The Lavender Keeper (31 page)

London would decide her next move.

Kilian moved through his work on Tuesday distractedly; none of it was important anyway. He ranged in mood from excitement to despair; he was proud to be part of a plot that could destroy Hitler’s evil hold over Germany but the call from the Gestapo had been unsettling.

Was he to believe von Schleigel? If not, what reason had the man of the Gestapo to lie? Where there was smoke, there was usually fire.

Most importantly of all, why would Lisette lie? If she was unhappy enough with her fiancé to gladly accept Markus as her lover, then why did she not tell him? It was that last thought that roamed around his mind.
She must have something to hide, or she would have told you about Ravensburg.

But what could she be hiding? A girl in her mid-twenties. German background and German sympathiser, French national. Beautiful, young, intelligent.

Kilian went for a walk, hoping to shake off his unsettled
mood by strolling along the Seine. Right now he was peering out mournfully from Pont Neuf on the western edge of the Isle de la Cité. He loved knowing that he stood on a bridge whose first stone was laid in the late Middle Ages by Henry lll, favourite son of the great Catherine de Medici. But not even his favourite bridge in Paris could lift the gloom that had settled on his shoulders.

Until this moment he had remained open – to ideas, to women, to the future. How could he fail to be taken in by Lisette? The momentarily heart-stopping response slammed into his mind – what if he was
meant to
?

Was Lisette a spy?

Why? What could he possibly have to offer a spy? He was simply an officer, and in disgrace as much as exile. Surely that would make him … the perfect candidate. Unhappy, resentful, disgruntled and vulnerable. Did the Allies think they could turn him with a beautiful, young, clever agent?

He swallowed hard. Was Lisette with him to find out information? But he had no information!

There was a flap of wings and he saw a small troupe of sparrows see off a crow, its black shape incongruous among the tiny birds, all seemingly identical, all following some instinctive order to chase away the intruder. He blinked as the scene resonated in his heart like an omen. He was the black-hearted figure among the otherwise uniform brown of the military. Everyone followed orders – few drew attention to themselves.

Had he come to the attention of the Allies? And then a dramatic realisation hit. Could Lisette be working for the Gestapo? Had the embryonic plan to kill Hitler been compromised? No! The men involved had been so careful. Besides, he knew none of the detail.

Kilian let out a groan. Even though he knew he was grasping at ideas, he had to speak with Stülpnagel. He could not be the one who destroyed this last roll of the die for Germany.

He all but ran back to his car, whose driver leapt to open the door. The driver was not Wehrmacht – not even military.

‘Back to the offices, Colonel?’

‘No. Take me to General Stülpnagel.’

‘Yes, sir. Are you all right, Colonel?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Forgive me. You looked worried, sir.’ The car pulled away from the kerb and eased forward.

‘I’m fine,’ Kilian assured the driver. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Loewe, Colonel. Christian Loewe.’

‘You’re the one who took Mademoiselle Forestier home last night, did you not?’

He watched the man’s eyes glance in the rear-view mirror. ‘Yes, sir. I saw her up to her apartment.’

‘Does she live alone?’

‘I couldn’t tell you, sir. I’ve never met her before.’

‘I know that, Loewe. Don’t be dim. Were there any signs of another person or other people living with her?’

‘No, sir. Not that I could say.’

They fell silent again. But soon Kilian spoke again. ‘Have you ever been in love, Loewe?’

The man blinked. ‘Yes, Colonel.’

‘Reduces men to pulp, don’t you think?’

He smiled. ‘It’s dangerous in wartime.’

‘My thoughts exactly. Do you still love her?’

‘I do, Colonel. I’m not sure that she loves me, however.’

‘Someone else?’

‘Yes. He’s older, more powerful.’

Kilian gave a wave of his hand. ‘Is she fickle?’

‘I don’t think so. Confused, perhaps. The war has made us all do things we regret.’

‘Indeed,’ Kilian sighed. He could see they were to be held up by an obstruction in the street.

‘I’m sorry about this, Colonel. I can’t reverse easily to—’

‘It is not your fault.’ He sighed again and his attention was caught by a Jewish couple outside on the street, the yellow star of David sewn onto their coats. They were perhaps in their early forties, neatly dressed, and they held the hands of a boy who skipped between them. Kilian wondered how this family had escaped being rounded up so far; what sort of protection they had. How much longer would their luck hold? He wished that he could save this trio and in doing so, somehow save his own soul.

