Chasing Ghosts

by Madalyn Morgan

  Thomas tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Did anyone follow us out?’ Claire shook her head. ‘Good. We’ll wait here for ten minutes, to be sure, then I’ll go and get the car. You hang on here.’ Thomas handed Claire the suitcase. ‘I’ll drive around the block a couple of times and when I’m sure I’m not being followed, I’ll pull over a few doors down,’ he said, pointing along the street.

  ‘I’ll find a shop doorway.’

  When the ten minutes were up, Claire watched Thomas walk casually back along Boulevard Principal. He passed the front of the hotel without looking in. She watched him arrive at his car, open the door, and slide in behind the steering wheel. When the car’s lights came on, she made her way along the street. A quarter of the way down she found an entrance leading to a shop door. Looking over her shoulder, and then in front of her, to make sure she wasn’t being followed, she stepped back and was soon out of sight in the shadows beneath the arch of the shop’s doorway.

  Cars came and went along the street until eventually she saw Thomas’s Citroën pull up a few yards from where she was standing. She picked up her case and walked briskly to the car. She opened the back door, threw in her suitcase, and dropped onto the seat beside it. When Thomas pulled away from the curb, the momentum slammed the door shut.

  ‘Where too, Madame?’ he said, looking at Claire in the reverse mirror.

  ‘The next anonymous hotel on your list,’ Claire said.

  Thomas laughed. ‘I don’t think there is another hotel that you could call anonymous.’ Claire laughed with him, which she realised from the multitude of knots in her stomach was from nerves not amusement.

  ‘How about my old Resistance comrade’s hotel? I’ve only been there once, just after the war, but from what I remember it was a decent enough place. It’s around here somewhere,’ Thomas said, leaning forward and looking through the windscreen trying to spot the hotel. ‘There, look,’ he said, ‘Le Petit Château Hotel. I’ll go in on my own first, and if he still works there I’ll say hello, have a bit of a chat and see if he has any rooms.’

  ‘If he remembers you, ask him if he’s had anyone come into the hotel that just sat about? Anyone who looked as if they were waiting for someone who didn’t show up.’

  ‘Okay. Will you be all right out here on your own?’ Thomas asked, steering the Citroen off the road and pulling into a narrow parking area in front of the hotel.

  Claire tutted. ‘Of course, I will. And, Thomas?’ she called out of the window as he ran from the car. ‘Be careful.’ Thomas nodded and entered the Le Petit Château Hotel by a side door.

  Claire wound up the window and blew into her hands. It was a bitterly cold evening. She hoped there would be a fire in her room - if there was a room available. It looked like a pretty small hotel from the outside. Not long after going into the side door, Claire saw Thomas coming out of the main entrance at the front of the hotel. As he neared the car he made an O with his forefinger and thumb.

  ‘They’ve got a room then?’ she said, when he jumped into the car.

  ‘They have. And there hasn’t been anyone hanging around that my old Resistance chum didn’t know.’

  ‘Then what are we waiting for? It’s bloody freezing in here.’ Thomas twisted round, leant his arm on the back of his seat, but didn’t speak. ‘For goodness sake, what is it?’

  ‘When I asked my friend if any strangers had been in, he accidentally left the hotel’s register open in front of me when he went into the office to answer the telephone.’

  ‘And? Thomas, if you don’t tell me what the hell you’re going on about, I swear I’ll--’

  ‘Alain is staying here!’

  Claire gasped.

  ‘I read his name; Alain Le Blanc, the undercover name your husband used when you and he were in the Resistance, is booked into this hotel.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘How can I stay in the same hotel as my-- estranged husband? I’m trying to find out if he’s having an affair, for God’s sake!’ It took Claire a few minutes to recover from the bombshell Thomas had dropped. When she did, she said, ‘Did the manager say anything about Alain?’ Thomas lifted his shoulders then tilted his head to the left and right. ‘You are the most frustrating, the most annoying man! The manager either said something about Alain or he didn’t. Which is it?’

