Hunting Ground (29 page)

‘The Nazis are stealing everything they can get their hands on, Lily. What Hitler and Göring don’t buy, others do. They’re all competing with one another. Generals, high-ranking Nazi officials, art dealers—crooks. We can’t let it happen.’

He was really serious. ‘I’ve brought you a little something. It’s at mother’s, in the loft under the hay.’

Tommy nodded. He knew what it was, but said, ‘Nicki’s gone to Switzerland. He’s really worried about Katyana, and so am I. After she left us, she took the train south. She was hoping to cross the Swiss frontier, but that’s not easy anymore. One needs a guide. I …’ There was much sadness in his look. ‘If they do make it, they’ll try to set things up so that we can get this stuff out of here before someone finds it.’

A fortune. ‘You’d better seal the entrance. Some stones, bushes, old branches, and logs, anything to hide the cave that leads here.’

He hesitated, then said, ‘That’s why I came back but now … Lily, what were the Germans after today?’

‘Someone saw you and reported it.’

He took a candle from a pocket and, lighting it, fixed it to a ledge and sat down to lean against that wall and look at me. ‘Schiller?’ he asked. ‘Have they already opened those crates we substituted?’

I had unbuttoned my coat. ‘Schiller was recalled to Berlin, so something important must have come up.’

‘Then they know we made the switch, and the hunt’s begun. I seem always to be bringing trouble down on you. I don’t mean to, Lily. London made a deal with us. In return for helping them with information by wireless, they agreed to get Nicki and me back into France, Katyana convincing them of her usefulness. Janine’s been a tremendous help. We simply couldn’t have pulled it off without her. We needed Luftwaffe stamps and shipping labels for that stuff.’

‘You once asked me about her. Now I have to answer: Nini’s too daring, too impulsive.’

‘Perhaps, but London also want us to organize an escape route. Who else could we have gotten to help us set one up?’

‘Are you crazy? Robbery, downed airmen on the run, escaped prisoners of war …’

I still couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Collin. Michèle and Henri-Philippe would already have done, and if not them, then André, but that one won’t have told him how the pilot died. Not André. ‘So, what will you do now?’ I was trembling, couldn’t understand why. It was a nervousness that completely overtook me.

‘Seal up this cave and find my way back to Paris. It’s easier for me there than in the countryside.’

Tommy said Michèle was very well fixed for information at Maxim’s and was acting as a courier. ‘Henri-Philippe is back in the Louvre at his job as a restorer. The Germans have insisted that the work must go on. A lot of paintings and sculptures have been returned, and the museum is now open again. He has access to when the auction sales are coming up and can tip us off.’

Those stamps and labels, were they but a warning of things to come? ‘Is Dmitry working for the Russians?’

‘Probably. Look, we really don’t know. He’s been very useful and can be a lot more now.’

But had the Soviets told him to make himself useful so as to find things out? ‘And Marcel?’ I asked. ‘Me, I want to trust him, Tommy, but there’s still that little something that isn’t quite right.’

‘Marcel’s okay. Is there anything else?’

‘Yes. Me, I’m sorry to have to say this, but you mustn’t trust André.’

‘But why?’

Since I couldn’t tell him about Collin, I couldn’t tell him all of it. ‘Simone. He’s totally devoted to her and to his work. If the Nazis should ever take her, he’ll break.’

There, I’d said it, something I’d been afraid to admit even to myself, even after everything that had happened since. Back then, I knew, you see? I knew and I could have stopped him. Me!

As with Marcel, Tommy said André was okay and that I was not to worry so much. ‘The firm in London will sure be happy when they hear we’ve got this stuff. They’ve a special interest in our work, Lily. Nicki’s determined to get back what’s his and whatever else we can grab, and so am I.’

They’d not take no for an answer. ‘Then the robberies will continue and get bigger and bigger, is that it?’

He reached out, motioned that I was to come to him, but I remained standing with my back to those crates, ‘What if the Germans find these? What if we’re all taken?’

‘Relax. Don’t worry so much. Everything’s going to be fine. Have you missed me?’

I felt my coat as it fell to the floor, still couldn’t take my eyes from him. Candlelight flickered, throwing shadows across the wall, but was there time?

