Night Sky (23 page)

He went into the café and walked past her table, then doubled back and stooped down to look at her. ‘Hello, aren’t you—? Haven’t we met—?’

She looked up at him curiously. She was plain, with thick black eyebrows, dark lanky hair and unattractive glasses. Definitely the intellectual type. Brainy but not clever, Vasson decided. She said, ‘Sorry. I don’t remember …’

Vasson shook his head and introduced himself. ‘No, why should you remember? We only met briefly, ages ago. And then I saw you in the seminar yesterday. I’ve just switched courses, from geography.’

She squinted at him through her spectacles. ‘Where did we meet first then?’

‘Ah, well …’ He looked carefully round the café. ‘Perhaps it’s best to stay at mutual friends, and leave it at that.’

She said nothing but licked her lips uncertainly.

Vasson dropped his voice. ‘One can’t be too careful.’

She nodded and frowned.

‘I saw Laval in the seminar too, but I didn’t contact him. Too dangerous. Anyway he may not remember me. Did he mention seeing me yesterday?’

She shook her head. ‘No … He said nothing.’

Vasson nodded. ‘Just as well.’

‘Shall I mention seeing you? To Jean, I mean.’

Jean must be Laval. ‘No, no. Best not to. I—’ Vasson tried to look hunted. ‘I have to be very careful …’

She said in a low voice, ‘One cannot be too careful, that’s for sure.’

‘If only more precautions had been taken in the beginning.’

‘Yes.’

A waiter came up and Vasson ordered coffee. He smiled brightly at the girl. ‘I don’t even know your name!’

For a moment she looked startled, then said quietly, ‘Sophie.’

‘What a beautiful name!’ He thought: For such an ugly girl.

She was pleased. ‘Oh. Thank you!’

Vasson looked down at the parcels beside her. ‘Been shopping?’

‘Yes. My allowance came through – I needed some clothes. There isn’t much in the shops but …’ She laughed and pushed some strands of greasy hair back from her forehead. ‘I found a couple of things.’

God, she’s plain, Vasson thought, plain and boring. But he felt he should let the conversation continue in the same vein. He bought her another coffee and they talked about her life, her family and the poor opportunities for women in publishing, where she hoped to get a job.

He listened attentively for twenty minutes, then decided the moment had come. He leant towards her and, looking deep into her eyes, said, ‘I can’t tell you how good it’s been talking to you. I’d love to see you again. Can we meet later, for a bit of food? It would be fun.’ He touched her hand.

‘Oh. Yes. I – er – yes.’ There was a blush on her cheeks.

Vasson hoped he wouldn’t have to keep this up much longer.

The girl was flustered and confused. She was making a mess of gathering her belongings. Vasson picked a package off the floor and smiled at her. ‘I can see I’m going to have to look after you!’ Her face went scarlet and she looked down at the floor.

He suddenly looked serious. ‘By the way, perhaps you can tell me—’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘I’ve been a bit out of touch. On purpose, of course. But—’ he lowered his voice to a whisper ‘– I’ve been dying to know … Is Cohen all right, have you heard?’

Her eyes came straight up to his. She said immediately, ‘He’s all right. He’s safe.’

Vasson made a show of beating his hand on his forehead. ‘Thank God. Thank God for that!’

She started to pull on her coat while still in her seat and was soon struggling with a sleeve. Vasson jumped up to help her. When the coat was on he let his arm brush across her shoulders. Then he sat down again and put his face close to hers.

‘We’ll win in the end, you know. We
will
because we
must
!’

She nodded emphatically, her eyes shining up at him.

They stood up. Then he touched her arm and pulled her down into her chair again.

‘One thing—’ He frowned. ‘I have reason to believe Marie may be in danger.’

She gasped. ‘Marie …?’

He nodded.

The girl looked at him. ‘Oh no! Why?’

‘The word is that they’re looking for her again. I don’t know how to warn her.’

The girl said, ‘Oh God. She was in a safe house, but now …’ She trailed off unhappily.

‘Now—?’

‘I’m not sure …’

‘I looked for her at the Rue Brezin, but of course she hasn’t been back there.’

‘Oh no, she wouldn’t go back there. The Boches have been watching it. It isn’t safe. She’s – Well, I
think
she may be at Su’s place.’ She used the expression
chez Su
.

‘Su’s.’

The girl nodded. ‘Yes, Su’s.’ Obviously this Su was well known. Suzanne perhaps?

‘Ah … Where do I find Su nowadays?’

The girl looked at him sharply and stared. A shiver ran up Vasson’s spine. Something was wrong: he’d made a mistake.

She said, ‘Surely … You must know …’

He tried again. ‘I just haven’t seen Su for some time … You know how it is …’

She said slowly, ‘But you are acquainted with her?’

Vasson smiled. ‘Of course.’

The girl’s face went sheet white. She got up from the table and, grabbing her possessions, stumbled out. Vasson followed, cursing softly.

Su? Who the hell was Su?

When he got out of the cafe he soon spotted the girl, half-running, half-walking down the street. From time to time she twisted round and looked back. She didn’t see Vasson. He guessed she was short-sighted.

She crossed the boulevard and hurried towards the Sorbonne. She passed the main university building and turned down a narrow back street. Vasson got to the corner and paused. He edged slowly along the last few inches of wall and peered cautiously round.

The girl was two yards away, coming straight towards him.

He yanked his head back and sprinted away. He dived into a recessed doorway and pressed his body against it, panting hard.

The girl came into his field of vision. She looked anxiously up and down the street, then turned on her heel and disappeared.

He left it five seconds and looked out. No-one. He approached the corner again and peered round.

She was walking away from him. She began to turn her head. He pulled back.

He looked again. She had gone.

He walked towards the spot where she had disappeared.