  ‘He said Alain has a rich friend who he assumes lives nearby because he has visited Alain at the hotel several times.’

  ‘Man or woman?’

  ‘What? Oh, a man...’

  Claire sighed with relief. ‘And?’

  ‘And… the man has a daughter.’

  Claire’s heart almost stopped beating. ‘Did he tell you the name of the man and his daughter? Did he mention the name Cheval?’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘I wasn’t able to ask him. A couple of guests came into reception to pick up the keys to their room.’

  ‘Did he say whether she had been to the hotel?’

  ‘Again, I didn’t have time to ask. But I’m sure my friend would have said if he’d seen her. He has an eye for the ladies.’

  Claire took a deep calming breath and shut her eyes. ‘Right!’ she said, opening them and exhaling. ‘Plan B! We go to another hotel.’

  ‘Not possible. I telephoned the two remaining hotels on the list and they are both full.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to go with Plan C.’

  ‘What is Plan C?’

  ‘The same as plan A,’ Claire said, taking her powder compact and lipstick from her handbag. She frowned at her reflection in the compact’s small mirror, before powdering her nose and applying a thick layer of red lipstick. She picked up a small round box of rouge, opened it, then dropped it back into her bag. ‘Pale and mysterious, I think, like one of those Parisian models.’ She poked her hair behind her ears, then reached across the back seat and opened her suitcase. She took out a felt hat. After giving it a shake, she held it with one hand and ran the thumb and forefinger of her other hand around its brim. She put it on, looked in the mirror again and tugged the right side of the hat until the brim was off-centre and angled over her right eye. Then, dropping the compact and lipstick back into her handbag, she gracefully stepped out of the car.

  Standing as tall as she could, Claire pulled up the collar of her coat and tightened the belt, before putting on a pair of fashionable spectacles. ‘Well?’ she said to Thomas when he joined her on the pavement with her suitcase, ‘How do I look?’

  ‘If I thought you wouldn’t slap me I’d whistle,’ he said.

  ‘I haven’t overdone the lipstick, have I?’

  ‘No, but I’m not sure about the glasses and the brim of the hat pulled down over your eye.’

  Claire pushed gently on the front of the hat until it slipped back on her head an inch. ‘Better?’ Thomas nodded. ‘Good God but it’s cold out here. Come on, let’s get inside.’ She stopped. ‘The receptionist will want to see my identity papers, so don’t call me Claire. My name is Therese Belland.’

  Le Petit Château Hotel was smaller inside than it looked from the outside - and it was a lot less impersonal. The manager, now on reception duty, and pretending not to know Thomas asked how many rooms. Claire said one, and signed the hotel register as Madame Therese Belland.

  An elderly porter shuffled stiffly out of a doorway behind the reception desk, bent down, and picked up Claire’s case. ‘I shall take the suitcase to Madame’s room,’ Thomas said, taking the case from the porter. The old man raised his eyebrows and Claire, looking suitably embarrassed, made for the cage-elevator.

  While the elevator juddered and rattled on heavy chains to the second floor, she held her breath. Once inside her room, she and Thomas collapsed into each other’s arms in fits of laughter. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ Claire said, when she had recovered.

  ‘Me too.’ Thomas looked into her eyes, his arms still around her. ‘But…’ He clenched his teeth as if to stop himself from speaking and the muscles at the side of his face tightened and relaxed
. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled a sad smile. ‘I think it’s for the best.’

  ‘Do you?’ Claire said, holding his gaze. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Every rational part of her being told her to move away from him, but she was drawn to him, she wanted him. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest she thought it would explode. Thomas pulled her closer. He wanted her too, she could feel he did. She lifted her face to his and closed her eyes.

  At that moment the shrill ring of the telephone burst into the room. Claire jumped, opened her eyes and lowered her head to Thomas’s chest. He rocked her gently and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Letting go of her he walked across the room to the dressing table and picked up the telephone. Claire dropped onto the bed.

