Beauty Chorus, The (51 page)

Her voice rose above the soldiers’ conversation.

‘I do like that song. Lovely voice too. A shame, such a waste.’ Hans tapped ash into the heavy glass ashtray.

‘Why are you letting me go?’ Beau said, desperately trying not to look at Evie.

‘As I said, better sport if I give you a head start. Besides, Françoise would never forgive me if I took you out in cold blood.’

‘You still think she would forgive you, after what you have done?’ Beau said incredulously.

‘She loved me once. She will again.’

Beau shook his head. ‘What did I ever do for you to hate me so?’

Hans regarded him impassively. ‘You don’t know?’ He stared at his son. ‘She loved you. I saw it in her eyes. With you, the moment she held you in her arms … She
loves Hélène of course. But with you it is different.’

Beau stepped closer as Evie sang on. ‘That must have killed you, Hans,’ he goaded him. ‘You always told me you can have anything you want in life.’ He was near enough to
feel his father’s breath on his face. ‘But you can’t have the one thing you want – Françoise’s love.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ A vein pulsed in his temple. ‘Françoise loved me. She still loves me.’

‘Do you think so? She hates everything you stand for.’

Hans slammed his glass down on the bar. ‘She will see sense.’

‘How are you going to change her mind, Hans?’ The blood sang in Beau’s head. ‘The same way you made me “see sense” when I was a boy?’

‘I would never lay a finger on your mother, you know that.’ His eyes blazed. ‘But you … you drove me mad, the way you could always wrap Françoise round your
little finger, the way she loved you.’

‘You were jealous of me?’ Beau laughed in disbelief. ‘Is that really it?’

‘Jealous?’ Hans raged. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You are inferior to me in every way.’ He squared up to his son. ‘In every way.’ His face was pinched with
hatred.

Beau watched his father transform before his eyes, the rage giving way to a familiar icy calm. ‘We’ll see. I’m not a child any more.’

‘I adore Françoise,’ Hans said quietly. ‘I will do anything to have her to myself.’

‘Even if it means killing your own son?’

‘I wouldn’t be the first. Think of the Greeks, the Romans …’ Hans looked at his son, what passed for a smile twisting on his lips. ‘There’s something of a
noble tradition.’

Hans’ companion strode over and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, Generaloberst, we have him.’

‘Who?’

‘The agent who parachuted in tonight. He is refusing to talk but there is no doubt he is SOE. They found him hiding in the hills with the Maquis. They escaped, but he has a broken leg.
There’s no sign of the pilots. Our men are searching the area for the aircraft but haven’t found them yet. We have him in a car outside. The Gestapo are waiting.’

Beau’s face gave nothing away, but his pulse was racing. They had captured his passenger. It was only a matter of time until they found the crash site.

‘Wait for me by the door,’ Hans said to him. He turned to his son. ‘So, this is interesting.’ He swirled his drink in his glass. ‘If you were flying a male agent in
tonight, then where did our little songbird appear from?’ He tilted his head, watched Evie as she sang on stage. ‘Unless of course she was flying the other plane?’ Beau’s
face remained impassive. ‘I heard you were flying with girls, Alex. Is she a friend of yours? That would explain the slip crossing the road. If she is ATA not SOE …’

‘I told you. I have no idea who she is.’ Beau knocked back his cognac. ‘Tell me something. Are your boys targeting the ATA?’

Hans blew smoke into his face. ‘For our new fighters it’s easy target practice. For me, it is a little dull if your enemy is unarmed.’

‘Sir, I am sorry …’ The soldier waiting for Hans interrupted again.

‘Very well.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Go on, Alex,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll give you quarter of an hour’s head start. That will give me time to take care
of this and get to my Messerschmidt.’

Beau leant casually against the bar. ‘So you haven’t told anyone I’m here? I imagine your superiors would be rather annoyed if they knew you’d let an enemy officer
go.’

‘What do I care?’ Hans murmured as he pulled on his coat. ‘It’s so long since I had any sport.’ He sneered. ‘Go on then, run along, Alex. “Run, rabbit,
run”, as the song says.’

