Luc shrugged, bewildered as to how to provide any sort of answer.
‘Suddenly my father was not some stray; another reveller, who simply impregnated her with his drunken lust.’ Luc could see he’d touched a raw nerve; could almost regret pushing Max now into this corner. ‘I had accepted being a bastard – a rich, indulged, slightly dislocated one. But I have felt nothing but anger since her death that for all of my life I had been lied to by the one person I truly loved. Worse …’ He took a slow breath. ‘So much worse, was the realisation that I now believe she loved him as much as me – perhaps even more because she kept him a secret; she kept him all to herself even though my mother knew how very badly I wanted to know about him. A name, Luc. Just a name might have been enough at one time. But now that’s no longer enough. I want to know everything I can about him. I want to know the people who knew him. I especially wanted to meet you, who shared his final moments.’
Luc cleared his throat, understanding now why the young man had not noticed pretty girls passing by. He looked away from the ferocity in Vogel’s pale gaze, which had turned stormy. He recalled a similar shift in Kilian; one moment his eyes were pale blue, cold but amused. But they could turn in a blink and reflect grey sleet on a miserable wintry day. ‘And for these final moments you will give me von Schleigel?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Yes. A fair exchange, I’d say. I’ve done all the hard yards for you.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve just told—’
‘No, I mean, why did you bother with von Schleigel?’
‘In the letter you forwarded to my mother that my father wrote he mentioned the Gestapo officer a couple of times. He disliked him so vigorously it just about leapt off the page.’
‘Probably because von Schleigel tried to corrupt Kilian’s image of Lisette. And he was right, of course, but so was your father right. Von Schleigel was a petty bureaucrat with ambition and a cruel streak, who was sadly given some authority. And in that uniform, loathed by most Germans as well as the French, he could believe himself to be above most others and he became dangerous, driven by an inner determination to be noticed.’
‘You see? You’re all connected! Even now after all these years you speak about von Schleigel with passion. You hate him as much as my father obviously did.’
‘Much more, I suspect. Not for the same reasons, though.’
‘You don’t have to cover for him; I think I’ve worked out that my father loved Lisette.’ Max looked embarrassed for having made the remark.
Luc ignored it. ‘You misunderstand me. Von Schleigel and I have crossed swords; I made a promise I would find him one day and that there would be a reckoning for something he did to a friend of mine. Now you’ve somehow stumbled across his path and discovered that he’s also responsible for the deaths of my sisters, which only fuels my rage. My passion has nothing to do with Lisette and even less to do with Colonel Kilian. This is about retribution. That’s my interest in the former Gestapo officer. So why did you trace him?’
Max took a slow breath. ‘While I waited for Lisette to reply, I had nothing else to go on but I had such a fire in my belly then. I wanted to know about anyone who knew my father. Von Schleigel’s name was the only other one I had. So, call it boredom, but I decided to look him up in the Federal Archives. I read the witness statement and recognised the name Bonet from my father’s letter. I guess it didn’t take a genius – especially with all the facts in front of me – to work out that Bonet and Ravensburg, now Ravens, were the same person. This was confirmed once Lisette’s letter arrived from a place called Bonet’s Farm. By then I couldn’t let von Schleigel go. Even the banker mentioned him with disgust.’ Max drained his cold coffee. ‘I had nothing else to do with my time so I put it to good use seeing if I could track von Schleigel down – see if he was still living. It really wasn’t that hard for someone with the right contacts, money and half a brain. He changed his name. Not a whiff of a Gestapo uniform about him either. He’s all smiles and jollity these days.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Are you going to tell me about my father?’
‘What else could you want to know? He and I were enemies.’
‘Yes, but I suspect you thought well of him.’
