Darkest Longings (51 page)

frail sound of her voice. Every time he heard it, it was as

though he was reliving the violent, vindictive slashing of the

knife that had ruined her body.

‘Francois, are you there?’

‘Yes, I’m here,’ he answered, sitting forward and taking

her hand. It was limp and cold, and his heart contracted as

he looked down at her terrible caved-in cheek. ‘How are you

feeling?’ he asked softly.

‘Quite good.’ She tried to smile, and the gruesome twist

of her face made him wince. It was only in the last two days

that she had started to speak coherently, and though he

longed to ask her about her attacker, he couldn’t bring

himself to make her relive even a moment of what had

happened. Of course he knew who had done it, but he

needed the man’s name.

He looked at her, but as she gazed up at him from the

valley of swellings around her eyes, he said simply, ‘Would

you like me to read to you?’

‘Can it be Perrault?’

He smiled. It had been Erich von Pappen’s idea that he

should read her fairy tales, and now she wanted nothing

else. He kissed her hand and then picked up the book, but as

he opened it at the first page she said, ‘You’ll have to go away

soon, won’t you?’

‘For a while,’ he answered.

‘Will you come back?’

‘Yes.’

She lowered her eyes as a tear rolled over her bruises and

fell onto the pillow. ‘I know you have to go, but I don’t want

you to. I’m afraid without you.’

‘Erich will be here, cherie,’ he said, putting down the book

and taking her hands again. ‘Nothing will happen to you.

And when you’re well enough to leave, I’ve arranged for

someone to watch over you.’

Again she smiled, and he lifted his hand to stroke the hair

from her face. Then suddenly her eyes were wide and

terrified; her lips parted and she started to mumble.

It was often like that, and the doctor had warned him that

it might never change. The trauma she had suffered had

tragically affected her brain as badly as her body.

He waited, unable to understand her ramblings but

knowing that in a few minutes she would be with him again.

Yet when her eyes focussed at last, they were still glazed

with terror.

‘Halunke?’ she gasped. ‘Are you Halunke?’ And then she

screamed.

The piercing cry whipped round the room, and he

grabbed her as she tried to sit up. ‘Elise!’ he cried. ‘Elise!’

Stop!’

The door flew open and a doctor ran in, followed by three

nurses. They held her to the bed while a needle was pushed

into her arm, and within seconds she was sinking into

oblivion. The doctor turned to Francois, an accusatory

frown on his face, but he said nothing and left the room.

Francois stood to one side as the nurses checked Elise’s

wounds to see that none of them had opened. That strange

word Elise had uttered … Halunke. It was the German

word for rat, yet she had used it as a name. ‘Are you

Halunke?’ she had said.

He glanced at his watch, and as he did so Erich von

Pappen walked into the room, five minutes later than

expected. Francois motioned for the nurses to leave, then

turned to his courier.

Von Pappen was an odd-looking man, whose eyes and

mouth formed three circles above and below a thin,

upturned nose. He had no hair, no earlobes and no neck,

and his short, scrawny body was racked with alarming

frequency by a nervous twitch.

Well?’ Francois said.

‘The same,’ von Pappen answered. ‘Liebermann wants

you in Berlin.’

Francois nodded, and rubbed his fingers over the black

shadow on his chin.

‘I don’t think you can ignore this summons any longer,’

von Pappen told him. ‘He wanted you there three weeks

ago, his patience is wearing thin.’

‘Have you contacted Captain Paillole?’

‘Yes. He’ll see you at nine o’clock tonight at the avenue de

Tourville.’

Francois’ eyes were hard. ‘Les Services de Renseignements’ headquarters? That must mean he intends to tape the meeting.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘So he no longer trusts

me! Very wise of him.’ Then, looking up, ‘Contact von

Liebermann as soon as you can after midnight. Tell him I’m

on my way.’

‘It may take you some time to get there,’ von Pappen

warned. ‘The roads out of Paris are blocked for miles.

