply become far too risky—insanely so, if you ask me—and we’ve done what we had to anyway.’
‘Make a fortune?’
‘Please don’t be disappointing. We’ve put our lives on the line for far more important packages than yourself, and many of those have been from the Reich and all of them hunted.’
‘And Frans, what does he say about it?’
‘That you doubt his loyalty and will do some dumb thing that’ll get us all arrested. So now you’ll tell me why Josef Meyerhof would have given me these to get you out of the clutches of the Boche?’
It was a belt of louis d’or, something a businessman who travelled a lot would wear under his clothing. ‘I can’t for a moment imagine how he could possibly have given you anything like that, seeing as he must be under constant surveillance if still in Amsterdam and in the Jewish district behind that horrible fence with all its forbidden-to-enter signs and its barbed wire.’
Perhaps she didn’t know. ‘He was among the last of them and is probably gone by now.’*
‘To Vught or Westerbork and on,’ she said. ‘Mijnheer Meyerhof was my father’s employer.’
‘Your own as well?’
She would shake her head because he couldn’t possibly know the truth. Mijnheer Meyerhof wouldn’t have let him know, nor would the contact he had used, and that left only Frans who wouldn’t have either even if the Boche had told him. Besides, very few women were involved in that business and far fewer girls. ‘I met Mijnheer Meyerhof once when I was five and my father took me to his place of work. He wouldn’t even know what I look like now, and I could never have gone up to that wire to speak to him in any case. Indeed, why would I, seeing as I am what I am?’
And fierce about it. ‘Yet he pays me the whole of my fee up front?’
In May of 1940, those louis d’or would each have been worth about 1,000 francs but now a good 10,000, and there were at least twenty of them. ‘He can’t have kept those hidden in that ghetto. Someone must have given them to whomever handed them to you. Have you thought of that?’
‘He’d have bought his way out and not yours, would he? Instead, early last year he sends his son and that one’s wife and their four children to France and tells them to head for the zone libre.’
Into which the Germans moved on 11 November 1942 in response to the Allied landings in North Africa, the Italians immediately extending their occupied zone west and all but to the Rhône, making the city of Nice a much preferred refuge.
‘Arie and I took them in two trips.’
‘With Frans?’
There it was again, that distrust. ‘He didn’t join us until February of this year.’
‘The tenth, was it? Wasn’t that the first time he saved yours and Arie’s lives by running into that café to shout out a warning that company was on its way?’
The Boche—the Moffen to the Dutch—but she hadn’t hesitated. ‘Frans should never have told you that.’
‘Nor should you have told me of those louis d’or.’
Why was she after Frans so hard? ‘He was on the run and had been hit in the arm.’
‘The perfect submarine, a résistant, eh, a bullet graze that missed the heart?’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’
The urge to show him the rijksdaaler and to tell him where she had found it was almost more than she could bear, but if she did, Frans would be forced to defend himself and use that gun. ‘He’s too flippant. He presumes far too much. His toasting the killing of those two men was not just upsetting. It was sickening even though I certainly knew what they had intended. And as for any kind of relationship, I haven’t the least interest in taking up with anyone, let alone a person like him, and it’s equally sickening of him to have suggested it.’
‘I’ll speak to him. Arie and I are both sorry your fiancé was killed. We do know that he was found hiding in the red-light district on 20 July and that he deliberately ran from the Boche knowing, probably, that if he didn’t, he might have given away the alias you’ve been using in Paris.’
‘Josef wouldn’t have told you that.’
Not Mijnheer Meyerhof. ‘Or that Henk Vandenberg’s body lay in the Oudezijds Achterburgwal for the rest of that day and night until two of the Grüne Politei threw him into the canal?’
The ‘green police’ due to the grey-green colour of their uniforms, the Feldgendarme, the military police. ‘Who told you all of this? Frans? And if so, how, please, did he find out?’
Again the urge to show him the coin was there but if she did, he would then find out what Mijnheer Meyerhof had asked her to do.
This package of theirs was tough, felt Labrie, but maybe a little softening up would help. ‘Meyerhof’s son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren were among those arrested and deported on 11 September. The reason we know is because, during his subsequent interrogation, the son was so badly beaten, he didn’t survive, but of course they couldn’t resist showing the father a photo of him, for “identification purposes.”’
And that must be why Mijnheer Meyerhof, on seeing her unexpectedly turn up to walk by the ghetto, had called out to her and then had asked what he had, but that dear man hadn’t said a word of this. It had been a terrible round-up in Nice, far worse even than that of the grande rafle in Paris on July 16 and 17 of last year. In Nice and elsewhere in that Italian zone, more than 30,000 had been very quickly arrested and deported.
‘Now I’ll ask you once more, Anna-Marie, because I really do need to know exactly why the Boche are after you so hard.’