Luc hung his head. ‘I did. Your father probably saved my life; he certainly saved Lisette’s by not giving up what he may have discovered about her. I have no doubt that he loved her and that she in her own way loved him, but she chose me. We never discussed your father from the day she learnt of his death. It was easier that way.’ He gave Max a sympathetic smile. ‘As much as I loathed his uniform, I admit to liking the man who wore it. He was a good soldier who died bravely and kept his loyalties intact; he refused to surrender but he also refused to kill innocents.’
‘I have to ask … Did you kill him?’
Luc gave a mirthless snort. ‘No. It was a stupid boy called Didier who fired the bullet. He barely knew how to hold a handgun, let alone use it. Your father goaded the youngster, derided him into firing the bullet that took his life. He planned to die that day, Max – you might as well know it. He had loaded his gun with a single bullet and got roaring drunk. He had no intention of being taken by the Allies. But he used his bullet on me to make his killers believe I was his enemy. And your father was an excellent shot. He knew he had only wounded me but that it would look serious to the young rebels. I gave my word as he died that I would post his letter to Ilse and I held his hand until he took his last breath; he died peacefully and with a clear conscience that he had been defiant to the end. He was sipping calvados to the last. In a different life he and I would have been friends.’ Luc sighed, realising it had taken two decades for him to speak about Kilian in this way. ‘I liked him, respected him, in spite of how much I hated him for winning Lisette’s heart.’
Max pursed his lips and nodded. A long silence opened between them but Luc let it stretch before he added that he had something for Max.
‘What?’ The younger man frowned.
Luc pulled a small object from his pocket and handed it to him. ‘This was your father’s,’ he said, slightly embarrassed. ‘I took it from him after he died but I didn’t steal it. It was the only personal effect he had on him and at the time I figured I would find a way to return it to his family.’ He shrugged. ‘Time passed.’
Max stared at the smart but surprisingly heavy cigarette lighter. It was a Ronson in the Art Deco style of straight, neat lines; shiny steel inset with polished black jet and inscribed with his father’s initials, the M and the K curling around each other.
Max held it in his cupped hands, staring at it like a supplicant.
Luc felt a twinge of embarrassment at sharing this moment that resonated with pain.
‘What’s going through your mind, Max?’ he asked softly.
‘That he held this; probably used it daily. I’m being silly enough to believe I can almost touch his memory because of it. A few of his effects – uniforms and the like – were sent to my mother. I found it all in storage in our family cellar, none of it as personal or meaningful as this. He also left his estate to her. I don’t know why; I’m sure his family would have preferred it otherwise.’
‘Your father loved your mother enough to write that letter to her and for your mother to be strong in his thoughts as he died. I suspect he felt guilty too. Have you met any of his side of the family?’
Max shook his head. ‘I haven’t been able to face looking for them yet. But I will. No doubt they’ll hate me on sight.’
‘I doubt it, Max. You walk in your father’s image. They can keep him alive through you.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’m glad I’ve finally been able to give that possession of your father’s to its rightful owner … you even share his first initial.’
Max smiled sadly. ‘I’ll treasure it, thank you.’
Luc nodded. ‘Once your father had slipped away I neatened his hair, straightened his clothes … and then just before I left I checked his pockets for valu
ables because his uniform might have attracted looting. He had nothing with him other than his precious letter, his lighter and cigarettes. No one except you has ever known I had it … not even Lisette.’
‘Do you believe in fate, Luc?’ Max’s gaze burnt, searing its way to his heart.
He wanted to say no but he nodded.
‘We were meant to meet. You were meant to give me this. And I was meant to find von Schleigel and give him to you.’ Max slipped the lighter into his inside breast pocket and wasted no further time.
‘His new and very French name is Frédéric Segal and he is the proud, much-admired owner of the highly successful café in Fontaine-de-Vaucluse in Provence. By summer it’s a very popular ice cream parlour. Right now it’s a spot that claims to serve the best hot chocolate, the best crêpes …’
Luc’s throat suddenly felt like a desert with a bitter wind blowing over it. ‘I should have guessed he’d go back.’
‘Back?’
