The Lavender Garden (37 page)

“But who would care for the needs of Mademoiselle Sophia?” Jacques looked horrified at Connie’s notion. “As a man, I can only do so much.” He shifted with embarrassment. “As her presence here must never come to light, I simply cannot find someone else from the village. I trust nobody.”

“Constance! Don’t leave me here!” cried Sophia. “I can’t manage alone. You know that. Please, you must stay with me,” she begged, searching for Connie’s hand.

Yet again, any thought she’d had of extracting herself from the grip of the de la Martinières family disappeared into thin air. Connie took Sophia’s hand and, resigned, nodded. “Of course I won’t leave you, Sophia.”

“Thank you,” she said with relief, and Connie noticed Sophia instinctively covered her stomach protectively with her hand as she said it. Sophia turned her attention back to Jacques. “Is the hiding place here with you, in your cottage?”

“No, that would not be possible. The Boche visit here when they wish to fill their bellies with the wine and their torpedoes with the schnapps the
cave
produces.” Jacques gave a long sigh. “As I said, I’ll show you after we’ve eaten.”

•  •  •

Connie was at least glad to see that Sophia ate every mouthful of the rich bean and vegetable stew Jacques had prepared.

“I’m suddenly so hungry,” Sophia said, smiling. “It must be the Provençal air.”

Connie took Sophia back to the chair by the fireplace and sat her down. Sophia yawned. “I feel so sleepy, Constance, almost as if my eyes can’t stay open.”

“Then close them.”

When she was certain Sophia was asleep, Connie went through to the small kitchen and helped Jacques wash up the pots from supper. Jacques’s face was grave as he stowed the plates in a small cupboard.

“The place that Sophia must hide won’t be to her liking, although I’ve tried to make it as comfortable as possible. But it’s underground and cold, with little natural light. Perhaps the one saving grace is that Sophia doesn’t have light in her life anyway.” Jacques sighed. “For any sighted human, I think it would indeed be a fate worse than death. Let’s hope it won’t be long before this war is won and Sophia can be free.”

“That we can all be free,” murmured Connie to herself in English.

“She must go down there as soon as possible; I didn’t mention it in front of her, but the Gestapo were here only yesterday conducting a search of the château and the
cave
. Word must have reached them from Paris of Édouard’s disappearance. But they’ll never find where she’s hidden. And what of you, madame? How have you ended up playing maid to Sophia?”

“Well, I . . .”

Jacques read the trepidation in her eyes. “Madame, my family has run the de la Martinières
cave
for the past two hundred years. Édouard and I grew up together as boys. He was the brother I’d always wished for. We both share the same dreams for our country. As you will be living under my roof for the foreseeable future, I think you must trust me.”

“Yes.” Connie took a deep breath and told her story. Jacques listened calmly, his eyes never wavering from her face.

“So,” he concluded, “you’re an elite, trained agent, whose talent has so far been wasted. It is indeed a pity. But at least if the Gestapo visit again and find you here with me, I won’t be dealing with an amateur. Is it likely they have a photograph of you on file?”

“No. Besides, I look very different now. I’ve dyed my hair.”

“Good. Tomorrow, I’ll have a new set of papers made for you, stating that you’re my niece come from Grimaud to lend a hand
with bottling the wine and keeping house for your uncle. Does that suit you?”

Connie wondered just how many aliases she would acquire before she left France. “Of course, Jacques, whatever you believe is best.”

“And, happily for you, you can take the small bedroom upstairs next to mine. It’s terrible Sophia cannot enjoy the same luxury, but you must understand, Madame Constance, that if the Gestapo decided to arrive here in the middle of the night, her blindness would prevent us from hiding her fast enough. And I’ve sworn to her brother I will keep her safe. She, and we, must do whatever it takes.”

“Of course. And I’m afraid there’s something else you should know. . . .” Connie had decided she must tell him the whole truth about Sophia. “She’s pregnant.”

Jacques’s face went through a gamut of emotion, ending in horror. “How?
Who?
Does Édouard know of this?” he asked eventually.

“No, and in fact, Sophia herself has yet to tell me. It was Sarah, her maid, who confirmed it. She knows her intimately. And that, monsieur, is not the worst of it.” Connie took a deep breath. “The father is a high-ranking German officer in the SS.”