‘Tell me about the woman you love,’ he continued.

He didn’t see his driver glance again into the mirror or the way his jaw tightened. ‘What would you like to know, sir?’

‘How long have you known her?’

‘Only since last year.’

Kilian shot him a glance. ‘That’s not very long.’

‘No.’

‘But you know you love her.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I have been with many women, and none have affected me as she has.’

‘In what way?’

‘I argue with her a lot. She can make me so furious!’ Loewe chuckled.

Kilian gave a brief laugh. ‘A good sign, then, that she’s got under your skin. Is she pretty?’

‘She’s beautiful, dark-haired, although there’s not much of her.’

Again Kilian smiled. Loewe could be describing Lisette. ‘Do you trust her any more?’

‘I don’t know how to answer that. She has fallen for someone else. I feel betrayed, but at the same time you can’t plan to fall in love.’

‘Did she lie to you?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t give up on her, Loewe. She’ll leave the older man, come to her senses.’

‘We’re here, Colonel.’

Kilian looked out, surprised to see that they had arrived at the Hotel Meurice on the Rue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries. He sighed.

‘Would you like me to wait for you, Colonel?’

‘No. It’s a short walk back to the office from here. I’m sure you can be more use elsewhere.’

‘Very good.’

Kilian frowned. ‘Tell me something, Loewe.’

‘Sir?’

‘You’re German?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why aren’t you fighting?’

‘I was wounded early in war, sir. I have an injured leg. Not much use to the Wehrmacht.’ He gave an expressive shrug. ‘I was assigned to your department in February, Colonel.’

‘And you’ve been discreet. I appreciate that.’

‘We all have secrets, Colonel.’

Any other senior officer might have reprimanded the man for such familiarity but Kilian smiled. ‘And what is your secret, Loewe?’

‘That I’m a much better lover than I am a driver or a soldier, Colonel.’

Kilian smiled more broadly. ‘Thank you, Loewe.’ He gave the man a conspiratorial nod as he emerged from the car, reminded of how much he missed the camaraderie of ordinary men – men with no hidden agendas.

Stülpnagel didn’t keep him waiting as long as he’d anticipated. ‘Colonel Kilian,’ the general said, overly warm as he approached through the long sweep of the main lobby, his heels clicking on the marble floors of the grand and gilt-laden Hotel Meurice. ‘Thank you for coming personally. I hear I left my file with you yesterday.’

Kilian blinked and caught on. ‘Yes, I was passing and thought I’d check you got it. I sent it immediately it was discovered,’ he said.

‘Yes, thank you again. I was just about to take some air. Would you care to accompany me? A coffee, perhaps?’

‘Why not?’

Stülpnagel walked him out to the Tuileries and Kilian soon found himself engaged in small talk as he was steered towards Café Renard. There were a lot more people than usual strolling through the gardens and sitting around the fountain but only Germans were taking their refreshment at the café. They looked to be soldiers on leave, wooing young women. Most snapped to attention, their backs stiffening at the sight of the general and a colonel.

Stülpnagel accepted their salutes and found a table at the rear of the café, turning his back to the fountain and the patrons.

The general finally dropped the pretence. ‘Why are we here?’

Kilian took a breath. ‘I can’t be sure, but I’m obliged to tell you that I may have been compromised.’

Stülpnagel gave a soft sigh. ‘How?’

In the lowest of voices Kilian told the general what he knew.

‘So no accusation was levelled at you?’ the general confirmed.

‘No. Nonetheless I see it as a warning.’

‘Yes. The timing of this woman’s arrival in your life is rather coincidental.’

Kilian agreed. ‘Why me, though? I have no connection to the sort of information the Allies would be after. Surely everyone knows that I’m in exile here?’

Stülpnagel pulled at his lip. ‘I have to agree it makes no sense. Could it be nothing more than a coincidence?’

‘I hope so. She is goddaughter to Walter Eichel. He introduced me to her. I find it hard to see Eichel involved in something sinister.’

‘And you say you only met her a short time ago?’

