The Lavender Keeper (18 page)

‘What did you do?’

He regarded her blankly.

‘Tell me.’

‘Leave it,’ he said.

‘You killed him?’ she asked, her voice a deathly whisper. ‘That man who shot Laurent?’

He took a deep, silent breath and closed his eyes, thinking about just how close he’d come to killing Catherine too. Visions of his father’s disappointed face, his elder sisters staring at him in disbelief. Was he becoming as bad as the very men he despised?

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘He was a truly evil man, Lisette. Laurent took his chances, knew what the price might be, but Landry has murdered so many innocents.’

Her eyes flashed in anger. ‘And you are his judge?’

‘He has been responsible for the death of too many good people.’ Luc wished she wouldn’t hold his gaze like that, and he wished even more that he could turn away at this moment. He felt so vulnerable, so impaled by her stare. ‘He kills children – babies and infants – as easily as you watched him kill Laurent.’

‘Will the
milice
take reprisals on the people of Gordes?’

That fear had been nagging at him too.

‘Probably.’

‘And so you’re helping him to kill more children,’ she replied, her words like ice. ‘Does that sit comfortably on your conscience?’

‘No,’ he squirmed, stung.

‘And you’ve jeopardised my life for your vendetta. What is his name?’

‘What does it matter?’ His discomfort deepened. ‘Milicien Pierre Landry, for all that might mean to you.’

‘Did Milicien Landry kill your family?’

He inhaled; knew his expression gave her the answer. ‘You ask too many questions. You should know better.’

‘I want to know what I’m dealing with. Your actions might compromise my situation.’

‘You let me worry about that.’

‘No. You might be my guide but I’m in control of my own mission. I will make my own decisions – and I will make my own way to Paris without your help.’

‘That wasn’t Roger’s plan,’ he said.

‘Neither was murdering someone, but that didn’t stop you,’ Lisette hissed. ‘No, Luc. Now you’ve become a liability and you’re risking my mission. I will go on alone from Cavaillon.’

He ground his jaw. She was right, of course.

She grabbed the front of his shirt in her fist. ‘Will this incriminate you if we’re stopped?’ Then she blinked. ‘What’s that?’ she said, looking at his chest.

‘Nothing,’ he said and slowly removed her fingers from the shirt.

‘What is this?’ Lisette asked once more, reaching inside and pulling out a pouch, warmed by his chest.

He didn’t stop her. As she held the pouch he moved to touch it too; he ended up simply covering her hand with his. Neither moved.

‘Just some lavender seeds,’ he said, with a slightly embarrassed shrug. ‘And a few flowerheads.’

In that moment her expression changed. The anger dissolved, and while he hated the pity that he thought he saw, there was compassion there too.

‘Tell me about this lavender, and about Landry.’

And before he knew it, Luc was talking. Talk was dangerous; he knew that. And he hadn’t spoken of his former life, not with anyone. Even with Laurent, they’d never spoken about Saignon or their families. Did Laurent know it was
Catherine who’d sold him out? Perhaps it was Laurent’s death that made him want to talk, to spill his memories to this pretty English agent with her beautiful French voice and beguiling smile. He told her his story. She didn’t ask any questions; she just listened. He watched tears glisten in her eyes, and knew his own were misting as he spoke. ‘They keep me safe. I’ll plant them one day.’

When he finished, her eyes were soft with understanding. ‘You are brave to have shared so much with me. I feel as though I know you better than anyone I’ve called a friend before.’ She shook her head. ‘I had to watch someone I loved die not so long ago. I understand your pain better than you think. You can trust me, Luc. I will never betray you. And when this is all over, then I will help you sow your lavender seeds again. You’ll have your perfumed lavender fields, once more, I promise.’ Lisette gave a small smile.

‘I don’t think that your hard demeanour is the true you at all,’ she continued. ‘One day I hope I’ll see you throw back your head and laugh loudly. I want to hear that laugh. Thank you for taking care of me and …’ Her eyes grew teary again. ‘I’m sorry that you lost your friends while looking after me. Perhaps if not for me, Laurent might …’

‘No! This was not your fault.’ There was something in the earnest manner she had spoken that touched his heart in a way that no one else ever had. He squeezed her hand beneath his, and without any warning leant across the few inches that separated them and kissed her softly. He didn’t mean for it to last, but Lisette did not pull away; in fact, she deepened it.

It was the bus lurching to a stop that separated them. Suddenly Lisette looked embarrassed.