‘He boasted once of how much he liked the region around l’Isle sur la Sorgue; he even mentioned Fontaine-de-Vaucluse.’
‘Well, he’s made a nice life for himself,’ Max admitted. ‘He speaks French like a native and may even run for mayor, although I suspect he would shy away from such a public office.’
Luc looked astonished. ‘How did you find this out?’
‘I told you I have means, Mr Ravens. I have paid people and I have befriended others with access to some closed records. I’m a lawyer, trained to find out information – often the sort of detail that people want to hide. He is my gift to you for your curious loyalty to my father. To know that he died with you at his side, that you took care of him at death, means a lot to me.’
‘And what do you suspect I might do with your gift?’
Max shrugged. ‘What you do is entirely your choice. If you leave it behind in France and never think of it again, I wouldn’t be at all surprised – or offended.’
‘And if I act upon it?’
‘It’s probably what your wife feared most.’
‘She knew I would, that’s why.’
Max said nothing, simply held his gaze. He pushed his folder towards Luc as if to say that everything he needed was in there. They both stared at the folder sitting halfway between them.
‘I want more than this …’ Luc finally said, his voice tight, as though he’d reached a difficult decision. ‘More? I don’t understand.’
‘If I go after von Schleigel,’ Luc began, lifting his own glacially blue gaze level with Max’s, ‘there’s no guarantee of what might occur. If he has stayed true to form, then he will remain a slippery, cunning and cruel character and it would be unwise of me to underestimate him.’
Max nodded. ‘So?’
‘So I need you to give me a promise.’
‘What am I promising?’
‘That should anything go bad for me, you will make arrangements for my daughter to be escorted back to Australia. I will write down all details.’
‘Mr Ravens, you will not—’
Luc held out a hand. ‘Your father was a man of his word, Max. I hope you are too.’
Max took a deep breath. ‘All right, I promise to take care of her. Anything she needs I will fix. Money is not an issue.’
‘Then you should meet her, earn her trust as you have earned mine.’ He looked at his watch. It was nearing three. ‘She should be arriving back shortly. Why not wait? Better still, join us for dinner. Your responsibility to Jenny lasts only until you deliver her back to our friends in Tasmania. After that you need not think of any of the Ravens again.’
Max looked unsure but nodded. ‘I promise. Thank you. Dinner would be nice,’ he finally said.
Luc picked up the file. ‘If you don’t mind waiting in the hotel lobby, I’ll just take this to our room. Thank you for all your work on behalf of my family.’
‘Wait, there’s one more thing—’
Luc waited.
‘In the file is an important address. I think you should use it. A telegram and some details are all that are required.’ Luc’s gaze narrowed. ‘You’ll understand. Read the file.’
They fell in step alongside one another after Luc had signed for the drinks.
‘Since discovering I’m half German I can’t quite shake myself free of collective guilt … for what happened to people like your Jewish family.’
‘Max, you were just a few years old—’ He got no further, almost running into Jenny and Jane as he and Max emerged into the lobby.
‘Hello, Dad!’ Jenny said but her attention was instantly riveted on his companion.
‘There you are,’ Jane said, her nut-brown eyes looking warm despite the cold air that they’d brought in with them. Her gaze lingered on his before it shifted. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘is this a relative of yours?’
Luc did a double take. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’
‘Because you look so alike,’ Jenny offered.
‘No, we’re not family,’ Luc replied, feeling startled by the comparison. ‘Er, this is Max Vogel. Max, this is Jane Aplin. And my daughter, Jenny,’ he said, winking at her.
Both the girls said hello to Max as one. He shook their hands, told them he was pleased to meet them. Luc noted that Jenny looked entranced.
‘I’ve suggested Max join us for an early dinner,’ Luc said. ‘So how did you get on?’
