She took a packet of Weekend from her large and shabby brown handbag. 'Henri was saying things like that at the time of the Popular Front and Leon Blum, when everyone in France with a little money put by was far more frightened of the Communists than of Hitler, I assure you. In those elections of 1936, Lйon Blum was beaten up and spent the campaign in hospital, but he won. Though everyone continued to go on strike, nevertheless. Of course, now I only write articles for the women's magazines, I've changed, it's only natural, a girl calms down and becomes a serene woman, otherwise she would tire a man out in a fortnight. _N'est ce pas?_ And that swine Lamartine has left me in the lurch,' she added with abrupt sourness, 'he doesn't care if I end up on Luneberg Heath in a concentration camp.' She removed her broad-brimmed hat and fanned herself with it. '_Ah, c'est effroyable, cette vague de chaleur. _But it's preferable to the trains, which are unbelievably crowded.'
They were even more crowded the following week, when crammed expresses whisked thousands of Parisians from under the nose of von Kьchler's 18th Army with an efficiency commendable to the Societй des Chemins de Fer Nationale. After the French government had fled down the same Route Nationale Ten we were then negotiating, our successors on the road were less fortunate. It became choked to immobility with men, women and children, the sick, the old, the pregnant, Frenchmen, foreigners who had once already escaped Hitler's clutch, all pouring from Paris by car, lorry, bicycle, on foot, with barrows, carts or perambulators, without provision, without destination. We could still buy petrol, though Elizabeth had prudently stowed cans in the boot. When a week later vehicles ran dry of fuel, or crawled and boiled to a halt, they were pushed by their desperately impatient followers into the ditch. Girls prostituted themselves in barns for food, and the peasants sold water at a franc a bottle. Everyone then was ill-tempered, frightened and crying, the Luftwaffe bombed the crossroads and strafed the unending pathetic columns as they wished, every now and then police motor-cyclists ploughed the way for a column of black limousines with horns blaring, as officials raced for safety faster than the people they had left without it.
Our traffic was already heavy, and seemed to increase as we went along, all the cars with luggage and bundles piled on the roofs, several bearing Belgian number plates. At Chartres, the traffic was jammed right through the town, everyone pounding their horn buttons in anguished impotence. A gendarme slowly worked his way along, examining all travellers' papers.
_'J'ai mal а la tкte,'_ Madame Chalmar informed him bad temperedly through the window. _'Je suis а l'agonie.'_
_'C'est la guerre, madame.'_
Outside Vendфme there was an air-raid warning, another gendarme on a bicycle blowing his whistle and waving at us furiously.
'Should we get in the ditch?' asked Elizabeth halfheartedly, coming to a halt.
'Far too dirty.'
'They're always false alarms, anyway.'
_'Je meurs de mort naturelle,'_ asserted Madame Chalmar, holding her head resignedly.
Tours is like a filleted fish. Its backbone filled the long straight rue Nationale, from which run short side-streets. It is only 140 miles from Paris, but it took us twelve hours before we crawled in the unending line of traffic over the Pont Wilson, which crossed the Loire at its head. Madame Chalmar's excitement seemed to have expelled her headache and sensations of impending death. She directed us to the house of her friend Monsieur Perronet, a lawyer, her informant of Lamartine's whereabouts. We found him a fat, affable gingery man with a pudding-faced amiable wife, who at once offered to put us up. He seemed still an enthusiast for the British, or at least expressed no hostility. Or perhaps he was like the Good Soldier Schweik, with a placid nature proof against the cruel vicissitudes of Europe.
Lamartine had been in Tours a week, he assured Madame Chalmer, staying at a small hotel behind the station. He had come to Perronet _toucher un chиque._ I had the strong impression that the lawyer disliked him. I wanted to beard the doctor there and then, but Madame Chalmer declared herself prostrate. Elizabeth and myself were worn out, and took the excuse to postpone an embarrassing confrontation. We had planned to spend one night in Tours before driving due north to Cherbourg. I felt no urgency. The Germans were no longer attacking, but consolidating their front along the Somme. They were likely to be in the same place at Christmas. I certainly could not conceive their tanks shortly racing for the Pyrenees with the speed of peacetime touring cars.
