Scent of Triumph (20 page)

Françoise wiped perspiration from her upper lip and took another drag from her cigarette.

Still they waited.

Jean-Claude drank his coffee. He pictured Louis LeBlanc, and thought about his father’s inevitable grief for his friend and partner. But imagine, he told himself, just imagine the suffering that LeBlanc and Steiger have inflicted upon millions of innocents by their actions. And inadvertently, his own father. At least his father had tendered his resignation.

Jean-Claude thought of all his father was giving up—his career, his income, and probably, his home. He shook his head. Perhaps I was too hard on him. He gulped his coffee. He resolved to speak to his father soon, to apologize for his harsh judgment.

The minutes crawled and the ticking of their watches was deafening. Smoke curled around their table. Jean-Claude bowed his head, studying his grimy hands.
Healing hands, hands that kill. A surgeon’s hands, steady and sure, so well suited for planting bombs
. His father had accused him of acts of terror. He shuddered. Had he become what he despised? After this, could he ever find peace in his soul again?

Françoise reached across the table and grasped his hand. “Justice comes to us all,” she whispered.

“Justice—” he began.

Suddenly a jolt shook them, as sharp as an earthquake. The windows rattled as the sound of an explosion ripped through the air. The coffee in his cup vibrated from the impact, and he and Françoise stared at one another.

“God forgive us,” he whispered, clutching the table.

A faint rosy dawn crept into the room, illuminating the tattered photograph on the nightstand of Nicky and Sofia, the photograph that Danielle carried on her daily sojourns.

Danielle turned onto her side and reached out, tracing Nicky’s outline. In the photo, he was smiling and hugging a stuffed, red-striped monkey she had made for him such a long time ago. She lay quietly in bed, her failure to locate her family weighing heavily on her heart.

Her visit was drawing to its inevitable close. Sofia and Nicky seemed to have vanished. Had Max found them? She racked her mind. Only one avenue remained.

“Heinrich,” she whispered. The traitor in her family. She had an uneasy feeling that he held the key.

But would he help her or turn her in to his superiors? Would Sofia and Nicky suffer because of her inquiries? She stared out the window, focusing on the steady, distant horizon to calm her stormy nerves.

As the sun rose over the faraway hilltops, bathing the village in a golden glow, she slipped out of bed and dressed hurriedly. Outside, she could hear the clip-clop of horse’s hooves on the cobblestone path. The faint aroma of coffee spiraled up the staircase and under the door. The day had begun.

* * *

“I can’t allow it,” Oscar said, his face reddening, his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. They stood next to the car, parked beside a wheat field. Danielle glanced about for signs that they might be watched. They had been arguing for almost an hour.

Danielle outlined her strategy. “It’s my last chance.” She glared at Oscar with determination.
This is what I must do
, she thought.

“And what do I do if you meet with Heinrich, and don’t return?”

“Send a message to Jean-Claude.”

Oscar’s shoulders slumped and his gaunt face showed signs of fatigue. “So far, I have failed you. But Sofia saved my life and I am indebted to your family.” He frowned and wagged his head. “Still, I don’t know.”

“I won’t implicate you, should it come to that.” Danielle stood her ground, arms folded, and waited for his response.

Oscar gave a deep sigh. “All right, as long as you have the courage to see it through.”

“I do.”

They returned to the car. As they drove, Oscar turned on the radio to fill the silence. The German news station was on.

“
We are proud to announce that France has been added to our expanding empire, with Paris its crown jewel.”

“No,” Danielle cried.
France—captured—it couldn’t be!

Oscar whirled around, reached across the seat, and clamped his hand over Danielle’s mouth. “Another victory for the Third Reich,” Oscar exclaimed. He slammed on the brakes.

With horror, Danielle remembered the possibility of listening devices. Although the car was swept every evening, they could not be too careful. She fell back against the seat, panic stricken. Not Paris.
Not again
.
Her family, her baby
. No, not again.

She clutched her head and fought to keep from crying out. Her mind blurred, then cleared.
I must find Nicky and Sofia!
As Frau Werner, I’ll be able to return to Paris, somehow, with them. Paris! I’ll think about that later.
She drew a ragged breath. “That’s very good news, driver,” she said, trying not to choke on her words.