Quickly, I hiked up my dress and tucked it into my belt, kicked off those sabots, and heard them clatter away as my underpants followed and I knelt to one side of him. We kissed. I placed an exploratory hand behind his neck, felt the short curly hairs that were there as he fumbled with his belt, and I knew that his trousers would soon be down and that we’d make love that way, that for a brief moment we’d forget about everything else as we lost ourselves in each other.

Luck played such a part in things. It was luck that got me home that night and told me not to go to sleep, that the dawn would come too quickly.

It was luck that warned me I might soon have visitors and that they’d be asking a lot of questions.

Luck also brought the mayor of Fontainebleau to me first.

‘Madame, we must speak freely. We both know that not everyone goes along with the Nazis, but if things should happen …’

Picard mopped his florid brow and ran a knuckle over the handlebar moustache. ‘You’d better come in. The colonel and the lieutenant are both away. It’s safe enough.’

The mouse-brown eyes looked at me. ‘Nothing is safe, madame. Me, I have come out here with a warning for you. Last night, you returned from your mother’s very late. Questions are being asked.’

‘I had two flat tyres! Some idiot scattered broken glass all over the road!’

‘The Résistance from Melun?’ he asked, startled by what I’d said.

It was the first I’d heard of them. ‘Résistance? How should I know?’

‘The bicycle, Madame de St-Germain. Please, may I see it?’

‘Do you doubt my word?’

‘Not for a moment. I merely want to make certain. I don’t want hostages to be taken.’

‘For what, please?’ It was my turn to be startled.

Picard blew his nose then mopped his brow again. ‘For the robbery. The theft of several valuable works of art from the Reichsmarschall Göring’s lorry.’

‘Of this I know nothing, I assure you.’

He wasn’t quite satisfied. I think, looking back on it, Picard and I understood each other very well, but at the time he only nodded brusquely. ‘The bicycle, madame. It might just help if the tyres were badly slashed by the broken glass of those people from Melun.’

‘Then come and see for yourself.’ I indicated the way, and he followed me round the house with his bicycle, which had those big, heavy balloon-type tyres.

I remember that it was very hot inside the shed. Picard sucked in a breath and ran his eyes over each of the tyres. ‘Where? Madame de St-Germain, where, exactly, did you run into the glass?’

Had I learned well enough to lie even then? ‘On the road about seven kilometres from here. There’s a hill. It’s an effort to climb when you’re tired. It was a very long walk from there.’

He knew the hill. ‘Will there still be some glass?’ he asked, not of me, you understand, but more of us both. A simple man.

I took a chance. ‘There will be. I’ll see to it.’

Picard lifted his gaze to mine. I think then that he knew I was involved in things and that he had to make a choice, one way or the other.

Again, there was that brusque nod and a muttered, ‘
Ah, bon
.’ I asked if he would care for a glass of wine. We sat, one on either side of the picnic table Jean-Guy and I had moved earlier. Picard’s bicycle leaned against the nearest of our pear trees. ‘It’s a lovely garden, madame. You do well with it for someone who’s not used to the soil. You use your head and plant for the future. For me, I should like a few moments in my garden now and then, but the Germans … Ah, they are such sticklers for the paperwork.’

‘Let me get you some lettuce and green onions and … and some radishes. Yes, I have all those. And eggs … would you like ten?’

Ten! Such a thing was unheard of. ‘Madame, you honour me, but it isn’t necessary. With me … Ah, what can I say? Of course, we could use the eggs, a few, just a few, you understand. They’ll give me an excuse to come back to see you now and then. Yes, that’s what we’ll do, but you must register the chickens and me, I must pay you for the eggs. Otherwise …’ He gave a shrug, the universal gesture.

Our bargain settled, Picard rode off and I wondered then, how the Germans had known I’d come home so late?

It could only mean they were still having the house watched and that, in turn, most probably meant Georges and Tante Marie.

Luck made me think to cut the tyres,
bien sûr
,
a terrible loss since replacements were next to impossible. Now luck would have to see me back on the road with several empty wine bottles to smash and kick about.

The things one had to do.

The sound of broken glass is like no other, and I heard it as he kicked it away again. I stood in the middle of the road waiting for Dupuis to say something, but he let the glass do the work. Fortunately, I chose the road from Barbizon to Fontainebleau, so for me there was the advantage that the Caves of the Brigands were just to the south of us and Chailly-en-Bière to the northwest. Barbizon was to the west some three, maybe four kilometres. Melun was between eight and ten almost due north.