Everyone’s fleeing the city, there’s pandemonium out

mere.’

Dismissing this with a wave of his hand, Francois said,

‘Have you visited the Jews?’

‘All except two, and I’m told they’re in the United States.

I doubt if they’ll come back.’

‘I see. And the others?’

‘I have their valuables already. They’ll be transported to

Lorvoire sometime over the next few weeks.’

Francois smiled. ‘And the Jews themselves?’

‘Everything is as you instructed.’

Francois turned back to Elise. As von Pappen walked

round to the other side of the bed and gazed down at her too,

he said, ‘Claude Villiers?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ von Pappen answered.

Though he hadn’t expected to find his nemesis so easily,

Francois’ spirits sank. They were still no closer to discovering

the man’s identity. ‘Halunke,’ he said. ‘Does that mean

anything to you?’

Von Pappen shrugged. ‘It means rat.’

‘His code name,’ Francois said, digging a hand into his

pocket and pulling out the note he had received the morning

after Elise’s mutilation. It contained only one word - Elise.

‘I dunk he meant to kill her,’ he said.

‘Maybe it would have been better if he had,’ von Pappen

answered solemnly.

Francois scowled at the little man, then pushed the note

back into his pocket. ‘Have we any idea where he is now?’

‘None.’

Francois looked back once more at Elise, then turned

abruptly away. ‘Stay with her, Erich. When she comes

round, read to her from Perrault, and if she asks for me, tell

her I’ll be back as soon as I can. If need be, swear on your

mother’s grave that I have not abandoned her.’

Von Pappen’s bony limbs twitched in answer.

Francois drove to the house in the Bois de Boulogne,

where he took a long bath, shaved, changed, and ordered an

early dinner. In the study he placed a person-to-person call

to Lorvoire. Knowing it would take some time to come

through, he decided that the long-overdue explanation to

his father must be dealt with now. As it turned out, it

covered only one page, but more than an hour passed before

I he was ready to sign his name to the most soul-destroying

I letter he would ever write. At that very instant, the telephone I rang.

I When he heard Claudine at the other end, he felt the

I weariness pull at his bones - God, how he longed to hold

her! But the sudden and unwelcome weakness angered him, and his voice was like steel as he said, ‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘No,’ she answered stiffly, ‘I’m staying at Lorvoire.’ I ‘Then you’re a fool.’

There was a pause before she said, ‘A fool maybe, but better that than a traitor.’

I His eyes narrowed as her accusation bit into him. He

I would have liked to ask her how she had found out, but as it

I made little difference, he simply replaced the receiver.

I As he walked from the room, his face turned even uglier

I as he watched a valet deposit his bags at the foot of the stairs,

I ready for his departure. With the advent of war, the

I tightrope he walked had been drawn impossibly tight, and

already the fraying strands were beginning to snap. And he

, was in no doubt that the safety net which had always been

I there to catch him would, that very night, be removed by

Captain Paul Paillole.

He toyed then with the idea of putting a call through to

London. But on a night like this the connection would take

hours, if he got one at all. And even if he did, the chances of finding Beavis at home were so slim as to be virtually non-I existent.

- 20

The morning sun was bright, the air pungent with the smell

of autumn. On the hillsides the Lorvoire vines were

weighted with clusters of luscious purple grapes, now

almost ready for harvest, and the trees were tinged with gold

as they prepared for their seasonal change.

Claudine, Solange and Liliane were walking down over

the bank outside Liliane’s house to the cobbled street.

Claudine, leading her horse, was thankful for the small veil

on her riding hat, which partially concealed the mirth she

could not suppress. Solange had come to the village in her

nurse’s uniform, which she had been wearing for the past

three weeks, ever since war had been declared. Her tufts of

grey hair sprouted from under her cap and her busy fingers

were constantly lifting the watch pinned to her apron, but

the chief source of Claudine’s mirth was the stethoscope

draped importantly around Solange’s neck. It was the first

time Claudine had seen it, and she had no idea where

Solange had got it, but it wouldn’t surprise her in the least to

discover that Doctor Lebrun had inexplicably lost one …

Heaven help them all, she thought, if Solange managed to

get her hands on a syringe!