She couldn’t tell him about the diamonds she had been carrying, but something would have to be yielded. ‘Josef Meyerhof was the director of the Amsterdam protection committee that policed the trade and had drawn up a blacklist of all those dealers who were selling to the Reich. For years London has been the trading and distribution centre for rough stones, especially those for jewellery, which were then sent across the Channel to the cutting works in Amsterdam and Antwerp, where we also did the industrials for them and others. In turn, we then sent finished stones back, but never once did the British think to establish their own works since that would have meant bringing in the skilled Jewish workmen we had. Finally the cutting tables and other equipment were got ready for shipment and sent to Rotterdam but at the last moment, during the Blitzkrieg, the city was hit and they were never sent. Mijnheer Meyerhof will have that list.’
‘But did he give it to you?’
Though a lie, her nod would be brief, her right hand firmly extended, that fist still clenched with its coin. ‘I don’t trust Frans Oenen. I can’t. You see, I think I’ve seen him before.’
‘Where?’
‘The Hollandsche Schouwburg.’
‘He escaped from there and we know that.’
‘When?’
And still suspicious. ‘When the Boche renamed it in October 1941, they weren’t too careful at first and left its stage doors and fire escape unguarded. Several escaped and were soon rounded up or shot, but Paul Klemper has been on the run ever since and we were able to verify this. He’s good at it, Anna-Marie. He has had to be and has helped us several times because he can act the part of anyone he wants and is an absolute natural.’
Withdrawing her fist, she would shove that coin back into her trouser pocket and tell him only, ‘I’m sorry I mistrusted him. It’s been hard living like this, and I’m
still trying to get over finding out that my Henki was betrayed. He was goodness itself and I loved him dearly. Those shoes I left in that van were to have been worn at our wedding, brief as that would have been.’
‘Those shoes really are a problem, Louis.’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
No one had bothered them at l’Abbaye de Vauclair, felt Kohler. They’d had the place entirely to themselves and still did. Having found a suitable spot among the ruins, Louis had arranged, on a low and remnant wall, the bits and pieces of this investigation so that they could have a look at everything. Side by side were the shoes. Next came that single blonde hair tucked safely into one of them, then the champagne cork from that snapped-off bottle in the van, it being a clear reminder of the one he had found on her bedside table.
The white paper packet with its woollen thread followed, and then that little black leather bag, and only after those, the cartridge casings, slugs, poultice, mégot tin, coins, charred bits of identity papers and finally the Opinel that had been found near the first victim, the one she had hit with a rock. And if that didn’t say something about her, what did?
Adding a scattering of small banknotes to represent what had been stolen from the van, Kohler laid out the white linen waistband he had found secreted in a knothole not far from the spring. Refilling their glasses, he said, ‘Salut, mon vieux. She’s really something, isn’t she?’
The wine was magnificent. ‘A treasure in itself, Hermann, and not unlike what must have been in the half of the Château Latour she shared with Armand Figeard, her concierge after her first trip “home.” Delicate yet full-bodied, elegant yet of great finesse and always delightfully giving those lingering touches of mystery. The Kommandant von Gross-Paris has done us proud. The vineyard this came from was first laid out in the reign of Louis XV.’
There were two bottles of the Château Margaux premier grand cru, the 1913. ‘If I didn’t know better, Louis, I’d say Boineburg-Lengsfeld knew of Hector Bolduc’s penchant for buying land in the Haut-Médoc, Côte d’Argent and Côte Sud des Landes.’
‘Since the Kommandant von Gross-Paris must know of the Banque Nationale de Crédit et Commercial and its president, he might at that, but me I’m inclined to think he simply wanted to remind us of the Abwehr’s past and to encourage us to work together in defiance of Kaltenbrunner and the SD.’
They’d eat in a few moments, felt Kohler: a pâté en croute to be followed by the soupe de Puy, a purée of green lentils, with potatoes, leeks, carrots, cabbage, and afterward, a casserole of haricot beans with thinly sliced, tightly rolled pork that, with the baguettes, would, in itself, be magnificent. A salade lyonnaise, tarte aux prunes, Calvados and real coffee were to finish things off, but sadly no extra tobacco, only two cigars. ‘Maybe he really is on our side, but we’d better not presume too much.’
Wise words. ‘But is it that Kaltenbrunner’s Sonderkommando knew of the life diamonds, Hermann? Is it that they allowed her to take them?’
‘Hence the worried stomach, the bitters and a no-name boss, but a rather dangerous thing to have done if the outcome isn’t successful. That Spitzel of theirs must have been told to let her run and lead them to something far, far bigger.’
‘The so-called “black” diamonds, are those what this is all about?’
The rumors, the whispers, the voracious claims had all been written off as utter nonsense by most. That the Dutch and Belgian dealers could have hidden huge stashes of diamonds seemed impossible, given that virtually all, if not all of them and their families had been arrested, interrogated and then deported, they and their suitcases and homes and factories having been thoroughly searched, even to ripping up the floors and going through the clothing they had worn.
‘Geheime Reichssache, Louis.’
‘And three rijksdaaler.’
‘One with a note probably telling them, “I think she’s onto me.”’
‘But is it that they still don’t know the alias she’s using? Is it that her use of the name Annette-Mélanie Veroche is still secure?’