Oscar nodded sadly and started for the café in the village where Danielle had heard about Heinrich. He stopped in front. “I’ll wait here.” He shoved the gear lever into park.

“I won’t be long.” Danielle straightened her shoulders and smoothed her dark brown hair in the rear view mirror.

Danielle got out, went in, and walked between the mismatched tables and chairs straight to the kitchen. She sniffed. She could smell bread beginning to burn. The owner was seated at an old desk adding columns of figures.

“Hello,” Danielle said. “I’ve come to inquire about a position.”
And if she’s burning bread, she needs help.

The woman raised her grey head, clearly bothered by the intrusion. “Oh, it’s you again. I don’t have time to talk and I don’t have the money to hire anyone. I have a full day ahead of me, with a party to cater tonight. You might as well go—”

“But I can help you, I have work experience. I’ll help you with the party tonight. Besides, you’re burning your bread.”

She jumped up to remove the bread from the oven. “Just in time,” she muttered. She peered at Danielle over her glasses, considering her. “The party is at the old Czapenski estate. In fact, your friend Heinrich will be there.” She shrugged. “But I can’t pay you.”

Danielle swallowed a gasp. She’d hoped Heinrich would come to the café. This was simply incredible. “I’ll work for free tonight, just to show you that I can do the job.” She clasped her hands until her knuckles went numb.
The woman has to hire me
. “You don’t need to pay me unless you decide to keep me. And then, only if I bring in more business. More parties. I know people,
madame
.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Will this Heinrich fellow give you trouble?”

“Not at all.” Danielle waved her hand. “He’s an old family friend.”

The woman leaned against her chair. “At least you’re presentable. Pretty, too, even in that drab dress. They’ll like that.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “My husband is home sick and my back is killing me. Can you start right now?”

Danielle nearly leapt with joy. “Right away.”

“You’re hired.” The woman stood up, groaning as she did. “I’m Mrs. Penowski. I’ll prepare everything here, and you’ll be in charge of carrying and cleaning. You got a good strong back?”

Danielle nodded. “Shall I help serve, too?”

“No, they have resident help for that. You’ll be in the kitchen washing dishes while I organize the dinner and preparation. Think you can handle that?”

Five minutes later, Danielle emerged triumphant. “It’s even better than I’d hoped,” she told Oscar. He wished her luck and agreed to meet her at the café at midnight.

Danielle left Oscar and returned to work. By noon she found herself elbow deep in hot soapy water with towers of greasy, food encrusted plates piled high around her.

That afternoon Mrs. Penowski reviewed the menu with her. Danielle listened, all the while formulating her own plan. Tonight was her only chance. But how would she approach Heinrich?

“Are you listening?” Mrs. Penowski frowned.

“Sorry. Of course.”

Mrs. Penowski clicked her tongue. “These are very important customers. We don’t make mistakes with them, understand?”

Danielle nodded solemnly. How well she understood. “I won’t let you down.”

“If you do, you’ll only do it once. Now, you’ll find a uniform in the closet. Change, then we’ll go.”

Danielle changed clothes, then began to load the provisions into a paneled truck: a rack of lamb, a creamy vegetable soup, golden fruit pastries, the fresh baked breads, salads, and serving dishes. After Mrs. Penowski inspected and approved her work, they set out in the truck, allowing extra time to navigate the rough war-torn roads.

They arrived at the converted compound, cleared the checkpoint, and were admitted to the grounds. Danielle shivered from the chill in the early evening air. They passed through an ornate gate and wound down a tree shaded lane. The compound had been a stately old home, but now the grass was dead and flower gardens lay barren. Mrs. Penowski turned off the engine and the truck shimmied to a halt beside the servant’s entrance at the rear of the house.

“Let’s get started,” Mrs. Penowski barked.

Danielle bent to pick up a cast iron pot, and grimaced. She stopped, squatted, drew a breath, and lifted again.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Penowski commented. “Now come with me.”

