Here was her chance. She called back, ‘I would love to visit the vineyard today. I wrote to my mother giving her the vineyard as my address, and maybe she wrote back. I’d like to check.’
‘Of course, go.’ His head appeared in the doorway, his face covered in shaving cream. ‘I’m sure Gaston would keep any mail for you. He is a nice fellow, isn’t he? When he invites us to dinner it is as if there is no animosity between our two countries.’
Clearly, he had no idea how deeply Gaston hated the Germans. It was a testament to her uncle’s acting abilities that Frederik was totally unaware of how Gaston would, without a moment’s hesitation, blow him and all his Nazi colleagues to kingdom come.
‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘And I’ll be back in time to cook dinner for you and Karl and Otto if you like?’
‘That would be wonderful, my darling, I’d really appreciate that.’ Moments later, he returned to the bedroom, shaved and washed, and pulled his Nazi uniform out of the wardrobe.
Sitting in her negligée on the edge of the bed, she watched him dress. Sometimes, she was glad to see him in that hateful uniform. It helped to draw a line between them. Frederik on one side, oppressing her countrymen; she on the other side, trying to free them.
The bell rang and he strode away down the hall. The other two must be here. She dressed slowly and went down to greet them in the office, where Frederik and Otto were standing at the table pouring over a communiqué from Berlin.
‘Ah the lovely Emilie!’ Fat, stocky Karl rose from the leather armchair where he was sitting smoking, and waddled to embrace her. He held her a little too long and much too tightly. She tried not to shudder.
‘How nice to see you again,’ she said demurely in German, before turning to Otto. ‘Otto, you look so much better, and has that cold cleared up?’ She had feigned concern over his coughing the last time he was here, and had given him a hot whiskey made with lemon and cloves and brown sugar – Kieran’s typically Irish cure-all.
‘Ah yes, that magic potion you made me worked a treat, though now I fear I have a new addiction. You must show me how to make it.’
‘Cigarette, Emilie?’ Karl was trying to recapture her attention, waving a cigarette in her face. Politely, she accepted it and inclined her head. He pulled a solid silver lighter from his pocket, and flicked it open with his thumb.
Catriona’s stomach lurched and without thinking, she put her hand on his thick, hairy wrist to stop him moving the flame away. He looked at her with a lecherous grin, and she recovered herself enough to say, ‘Wait, encore… My cigarette is not lit properly.’
‘Of course.’ Winking at her – clearly enjoying the touch of her hand on his – he flicked the lighter again. His fat thumb covered most of the inscription, but she could make out the word ‘aujourd’hui’, and beneath it: ‘plus qu’hier’. She’d been right. It was her father’s lighter. His precious, irreplaceable lighter – his last gift from Eloise, which he never let out of his sight.
She inhaled. ‘Thank you, Karl. What a beautiful lighter you have there.’ She hoped her voice sounded steady and normal.
‘You like my… lighter?’ He flushed coarsely – bright red.
She shivered. ‘I do.’
‘Then you have excellent taste,’ he grinned, with a slight nod of his head – his hand rested on her waist unnecessarily before she moved deftly aside.
She made small talk while she finished her cigarette, French women did not smoke in public, and she stubbed it out on the heavy onyx ashtray that had been in the apartment since they moved in. So many objects, owned presumably by the previous inhabitants, remained and she tried not to think where those people were now.
‘Goodbye, everyone.’ She went to kiss Frederik on the cheek, then – with a smile on her lips and grief in her heart – she gathered her bag, hat and gloves, and left the apartment.
Chapter 8
Passing through the vineyard of Chateau de Clairand she greeted two of the women with whom she’d worked in the early days. They refused to speak to her, turning their backs as she passed. It was unsurprising – yet still it hurt. As far as all these women were concerned, she was no better than the females who worked the docks and gave themselves to the Germans. In fact, they probably thought the prostitutes were more honest.
Reaching the chateau, she first twisted the ancient weather vane as Gaston had taught her – casually, as if playing with the rusty old thing – then rang the bell. A young servant girl opened the door and showed her into the conservatory. Like the women in the vineyard, the girl radiated animosity – wrinkling her nose as if she had smelled something foul.
