The Eden Inheritance (33 page)

‘He's gone then, the pig. I saw the car drive away,' she said, but she was peering past him down the staircase as if she still expected von Rheinhardt to materialise there.

‘Yes, he's gone. Celestine,
chérie
, don't be afraid. He won't hurt you.'

‘How do you know that? You can't be sure …' She was crying again. He put his arms around her, trying to comfort her.

‘He's all right. He trusts us, I think – as far as the Nazis trust anyone.'

‘But you can't trust them,' she sobbed. ‘You can't, Charles – you must not! And if he was to find out what you're doing …'

Charles stiffened slightly.

‘What do you mean – what I'm doing?'

‘Oh …' Celestine raised her head. Her eyes, swollen from crying, looked into his pleadingly. ‘I'm sorry, Charles, I know I'm not supposed to know, but Christian told me.'

His fingers tightened on her arms.

‘Christian told you what?'

‘About how Guy's tutor is really a British agent and you are hiding him here and working with him. I'm glad, of course – I hated to think that you were all just lying down and taking it, even entertaining Nazis under our roof. You don't know what a relief it was to find out that that is just a cover. But I'm frightened all the same. If von Rheinhardt should discover what you are really doing, right under his nose …'

‘I see,' Charles said. His eyes had grown very hard.

‘Don't tell Christian I told you, will you?' Celestine begged. ‘He made me promise not to tell anyone. He'd be angry if he thought I'd spoken of it, even to you. I expect he thinks you want to keep me in ignorance to protect me in case anything … should happen.'

‘I expect so,' Charles said.

Celestine was too upset to notice the odd tone of his voice. She found a handkerchief in her pocket and blew her nose.

‘I want you to know though that I'm proud of you, Charles,' she said, the defiance beginning to return. ‘We have to drive those bastards out of our country somehow. I just hope we don't all the doing it.'

‘You can be sure,
chérie
, we all hope that.' He touched her hair tenderly. ‘Are you all right now?'

She nodded.

‘I suppose so. As right as I'll ever be until this is all over.'

‘In that case I am going to change my clothes. I'll see you at lunch.'

He left her on the stairs and went on up to his apartment.

As he passed the door of his son's room Charles heard the voices coming from inside – Kathryn playing with Guy. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the handle, then he changed his mind and went on to his own room.

Sunlight was slanting in, bathing the old brocade of the drapes in a golden glow and making the dark wood gleam richly. He took off his jacket, hanging it up with exaggerated care, and unbuttoning his shirt. He felt weighed down suddenly by the knowledge that Celestine had unwittingly revealed to him.

So – Paul Curtis was an agent. Deep down he had suspected it for a long while but he had been so obsessed with Kathryn's infidelity that he had allowed himself to be blinded to the possibility. Even now the thought of them together was so upsetting to him that it threatened to obliterate all other considerations, and Charles bent his head, massaging the nape of his neck, swamped by pain and self-recrimination.

For too long, he thought, he had refused to acknowledge that he had played his part in the failure of their marriage. He had been all too ready to lay the blame at Kathryn's door, telling himself she should be grateful for the things he had given her – a more than comfortable lifestyle, a secure future with the promise of a title, and a son she adored. He had been impatient with her expectations of him, considering her yearning for physical affection to be a sign of her immaturity, responding to her pleas for him to give more of himself to her with an almost calculated indifference. Later, when she had begun to turn against him, he had grown even more annoyed, putting her reaction down to a mixture of a total lack of understanding and a fit of childish pique and comparing her unfavourably with Regine. Only when he had seen the way she glowed when she was with Paul and noticed the looks that passed between them had he begun to see her in a different light and discovered, to his chagrin, that he was jealous. She was his wife, for God's sake! She shouldn't be playing up to another man! Yet still he had refused to accept any responsibility for what was happening.