‘Who really knows, not even herself probably, though she’ll be thinking those shoes could well give her away.’
‘Those diamonds and the boart that she had already hidden should also be included in what is now before us.’
‘But do they know of those as well? Did they beat that out of Meyerhof—and beat him they will have, and she’ll have figured that out too.’
Frans had trapped her, felt Anna-Marie: Frans had known that after Étienne’s little visit she would wait and then try to quietly leave the house to speak to Arie who would be in the barn with the truck.
‘There are coins and then there are coins,’ he said. ‘Is that what you told our passeur? Gold louis, eh, or was it of others that are so heavy they refuse to ring when flipped in the air or tossed onto the table in payment for a night of whatever it is you have to offer?’
‘How dare you?’
Instantly, she tried to get away, but he would grab that bandaged hand and hold it tightly.
Wincing, she defiantly waited, steadfastness and loyalty even to a dead lover still registering, but he’d simply say, ‘I don’t dare. I merely ask.’
‘Then let go of me.’
So close was he still, the thyme, used dry tea leaves, carrot tops and whatever else he’d been smoking with tobacco, were on each breath, and when he smiled, she could see the way his features changed as if he knew exactly the expression he wanted and had absolute control over himself.
Blue-eyed, fair of skin and hair, the cut that of the military for he would have needed it that way, he was not overly handsome but now knew beyond doubt that she was afraid of him. ‘I don’t know to what you’re referring unless it is that there are two louis d’or. The first dates from 1640 and was minted during the reign of Louis XIII. The second, which superseded it in 1795, is clearly marked twenty francs.’
‘And the gold napoléons?’ he asked without that smile, but as if curious, as if he would gladly enter into a discussion about them.
‘1857 followed by a second dated 1869, both denoting a twenty-franc piece.’
‘And worth a lot more now, I guess, but it sounds as if you’ve been tracking the marché noir for the Banditen. Have you?’
Ah merde, had he known that too, or merely guessed? ‘Coins are a curiosity, that’s all.’
‘Then you’ll know all about the one I mentioned.’
‘Since most are made of zinc these days, would it really matter?’
Having forced her up against the corridor wall outside her room, he made as if to turn away, only to turn back suddenly to touch her left cheek with the backs of three fingers. Pressing his middle against hers, finding an earlobe, too, he fingered it tenderly as a lover might and said at last, ‘You like the Moët et Chandon, but are you easier after a glass or two?’
Everything told her to say nothing, but the temptation was too great. ‘Was that why you chose it over the others when you climbed into the back of that van to toast your having killed those two?’
The smile he would give, decided Oenen, would be of the little boy who had just got the better of an older sister he rather hated when necessary, which was most times. ‘Ah bon, mademoiselle, I think we understand each other perfectly.’
Had he been taken through the house at home? Had the Moffen brought him there to better familiarize himself with her? Had he or they found another snapshot of Henki and herself at Zandvoort, like the one she had then brought to Paris last December, the one with that bottle behind them in the sand, Henki having opened it to toast their engagement? Or had he been shown the snapshot Henki would have carried not in his wallet, but hidden? ‘Again, I must tell you I simply don’t know what you mean. I’ve told Étienne nothing he didn’t already know. I’ve even apologized for doubting you.’
And given without a quaver, felt
Oenen, so he would angrily stiffen and tell her how it was, ‘Eine Mischlinge, eh? Eine Halbjüdin, ja, Fräulein Anna-Marie Vermeulen?’
The transformation to an SS officer had been instant.
Releasing her, turning brutally away to go down the stairs, he said as if throwing it over a shoulder to gestapistes français, ‘Employez la baignoire avec la glace, mes amis. Maybe the chill will loosen her tongue, but be sure not to drown her.’
Shade filled the rue Daru as dusk approached. Up from the Seine came the first touches of the evening’s fog, but he wouldn’t go along the street just yet, felt St-Cyr. He would continue along the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, would keep mingling with others on foot and never look back. He had to be absolutely certain of not being followed, and that, of course, was only the start of it, for he had then to somehow leave convincing evidence for Anna-Marie Vermeulen so that she would agree to meet and not vanish if she did manage to get into Paris.
The Salle Pleyel had two secondary entrances on the rue Daru. The first, and nearest to him as he crossed that street, was just around its corner with the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. A courtyard entrance allowed those in private cars and taxis to be dropped off. The second, and more plebeian was, he knew, well along the street and all but next to the Cathédrale Alexandre Nevesky. Artistes—musicians, even Cortot perhaps—would enter there, dancers too, and those who worked in the studios. And across from that, of course, was Chez Kornilov, but was it not favoured also by those who ran Reichsmarschall Göring’s biggest purchasing agency, the Bureau Munimin-Pimetex? It was, and yes, unfortunately Sergei Lebeznikov, alias Serge de Lenz of Rudy de Mérode’s gang, would be all too familiar with it and with them, especially as Göring had astutely ordered that his purchasing agency be run only by Frenchmen.
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