  ‘Yes?’ He listened for some seconds. ‘Did he say who he was going to meet? Was it Cheval? Thanks for letting me know.’ Thomas put down the receiver and turned to Claire. ‘That was my friend. Alain has just asked him to order a taxi to pick him up outside the hotel at 7.45 and take him to Le Restaurant du Parc.’

  Sitting next to Claire, Thomas took her hand. ‘He said Alain looked excited. He asked him if he was seeing a lady friend, and Alain said, yes, a very special lady friend.’

  Claire leaned into Thomas, her head resting on his shoulder. ‘Would you like me to drive you to the restaurant?’

  ‘No. I’ll get your friend to call me a taxi. If I get ready now,’ she lifted her head and looked at her watch, ‘I’ll be there before him.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to see Alain tonight?’

  ‘Yes! I need to know for certain that he’s having an affair. And there’s that!’ She pointed to Lucien Puel’s briefcase. ‘After tonight I shall know better how to get the information about Heinrich Beckman to Guillaume Cheval.’

  Thomas stood up. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the restaurant?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘If you need me, ring me,’ he said, walking to the door. ‘Paris is only an hour away by car. I can come back at the weekend, if...’ Claire nodded. ‘Ring me anytime, whether you need me or not. You know my number in Paris.’ Claire nodded again. ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise. Thomas?’ Claire said, as he opened the door. ‘Will you telephone me tonight? When you get home? Let me know you’ve arrived safely.’

  ‘It may be late,’ he said, ‘I need to call on Antoinette and Auguste, and then I have to pick up my tutorial notes from my sick assistant.’

  ‘I don’t care what time it is. Please say you’ll phone. I feel as if we’ve been chasing ghosts for a lifetime. I--’

  ‘I shall telephone.’

  Claire sighed with relief.

  ‘But now I must go, and you must get ready to dine at Le Restaurant du Parc. On my way out, I’ll ask the manager to order a taxi to pick you up in,’ he looked at his watch, ‘half an hour?’ Claire grimaced. ‘It has to be that soon, if you want to be at the restaurant before Alain.’

  ‘I know.’

  Claire told Thomas to drive carefully and they said goodbye, kissing each other on both cheeks - as is the custom between friends in France. Claire opened the door and watched the man who had been her strength leave. ‘I shall wait for your telephone call,’ she said, as he walked away from her. At the end of the corridor, Thomas looked over his shoulder and gave her an encouraging wink. Claire blew him a kiss and waved. A second later he was gone. She returned to her room and closed the door. For the first time since she had been in France, she felt lonely.

  Le Petit Château hotel was middle range, clean and comfortable, the type of hotel that catered for businessmen and women, managerial types who perhaps didn’t want to stay in a large city hotel. She hadn’t noticed a bar when she arrived. Without Thomas, she didn’t want to socialise anyway.

  She took off the clothes she’d travelled in, had a strip-wash in the small basin in her room, and put on a blue silk dress that was fitted on the bust and waist, had a high collar and a skirt that was cut on the cross so it swung fashionably around her knees when she walked.

  After checking her makeup, which was a little thicker than she usually wore, she brushed her hair into soft waves and put on her hat. She again pulled it until it tilted over one eye, and after checking her stockings were not laddered and the seams were straight, she slipped her feet into a pair of smart high-heeled navy-blue court shoes.

  Checking her appearance in the dressing table mirror, Claire was happy with what she saw and slipped her arms down the sleeves of a cream woollen coat that belonged to the real Therese Belland.

  Satisfied that she looked more like someone else than herself, and therefore wouldn’t be easily recognised, she wrapped a silk scarf the colour of her dress around her neck, picked up her handbag and left the room.

  With her head held high, Claire strolled through reception. A few people, guests going into dinner she assumed, smiled and nodded good evening, but most of them didn’t notice her.

  She may not be anonymous in Le Petit Château, but she blended in.

