by Jack Higgins
"Have you?"
"I've checked with Naval Intelligence. Apparently MTBs of the Royal Dutch Navy operating out of Falmouth last night did hit that convoy, and they claim one merchant-man sunk. They were driven off by the escorts."
"Good God, Jack, you re not seriously suggesting that Harry and the Drayton girl were on that boat?"
"We just don't know, sir, and what's more, there's no possible way we can find out."
"Exactly, so sit down, stop worrying about it and have a cup of tea, Jack. You know what your trouble is?" Munro reached for the toast. "You don't have enough faith."
Sarah had washed her hair, using some homemade soft soap Helen had provided. She still looked a mess, and when Helen came into the bathroom she said, "It's no good You need a hairdresser."
"Are there still such things?"
"Oh, yes, if you go into St Helier. The general run of shops still function. The opening hours are shorter. Two hours in the mornings and two in the afternoon for most places."
She tried combing the girl's hair into some semblance of a style and Sarah said, "What's it been like?"
"Not good, but not too bad if you behave yourself. Plenty of people think the Germans are all right and a lot of the time they are, but step out of line and see what happens. You have to do as you're told, you see. They even made the Jersey States pass anti-Semitic laws. A lot of people try to excuse it by saying all the Jews had left, but I know two living in St Brelade now."
"What happens if the German authorities discover them?"
"God knows. We've had people sent off to those concentration camps we hear about for keeping Russian slave workers who were on the run. I have a friend, a teacher at Jersey College for Girls, whose father kept an illegal radio. She used to spread the BBC news around to her friends until an anonymous letter brought the Gestapo to the house. They sent her to prison in France for a year."
"An anonymous letter? You mean from a local person? But that's terrible."
"You get bad apples in every barrel, Sarah. Jersey is no different from anywhere else in that respect. And we've got the other kind as well. The postmen at the sorting office who try to lose as many of the letters addressed to Gestapo Headquarters as possible." She finished combing. "There, that's the best I can do."
Sarah sat down, pulled on silk stockings and fastened them. "My God!" Helen said. "I haven't seen anything like that for four years And that dress." She helped Sarah pull it over her head and zipped it up. "You and Martineau. What's the situation there? He's old enough to be your father."
"My father he very definitely is not." Sarah smiled as she pulled on her shoes. "He's probably the most infuriating man I've ever met and the most fascinating."
"And you sleep with him?"
"I am supposed to be Vogel's tart. Aunt Helen."
"And to think that the last time I saw you, you had pigtails," Helen said.
In the kitchen, she put two spoonfuls of her precious China tea into the pot, but Gallagher made his excuses. "I'll go and put Mrs. Vibert off," he said. "It'll only complicate things having her around. Always the chance she might recognize you, Sarah. She knew you well enough, God knows."
He went out and Helen, Sarah and Martineau sat around the table drinking tea and smoking. There was a knock at the door. When Helen opened it, Willi Kleist stood there.
Martineau got up. "You want me?"
"We've brought your Kubelwagen, Standartenführer," Kleist told him.
Martineau went out to have a look at it. The canvas top was up and the body was camouflaged. He looked inside and said, "That seems satisfactory."
Ernst Greiser was sitting behind the wheel of a black Citroen. Kleist said, "If there's anything else we can do…"
"I don't think so."
"By the way. Captain Muller wanted me to tell you he's spoken to Colonel Heine, the military commandant. Apparently he'll be at the Town Hall this afternoon if you'd care to call in and see him."
"Thank you, I will."
They drove away and Martineau went back inside. "Transport problems taken care of. I'll go into town this afternoon, call on the military commandant, then Muller and his friends at this Silvertide place."
"You'd better go in with him and get your hair done," Helen told Sarah. "There's a good hairdresser at Charing Cross. You can tell her I sent you." She turned to Martineau. "Very convenient. It's close to the Town Hall."
"Fine," he said, "except for one thing. She mustn't say you sent her. In the circumstances that would be quite wrong." He got up. "I feel like a breath of air. How about showing me round the estate, Sarah?"