This last piece of information rendered Jacques completely silent.

“I’m so sorry to tell you this,” said Connie, reading his shock.

“My little Sophia . . . I simply cannot believe it.” Jacques shook his head. “And I was thinking she was only in danger from the Boche. But if it was known that the father of her child was an SS officer, she would have the entire wrath of France down on her too. Only a few weeks ago, a woman known to be sleeping with the enemy disappeared in the night from her house in the village here. Her body was found washed up on the shore farther down the coast. She’d been beaten to death and her corpse thrown into the sea.” Jacques shook his head. “Madame, it could not be worse.”

“I know,” Connie replied somberly. “But what can we do?”

“You’re sure that nobody else knows of her liaison with this officer? Or what has come about because of it?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Thank God,” Jacques breathed. “Then it must stay that way.”

“Perhaps all I can say is that Édouard once told me he liked the man in question. That if life had been different, they might have been
friends. Frederik helped us escape from Paris. I believe he’s a good man.”

“No!” Jacques shook his head vehemently. “He’s a German, and he has raped our country and our women!”

“I agree, but sometimes the badge you’re forced to wear in life does not necessarily indicate the kind of person you are. Or your true loyalties.” Connie sighed. “So, there it is.”

“Then it’s even more imperative that Sophia stays hidden. Although what the consequences will be for her when this war is finally ended, I cannot say,” said Jacques gravely. He shook his head and put his hand to his brow. “You must understand, I’ve loved her like she’s my own flesh and blood since she was a baby. I cannot bear to think of . . .” He shuddered and shook his head. “The war makes fools of us all in many different ways. And it has now ruined the life of a vulnerable and beautiful young woman. It’s not for me to make any decision on her future, but simply as an unmarried mother, she will face a difficult time. Let us hope that Édouard survives the manhunt for him and is able, once again, to take up the reins of Sophia’s life. For now, you and I must do our best to protect her.”

•  •  •

Later that night, Jacques led Sophia back into the
cave
where the vast Russian-oak barrels of wine stood, six meters high, towering above Connie, protecting and encouraging the juice to ferment inside.

Jacques stopped in front of a barrel toward the back of the
cave
, then stood atop a small ladder in front of the huge tap, removed the front of the barrel, and climbed inside. As Sophia and Connie stood waiting, they heard the sound of boards moving in the barrel. Finally, Jacques’s head peered out. “It will be hard for you to climb in, Mademoiselle Sophia, but don’t worry, I’ll be here to help you. Madame Constance, can you hand her up to me and then follow her?”

“We’re going inside the wine barrel?” said Sophia in confusion. “I don’t have to hide there for the next few weeks, do I?”

“Take Jacques’s hand and he’ll help you over the edge,” urged Connie as she assisted Sophia up the ladder and inside, where Jacques had gone. Sophia disappeared into the black interior, and Connie could hear Jacques talking gently to her.

“You now, Madame Constance,” said his echoing voice from inside the barrel.

Connie climbed up and when she looked down inside the barrel, she saw that three of the planks in the base had been removed. Sophia and Jacques, who was holding a lantern, were now standing in the darkness underneath the barrel itself. She levered herself into the hole below and stood beside them.

“Follow me,” said Jacques, grasping Sophia with one hand and the lantern with the other.

Connie crouched low as she made her way along the narrow passage, thanking God that Sophia was blind and used to the intense darkness. The tunnel—for it was no more than that as they went farther—seemed to go on forever. Not normally claustrophobic, even Connie was shaken by the time Jacques reached a low door and unlocked it. They stepped into a square room, which, Connie noted, had a small, grilled window set high on one bare brick wall. As Connie’s eyes adjusted, she saw a bed, a chair, and a chest of drawers. Even a mat had been placed on the rough stone floor.

“Where are we, Jacques?” said Sophia, gripping his arm as he sat her down in the chair. “It’s so cold and smells terribly of damp!”

“We’re in the cellar of the château. Next door is the wine cellar. You’ll be safe in here, Sophia.”

“You mean, I must stay down here? In this cold, damp place? And come through that long tunnel every time I wish to leave my room?” Panic registered on Sophia’s face. “You can’t leave me down here, Jacques,
please
!”