Now, for the first time, Charles found himself wondering if he had been quite fair to her. It wasn't her fault she was not Regine. Perhaps when he had married her he should have made some effort to put his mistress out of his mind instead of continually hankering after her and drawing comparisons. But he hadn't. He had been so sure that Kathryn would still be there at his feet grovelling for his affection, grateful for the crumbs he might throw to her, he simply had not envisaged a time when the tables might be turned.

Well, they were turned now, all right – and Charles had discovered he did not like it one bit. Bad enough that the wife he had looked upon as his personal property should have sought solace with another man. But what he had just learned inadvertently from Celestine made it a thousand times worse. The man was not only a threat to his marriage but also a British agent who could bring disaster to them all. He had made a fool of Charles twice over. How dare he! How bloody dare he!

Charles straightened, his blood boiling with fury, wondering what to do. He could, he supposed, pursue his previous plan to have him thrown out of the château on the grounds of his incompetence. He could go to his father and denounce him as an agent. But it was always possible that Guillaume would take Paul's part – his fondness for collaboration seemed to have waned since Celestine had returned and told her story – and if there was a showdown there was always the chance that the truth about Paul's relationship with Kathryn might come out. And besides, simply getting rid of Paul Curtis was no longer enough for him. His desire for revenge was too strong.

No, there would be a better way if only he gave himself the time and space to plan for it.

Charles rose, his face a mask of hatred. His time would come and he would make Paul Curtis wish he had never set eyes on any of the de Savignys. All he had to do was to be patient for a little while and continue to play the part he had been playing now for so long that it had become second nature.

It was mid-afternoon when Paul returned. Christian saw him coming up the drive and managed to be outside by the time he reached the château.

‘I must talk to you. Go round to the stable block – there won't be anyone there at this time of day. I'll join you in a minute.'

Paul's eyes narrowed but he knew better than to pursue the conversation here in full view of the house. He did as Christian suggested, putting his bicycle away and waiting in the cool interior of the stables. Outside the paved yard glared white, reflecting the hot sunshine, and he mopped his face and neck with his handkerchief as he waited. He wished he had not had to go out today – he hoped no one had wondered about his absence – but there had been urgent arrangements he had to put in hand. The message had come through that London were going to send in a consignment of arms and ammunition that he had asked for, and looking at the clear sky Paul had known it could be very soon. It had been imperative he prepare the reception party and Pierre, the boy Paul had been using as a messenger, had needed to be alerted. But Pierre had been in the next village, visiting his girlfriend, and his parents had insisted Paul share their midday meal of bread and cheese whilst he waited, so that the whole exercise had taken a great deal longer than he had intended.

At last Christian rounded the corner of the château. His serious expression alarmed Paul further.

‘Has something happened?' he asked.

‘Von Rheinhardt has been here,' Christian said bluntly. ‘He spoke to Papa and Charles. It seems they have picked up radio transmissions and they are going all out to trace them.'

Paul swore.

‘It was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose. They're getting very sharp about that kind of thing. But I could have done without it just now, when we are expecting an arms drop. I must get a message to my pianist and warn him to be extra careful and keep on the move. Is there any chance you could do that for me, Christian? I've already been out and about today more than seems feasible.'

Christian nodded. ‘What do I do – just leave a message in the letterbox?'

Paul thought for a moment. He had told Pierre to check the letterboxes twice daily now that the arms drop was imminent – a message placed there now should be picked up this evening and was probably safer than Christian having to seek out a member of the cell on a Sunday afternoon when the de Savignys enjoyed a day of relaxation and would not normally be expected to be out visiting villagers.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Use the one closest to the château.'

‘Leave it to me.' Christian rubbed his jaw with his fingers. ‘ I have a horrible feeling, Paul, that things are going to get pretty hot round here.'

‘I agree. I'm especially concerned about Kathryn and Celestine if the dung hits the fan, Kathryn being English and Celestine carrying a Jewish baby. I'd like to get them away, but obviously Celestine isn't strong enough to make it down the line and Kathryn won't leave without her.' He paused, a sudden thought striking him. ‘Perhaps I could get them out by Lysander. The plane bringing the arms and ammunition will be landing in the field just up the valley. He could take them back with him – if they'd go.'