Loic appeared in the conservatory about ten minutes later.
‘Ah Emilie, how nice to see you.’ He greeted her with a kiss on each cheek, carrying on the pretence that she was a former employee and now the girlfriend of their friendly neighbourhood German officer. ‘My father told me you were here and perhaps wished to speak to someone.’
‘I just wondered if any letters had come for me, but your housemaid says no. I was hoping to hear from my mother.’ She stood and moved towards the glass doors overlooking the gently undulating vineyards below. ‘The whole estate is looking so lovely, would you mind if we took a walk?’ She had been told in London that when she had information to impart it was always safer to do it out in the open, where there was less chance of being overheard.
He understood at once. ‘I’m sorry we have no letter for you. But since you’ve come all this way, of course, let me show you around. They are leaf-thinning at the moment to ensure the grapes get enough sunlight to sweeten, but one must watch for overly enthusiastic pruners. My father nearly went mad last week when some of the new people thinned too much and the grapes got burned.’ He ushered her out of the doors.
Once they were clear of the house and yard, and surrounded by vines, she changed her tone and said earnestly, ‘Loic, remember Karl Fischer, that loathsome fat German officer who works with Frederik?’
Her cousin nodded.
‘He has my father’s lighter. Oh Loic…’ She could barely say the words. ‘I think…’
‘I understand.’ All traces of earlier levity disappeared from Loic’s manner. ‘Look, make a big show of saying goodbye to me now, though I don’t think anyone is watching, then go to the yard. The driver is being fed by the cook so he won’t look for you and everyone else is out at the vines. Go in by the lilac tree. He’ll come to you shortly.’
She smiled and kissed his cheeks, and waved as she walked away from him, forcing herself to stop and admire the vines as she went. She even paused to smell the fragrant rose planted at the end of the row of vines. She always loved to see the roses in bloom and thought they looked so romantic, although her uncle was quick to point out how the roses were not there for their beauty but as an early warning of mildew or fungus growing on his vines.
She passed around the house, managed to make her way unseen to the lilac tree, found the spare key, checked that she still wasn’t being observed and let herself into the cellar.
She waited for over twenty minutes in the damp dark cave, desperate for Gaston to come. She paced and worried and tried to think what it all meant. The obvious thing was that Karl had killed her father and taken his lighter. And Karl was Frederik’s colleague, so surely Frederik must know that Kieran was dead. Or did he? He had sounded so genuine when he talked about looking Kieran up in Ireland, if indeed his Irish friend was actually Kieran… Round and round it all went. Should she just confront him, demanding the truth? Or was that reckless?
She felt like screaming.
Light footsteps approached, as if on tiptoe, and she shrank into the back of the cave. Then someone turned on the single bulb… and it was not Gaston, but her grandmother. ‘Gaston thought you might need me, Catriona?’
‘Oh Mémé, yes I do…’ The sight of her grandmother released all the emotions that Catriona had been keeping under such close watch since seeing her father’s lighter in Karl’s clumsy
fist. With a cry of pent-up grief, she rushed into Louise’s comforting arms. Her grandmother stroked her back and let her cry.
‘The Nazis have his lighter. But that doesn’t mean he’s dead, Mémé, does it?’ she sobbed. ‘I mean Karl could have stolen it from him... Please Mémé, say something...’ She knew she sounded childish but she was so distraught. ‘He is all I have.’
Louise tightened her thin arms around her granddaughter. ‘Catriona, I know you love your father, of course you do, and I realise now he was a truly wonderful man. But, remember this: he is not all you have in the world. You have me and Pépé and Gaston and Marie-Clare and Loic. You might be Irish, but in here…’ Mémé stepped back and pointed to Catriona’s heart, ‘…in here, you are French as well. We are your family, Catriona.’
‘We are your family,’ echoed a second voice, and it was Gaston. He also embraced her. ‘My poor Catriona.’