There were three doorways in the vicinity. One belonged to a dingy restaurant. He glanced at the name over the door.

It was called Chez Le Maréchal Suchet.

Chez Su.

Vasson groaned inwardly. No wonder she was on to him. Every student must know this place. Su was no lady; Su was a bloody
maréchal.

He wondered what to do next. The girlfriend, Marie Boulevont, might be here. If she was, she’d have to come out some time. But most likely she’d go straight to ground. Damn! He’d really blown it.

He decided to wait. There was nothing else to do.

Half an hour later the girl poked her nose out of the door. She looked carefully up and down the street. Even from several yards away Vasson could see that her face was bright red. She’d probably been crying. She took a last look up the street and disappeared into the doorway. When she came out again there was another girl with her, someone older, prettier, more self-assured. She was carrying a small case. Marie Boulevont?

Yes, Vasson decided, Marie Boulevont.

At the end of the street the women stopped, spoke excitedly for a moment and split up. Vasson followed Marie.

She was clever. He almost lost her twice. At the Boulevard St Germain she took the Metro to the Etoile, then hopped on a bus just as it was leaving. Vasson was lucky to jump on another bus going in the same direction. She got off at Montparnasse, almost back where they’d started. Then she walked again, constantly looking over her shoulder. At one point she dived into a shop. Vasson took a guess and sprinted round the block to the back of the building. There was a tradesman’s entrance. Just as he got there, the door opened and Marie came out.

Got you! Vasson thought.

Then she walked again, quickly. She doubled back once more, looked over her shoulder one last time and disappeared into a doorway beside an
epicerie.

Vasson waited uncertainly. He had no idea what this place was. It might be a safe house she was going to use. It might just be a friend’s place. There was no certainty Cohen was there.

After an hour she came out again. She was nervous. She looked up and down the street, then walked quickly off. She was empty-handed. That meant she had left her case inside. That meant she was coming back.

Vasson came to a decision. He walked in the opposite direction until he found a telephone. He called Kloffer.

He said, ‘Just two men – and not with Gestapo written all over them.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kloffer replied.

‘I mean choose fellows without leather coats and felt hats – people with
French
clothes for Christ’s sake.’

Then he went back and waited. God, Kloffer’s men were taking for ever. The girl would be back soon. Shit!

After ten minutes Vasson swore again, louder.

Finally he saw Kloffer’s men. They still looked like Krauts.

‘Come on!’

Vasson led the way angrily along the street and into the door Marie had come out of. The house was on five floors. Off each of the two landings there were three doors.

Vasson guessed at a front room. They knocked on the first door. There was no reply and one of the Germans opened it with his shoulder. Nothing. A door at the back of the house flew open and an old woman thrust her head out. Nothing there either. The old woman said the third room wasn’t occupied.

They went to the next floor.

Cohen was in the front room.

Vasson knew it was him the moment the pale, narrow face appeared round the door. He was small, dark and insignificant looking. He came out quietly, with resignation. Vasson felt vaguely disappointed. The man hadn’t even tried to escape.

Kloffer’s men searched Cohen, then the room.

Vasson was impatient to go. ‘Come on!’

The Germans went first, Cohen between them. Vasson hung back and followed them at a distance. In the next street was the inevitable black Citroën. Vasson sat uneasily in the front. He didn’t like being seen with Kloffer’s heavies. On the other hand he wanted to be there when Cohen was brought in. He wanted to see Kloffer’s face.

There was no sound from Cohen in the back. Vasson half turned his head. ‘You should always choose a room with another way out, you know. That was silly of you. The girl was stupid as well – she led me straight to you.’ He shook his head. ‘It was all too easy.’

There was silence. Vasson craned his head round until he could see the man’s face. ‘You weren’t very clever, professor.’

Cohen was looking out of the window, his face white and expressionless.

Vasson stared for a moment then turned back, uneasy and vaguely angry. The sight of the man was disturbing. His silence was accusing. Vasson decided it had been a mistake to travel in the same car. The next time he would take care not to.

The driver glanced across at Vasson and, smiling, said, ‘Don’t worry. He won’t be so quiet when we’ve started talking to him.’

Vasson shuddered and looked out of the window, wishing the journey would end quickly.

When the car finally arrived at 82, Avenue Foch, Vasson got out hurriedly and ran into the building without looking back. He didn’t feel comfortable until he was shown into Kloffer’s office.

The German had a faint smile on his face. ‘Very good. Very good.’

Vasson relaxed. Kloffer was obviously more than satisfied with him. Immediately he wondered if he could double his price next time – perhaps even treble it.

There was only one loose end. The plain girl with glasses. She could identify him. That had been a silly slip, about Su’s. He would have to be more careful in future.

He gave Kloffer her name and the address of her room. Then he pushed her out of his mind. He didn’t want to know what Kloffer would do with her. It was none of his affair any more.

That night he returned to his apartment, burnt the student clothes, carefully hid the bundle of student identity papers, and assumed the name of Biolet again.

He went to bed content. All things considered it had gone pretty well really. Though it hadn’t been as neat as it might have been – there had been a slip or two. He must be careful not to let that happen again, it might not be so easy to cover himself next time.

J
ULIE TOOK A
last look round the small whitewashed room, picked up her bag and went through the kitchen into the front parlour. She saw that Tante Marie and Peter were already outside, standing by the waiting fish truck. As she came out of the house and closed the front door behind her she thought: I might never see this place again. It seemed all wrong, to be going. This was her home, her life, and she was abandoning it like a rat leaving a sinking ship.

Peter was in Tante Marie’s arms, a frown of bewilderment on his face, his eyes fixed intently on the tears running down the old woman’s cheeks. Julie could see that he still didn’t understand why they were going. But then why should he? He was four years old: Germans and conquerors meant nothing to him.