It was quiet on the road, except for the sound of the broken glass. Even the birds had deserted us, and the two men who were with Dupuis when that black Citroën came to call, now leaned against the side of it, smoking cigarettes.

Both were
gestapistes français
. One I recognized as having been with that gang who attacked me, the Action française
…

The glass was green, the sun warm, so that when Dupuis crushed a piece beneath the thick-soled shoes he wore, the sunlight broke as the sound of the glass came to me.

He wasn’t satisfied. He waded into the tall grass at the verge and looked around. He examined the gravel right at the edge of the road. He was very thorough—painstakingly so, he always was.

I heard a piece as it tinkled, heard another and another. Dupuis wore a dark brown, lightweight business suit whose threadbare jacket was open, a white shirt, and a brown tie. He reminded me of a shoe salesman. How wrong can appearances be?

‘Madame, you say this glass was here when you rode your bicycle back from your mother’s after the curfew.’

‘Not
after
, Inspector. I started out well before it, but the glass punctured both tyres and slowed me down so that, through no fault of my own, I arrived home well after it had started.’

‘
Ah, bon,
but …’ The small brown mole on this brown man’s chin moved as he tossed his head. ‘But the glass, madame. Surely, it should have been more flattened by now? A patrol passes by here several times a day. There are farm wagons loaded with manure, firewood, produce …’

‘At this time of year? Forget about the manure, Inspector. It’s very difficult to buy, and all of it has already been used on the fields. As for the firewood, the Germans don’t get the French to cut logs at this time of year. They’re too busy using up what they’ve already cut for charcoal and lumber. And the produce, you ask? What produce?’

‘Pigs, cattle, horses, chickens. The patrols, madame.’

There were up to six a day sometimes, although their number varied as did their timing, but I didn’t enlighten him. ‘The tread of those lorry tyres is heavy and deep, is it not? On a hill like this, it would tend to scatter the glass rather than to push it in. Besides, I don’t think you’re right. You’ve not been walking back and forth along the road but wandering all over it. If you were to look closely, Inspector, you’d see there are tyre marks in the glass.’

There weren’t, of course, but I wasn’t going to go down easily. Dupuis walked up the hill to stand in the middle of the road and look back at me. We were perhaps one hundred metres apart. The forest was close on either side, but there wasn’t as much underbrush as I would have liked, and those two by the car were just waiting for me to make a run for it.

‘
Terroristen
from Melun.
Banditen, ja
,’ Dupuis said using the Occupier’s terms for such, but as if he was tasting something that’s not quite right. ‘Sabotage, madame. Is this what you think? If so, hostages will have to be taken and shot.’

He meant it, too. He waited. I waited. Those two waited—he couldn’t be serious, but he was, and yet I asked myself, Are they really going to have someone shot for this? I couldn’t believe it.

‘Madame,
écoutez-moi, s’il vous plaît.
Oberst Neumann has no other choice. All acts of sabotage are to be severely punished so as to set an example to others.’

‘But … but perhaps it wasn’t sabotage? Perhaps a crate of bottles fell off a lorry or wagon and the men only cleaned up what they could?’

I was frantic and hoped my voice hadn’t betrayed me. Dupuis took out his pipe, and I watched him slowly pack that thing. Then the pouch into the jacket pocket, then the pat to make sure it was safely there, then the match—would he strike it with the thumbnail or on the cleat of one of those shoes?

It was the cleat this time. ‘Glass,’ he said, puffing away to get the furnace going. ‘Madame, everyone who was at your house the night of the Reichsmarschall Göring’s visit is under suspicion.’

‘For what?’ I managed.

The match was waved out and pocketed as always. ‘For robbery, Madame de St-Germain. It is with regret that we must take you to Paris. There are some questions that need to be answered. The children you will leave in the care of your husband’s gardener and housekeeper.’

Georges and Tante Marie. That bastard wanted them to pump my kids. He saw that I knew it, and all he did was smile. He’d got me right where he wanted me.

The mound of ashes is now almost totally grey. There are big chunks, little ones, powdery flakes—several shades, with lasting embers that only glow when the gusting wind decides to fan them.