She hugged him back briefly, then took a deep breath. Whatever the truth about her father, now was not the time to collapse. She had to stay focused. ‘Mémé, may I speak with Gaston alone again? It’s how I’ve been told to do things.’
As before, her grandmother was reluctant to leave, and clung to her: ‘Everything is so very dangerous, and these Boche, they will stop at nothing...’
Catriona gently ushered her towards the door. Her grandmother seized her hand, not wanting to let her go. Catriona almost wished she wouldn’t. Any further show of love and care would only serve to weaken her again. ‘I know you are worried about me, Mémé….’
‘If the Germans were to find out who you are, and arrest you... I’m so afraid. They’re getting stronger, they are winning on the eastern front, new victories every day, taking more and more Russian prisoners to drive their war production. Rumour has it that Churchill and Roosevelt are offering to help Russia – did we ever think we’d see this day? – but I fear it won’t be enough.’
‘Then don't try to stop me in my work, Mémé. I love you so much and to know I have a loving family here, it means so much to me. But I am doing this with my eyes wide open. These monsters probably killed my father, they’re enslaving my family and destroying the country I think of as my second home, so I want to do this.’
‘Oh Catriona…’
‘Au revoir, Mémé. Je t’aime.’
After her grandmother had been persuaded to leave, Catriona turned to Gaston and said quickly, ‘I’ve not just come to tell you about my father. Karl and Otto are with Frederik today. Investigators are coming from Berlin, from military intelligence, to crack down on Frederik for being too weak in combating the Resistance around Bordeaux.’
Gaston looked alarmed. ‘Who is coming? Who are they?’
‘I don’t know their names or rank, but I will try to find out. They are from the Abwehr, I think. Although there are so many agencies working here now – the Geheime Feldpolizei, the Abwehr, the Gestapo, not to mention all the branches of the military administration. Frederik says there are too many people trying to do the same job and they are only getting in each other’s way.’
Gaston nodded. ‘Things are becoming much more intense. Some resister was shot and killed – a Communist, I think – in Strasbourg and it’s led to all sorts of reprisals. It is drawing a lot of unwanted attention on us here. And Pétain is dancing like a little puppet to Hitler’s tune, saying he put an end to mutiny in 1917 and he’ll do the same now. Apparently, he is trying to save us from ourselves, the stupid traitorous fool… People are so demoralised, feeling like there is nothing we can do. Our government has failed us miserably and people are afraid for the future. If only we can show people that we can fight back, then they will be emboldened to join us and maybe together we can free our country.’
‘I agree. I’ll find out exactly who these investigators are and I’ll pass it on to Fabien,’ she paused, an idea just occurring to her. ‘If we can do something, something big, something that cannot go unnoticed, either here or in Berlin, then the people will see what the Resistance is capable of.’
‘You’re right, but we don’t have the resources or the opportunity to inflict much pain on the Germans.’ Gaston sighed and shrugged.
‘You don’t need much in the way of resources when the enemy are sitting at your dining room table.’ Catriona said slowly, the idea forming in her mind.
Gaston looked at her intently, his face at first registering shock but then something else. ‘You’re thinking, we should kill these investigators?’
‘Yes, in fact we must.’ She was almost shocked at how determined she felt. She wanted revenge for what these brutes were doing to France, and – just as much as that – she wanted justice for Kieran. ‘I’m not naïve. I know Berlin will just send more Germans to replace them. But it will raise French morale and that is what’s necessary, you said so yourself. It will inspire confidence in others to act, and join us. With more members we could make operating here so difficult for the Germans, to the point of impossible, then we could just turn the tide of this war.’
He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Good girl. You're right. Invite them to dinner, get them drunk, and we’ll burst in with grenades and kill them all.’
‘No.’ She thought carefully. ‘Too risky. A bomb would be better. Somewhere they would never think to find it.’ An idea occurred to her based on a class on explosives she’d taken in London. A bomb can be placed in anything. ‘I know, I’ll cook a goose for their dinner, and put the charge inside its neck – plastic explosive and some pencil detonators which I can set on a timer.’
Gaston wasn’t convinced. ‘You can do this?’