Elizabeth and I shared the best spare bedroom, which was full of massive old-fashioned furniture, its curtains faded sharply where they had caught the sun, and as inhospitable as a museum. 'The sheets are damp,' said Elizabeth as she got into bed.
There was an air-raid warning during the night. Monsieur Perronet banged on the door in agitation, but we preferred to stay where we were. We lay holding each other tight in the particularly intense blackness of French shutters.
'That fleeing lieutenant last night-' she said. When we had left that morning, Jean-Baptiste was still asleep. 'Do you suppose he'll be shot as a deserter?'
'The French can't shoot half their Army.'
'He didn't like us a bit, did he?'
'The French think that we got them into the war.'
'They hadn't the guts to get themselves into it.'
'You know what the German propaganda leaflets make of the situation-_England Will Fight to the Last Frenchman.'_
'I suppose people will believe anything if it's repeated often enough,' Elizabeth decided. 'Even that Bovril prevents that sinking feeling and Skegness is so bracing.'
'Newspaper readers can be divided into three groups,' I quoted. 'Those who believe everything, those who believe nothing and those who examine everything critically. The first group is by far the largest, the third regards all journalists as rascals.'
'What nasty cynic said that?'
'Hitler, in _Mein Kampf._ Would you have imagined five years ago that we should be lying in bed in the middle of a French provincial town discussing the psychology of the masses?'
'Would you have imagined five years ago that you'd have taken my virginity?'
'That's putting it a little far, isn't it?'
'It's the principle of the thing.'
'Five years ago I was the butler's boy.'
'It's very strange, darling, to think that I'm in bed with the father of my housemaid's baby.'
'Was that remark necessary?'
We had become aware of the drone of a plane. We heard in the distance the unmistakable crump of bombs. 'Five,' counted Elizabeth. 'Do you think he's carrying a round half-dozen?'
'No ack-ack fire,' I observed.
'All the ack-ack guns are in the Maginot Line.'
We lay silent, both wondering in secret fear if the plane would turn towards us. But it droned away like an irritating wasp. 'Will you promise me something, Elizabeth?'
'Is there anything left?' she asked in a simple voice.
'That you'll never again treat me with that awful bright-young-thing manner.'
'That was my defence. If I'd treated intensely any single one of the men who were after me, then I should have found myself in love, and desperately miserable because I felt bound to rebuff all the others. I'm very sйrieuse, you know.'
'I was the only one of your adoring little circle who did know that all along.'
'And if I had taken them all seriously, I should have won the reputation of a nymphomaniac, which would only have aggravated the problem.'
'I thought you were falling in love with Archie.'
'Oh, Archie! Good heavens, no. He's not nearly intelligent enough.'
'I'm assuming you're in love with me?'
'Only assuming? Isn't that a rather indelicate-even an insulting-remark in the circumstances?'
I held her tighter. 'Your mother wouldn't approve of it. Nor your father, I think, either.'
'He isn't my father,' she said bluntly. It was the first time she had mentioned this. 'Do you ever see your daughter?'
'Never. She's evacuated s
omewhere safely, I suppose. I could have kept in touch with Mrs Packer, but I wanted to pretend the whole episode hadn't happened. People at Oxford think I'm a donnish bachelor.'
She snuggled closer to me. 'I'll come to Oxford, darling, just as soon as I'm given leave.'
'Oxford looks lovely just now.'
The all clear blew. 'I wonder who got the sixth bomb?' asked Elizabeth sleepily.
When we came downstairs in the morning, the TSF was playing loudly in the salon. Maurice Chevalier was singing _Ma Pomme,_ followed by advertisements for coffee, hair tonic, cream cheese and brassiиres.
'Ssh!' said Madame Perronet, leaning close to the set, finger to lips.
