The Eden Inheritance (35 page)

‘It might be dangerous, of course,' she warned. ‘The plane will have to fry through flak. There's always the risk of being shot down.'

‘We'll get through,' Celestine said. ‘ I know it. Oh, Kathryn, this is the best news I've had since this nightmare began.' Her. face clouded slightly and she ran a hand through her straight dark hair. ‘What will Maman and Papa do, though? I won't even be able to say goodbye to them!'

‘They'll know it's for the best. With any luck the war will soon be over and we'll all be able to be together again.'

Celestine nodded.

‘What will we do when we get to England?'

‘We'll go to my parents. They'll let us stay with them for the time being. They live in the country, well away from the bombing – or at least, I hope it is!' She hugged Celestine briefly. ‘Be ready the minute I say the word. And remember, it would be safest not to mention this to anyone, even Christian.'

Celestine hugged her back.

‘I understand. I won't let you down, Kathryn. And you know something? I don't think Charles realises for one moment how lucky he is to have you as a wife.'

Kathryn smiled wryly.

‘I'm not sure he would agree with you about that,' she said.

The remark was totally ambiguous.

Every day on his way to the distillery Charles checked the letterbox in the wall; every night on his way home he checked it again. He made excuses to Christian and his father for walking alone – easy as far as Christian was concerned, for he seemed to want to go off on his own far too often for Charles' liking, much more difficult to get away from Guillaume. But somehow he managed it. Checking the box had become an obsession with him.

For the first few days the tiny cave behind the stone was empty and Charles began to wonder if they had stopped using this particular hiding place. It would make sense, he knew, to keep changing the letterboxes, and the valley between the château and the village was full of possibilities.

Then one evening his seeking fingers encountered something that felt like folded paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it, trembling with excitement at his find.

Once again the message was simple and uncoded.

‘listen for message,
Le bébé s'appelle Beau
. Act after dark same night.'

Charles' eyes narrowed. So, in spite of all his warnings, some kind of operation was being planned and, if the message was to be believed, imminent. If it went ahead von Rheinhardt would be furious; Charles had no doubt he would make reprisals as he had threatened. Unless the perpetrators were caught. Charles replaced the message and the loose stone and walked on, deep in thought. He had already decided he would have no compunction about betraying Paul. Not only would it save the innocent, it would also give him deep personal satisfaction. The bastard had played him for a fool in more ways than one and Charles was consumed with the desire for revenge. If he could be caught in the act of whatever foolishness he was planning, so much the better. All he, Charles, had to do was to listen for the message –
Le bébé s'appelle Beau
– and he could warn von Rheinhardt that something was in the offing.

That night at seven o'clock he went to the small room he used as a study and tuned the wireless there to the BBC. He knew that was the time messages were transmitted – he had listened to them before, fuming at the multitude of coded gibberish which had increased dramatically over the past months. Half France must be resisting, judging by this evidence – including his own brother, which, of course, presented a problem. Charles had no wish to see Christian taken. He must, he thought, ensure that Christian played no part in whatever operation was planned. As for the others – well, they would get what they were asking for.

Without the slightest compunction, Charles began to lay his plans.

Guy was running around the garden pretending to be an aeroplane, arms stretched wide, humming loudly in an effort to imitate the sound of an aero-engine.

Watching him, Kathryn had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from shouting at him to stop. With nerves stretched to breaking point by the days of waiting, it seemed to her that he was announcing to all the wodd that very soon an aeroplane would play a very important part in his life.

That was nonsense, of course. He knew nothing of what was planned. It was simply a game played by a small boy for whom a fascination with flying was fast replacing his interest in his toy farm. But it jarred on her all the same.

‘Kathryn.'

She looked up, startled, to see Paul at her side. He must have followed the path from the house that was obscured by the thick hedges and his shoes had made no sound on the grass.

‘You made me jump.'

‘Sorry. Listen – I just heard the message on the wireless. If it is repeated tonight that means the drop is on.'