  The taxi pulled up as Claire left the hotel. She took the steps slowly and by the time she was on the pavement, the driver was out of the car and opening the back door for her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The interior of Le Restaurant du Parc was dimly lit. It would have been bright and airy during the day because it faced south-south-west, but not at night. At night it was exactly the kind of place for a secret rendezvous, a clandestine meeting. And Claire should know, she’d had enough of them during her time with the Resistance in the war. She made for a booth at the back of the room and sat down. She looked around. She had a good view of the door. She watched a waiter lighting candles on the tables. Romantic, she thought, and tried to swallow the ache she felt in her throat.

  ‘… Madame?’

  ‘What? I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I was miles away.’ She glanced at the menu. It said at the top in bold letters Evening Menu after seven o’clock. Her stomach was churning. She didn’t think she’d be able to eat anything, but it was gone seven, so she couldn’t order a drink on its own, she had to order food too. ‘I’m expecting a friend,’ she lied, ‘we’ll order dinner when he arrives.’

  ‘Would you like anything to drink while you wait? An aperitif perhaps?’

  ‘Thank you. A dry martini.’

  ‘Olives?’

  ‘And a small selection of cheeses.’

  ‘Bread with the cheese, Madame?’

  ‘A little,’ she said. The waiter lit the candle in the middle of the table, bowed, and made his way around a cluster of neat tables-for-two to the bar.

  Someone had left a copy of Le Figaro on the seat next to her. She picked it up and leaned back in her seat. The only news reported of any interest to Claire was the death of the former French president Albert Lebrun, who had died in Paris after a prolonged illness. When Nazi Germany invaded France in May 1940, and took Paris a month later, Prime Minister Paul Reynaud lost a cabinet vote and resigned, as did President Lebrun. He made the biggest mistake of his political career, Claire thought, appointing Marshal Pétain as his replacement.

  She folded the newspaper, dropped it back onto the seat, and glanced around the room. Something had changed. She looked again, this time more slowly. A woman that she hadn’t seen the last time she looked was sitting on her own at a table by the window. The waiter, all smiles, waltzed over to attend to her. Then, turning his back on the room and blocking Claire’s view, he took the woman’s coat. By the fuss the waiter was making the woman was a regular diner at Le Restaurant du Parc.

  The waiter bowed again, and gaily zig-zagged his way through the tables to coat hooks on the far wall. Claire turned her attention back to the woman. Her elbows were on the table, her hands were clasped in front of her, and she was gazing out of the window. Her pose was elegant. Seconds later she brought her focus back to the restaurant’s interior. She was strikingly beautiful. Her dark hair framed her small face. She looked elfin-like w
ith large brown eyes and full red lips. If this woman was Eleanor Cheval, aka Simone, it was no wonder Alain had fallen in love with her.

  From the little Claire could see of the woman’s clothes she was sophisticated, stylish. She wore a light grey woollen jacket, edged in darker grey silk. The jacket had fashionably wide lapels and was cut low with a single button at the waist. Beneath it a high-necked silk blouse in a darker shade of grey and a double string of cream pearls, a flattering contrast to her smooth olive skin. The way the woman was sitting Claire could see the blouse fitted snugly over small breasts. She was what Parisians call, très chic.

  Claire looked away from the woman when the restaurant’s door opened. Her heart almost stopped. Mitch stood just inside the entrance. Claire slid down in her seat, lifted the menu up to cover her face and pretended to read. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the waiter take Mitch’s coat and show him to the table where the elegant woman was sitting. The waiter pulled out a chair, but Mitch didn’t sit. Instead, he stood at the woman’s side and looked at her for what seemed to Claire like an age. Then he leaned forward and kissed the woman on the cheek.

  ‘Your aperitif, Madame,’ the waiter said, suddenly at her side. He took the glass of martini from a tray he was expertly balancing in one hand and set it down on the table in front of her.

  ‘Merci.’ Lifting the glass with shaking hands Claire took a sip. The chilled minty taste of vermouth and the bite of the gin slid down her throat. She took a second sip.