"A good idea," Helen said. "I've got things to do. I already had eight to cook for tonight so I've got my work cut out. I'll see you later."
After leaving de Ville Place
, Kleist and Greiser started down the road, but after about a quarter of a mile, the inspector touched the young man on the arm. "Let's pull in here, Ernst. Stick the car in that track over there. We'll take a walk back through the woods."
"Any particular reason?"
"I'd just like to have a look around, that's all." The cart track was heavily overgrown. Greiser drove along it until they were out of sight of the road, and they got out and left the Citroen there, taking a field path across the woods of the de Ville estate. It was very quiet and really rather pleasant, only the sound of the birds, and then a young woman carrying a basket appeared unexpectedly from beyond the high granite wall at the end of the field. It was impossible to see her face. For one thing, she was wearing a headscarf, but the old cotton frock was tight enough to reveal, even at a distance, a body that was full and ripe. She didn't notice them and followed the path into the wood.
Kleist said, "Now that's interesting." He turned to Greiser and smiled. "Would you say we should investigate, Sergeant?"
"Very definitely, Herr Inspector," the younger man said eagerly and they quickened their pace.
The young woman was in fact Mrs. Vibert's daughter, Mary. After Sean Gallagher's visit to tell her to take the weekend off, the old woman had remembered the eggs she had promised Helen de Ville for the evening meal. It was these that the girl was taking to the house now.
She was only sixteen and already blossoming into womanhood, but not very bright, with a simple, kindly face. She loved the countryside, the flowers, the birds, was never happier than when walking alone in the woods. Some little way in, there was an old granite barn long disused, the roof gaping, the doors hanging crazily. It always made her feel uneasy, and yet drawn to it by a strange fascination, she paused, then walked across the grass between crumbled walls to peer inside.
A harsh voice called, "Now then. What do you think you're doing?"
She turned quickly and saw Kleist and Greiser advancing toward her.
After leaving Mrs. Vibert's, Sean Gallagher walked down to the south meadow where he had three cows grazing, tethered to long chains in the Jersey manner They were a precious commodity in these hard times and he stayed with them there in the sunshine for a while then started back to his cottage.
When he was still two fields away he saw the Germans walking toward the wood, saw and recognized Mary He paused, shading his eyes against the sun, saw the girl disappear into the trees, the Germans following. Suddenly uneasy, he started to hurry. It was when he was halfway across the field that he heard the first scream. He cursed softly and broke into a run.
The weather was the best of spring, delightfully warm as Sarah and Martineau followed the track from the house through the pine trees There were daffodils everywhere crocuses and snowdrops in profusion, camellias blooming Beyond, through the trees, the waters of the bay were blue merging into green in places Birds sang everywhere.
Sarah held his arm as they strolled along. "God, that wonderful marvelous smell. Straight back to childhood and those long hot summers. Did they ever exist, I wonder, or was it all an impossible dream?"
"No," he said. "They were the only true reality It's the past four years that ha
ve been the nightmare."
"I love this place," she said. "It's an old race, the Norman stock here and the de Villes are as old as any of them. We go back a long way Robert de Ville fought at the Battle of Hastings with Duke William of Normandy."
"Good old William the Conqueror?"
"That's right. He ruled Jersey before he became king of England, so its we who colonized the English, if you like, not the other way about."
"There's arrogance for you."
"These are my roots." she said. "Here I belong. This is home. Where do you belong. Harry?"
"Stateless person, that's me," he said lightly. "For years an American living and working in Europe. No family left worth speaking of'
"Citizen of the world?"
"Not really." He was upset and it showed in a sudden angry unease. "I just don't belong. Don't belong anywhere."
"Could be I should have died in those trenches back in nineteen eighteen Maybe the man upstairs made a mistake Perhaps I shouldn't be here at all."
She pulled him around, angry. "That's a terrible thing to say. I'm beginning to get rather tired of the cynical and sardonic bit, Harry Martineau. Can't you drop your guard just occasionally? Even with me?"
