Citadel (65 page)

‘Madomaisèla Geneviève was given it.’

Liesl smiled. ‘They all adore her.’

‘She has a good nature,’ Marieta said.

Liesl hid her smile, perfectly certain that it wasn’t Geneviève’s good nature the maquisards appreciated so much as her face and her figure. Unlike everyone else, she had kept her perfect hour-glass curves and looked as healthy and pretty as ever.

Marieta drained the half-litre of cognac. ‘When Monsieur Baillard comes back,’ she said, with a slight tremor in her voice, ‘I want to welcome him home properly.’

‘Yes,’ Liesl said. Her heart went out to the old woman. She knew Marieta missed Sandrine and Marianne. Little Jean-Jacques too; the house had seemed so quiet when he’d gone. But she forgot that Marieta missed her old friend most of all. ‘Yes, of course you do. He’ll be so delighted.’

For a moment, silence fell between them. The only sound was the knocking of the spoon against the glass. Liesl watched as Marieta put the flat blue metal cap on the bottle, twisted it shut and turned the bottle over and back several times, like an egg-timer. Then she walked slowly to the larder and put the Guignolet inside on the shelf.

‘There,’ Marieta said, ‘perfect in a week or two. At least, good enough.’

She lowered herself on to a chair with a sigh, poking wisps of grey hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck. ‘So, you said you were followed. Is there any particular reason, madomaisèla, why such a thing should have happened today?’

‘What do you mean?’

Marieta fixed her with a look. ‘You know quite well what I mean.’

Liesl met her gaze. Marieta was perfectly aware that the girls delivered food and weapons to the men. But she also knew that they carried out small acts of sabotage or disruption, and that Liesl took great risks to photograph the atrocities committed by the Milice and the occupying forces, when she could get the film.

‘No. I paid a visit to the hills, that’s all.’

‘There is nothing particular being planned?’

Liesl wasn’t sure what Geneviève would want her to say. The fact was, there was something being planned, but as the guerrilla war between the maquisards and the Gestapo grew more vicious, no one was safe. They told Marieta what was happening only in general terms, therefore, hoping it might keep her safer.

‘No,’ she replied, though she couldn’t meet Marieta’s gaze. ‘
Si es atal es atal
,’ she rushed on, quoting one of the housekeeper’s well-worn phrases back at her. She found a smile, trying to persuade herself that everything would be all right. ‘What will be will be,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?’

Marieta didn’t return the smile. ‘Even if there is nothing planned,’ she said in a sombre tone, ‘it would be wise not to go down into the town for the time being. Your friends can manage for a day or two without you, do you hear me?’

Liesl stared. Marieta never made a fuss, never overreacted. That she was taking this seriously upset her more than any scolding would have done.

‘Wait until Geneviève and Eloise come back,’ Marieta said, ‘then we’ll see, è?’

Chapter 108

CARCASSONNE

‘
S
andrine?’

There was a sharp tapping on the door. Sandrine blinked, stretched and half woke, without identifying what had disturbed her. The knocking started again.

‘Sandrine, are you in there?’

She opened her eyes, surprised to hear Lucie’s voice. She glanced at the clock, and was horrified to see that it was early afternoon. They’d slept for hours.

Slipping out from beneath Raoul’s arm, she took her cotton dressing gown from its hook, pulled the belt tight around her waist, then opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

‘Sorry to barge in and all that,’ Lucie said in a whisper, ‘but Marianne wants you to come.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘We’re in the kitchen,’ said Lucie. ‘I’ll tell her you’re on your way.’

Sandrine nodded. Quickly she gathered the items of clothing that lay strewn across the bedroom floor. She took a last glance at Raoul, pleased that he was so peaceful. A month’s worth of sleep in a real bed to catch up on.

‘
A bientôt
,’ she murmured, then, resisting the temptation to kiss him again, she crept out of the room and downstairs.

Marianne, Lucie and Suzanne were sitting at the kitchen table. The windows were tilted open to let in a little fresh air, but the door to the garden was closed and the room was hot.

‘I’m sorry, I’d no idea it was so late.’

‘But you’re all right?’ Marianne was saying. She looked harried, exhausted, the lines around her eyes dark as if drawn on with ink.

‘Fine,’ said Suzanne gruffly. ‘Don’t fuss.’

Lucie was sitting in her chair, frowning.

‘They had to release me,’ Suzanne continued. ‘They had no grounds to hold me. No evidence.’