Beau grabbed his father’s wrist. ‘Run? I never ran from you, did I, Hans? I always took my punishments bravely.’ He tightened his grip. ‘That’s why we are going to
win this war. Maybe you’ll kill me tonight, maybe you won’t, but there are hundreds of good men to take my place who will carry on regardless. We don’t like bullies, Hans. We
didn’t want this war, but we’ll take great pleasure in shooting every last one of your ruddy kites out of the sky. We’ll show you how to fly. We’ll make you wish to God
you’d never dreamt of war.’ He released Hans’ arm. ‘I’ll see you in the air.’

Hans gave him the Nazi salute, and turned on his heel. He paused by the door, and spoke to some soldiers as he pointed to the stage. ‘Our boys are enjoying the cabaret. Let her finish,
then arrest her.’

*

Evie’s song ended just as Hans reached the street.

She left the stage to applause. ‘Encore!’ someone cried. ‘Encore!’ Pretending to get a glass of water from the bar, she stood beside Beau.

‘That was your father, wasn’t it?’

‘I don’t have time to explain,’ Beau said. ‘We must leave now.’

‘No. If I go, it will be too suspicious,’ she said. She wanted desperately to hold him one last time. ‘You go. I’ll keep everyone happy, give you a chance to get
away.’

‘I’m not leaving without you.’

‘Beau, I’m nothing,’ she said, ‘just a girl, just a pilot. What you are doing here – it’s saving hundreds of lives. What is one life, my life, compared to so
many?’ The crowd began clapping for her to return to the stage. She sipped her water, slowly patted her lips with a white napkin. ‘I hope they like “Lili Marlène”
because it’s the only song I can remember right now.’ Her voice shook as she laughed. ‘I love you,’ she said without looking at him.

‘I love you too. I’m damned if I’m leaving you here for Hans.’ Beau thought quickly. ‘After your next song, go off into the wings. As they wait for an encore there
will be time for you to slip out through the kitchen. I’ll be waiting for you at the end of the alley.’

Evie took to the stage, the lights dazzling her. She sang with all her heart as she watched Beau walk away. She thought of when she had first seen him, walking across the airfield towards her
out of the sun.
Come on, Evie
, she thought to herself.
You can do this.

At the end of the song she bowed and walked off into the wings with her head held high. The sound of applause washed around her as she slipped through the curtains to the back
of the stage. She clambered over old paint pots and scenery, and jumped down to the kitchen passage. A young couple kissing looked up at her, their eyes glazed with desire. Her mouth was a smear of
red, his pale fringe flopped into his eyes.
Oh God, he’s a Jerry.
A bead of cold sweat trickled down Evie’s spine as she walked past them. The young woman caught the
soldier’s face in her hand, pulled him down to her chest. The woman nodded her head towards the kitchen. Evie weaved her way out through the steaming prep areas, waiters carrying trays of
food above their heads, all turning a blind eye to the young woman making her escape. The sound of impatient clapping drifted out to her from the bar, the shouting and whistles becoming more
insistent.

Just as Evie pushed open the door to the alleyway, an argument broke out in the bar. A young woman was berating Marcel.

‘What do you mean, the cabaret has already been?’ she said furiously. ‘I am the cabaret.’

The soldiers by the door looked at one another, and marched outside.

Evie ran into the alleyway, snow falling silently around her, her evening shoes slipping on the cobbles. She raced to the end, but Beau was not there. Fear chilled her. Any moment, soldiers
would come pouring out of the back of the hotel, she knew it. At the sound of a patrol car, she ducked into the shadows. It screeched to a halt and the door flew open. ‘Evie?’ Beau
called.

She leapt into the car. ‘Thank God, I thought you’d gone.’

‘You rescued me,’ he said as they screeched away. ‘It was the least I could do to rescue you back. They found the bike,’ he explained. ‘Slashed the tyres. I had to
find a patrol car.’ He glanced in the rear-view mirror, saw flashlights washing the street of the town behind them, soldiers running to their cars. Beau put his foot down. ‘Marcel has
sent some men ahead, they’re refuelling the Spit, getting it ready for us. We have to hurry, Evie, we have to get you out of here.’

58

The patrol car tore through the countryside, bumping along the rough road. Beau’s eyes were fixed grimly on the road ahead. ‘I hope this snow doesn’t get
worse. You won’t be able to take off,’ he said.

‘We’ll make it,’ Evie said. ‘And you’re coming with me.’

‘No.’

‘I won’t take off without you.’

‘You will.’