Danielle followed her employer through the door and placed the pot on a huge iron stove. After brief introductions with the resident staff, Danielle returned to the truck for the remaining items.

“There now, pretty one, pick up your step,” the butler called out, slapping her behind. “You’ll be all night at this pace.”

Danielle shot him a glacial look and moved swiftly out of his way. She ducked her head under the white bonnet she wore and fairly flew back to the truck. By the time she had completed her task, perspiration dampened her black dress and white apron. She no longer felt the chill in the night air.

Mrs. Penowski huddled with the resident help to orchestrate the event. Danielle could see that the woman had a critical, well-trained eye. Clearly she had served here before, and the staff was quick to follow her command. It seemed the Nazi general liked her cooking.

The dinner began. Danielle took her post at the sink, her hands submerged in steaming dishwater. Before long, she heard a familiar voice drifting from the dining room. She caught her breath.
Heinrich.

A young man in service at the estate whisked through the door carrying a stack of dirty china plates. She turned to relieve him of his armload, and through the open door, she saw Heinrich.

Danielle caught her breath, but she quickly registered every detail.
Heinrich so resembles Max,
she thought, her heart aching for what Max must have endured. He bore the family’s trademark chiseled features, though the tilt of his strong jaw was arrogant, whereas Max’s fine bone structure had appeared aristocratic. Fair skinned, muscular, blond, and blue-eyed, Heinrich favored the German side of the family.

She could hear him now, speaking perfect German with a superior officer, who sounded pleased with Heinrich’s reports. She turned her back. The entire scene sickened her.

The dinner droned on. Danielle scrubbed and hefted more pots and dishes than she had ever imagined possible, but the work didn’t deter her. Once dinner concluded, she knew that the men would excuse themselves to cigars and cognac, while the ladies in attendance would remain separate. Sometimes couples slipped away for a moment alone under personal auspices, before returning to their respective groups. Danielle had observed this old custom many times. Her only chance lay in this predictable tradition.

From her pocket she pulled a note she had written earlier, she gave it to a footman. “One of the ladies passed this to me for a gentleman. Take it to him, please,” she said, indicating Heinrich.

When the dinner ended, she slipped outside. Heinrich waited on the darkened verandah. She pulled her bonnet over her eyes and approached him from behind.

He turned expectantly but his face fell at the sight of a servant girl.

“Hello, Heinrich.” She greeted him in German.

“Who the devil are you?” He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to him. A shaft of moonlight illuminated her face. He gaped at her.

“It’s me. Danielle.”

“What are you doing here?” His eyes narrowed and paled to a transparent blue.

“How lovely to see you again, too,” she replied. “I have news for you.”

A malicious grin played at the corners of his thin mouth. “You’ve come all this way to tell me Max is dead.”

Though his words struck her, Danielle managed to feign surprise. “So you know.”

“Don’t underestimate our intelligence.” He looked disparagingly at her; he seemed cocky and confident.

“And don’t underestimate mine,” she shot back.
How she hated him.
“I know he was on his way to meet you. Did you shoot him?”

Heinrich grinned broadly. “No, but he deserved it. Our family was fine until he brought you onto the scene.”

“I often suspected you didn’t like me, Heinrich. You sabotaged me too many times. You thought you were being so slick, so subversive.” She squared her shoulders. “As for Max, I am surprised only at your lack of remorse.”

“Max was a fool,” he muttered. “Especially for marrying you. He could have done so much better.” His eyes gleamed with spite.

She ignored his contemptuous remark, though it struck her to the core.
I cannot let him hurt me
, she thought, struggling to maintain her composure. “Max was an honorable man and he died a hero.”

“He couldn’t even save his own child.” He spat out the words. “Couldn’t even find his precious little Nicky.”

Hatred flared within her, blinding her reasoning. She advanced toward him, her hand flying to his face. She slapped him hard, savoring the sting on his face.
There, I’ve wanted to do that for years.

He reeled. “So, you’re here to find Nicky.” He touched his jaw. “You think that’s the way to get me to talk?”

Fury coursed through her veins like hot molten lava. “You
will
tell me where Nicky and Sofia are.”

“Why should I?” he sneered.