‘For tonight.'

‘Yes. I've arranged for Albert to be at the gates with his truck at twenty-three-thirty hours. I didn't think it was a very good idea for you to have to trek across the fields with Guy. Will you tell Celestine?'

‘Twenty-three-thirty hours – you mean half past eleven?'

‘Yes. You must be on time – he won't be able to hang about.'

‘We will be.' But her heart was hammering uncomfortably. After all the waiting she could hardly believe the time had arrived; now that it had, she did not know how she could bear to leave him. She looked at him, at every line of the face she loved with a depth she had never believed possible, and felt her heart would burst within her. If only she could tell him about the baby! If only she could be sure it was a part of him she was taking with her! But she could not be sure and she knew she must keep her secret.

Until this moment he had been brisk, efficient, thinking only of the arrangements he had to make. Now, seeing her look, his own heart twisted.

‘Kathryn, don't,' he said. ‘We will be together again one day, I promise you.'

He gently brushed her hair away from her face, letting his fingers linger on the base of her neck. She raised her hand to place it on top of his and after a moment he turned it over, curling his fingers around hers. Such a little touch, yet it epitomised all the depth of the feeling they shared, as if the whole of their beings was there concentrated in the small area where their fingers brushed, generating warmth and electricity and mutual understanding. She learned towards him, oblivious to everything else, lost in a world where there were only their two selves. His lips found hers and they kissed with all the desperation of two people who knew that their time together was short and that soon they would be denied even the shared secret glance, the clandestine touch.

‘I love you,' she whispered, and her breath on his cheek was like a sigh. ‘You will take care, won't you? Promise me?'

‘I'll be all right,' But they both knew it was a promise he might be unable to keep.

‘Mummy?' Guy's voice, questioning, broke the spell. She turned quickly to see him standing there, arms still outstretched like wings, small face perplexed. She felt a rush of guilt. How much had he seen?

‘Guy – you startled me!'

For a moment Guy regarded them solemnly, looking from one to the other. He could not understand why they were sitting there like that, so close together. He'd never seen his mother so close to anyone – he was the only one she cuddled. He experienced a flash of something close to jealousy, then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone again, along with his interest in an unfamiliar scenario.

‘Look at me, Monsieur Paul!' he shouted. ‘I'm an aeroplane!'

‘Oh, are you?' Paul's voice sounded level as it always did. Only Kathryn was aware of the slightly rough edge betraying his inner feelings.

‘Yes – watch me! Watch me!'

And he was off again, wheeling around the garden in a huge circle.

‘He saw us,' Kathryn said.

‘It doesn't matter. One day soon he'll have to get used to it, won't he?'

She laughed nervously.

‘I suppose so.'

The thought lifted her spirits. For a moment it put her in touch with a future where there would be no more fear, no more pretence – and no more partings. She held on tightly to the illusion, knowing she needed it to give her courage for what lay ahead.

W
HEN HE JOINED
them for dinner that evening Paul's eyes sought Kathryn's and he gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she realised what it meant; the drop was on for tonight.

As they sat down to eat her thoughts were racing, checking over the preparations she had made – a bag packed with the few things she was able to take, Guy's clean shorts and a warm jumper laid out ready to dress him in when the time came to wake him and lead him quietly out of the house. But at least Charles had taken to sleeping in his dressing room – if they sail shared a bed the whole plan would have been much more difficult to execute.

She had primed Celestine too, and now, glancing at her sister-in-law, she saw her own nervous tension reflected in Celestine's pale face and edge of palpable excitement.