_'Ici Radio Paris…'_ I could not understand the news bulletin, but Madame Perronet's expression served well enough. At four o'clock on that morning of Wednesday June 5, the Germans had attacked with a vast flash of artillery from the mouth of the Somme to where the River Aisne met the River Ailette, 125 miles away near Reims.
_'Les Allemands on mis la balle en jeu,'_ she said grimly, shrugging her plump shoulders.
'I suppose we are going to get home all right?' remarked Elizabeth.
'We'll get back from somewhere, even if it's from St Nazaire,' I told her confidently. 'The whole of France can't simply collapse in front of the Nazis.'
Madame Chalmar was so devastated after yesterday's drive that she had to eat breakfast in bed. She appeared about nine, dressed as though going on her honeymoon. She wore a small close hat with a feather, a low cut green silk dress, silk stockings and shoes with very high heels. She still had her white gloves and umbrella, she was brightly made up, and the vivacity of her smile indicated full recovery from her exhaustion. As she started on foot for Lamartine's hotel, chattering feverishly to Elizabeth and myself, it dawned on me that she expected to find him there with another woman, with luck in bed. The rival would have to look pretty good that morning to bear comparison.
The small hotel was like so many in France, an indistinguishable slice of a street-long block of tall, shuttered stone buildings. In the hall, a harassed porter in a yellow-and-black striped waistcoat with alpaca sleeves guarded a bank of pigeon-holes with dangling brass keys. He was arguing fiercely with half a dozen travel-worn men and women standing amid cheap suitcases and bundles, desperate for a roof. Madame Chalmar asked in a sweet, social voice, _'Dr Lamartine, s'il sous plaоt,' _to which the porter shouted distractedly, '_Numero trente-cinq.'_
We all three crammed into the rickety, creeping, lattice-sided lift. Lamartine responded to our knock at once. He must have been expecting someone. He was in trousers, braces and a white shirt without its collar, a towel round his neck and flecks of lather on his cheeks. He stared blankly at us. Madame Chalmar broke into sobs.
We held a confused conversation in French and English. Commendably recovering himself, Lamartine embraced Madame Chalmar, whose carefully prepared face now had red blotches with the mascara starting to run. He agreed to see me alone in half an hour's time at the cafe next door.
He appeared punctually, sitting down with an affable, businesslike air, as though we were still in Oxford. 'You've had some difficulty in finding me, Mr Elgar,' he apologized. 'Well, I've permitted myself some rather irregular behaviour. When a man sees a risk to his life, he becomes impatient with the influences which normally direct his movements.'
I felt this excuse inadequate for my trouble. 'But why should your life be in danger?'
'The lives of all Frenchmen are in danger. The Germans must have thrown 100 divisions into their attack this morning. Weygand has 40, 45 at the most. I've good contacts in the War Ministry. And that leaves out of the calculations the Nazi air force. France is finished, my friend. We shall be asking for an Armistice before summer is out.' He turned to order some coffee.
I suspected him of playing the alarmist for his own ends. 'But even the Nazis don't kill their beaten enemies.'
'I should have expected you, of all Englishmen, to be realistic about the Nazis. My particular speciality would hardly endear me to them. They know all about me, I can be quite confident of that. They know all about you too, I'm equally sure. I advise you and your young Miss to get out of France before they come and arrest you.'
This gave me a horribly sickly feeling.
'Though I doubt if they would shoot me out of hand,' he continued calmly. 'The Germans would want my knowledge, and the SS would be only too happy to extract it from me. I certainly couldn't guarantee, sitting here in the sunshine, that I would never give in to threats I knew were far from empty. That I would never collaborate with the Germans to produce bacterial weapons for use against you British and the Russians-'
'The Russians? But nobody attacks his own allies.'