“Mademoiselle Sophia, as long as you’re never seen entering the château from the outside, I can’t see why, with all the shutters closed, you shouldn’t sometimes venture upstairs. And perhaps take a walk in the walled garden, where nobody will spot you. But for your own safety, and certainly for now, this is where you must stay.”

“But what about washing?” Sophia’s voice was nearing hysteria. “And all the other things a lady must do?”

Jacques pushed open a door and shone the lamp inside it. “In here, there are facilities for you.”

Connie looked inside and saw a basin placed under a tap and a
commode. The paraffin lamp Jacques was holding suddenly went out, and the three of them stood in total blackness.

This was Sophia’s world; that of darkness, Connie thought, as Jacques struggled to relight the lantern. And for now, standing in the unlit room that would form Sophia’s prison, Connie was for once glad it was.

“I can’t stay down here alone,” said Sophia, wringing her hands. “I can’t!”

“You have no choice,” said Jacques, suddenly brusque. “During the day, as I said, you’ll be able to come out, but for the nights, we cannot risk it.”

“Connie!” Sophia reached out a hand to find her. “Please, don’t leave me here. I beg you!” she cried in desperation.

Jacques ignored Sophia’s pleas. “I’ll also show you, Madame Constance, how to access the château itself from here. The designer of this hiding place was clever; it has two exits.”

He went to the wall on the other side of the room and turned a key in the lock of a tiny door. He pushed it open, and as it swung back, Connie saw an enormous wine cellar beyond. Jacques led her to the end of it and indicated a set of steps. “These take you directly up into the back of the château itself. As long as you never open the shutters in the house, it will be possible for you to use the kitchen for water and to prepare food for Sophia. Never, ever light a fire. We’re in a valley and the smoke would be seen in the village above.”

“Of course,” Connie agreed, feeling a little comforted knowing of another and far more palatable way out of the underground cell.

“I’ll leave you here with Mademoiselle Sophia to settle her for the night. Tomorrow, you can take her up inside the château, where she can have a bath and collect some clothes. I say again, there must be no light shining behind the château windows at night. It would be seen for miles around and alert others to her presence.”

“I understand.”

“Are you confident of finding your way back? I’ll leave you a lamp,” said Jacques as they went back into the cell, where Sophia was weeping softly, head in her hands.

“Yes.”

When Jacques had left them, Connie sat on the bed next to Sophia, taking her hand.

“Dearest Sophia, please try to be brave. It’s only for the nights that you must be down here. I think it’s a small price to pay for your safety.”

“But it’s so dreadful! The smell . . .” Sophia sighed, laying her head on Connie’s shoulder. “Constance, will you stay here with me until I fall asleep?”

“Yes, of course I will.”

As Connie sat with Sophia in her arms, rocking her like a baby, she wondered how life had transpired to send her to France as an SOE agent, then subsequently have her act as protector and nursemaid to a spoiled, aristocratic child.

•  •  •

Édouard sat with Venetia at the edge of the thick woods that led to a large, flat field. They were somewhere just west of Tours, although, due to the various and extremely uncomfortable methods of transport he’d endured to get here, his sense of direction was fuzzy. However, got here he had, and now the man crouched next to Venetia was shooting across the field with his flashlight as the low hum of an approaching aircraft was heard. The man signaled three times with his flashlight to let the pilot know all was well, and the plane began to descend toward them.

“Right, Édouard, looks like you’re going to make it out of here. Send my love to Blighty, won’t you?” said Venetia cheerfully.

“Of course. Do you wish you were coming with me?” Édouard turned to look at her. And for a moment saw the softness beneath the bravado in her lovely green eyes.

“In a perfect world, of course.” She nodded. “I haven’t seen Mup and Pup—that’s my parents—for over a year. But the world isn’t perfect, is it? And I still have a job to do here.”

“How can I ever thank you enough for what you’ve done for me?” Édouard said, sudden tears blurring his eyes at the thought of leaving her behind to face further danger. Despite his illness, incarceration in the cellar, and the hazardous journey, Venetia’s humor, bravery, and, above all, her spirit had amazed and enchanted him. “I’ll miss you.”