Before he could reply there was a sudden scream They turned and looked down to the barn in the clearing through trees and saw Mary struggling in Kleist's arms, Greiser standing to one side laughing.
"For God's sake, Harry, do something," Sarah said.
"I will, only you stay out of it."
He started down the slope as Sean Gallagher ran out of the trees.
Kleist was excited, the supple young body squirming against him. "Shut up!" he told her "Just be a good girl and I won't hurt you."
Greiser's eyes were shining, the mouth loose. "Don't forget, Inspector fair shares for all, that's my motto."
Gallagher arrived on the run, shouldering the sergeant out of the way like a rugby forward. As he reached Kleist, he stamped hard behind the German's left knee, causing the leg to buckle and punched him hard in the kidneys. Kleist grunted and went down, releasing the terrified girl.
Gallagher picked up Mary's basket and gave it to her and patted her face. "It's all right now. love," he said. "You run on up to the house to Mrs de Ville. Nobody's going to harm you this day."
She ran like a frightened rabbit. As Gallagher turned, Greiser took a Mauser from his pocket, his eyes wild Kleist called, "No. Ernst, and that's an order. He's mine." He got up, easing his back, and took off his raincoat. "Like all the Irish you're cracked in the head. Now I shall teach you a lesson. I shall break both your arms."
"Half-Irish, so only half-cracked, let's get it right." Sean Gallagher took off his jacket and tossed it to one side. "Didn't I ever tell you about my grandfather, old Harvey le Brocq? He was sailing in cod schooners at the age of twelve, bosun on windjammers on the grain run from Australia. Twelve times round the Horn by the age of twenty-three."
"Talk away," Kleist said circling him. "It won't do you any good."
He rushed in and swung a tremendous punch which Gallagher avoided with ease. "In those days a bosun was only as good as his fists, and he was good. Very good." He ducked in and landed a punch under the German's left eye. "When I used to come over from Ireland as a kid to stay with him, the village lads would work me over because I talked funny. When I went home crying, he took me out in the orchard and gave me the first of many lessons. Science, timing, punching, that's what counts, not size. God, as he often reminded me, and he was a lay preacher, had never intended the brutes to rule on earth."
Every punch the German threw was sidestepped, and in return, Gallagher seemed to be able to hit him wherever he wanted. On the hillside a few yards away, Sarah, Martineau and the Vibert girl watched as the Irishman drove the inspector back across the grass.
And then there was a sudden moment of disaster, for as Gallagher moved in, his right foot slipped on the grass and he went down. Kleist seized his chance, lifting a knee into his forehead and kicking him in the side as he went down. Gallagher rolled away with surprising speed and came up on one knee.
"God save us, you can't even kick straight."
As he came up, Kleist rushed at him, arms reaching to destroy. Gallagher slipped to one side, tripping the German so that he went headfirst into the wall of the barn. The Irishman gave him a left and a right in the kidneys. Kleist cried out sharply and Gallagher swung him around. He grabbed him by the lapels and smashed his forehead against the bridge of the German's nose, breaking it. Then he stepped back. Kleist swayed and fell. "Bastard!" Greiser called.
Gallagher swung around to find the sergeant confronting him with the Mauser, but in the same moment a shot rang out, kicking up dirt at Greiser's feet. They turned as Martineau walked down the slope, Walther in hand. "Put it away!" he ordered.
Greiser stood there, staring at him, and it was Kleist, getting to his feet, who said hoarsely, "Do as he says, Ernst."
Greiser obeyed and Martineau said, "Good. You are, of course, a disgrace to everything the Reich stands for. This I shall discuss with your commanding officer later. Now leave."
Greiser tried to give Kleist his arm. The big man shoved him away and walked off through the trees. Gallagher turned and shouted to Mary Vibert, "Go on girl, go up to the house."
She turned and ran. Sarah took out a handkerchief and wiped blood from Gallagher's mouth. "I never realized what a deadly combination Jersey was with the Irish."