‘Yes, I did some work with detonators in the month I was in Baker Street. A cell being run from England is operating here, is it not? Maybe they will have explosives to give us.’
‘Ah yes, the English always have their own people…’ Gaston rolled his eyes. ‘Too many factions, all wanting the same thing but each operating on their own. It can’t go on. Anyway, not your problem. If you’re sure, I will make contact with someone who can get us what we need.’
‘I’m sure. Also, we must make sure there is nobody else in the building. It is three storeys high with shops either side which will be empty by evening, but the woman downstairs has children, and they must be out. The other flat is empty, so it’s just her and the concierge.’ Catriona always said hello to the heavy-set widow if she bumped into her entering or leaving the building but the woman never answered, neither did the octogenarian half-deaf concierge. No doubt, they saw Catriona as a German collaborator and wanted nothing to do with her.
He nodded. ‘We’ll see to that. We can’t say or do anything to arouse suspicion but someone will say something at the last moment.’
‘Thank you.’ She didn't want to be responsible for the loss of any French lives.
‘And we will arrange to have you picked up immediately afterwards, and get you lifted out. We will ensure the wireless operator gets a message to London, and nobody on the German side will look for you. They’ll assume you were killed in the blast.’ He paced the cellar floor as he thought aloud: ‘The grenades can be back up. As soon as we see you leave the apartment, we’ll be ready to rush the place in case the bomb doesn't go off. Six Nazis taken out in one fell swoop… ’
Catriona’s chest tightened, at the thought of Frederik being murdered along with his colleagues. For a moment she couldn't speak. She knew Gaston strongly suspected Frederik of betraying Kieran. And yet…
‘What?’ Gaston was looking at her closely. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Frederik…’ She hesitated.
‘What about Schroeder?’
‘He is growing increasingly disillusioned, Gaston. I think London may be right, and he is ready to be turned. He thinks Germany will lose. I’m sure he despises Hitler. Should I tell him about the lighter, and see his reaction? Maybe that will be enough to bring him in and if we can do that before these men come from Berlin…’
Gaston ran his hands through his thick mop of hair,
and exhaled slowly. ‘No. It’s too big a risk.’
‘It’s what London asked me to do.’
‘But if they tortured you…’
‘I have the cyanide pill.’
He shuddered. ‘Don't think about that.’
‘My father believed Frederik was ready to turn. London trusts my father’s opinion. They wanted me to finish my father’s work.’
‘Ah Catriona. Those people in London don’t love you as your family do. They see you merely as a useful tool in the war…’
‘Maybe so, but if I die, I will have died doing something I believe in. Please, let me try to recruit him to our side.’ She did her best to keep any feelings she might have developed for Frederik out of her voice, but Gaston’s face darkened.
‘Catriona, if you're mistaken… Frederik knows of the connection between you and this place, and so will realise who we are. My wife, my son, your grandparents. No, there is too much at stake. Not only you, but none of them will be safe if this goes wrong.’
‘Then if necessary, I’ll kill him before he can raise the alarm.’ She caught her breath, hardly believing herself capable of saying such words. Gaston leant his back against the cool stone wall, arms crossed, looking intently at her.
‘Do you really think you can do that?’
Catriona felt her cheeks redden, as she realised that her uncle had seen more than she had imagined. ‘Of course. He’s the enemy and…’
‘Catriona,’ he interrupted her. ‘I’m sure it's hard, in the circumstances, not to develop… certain feelings. So I’ll ask you again. Are you sure you can shoot Frederik?’
‘I’ll do it for Kieran and for all of you,’ she said firmly.
His face was impassive. ‘How?’
‘He leaves his gun in the dressing room. I’ll insist we go on a picnic, complain that I never see him these days because he’s so busy with work and I’ll bring it in my leather camera case. I’ll tell him who I am when we are walking in the forest, far from listening ears. And if he reacts badly, I’ll shoot him. You can get a message to London that I need to be picked up, and I’ll go back to England and there won’t be any repercussions for you.’
The Darkest Hour Page 14