‘Beau, I’d rather die with you tonight than leave without you.’

She could see the silhouette of the Spitfire up ahead, a couple of men standing ready. They passed a farm tractor dragging a tanker, and Beau saluted as the patrol car skidded up the hill. He
slammed on the brakes, took Evie’s hand. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘they won’t be far behind us.’

‘They’re coming, Madame!’ Françoise’s maid banged frantically on the dressing-room door. Françoise smoothed her gleaming dark hair slowly
with a silver brush. She dabbed scent on her wrists, and then from her drawer she pulled out a Beretta pistol and tucked it into the waistband of her black evening trousers, against her spine. She
lifted the collar of her immaculate white shirt, and nodded.

‘Where is he?’ Hans’ voice thundered through the hallway of the château, candles guttering in the wind as he flung the front door open. Storm troopers poured into the
house behind him, searching every room.

‘Hans. What a surprise,’ Françoise said as she appeared on the landing. As she walked slowly down the sweeping stone staircase he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

‘You look captivating,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ She offered him her hand, and he pressed his lips to it.

‘Françoise …’

‘Why are you here, Hans?’

‘I want them. They’ve given my men the slip.’

‘Have they? Good.’ She raised her chin. ‘You don’t think Alex would be crazy enough to hide here?’

‘I know you are helping the Maquis, I’ve been protecting you.’

‘You’ll never rest, will you? It’s too late. Alex is miles away by now.’ She wavered as she heard the screams of the servants.

‘I can still save you,’ Hans whispered. ‘It’s not too late. I love you. We should never have had children. He ruined everything.’

‘No, Hans. You did that all by yourself. My children are the one thing I am proud of in my life. That, and this.’ Françoise pulled out the pistol.

At the sound of the gunshot, the soldiers raced back to the hall to find Hans lying on the steps in her arms. They raised their rifles.

‘No!’ Hans gasped. ‘You will not touch her. It was an accident. Stand down.’ His hand lay across his chest, a look of surprise on his face as he looked up at his wife.
‘I love you, Françoise,’ he whispered. ‘I will always love you.’

‘I am sorry,’ she whispered, tears in her eyes. ‘I loved you, but this has to end.’

Hans gasped, the air gurgling in his throat. His eyes rolled back in his head, flickered for a moment. ‘Françoise,’ he sighed, ‘Françoise …’

*

A shot was fired in the forest as Beau spoke quickly to the Maquis. ‘Once she is up, burn the Lysander.’

Evie stood by the Spitfire. ‘Beau, I’m not leaving without you.’

‘Yes you are,’ he said as he slid back the canopy.

Evie clambered up onto the wing. ‘We don’t have time to argue about this. We can fly the Spit together.’

‘Don’t be a fool!’

Evie took his face in her hands. ‘Beau, I’ve seen it done. You must have heard all the stories about RAF chaps taking their girlfriends up for a spin?’

‘It’s too dangerous, a damn stupid thing to do.’

Evie kissed him. ‘We can do it. I love you,’ she said, her hand on his face. ‘If you won’t come with me, I’m not leaving. They’ll get both of us, and the
Spit.’

He jumped into the cockpit. ‘God damn it, Evie, you’re mad. I wish you would just leave me.’

‘Never.’

Beau pushed back as she squeezed in on his lap. ‘Well, this is cosy.’ He started up the engine. ‘It’s going to be very distracting having you in the cockpit with me. A
fighter should always be on top, seldom on the same level, and never underneath.’

‘Are you complaining?’ Evie’s head turned at the sound of gunshots.

‘No. Under different circumstances this would be most enjoyable.’ He could see cars streaming up the hillside towards them. ‘Right, hold on tight.’

Two men jumped on the tail of the Spitfire as the engine roared, and the propeller began to turn. Beau ran the engine up against the brakes, one hand on the throttle, the other on the stick and
brake lever. He glanced at the instrument panel, saw the photograph of Jack that Evie had stuck there.

‘Did you do this before, with him?’

‘Fine time to be jealous.’ Evie was breathless with fear. ‘No, I’ve never done this.’

‘Reassuring.’

‘But I’ve seen it done. I’ll tell you later.’ Evie looked out into the dark night, the snow eddying around them. She gripped the control panel. ‘Let’s go
home, Beau. Take me home.’