‘Evidence! ’ Marianne said. ‘Did they tell you why you’d been arrested?’

‘I wasn’t arrested.’

‘You know what I mean.’

Sandrine sat down at the table with a thump. ‘When?’ she said.

‘After I left the Café des Deux Gares,’ Suzanne said.

‘What happened?’

‘Two plain-clothes—’

‘Gestapo?’ Sandrine interrupted.

Suzanne shook her head. ‘Police. Not local. I didn’t recognise them.’

‘Had they been following you?’ Sandrine asked.

Suzanne shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. They took me to the Commissariat. Must have been about ten thirty.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I got back fifteen minutes ago.’

‘I’d been trying to find her all morning,’ Marianne said to Sandrine. ‘Lucie came to tell me what had happened.’

Sandrine threw a glance at Lucie, then back to her sister.

‘How did Lucie know?’

Lucie answered for herself. ‘Gaston Bonnet saw them. J-J and I had spent the morning by the canal, looking at the boats, and in the Jardin des Plantes. He noticed I was still there and asked me to let Marianne know.’

Sandrine met her eye. ‘Thank you.’ Although Lucie was prepared to run errands for them from time to time, mostly she kept her distance for the sake of Jean-Jacques.

Lucie flushed. ‘My pleasure, kid.’

Marianne looked distressed. ‘They didn’t—’

‘No,’ Suzanne said firmly. ‘No one laid a finger on me. They just asked questions.’

‘About
Libertat
?’ Sandrine asked.

‘Not to start with. They were fishing. Who my friends were. Tossed a lot of names about, all
résistants
who’ve been arrested recently – Léri, Bonfils, Lespinasse – but nothing that could stick.’ She looked briefly at Marianne. ‘They asked about the protest your students staged last November. If I knew anything about it.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I admitted we were friends, there’s no secret in that. Said that Marianne was engaged to my cousin.’

A sudden wail from Jean-Jacques in the salon stopped the conversation for a moment.

‘He’s teething,’ Lucie said, getting up. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Go on,’ said Sandrine quickly, as soon as Lucie had gone.

‘They asked if I was aware Marianne had been suspended for refusing to take books by Jewish writers off the classroom shelves.’

‘That was eighteen months ago,’ Sandrine said.

‘I know. I said I didn’t know anything about it.’ She looked at Marianne. ‘I told them you were a bookworm. That it had been an oversight, nothing political.’

Marianne smiled, but didn’t say anything.

‘Did they believe you?’ Sandrine asked.

‘Possibly, but what could they say?’

Sandrine was frowning. ‘It’s odd for the police to ask about that. That sort of thing’s not their responsibility.’ She paused. ‘Who conducted the interview?’

Suzanne gave a wry smile. ‘They didn’t formally introduce themselves.’

Realising Suzanne was now deliberately playing it down so as not to worry Marianne, Sandrine mustered a smile.

‘No, sorry. Stupid of me to ask.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But you were at the Commissariat de Police all the time?’

Suzanne nodded. ‘It was all courteous and formal, but I’m sure someone outside the room was listening. There was a mirror. Could have been two-way.’

‘Did you hear any German?’

‘In the corridor outside.’ She took another hard drag of her cigarette. ‘After an hour or so they got on to
Libertat
. But even then all they asked was if I read it.’

Sandrine glanced towards the corridor, listening for signs of Lucie coming back.

‘I said I’d seen it, but I didn’t read it.’

‘They didn’t ask about anything else?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing about last night?’

Suzanne shook her head. ‘No.’

Sandrine let out a long sigh of relief. ‘That’s something, at least.’ She paused. ‘What were they really after, do you think?’

‘I honestly don’t know. They switched topics so quickly, everything in the same tone. I said I’d seen the newspaper around Carcassonne, but I was too busy to spend time on the regular dailies, let alone underground newspapers, et cetera, et cetera. I thought they’d press me more than they did, but they suddenly jumped to asking about the Croix-Rouge. They even asked if I was a member of the Communist Party. They must know I’m not.’

‘And they asked about Marianne, but not me?’

‘That’s right.’

‘No one else?’

‘No one.’

‘Not the Bonnets? Not Coustaussa?’

‘No.’

Sandrine traced a pattern on the table with her finger, thinking hard. ‘All we can hope is that this is nothing to do with “Citadel”, then. That it simply comes from next door, no real information. Just tittle-tattle from Madame Fournier.’