‘Do up your shirt,’ she murmured, reaching below her seat for her small holdall. ‘How long before the train leaves?’

Luc cleared his throat. ‘You have about forty minutes to wait.’ He felt a strange awakening, an unfamiliar sensation, as though his heart was racing.

‘Good. Perhaps we can get something to eat.’

Lisette stood and walked down the aisle of the bus without looking back. Her breathing felt ragged. What was she doing? She let Luc kiss her, and the truth was she had been helpless beneath his lips. And his kiss – so tender, so needy. She’d sensed all of his vulnerability and sorrow in that sensual touch.
Stop it!
Her pulse quickened again at the memory. Lisette knew if she so much as turned to glance back at him, she would be lost in him again. And she couldn’t afford to – not with her mission at hand.

As he had told his sorrowful tale, she had been absently watching the way his large hands pushed back his blonde hair. And when he had been looking down, unaware of her observation, she’d returned her gaze again and again to the long lashes that framed his eyes. His voice fascinated her most of all; for a big man he spoke surprisingly softly, and there was a mellowness to his tone that spoke of poetry.

Perhaps, when this ugly war was done, and if they were both alive to see that happy day, they might … What was she thinking?
Walk, Lisette
, she told herself,
and don’t turn around.

In the Place Gambetta, Luc pointed towards l’Avenue Garibaldi. ‘There’s the railway bridge we drove beneath,’ he said. ‘Over there is the station.’

Lisette could see the station was probably three hundred or so metres away.

Quickly they agreed upon a cover story: they had been in Gordes today, but not after four p.m. They would say that they’d taken a lift from the Senanque Abbey with Père François, who was making a delivery of honey.

‘Just follow my lead if we’re asked,’ Luc assured her as they made their way into the main street. ‘We don’t want to wait around the station. It’s too inviting for
milice
to check our papers, so let’s just keep walking to kill some time. We’ll find somewhere to eat. And maybe we could talk too? It looks more natural for a couple to talk,’ he added dryly.

The kiss was haunting Lisette’s thoughts, and she hadn’t
realised how awkwardly silent she’d become. ‘Where do the Germans stay here?’ she asked.

‘They’ve taken over the two schools in the town. All their meals are prepared daily at the hospital and a patrol fetches them.’

‘Is the Maquis ever tempted to poison the food?’

‘All the time, but frankly we can achieve far more by sabotaging an electric transformer or blowing up the cylinders of trains. It sets the Boches back badly, buys the Allies more time. Besides, it’s quicker, takes two men at most and is generally less dangerous to our people.’

‘I suppose the reprisals on a town for something like a poisoning would be savage too.’

‘Unthinkable. And really for little gain.’

They strolled down Boulevard Gambetta, one of two main boulevards; it was typically wide, lined with huge plane trees that were naked for winter, their bare branches clawing at the cold air. Lisette imagined they would be beautiful and shady in summer. The smell of food wafting from the cafés made her belly grind.

Luc led her past the Café Riche in the main street and another, Café de l’Orient. Both looked welcoming but also appeared crowded, especially with German soldiers, so they moved closer to the station where they ate in silence at a tiny terminus café that smelt of old bouillabaisse and tobacco. The woman serving them added the sour note of old sweat.

Lisette didn’t feel at all like eating – the cook’s grubby apron alone put her off – but she knew she must. The long walks uphill, the constant activity and the small amounts of food she’d consumed in recent days all added up to weight loss. She’d always been slim but had never considered herself
scrawny. Food rationing and intensive training had stripped her already lean body to nothing but muscle. And now she could feel her ribs a little too keenly through her borrowed clothes, and the coat Luc had got for her was not keeping out the cold. Her teeth were beginning to chatter.

She ordered an omelette of mushrooms and courgettes and quietly moved her fork around her plate, pleading silently that Luc would not say another word other than goodbye. An hour earlier he had been a stranger. Now she felt closer to him than she had to any other human being. She could barely look at him, unsure of her feelings, frightened to admit that their brief intimacy had weakened her when she most needed to be strong. Her head was still spinning from his kiss, his touch, so tender, and bringing with it the sorrow of his life and the brightness of his fields of lavender before war had come to France.

For that reason alone, it was a relief to know they’d part company here. She had already bought her ticket and there was not long to wait now. She carefully crossed her fork over her knife on the plate. The omelette was tasteless but she’d forced it down.

Luc touched her hand briefly. ‘Lisette … I’m sorry. It was wrong.’