‘It’s a pity I’m too old to go off to the front,’ Solange was

saying. ‘I did in the last war, you know. So did you, Liliane.

Don’t tell me you’d forgotten!’

Liliane had confessed to no such thing. Her watery eyes

met Claudine’s as she said, without a trace of irony, ‘It must

be my age, Solange. I’m forgetting everything these days.’

‘Poor Liliane,’ Solange soothed - and Liliane’s eyes

widened in horror as Solange started fingering her stethoscope

with obvious intent.

Fortunately, Liliane was saved from an impromptu

medical examination by a sudden stampede of small feet.

The village children had spotted Claudine and her horse,

and come running over to beg a ride.

‘Splendid idea!’ Solange cried, instantly forgetting

Liliane, and ignoring Marcel who was standing to attention

at the open door of the Bentley. ‘I’ll take them. Sit them on,

Claudine. Two at a time, and I’ll lead them round the

square.’

With a grin, Claudine watched Liliane hurry back up the

bank to the safety of her kitchen, then turned to lift Thomas

Crouy’s grandchildren into the saddle. As Solange took the

reins and led the horse steadily into the square, Claudine

wandered over to the well to wait with the other children,

enjoying their chatter as they told her how their older

brothers and fathers had gone off to fight the Germans, and

asked if Captain Lucien was going to be a hero.

‘I hope so,’ she told them, glad that Solange was out of

earshot. No one had mentioned Lucien since the outbreak

of war, but they all knew he was the reason why Solange was

slipping from the rails again. He was stationed at Metz with

Colonel de Gaulle’s tank brigade, and Metz was far too

close to Germany for Solange’s peace of mind.

As Claudine sat perched on the edge of the wall, the

children started to play at soldiers, running around the well,

shouting and screaming as they fired imaginary guns, then

pretended to fall down dead. Robert Reinberg looked on

blankly, every now and again pointing his fingers like a gun and

waiting for someone to react. The other children ignored him,

and Claudine’s heart went out to him as he threw himself

awkwardly to the ground beside his sister, who put a protective

arm round him to shield him from the enemy.

‘Are you going to be a hero too?’ she said, lifting him onto

her lap and ruffling his wispy fair hair.

‘He can’t be a hero!’ one of the other boys shouted. ‘He’s

too stupid.’

Claudine’s face tightened, but before she could speak,

Janette Reinberg had thrown herself at the boy, beating him with her fists. ‘He’s not stupid!’ she cried. ‘He’s not! He’s not!’

‘He is! Everyone knows he is! Even the grown-ups say

so.’

Claudine reached out for the boy and pulled him in front

of her. ‘Which grown-ups?’ she demanded.

The little boy’s face turned crimson and he hung his

head.

‘Which grown-ups?’ Claudine repeated with deliberation.

‘Madame

Jallais,’ another boy answered. ‘She said that

Robert was silly in the head. She said it was because Robert

was a Jew. She said that Jesus was getting his own back.’

‘Did she indeed,’ Claudine said, through gritted tee A.

She looked across at the Jallais cottage. The shutters were

closed - she had passed Florence earlier, on her way to

Chinon with her husband. It was high time, she decided,

that that bitter, twisted old harridan was taken to task. She

would return to the village immediately after lunch and deal

with her then. She would even, if it proved necessary, ask

Armand to dismiss Monsieur Jallais from the vineyards.

Gustave appeared, strolling over from the cafe. ‘And how

are you, Gustave?’ she said, smiling up at his jolly round face.

‘Getting poorer by the minute, madame,’ he complained.