‘Yes – tonight,' she whispered to Celestine as she leaned towards her to reach for the salt, and heard the quick intake of breath,

Was Celestine, too, thinking that this would be the last time they would all sit around this table together for dinner? Kathryn wondered She doubted it. To Celestine this was merely a temporary escape. One day soon when the Allies had driven the Nazis out of her beloved France she would come home again and everything would be as before. But Kathryn knew that whatever the outcome she would never again return to Savigny as the daughter of the house. That part of her life was over forever and she could not regret it. She had never felt truly at home here even in the days when she had been in love with Charles. Now, despising him, she could feel only immense relief that the charade was almost over. But it was a strange feeling, nevertheless, knowing that a ritual which was now so totally familiar would soon be consigned to the past.

Occasionally as they ate she glanced at Paul, but he was avoiding looking at her. It was Charles whose eyes seemed to be on her whenever she looked in his direction, and the expression on his face frightened her a little. It was almost as if he was gloating, she thought – that hooded glance, that twist to his lips that might have been mistaken for a smile if one failed to notice that it did not reach his eyes. Had Guy said something to him about finding her practically in Paul's arms? Surely he was too young to understand the significance of what he had seen. ‘I saw Mummy kissing Monsieur Paul.' It could have been that. But in that case surely Charles would have looked angry, not so … triumphant.

She gave herself a small mental shake. No point worrying about it now. If all went well in a few hours' time she would be leaving Savigny – and Charles – forever.

The meal proceeded at its usual leisurely pace. For generations the de Savignys had been taking their time over enjoying the fine food and wines that graced their table and although the fare was now frugal by comparison the habit of lingering over dinner was too much a part of their routine to be altered. Kathryn kept an eye on the elegant cased clock which stood on the mantel shelf as one course followed another, and thought it must be playing tricks on her. Sometimes the hands seemed to have moved scarcely at all, sometimes they had raced with frightening speed through another half-hour. Her throat felt tight with nerves, her mouth so dry it was difficult to swallow. She sipped at her wine, wishing she could drink more and knowing she dared not She needed to be sharp for what lay ahead, not fuddled from the effects of alcohol however calming it might be to her tight-drawn nerves. Instead she filled her glass from the pitcher of water, fresh from the well in the central courtyard and icy cold in spite of the searing temperature of the day, and saw Charles watching her again.

‘Water, Katrine?' he drawled in an amused tone. ‘That's not like you.'

Colour hooded her cheeks.

‘Why shouldn't I drink water?'

‘No reason at all, except that you usually prefer wine.'

‘Well tonight I feel like water. Anyone would think I was an alcoholic to hear you talk.'

‘Not at all, my dear. But you must admit you took to the French customs very readily.'

The edge was there between them, obvious to everyone around the table. There was a moment's awkward silence, then Charles turned to his brother.

‘I feel like a game of chess, Christian. It's been a long while since we played. What do you say we get the board out after dinner?'

Kathryn felt her throat constrict again. Since Paul had told her the drop was on she had not had a chance to talk to Christian and she did not know if he had a part to play in the night's operation. If he did, starting a game of chess with Charles could make things difficult. It was true they did not play often nowadays, but when they did the games were long-drawn-out affairs lasting into the small hours. But Christian nodded, picking up a crumb from the table beside his plate and rolling it between his fingers.

‘All right, you're on. Last time we played you beat me, I seem to remember. Tonight it's my turn to trounce you.'

His readiness to accept the challenge reassured her a little and when a moment or two later their eyes met and he gave her an almost imperceptible wink she understood. Christian was not a necessary part of the operation and he was making the most of the opportunity to ensure that Charles was occupied at the relevant time. It would, they both knew, make it much easier for her to slip out unnoticed.

When at last the meal was over and the coffee pot empty, Kathryn rose.

‘If you'll excuse me I think I'll have an early night.'

Celestine, too, pushed back her chair.

‘Me too. I'm very tired.' Her voice was a trifle unsteady and Kathryn saw the way her hand shook as her fingers pressed on to the polished surface of the table. She hoped no one else had noticed but if they had perhaps they would attribute it to Celestine's condition. Since returning to the château she had been so unlike her former self it was hard to believe that this was the same girl who had left two years earlier for Paris, full of the joy of life and hopes for the future.