‘I think Celestine would,' Christian said eagerly. ‘ She's terrified for her baby. I'm not so sure about Kathryn.'

‘She should think of Guy,' Paul said harshly. ‘If the Communists do as they are threatening and murder Heydrich I wouldn't like to answer for what might happen.'

‘Is there any news on that front?'

‘Heydrich hasn't put in an appearance yet. He's been busy in Paris, from what I can make out. But when he does come I'm very afraid they are going to do what they are threatening. They're a lot of madmen.'

‘Damn Communists!' Christian took out a packet of Gauloises, offered one to Paul, and lit them both. ‘I wonder if it would help if I talked to Kathryn?'

‘It's worth a try.' Paul's face set. He had had so little time alone with Kathryn since his return. She seemed to be avoiding him. ‘Persuade her that Guy could be in very real danger – and also tell her that Celestine would need someone to look after her. It might just work.'

‘I'll do that. I'd better go now. We don't want to be seen together.'

Paul nodded.

‘You're right. But you'll leave the message in the letterbox?'

‘Yes. And I'll talk to Kathryn and Celestine.'

Paul laid a hand on Christian's arm.

‘You're a good man.'

‘I have to do something to make up for the rest of my family,' Christian said wryly.

Christian was not the only person from the château to take a walk that afternoon.

Charles was still seething with anger over the morning's revelations, and leaving the château slumbering in the heat of the early summer afternoon he walked across the fields and up the rise to a spot that had been a haunt of his since childhood days. There, in the shade of a clump of trees, he had taken his schoolbooks to study in perfect undisturbed peace. Later he had gone there with his first girlfriend, a second cousin named Isabelle who had come to stay in the summer when he was sixteen. He had snatched his first kiss there, explored for the first time the soft exciting curves of a female body, lain in the sun with his shirt open to the waist, glorying in the warmth on his skin and drunk on the fresh sweet smell of the grass and the nearness of Isabelle. From this vantage point the château and its grounds were spread out in a panorama beneath him, de Savigny land as far as the eye could see, and he had thought: One day this will be mine. The knowledge had touched a nerve of anticipation within him, filling him with pride and a sense of awe. The past and the future had seemed very close, as if he could reach out and encompass both, the unchanging heritage of generations. Savigny, beautiful Savigny, home of his forefathers, which would one day be the home of his children and their children; Savigny, an obligation, his birthright, a sacred trust.

This afternoon, however, as he climbed the ridge, his anger began to turn in on itself, filling him with despair and self-loathing. He was a failure, an utter failure. His father was right to despise him. And not only his father. They all despised him – Kathryn, Christian, perhaps even Celestine. They had all known what he had not – the truth about Paul Curtis. Perhaps they also knew about Kathryn's affair with the damned man and were laughing at him behind his back. The thought made the sweat break out on his forehead and sent a rush of hot shame through him.

Long before he reached his favourite spot his legs were aching but he drove himself on, refusing to slow his pace, until he reached the clump of trees. Then he stopped, breath coming hard, stretching his neck back to relieve the ache of tension in his shoulders. The trunk of one of the trees lay where it had fallen many years earlier; Charles perched himself on a flat ledge of it, resting his back against the gnarled old wood.

In the quietude he could hear the sounds of nature, the crickets, the bees, the flies swarming beneath the overhanging branches. It took more than a German invasion to stop them going about their business, he thought, a tired smile playing about his mouth. No matter what happened the world of nature went on renewing itself. But would his children be there to see it? Supposing when all this was over Kathryn should leave him for Paul Curtis and take Guy with her?

He would fight her, of course, with all the resources available to him. Guy was a de Savigny, nothing could change that. But in this uncertain world, who knew what the outcome would be? Nothing was as it should be any more; Charles felt as if he had somehow stumbled into a mire of quicksand and he did not know which way to turn to stop himself from sinking.