She nodded, not looking at him. ‘Killing a man in such cold blood can never be—’

‘No. I meant kissing you.’

Her traitorous eyes flashed helplessly up to meet his. ‘They say times like these make us reckless,’ she replied.

‘Do they?’

She didn’t know what to say; didn’t have enough experience with men to know how to handle this. ‘How much longer before the train leaves?’

He sighed. ‘We can start walking to the platform now.’ He dug in his pocket for money but she was too quick for him and tumbled out some coins from her purse.

‘Where will you go now?’ she asked, deliberately avoiding eye contact, fiddling with her things.

‘I’m not sure. I’ll have to lay very low for a while. I’ll stick to the mountains.’

She found her courage and looked at him with a brief smile. ‘Through winter?’

Now he had her, his eyes gazing into hers. His had become the colour of a stormy sky over the Brighton promenade. She wondered if this man of sorrows would ever reflect sun in his eyes again.

‘Winter is our safekeeper,’ he replied.

She nodded. Then stood. There was nothing more to say. They drifted out into the crisp night air and almost walked into a handful of German soldiers.

‘
Pardon, messieurs
,’ Luc said amiably and put his arm around Lisette casually.

There seemed to be a lot of soldiers out on the street despite the cold, sitting outside the cafés, chatting up shivering girls. Lisette gave Luc a brief questioning look.

‘We’re barely eight kilometres from Avignon,’ Luc explained. ‘It’s the headquarters for the south. Plenty of soldiers around … even a Gestapo base at l’Hôtel Splendid.’

Lisette felt sick, and wished he’d never mentioned it. Now she wanted to run into the station, a rather lovely old two-storey building with huge shuttered windows, tall arched double doors and a clock in the roof. But with Luc’s solid arm to hang onto, she managed to hold her nerve and walk calmly. She couldn’t talk but he kept up a stream of chatter,
pointing out buildings of significance, including the cathedral, and telling her of the remains of the once triumphant Roman arch that she’d seen soldiers leaning against.

They walked onto the platform; the train was waiting but the porters were busy and not yet allowing passengers to board.

She turned to him. ‘Thank you for getting me here.’

He regarded her deeply. Just when she thought the silence could last no longer, he cleared his throat. ‘Stay safe, Lisette.’

She nodded, hesitated, looked around to be sure there was no one close. ‘I lost my closest friend not so long ago in a bombing raid. It’s one of the reasons I’m doing this, but I hope my anger won’t make me do something reckless. I hope the same for you. Please take care of yourself.’ She touched his chest and felt the slim pouch of seeds against his hard body. ‘Or who is going to plant the lavender fields again?’

His smile was brief but soft, reaching his eyes. He bent forward and kissed each of her cheeks gently. ‘Don’t forget your promise,’ he replied. ‘One day we will plant the lavender fields together.’

There was such tenderness and vulnerability in his look that she had to turn away. He helped her onto the train and carried her holdall. Once she was settled, Luc stepped off the train and she came to the door to wave goodbye. It was important to keep up appearances. It would just be a few minutes now.

‘I’ll wait until you go,’ he said.

Neither of them was aware of the soldiers until one of them cleared his throat behind Lisette.

‘Excuse me, please?’

The man was Gestapo. He smiled, pushing past Lisette politely and stepping off the train, followed by his henchman.
‘May I see your papers please,
mademoiselle
? Yours too,
monsieur
, if you please.’

Stay calm!
Lisette repeated in her mind. ‘Is something wrong?’ she said in German, relieved to hear her voice sounded steady.

The man gave her a look that said he was impressed and blew out his lips in a casual gesture of insouciance. ‘Routine checks, although we have reason to believe that someone fitting your description, Monsieur … er …?’

‘Ravensburg,’ Luc finished for him.

‘Ravensburg?’ The officer grinned, clearly bemused by the German name. ‘Indeed, as I was saying, someone of your description might be wanted in connection with the criminals who call themselves Maquis.’

Luc gave a snort. ‘With a name like mine, I doubt I could get within shouting distance of a resister, Herr …?’

‘Kriminalsekretar von Schleigel.’

‘Nor, may I add, would I want to,’ Luc continued in flawless German. ‘I would fight for my country if I were allowed.’

Lisette noticed how Luc stood very straight; he was making a very good show of it. She mustn’t falter, she told herself, realising she was committed to this man in more ways than she had anticipated.

She took a slow, silent breath and began to perform as she had been trained.