‘We’ve spent an enchanting day haunting the couture houses of Paris as well as swanning around the Galeries Lafayette,’ Jane answered. ‘But the cold weather is taking its toll,’ she said looking around, presumably for rest rooms. He could never understand how women derived so much pleasure from looking through clothes, touching fabrics, feigning horror at prices, taking time to tell you how wonderful something is and how much it might suit them and then walking on.
Jenny triumphantly held up a telltale bag from which she withdrew an even more obvious box. He privately baulked at the sight of the distinctive Chanel packaging and then in a moment of clarity let the emotion go. The fact that Jenny wanted to smell like her mother and to use the world’s most famous perfume to do so was entirely innocent. And while the perfume she reverently dabbed on her wrist for him to smell dragged him instantly back to a limousine he was driving while in the back a Wehrmacht colonel made love to the woman who owned Luc’s heart, he refused the thought any kindling to burn.
‘Magnificent,’ he said, meaning it.
‘Jane bought it for me,’ she said proudly.
He’d looked with mock exasperation at Jane, immaculate in a navy suit. She was unwrapping a silk scarf from her throat, her coat already draped over an arm.
‘A coming-of-age gift,’ she said defensively but stealing a happy glance at a glowing Jenny. ‘Don’t worry, she’s spent plenty on your account.’
‘I’m sure of it,’ Luc groaned. ‘I’m just dropping something up to the room. Shall I take your parcels, Jen?’
She nodded and he said he would only be a few minutes.
Jane excused herself to make a quick call from the hotel phone.
‘Of course,’ Max said. Jane glanced at Jenny before drifting away but Jenny barely noticed her.
She’d been trying not to stare at Max but she found it hard not to keep stealing glances at this stranger whose presence was overwhelming. She hadn’t been ready for him. One minute she was chatting excitedly to Jane about their purchases, and the next she couldn’t see anyone but the fair-haired man standing slightly self-consciously next to her father.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Max offered, clearing his throat.
Jenny sat where Max gestured, angry for being tongue-tied.
‘Sounds like you two had a great day,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she replied, wondering what colour you called eyes like that. Argent came to mind. ‘Who are you again?’ Jenny continued, colouring suddenly, aware that he was staring at her.
He grinned and his eyes crinkled as amusement touched them. Jenny swallowed.
‘Your parents knew my
father during the war.’ He paused. ‘I … um, well, I didn’t know him at all and so your father agreed to meet and tell me what he could. It was very kind of him.’
‘Is your father dead?’ she asked, knowing it was blunt and that this would be one of those times her mother would have turned and given her that soft look of exasperation.
‘Yes.’
‘My mother is too.’
‘I know. And I’m deeply sorry to hear it.’
She shrugged. ‘Dad and I are getting on with it,’ she said, unable to meet his eyes, so she fiddled with a loose thread on the arm of the seat. She could feel her neck and cheeks burning.
‘My mother died recently too,’ he said softly and his sad tone cut through her scattering thoughts. When she looked up he lifted a shoulder and smiled crookedly at her. ‘It makes no difference what age you are. You always miss your mum.’ He brightened. ‘I have to tell you, Jenny, your perfume is very beautiful. It’s my favourite scent.’
‘Really?’ She could hug herself.
He nodded. ‘So what have you been up to in Paris?’ he continued.
Feeling easier by the second and wanting to prolong her time alone with him, Jenny forced herself to relax, surreptitiously wiping moist palms on her skirt. She told him everything she could in her succinct way.
‘Oh, that’s all very well,’ he said dryly. ‘But I don’t hear that you’ve experienced high tea at Ladurée, or eaten a Mont Blanc at Angelina, or drunk hot chocolate at Les Deux Magots. These are all musts!’ he said dramatically. ‘The belly has needs.’
She giggled.
‘Shame on your father. It looks like I shall have to take command of your touring, Miss Ravens.’ Her eyes widened.
‘You?’
‘Yes. What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘I’m busy tomorrow,’ she answered, ‘but how about the day after?’
The French Promise Page 30