"A fine day for it, thanks be to God." Gallagher squinted up at the sun through the trees. "Better times coming." He grinned and turned to Martineau. "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette on you? I seem to have left mine at home."
ELEVEN
MARTINEAU AND SARAH drove down through St. Aubin and along toward Bel Royal, passing a number of fortifications and gun positions on the way. The sky was very blue, the sun bright, and yet on the horizon, beyond Fort Elizabeth, there was a dark curtain.
"Rain," she said. "Typical Jersey spring weather. Wonderful sunshine and then the squalls sweep in across the bay, sometimes only for a few minutes."
"It's warmer than I'd expected," he said. "Quite Mediterranean." He nodded at the gardens as they passed. "Especially with all those palm trees. I didn't expect those."
She leaned back and closed her eyes. "This island has a special smell to it in the spring. Nothing quite like it anywhere else in the world." She opened her eyes again and smiled. "That's the de Ville side of me speaking. Hopelessly prejudiced. Tell me something. Why have you taken off your uniform?"
He was wearing the leather military trenchcoat, but underneath was a gray tweed suit with a waistcoat and white shirt with a black tie. The slouch hat was also in black, the brim down at the front and back.
"Tactics," he said. "Everybody who is anybody will know I'm here, will know who I am, thanks to Muller. I don't need to appear in uniform if I don't want to. SD officers wear civilian clothes most of the time. It emphasizes our power. It's more frightening."
"You said our power."
"Did I?"
"Yes. You frighten me sometimes, Harry."
He pulled the Kubelwagen in at the side of the road and switched off. "Let's take a walk."
He helped her out and they paused as one of the military trains approached and moved past, then they crossed the track to the seawall. There was a cafe there, all closed up, probably from before the war, a huge bunker not too far away.
A new unlooked-for delight was music, two young soldiers on the seawall, a portable radio between them. Below, on the sands, children played, their mothers sitting against the wall, faces turned to the sun. A number of German soldiers swam in the sea, two or three young women among them.
Martineau and Sarah leaned on the wall. "Unexpectedly domestic, isn't it?" He gave her a cigarette.
The soldiers glanced at them, attracted by the girl, but turned from his dark stare. "Yes," she said, "Not what I expected."
"If you look closely you'll see that most of the so
ldiers on the beach are boys. Twenty at the most. Difficult to hate. When someone's a Nazi, then it's explicit. You know where you stand. But the average twenty-year-old German in uniform."—he shrugged—"is just a twenty-year-old in uniform."
"What do you believe in, Harry? Where are you going?" Her face was strained, intense.
"As I once told you, I'm a very existentialist person. 'Action this day'—Churchill's favorite phrase. And that means defeating the Nazis because they must be destroyed totally. Hitler's personal philosophy is unacceptable in terms of any kind of common humanity."
"And afterward, when it's all over? What happens to you?"
He stared out to sea, eyes very dark, leaning on the wall. "When I was young I used to love railway stations, especially at night. The smell of the steam, the dying fall of a train whistle in the distance, the platforms in those great deserted Victorian palaces at night, waiting to go somewhere, anywhere. I loved it and yet I also used to get a feeling of tremendous unease. Something to do with getting on the wrong train." He turned to her. "And once the train's on its way, you see, you can't get off."
"The station is ominous at midnight," she said softly. "Hope is a dead letter."
He stared at her. "Where did you hear that?"
"One of your bad poems," she said. "That first day I met you at the cottage the brigadier was reading it. You took it from him, crumpled it up and threw it into the fireplace."
"And you retrieved it?"
"Yes."
For a moment she thought he would be angry. Instead he smiled. "Wait here." He left her and crossed the line to the Kubelwagen and opened the door. When he returned he was carrying a small Kodak camera. "Helen gave me this. As the film is four years old she can't guarantee the results."
He walked up to the soldiers. There was a brief exchange in which they put their heads together for a moment, standing stiffly to attention. Martineau gave one of them the camera and returned to her.
"Don't forget to smile." He lit a cigarette and turned, hands in the pockets of the trenchcoat.