The cup of black coffee appeared. Lamartine tore the paper off his cube of sugar. 'Wait and see, as you say in England. You've read _Mein Kampf,_ I believe? Hitler said then that an alliance with Russia would be the end of Germany. If he has changed his mind since he wrote it, he has certainly changed his mind about nothing else. And the steppes of Russia always have had an irresistible fascination for European conquerors. But of course, no sane man waits to be faced with the tormenting choice between his own painful death and treating with the enemy,' he continued more reflectively. 'Therefore I am shortly going to Marseilles and then to Africa. I have friends organizing my arrangements. I am speaking to you in the greatest confidence, Mr Elgar. I still hold a commission in the Army.' I had never known this. 'So I could be shot for desertion. Life is very difficult.'
'You haven't asked why I put myself in such danger to follow you here.'
'Brigitte said you wanted the papers given me by Professor Florey.' He jerked his head towards the hotel, where Elizabeth and I had left Madame Chalmer alone with him. 'I destroyed them before leaving Paris. All I have is up here.' He tapped his forehead.
'But have you the mould?' I insisted. 'We simply can't give the Germans a chance to develop it. Florey's penicillin is highly experimental, but there's at least a likelihood that in a few years' time-if the war's still going on-it could be used on casualties.'
'I saw its possibilities at once,' Lamartine said quietly.
'Well, where is it?' I asked brusquely.
'In a safe place.'
'Not safe from the Germans, though.'
He drained his shallow cup of coffee. 'I'll be frank with you, _cher confrиre._ In my desperation, I had been looking upon that mould as my saviour with the Germans.'
'I thought as much.' I was unable to keep disgust from my voice. 'If you're prepared to hand over your bacteriological knowledge to the Germans, you might at least give the penicillin back to France's own allies.'
He lit a Weekend. 'You can save your indignation. I told you, everything is changed. I shall soon be across the Mediterranean, perhaps tomorrow night. You shall have your precious mould.'
I did not trust him. 'I want it now, this very morning,' I insisted. 'We too must be on our way urgently, you just said as much yourself.'
'It will take a little time to recover. I shall have to use my car and my precious petrol. A day will make no difference.' He gave a slight smile. 'Hitler is hardly in that hurry. Meet me at my hotel, nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Now I must hurry back to look after Brigitte. She is unhappily suffering from _une crise de nerfs.'_
27
We spent not one night in Tours, but six. Madame Chalmar's _crise de nerfs_ evaporated rapidly. During the afternoon she called at the Perronets' for her luggage, to move into the hotel with Lamartine. 'I don't really need my heavy clothes,' she informed me archly in German. 'This winter we'll be sitting where it's hot and safe.'
I appeared at the hotel at nine the next morning. In response to the porter's telephone call Madame Chalmar came downstairs, still radiant and overdressed. 'Henri says will you please come back tomorrow,' she announced in German, dropping her voice to a whisper in the crowded lobby. 'He has had to leave for the day on urgent business connected with our departure.'
'Ssh!' She laid a hand with long scarlet nails on my arm. 'It doesn't do to be heard speaking German. We could be taken for spies, and lynched on the spot. There're Nazis everywhere, you know how the wireless keeps warning us about the Fifth Column. How do you suppose the German tanks would have got so far, if there hadn't been plenty of agents to stop the bridges being blown up?'
Elizabeth asked when I got back, 'Do you think we should give up the idea of this beastly mould?'
'To be perfectly clearheaded, I should be more use for the rest of the war in Oxford than the mould would be.'
'We can hang on for another day or two, I suppose,' she said sulkily.
'I think we must. I just hate the idea of Lamartine and his awful girl-friend getting away with anything.'
During the next two days Madame Chalmar reappeared several times at the Perronets'. She was always smiling, always calm, always explaining that Henri was occupied with urgent business, that she would quite certainly bring the mould within twenty-four hours. I had the depressing feeling that the safety of Elizabeth and myself depended on the domestic arrangements of Lamartine and his mistress. 'It's always me who runs his life,' she explained serenely. 'Henri is far too intellectual for practical affairs. He has learned to do absolutely everything I tell him.'
THE INVISIBLE VICTORY Page 21