Marianne sat forward in her chair. ‘She did stop me on the doorstep yesterday and ask how many people actually lived here.’

‘Perhaps it’s all right,’ Sandrine said, aware that she was trying to convince herself. ‘They have your description on file, Suzanne. A couple of officers saw you, decided to bring you in. A fishing expedition, nothing more.’

Suzanne was nodding. ‘You and I are more often together,’ she said to Marianne. ‘And although we do everything not to duplicate the same arrangements, or use the same distribution routes for
Libertat
too often, there are plenty of other people like Madame Fournier looking out of their windows.’ She rubbed her fingers together. ‘Hoping to make a little extra.’

‘What do you think we should do?’ Marianne said quietly. ‘Just sit tight?’

‘Everything’s in train for getting this edition out tonight,’ Sandrine said. ‘It’s more of a risk to try to stop it than to let the arrangements go ahead as planned.’

‘I agree,’ said Suzanne.

‘But it’s probably a good idea not to do anything else for a week or two. Let the dust settle.’

Suzanne met her gaze. ‘You don’t think it’s connected to Authié?’

Immediately the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach came back. Sandrine had managed to put Authié out of her mind and concentrate on the matter in hand. Then, of course, she’d come home to Raoul and everything had been forgotten. She hadn’t even told Raoul about the news report and, judging from the look on Marianne’s face, Suzanne hadn’t had the chance to tell her either.

‘What about Authié?’ Marianne said. ‘What have you heard?’

Sandrine put her hand over Marianne’s. ‘There was a bulletin this morning on the wireless. Lucie heard it.’

There was a sound in the corridor and everyone stopped talking and looked towards the kitchen door. Sandrine turned round, expecting it to be Lucie. It was Raoul. Despite the tightness in her chest, she felt a smile come to her lips.

‘Am I intruding?’

Sandrine reached out her hand to him. ‘No, not in the slightest. Come in.’

Raoul nodded to Suzanne and Marianne, then dropped a kiss on Sandrine’s head before sitting down.

‘I haven’t slept so long for . . . well, I can’t even remember.’

‘No,’ Sandrine said softly.

‘Authié,’ Marianne said again.

Immediately, Raoul’s expression changed. ‘What have you heard?’

Briefly, Sandrine told them both what she knew. From the look on his face, she realised he’d already heard something. ‘You knew?’

‘Not for sure,’ he said. ‘Rumours.’ He ran his hand over his hair. ‘I’d hoped it wasn’t true.’

‘He was in one of the photographs on the film Liesl sent,’ Sandrine said. ‘It looked like Chalabre.’ She glanced at Raoul. ‘Did she take the pictures herself, do you know?’

‘I don’t. She just asked me to bring the film to you. I met Geneviève in Limoux, and she handed the package over.’

‘Authié’s here already?’ Marianne said, her voice rising. ‘He could already be in Carcassonne.’

For a few days now, Sandrine had known her sister was close to the end of her tether. She feared that this final piece of bad news, coming hard on the heels of Suzanne’s arrest, might be too much.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said firmly. ‘What happened in Chalabre was several weeks ago. If he’d been in the Midi all this time, we would have heard about it.’ She paused. ‘In any case, the fact that they announced it on the wireless means they want people to know about his presence. It’s a statement of intent, they’ve got no reason to keep it secret.’

‘I was going to ask Jeanne Giraud if her husband had heard anything,’ said Suzanne, ‘but then I was picked up.’

Sandrine frowned. ‘How recent are the rumours you’ve been hearing?’

‘Last couple of days, nothing before that.’ Raoul paused. ‘What about Bonnet’s lady friend? Yvonne, is it?’

‘Yvette,’ Sandrine said.

‘That’s it. She works at Gestapo headquarters on the route de Toulouse, doesn’t she? If there’s anything to hear, she might know something.’

‘I agree. She’s been unwell over the weekend, so hasn’t been able to go to work.’

‘She’s better now, according to Gaston,’ Suzanne said with a wry smile. ‘Think he’s got a bit of a thing for Yvette himself.’

‘What if they arrest you again?’ Marianne said.

Suzanne gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘They won’t.’

‘They might.’

‘I’ll be all right.’

For a moment, no one spoke. Everyone locked in their own thoughts. Then Sandrine got up and closed the door. This was one part of the conversation she absolutely didn’t want Lucie to hear.