‘By chance last week. On Monday I met her again for dinner. But two things give me pause. Firstly, the timing is wrong; how could the Allies or the Gestapo know of your intention to involve me in the plot before I knew it myself? Any spy with that information would have made contact with me after our meeting yesterday, not before. More importantly, I don’t see how any spy network could have known that all these seemingly unrelated elements might work in concert: meeting Lisette, the plot, this Lukas person and his connection with the Gestapo.’

‘It’s impossible,’ Stülpnagel agreed. ‘As you say, von Schleigel was simply confirming Eichel’s story – and stirring
up trouble with a Wehrmacht officer. You know the Gestapo as well as I do, Colonel – its people are always looking to seed doubt.’

‘You believe he’s lying then?’

‘No, Kilian. He has no reason to lie about Mademoiselle Forestier but he’s reaching for invisible connections.’

Kilian looked pensive. ‘He struck me as little more than a cruel thug with an axe to grind. And I suspect he privately detests men like myself who have led a more … well, shall I say, privileged existence? But the mere fact that the Gestapo has even looked at me is potentially dangerous. I don’t want anything to trip up our cause. And if I’m the potential obstacle, then I should be removed from the picture.’

The general nodded. ‘Yes. But there is no one else I can risk trusting in Paris. I need someone with your experience on the ground.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’ Kilian asked.

‘Nothing,’ the general said, draining his cup. ‘As you say, this fellow has gone.’

‘What about Lisette Forestier?’

‘You like this woman?’

Kilian nodded, not ready to admit how much.

‘She comes from a good family. I’ll look into her. Maintain your relationship, but you could arrange to have her followed, perhaps. There’s enough at stake. Make sure you use someone with no vested interest … obviously someone you trust, but definitely not from inside the ministry. A civilian is the best option.’

‘I can do that.’

‘And perhaps you have some business out of Paris you could attend to for a week or two? Give yourself some breathing
space. Just make sure you maintain regular contact with my office; we may need you to return at a moment’s notice.’

Kilian looked thoughtful. ‘There is a trip I’ve been putting off … Thank you, General.’

‘I think all is well, Colonel Kilian. But I appreciate your prompt action. Let me know if anything further strikes you as odd.’

Kilian stood. ‘And you’ll let me know if your sources uncover anything unusual about Lisette Forestier?’

‘Of course.’ Stülpnagel finally twisted in his chair to look across the western sweep of the gardens. ‘I might enjoy some of this spring sun, Colonel … for a few more minutes.’

They shook hands.

‘Perhaps you could introduce me to the bishop of Paris soon,’ Stülpnagel said in a loud, jovial voice.

‘Of course, General.’

‘Excellent. Goodbye, Colonel Kilian.
Heil Hitler!
’

Kilian threaded his way through the people taking advantage of the beautiful spring day to warm frozen bones and chilled hearts. He felt none of the sun’s joy touch him today.

After her meeting with Walter, Lisette had returned to her desk silent and worried. She wasn’t concerned about the threat of meeting von Schleigel again. But she was worried the Gestapo officer might have met with Markus Kilian. If he had, then her mission was surely over; her life could be in the balance already.

Focusing on her tasks was the only way that Lisette managed to make it through the remaining working hours. Finally her colleagues began to pack up around her and even
then she dawdled, determined not to think about Markus or Luc, or von Schleigel – or of what being tortured by his kind would entail. Perhaps they’d not bother with interrogation and simply declare her guilty, taking her out of the back of some unknown building and putting a bullet in her head. That was what had occurred in l’Isle sur la Sorgue, she was sure. In fact, she was convinced that Luc had been involved in the old man’s death. She wished she’d had the courage to ask him about it. She wondered now whether she’d ever have the opportunity to talk to him again.

She needed to warn him about this turn of events. But how? She hardly noticed the remains of the warmish day, lost in her gloomy thoughts as she headed home quickly.

Kilian looked at his driver closely for the first time. He’d not realised how similar they were in height and looks. They could almost be brothers.

‘Were your people from Prussia, Loewe?’

‘Bavaria. But I don’t know where either of my parents were originally from.’

‘Hitler would want you for one of his posters.’

‘Then that must be true for you, too, Colonel.’

‘I’m a bit old for that.’ He took the risk. ‘And sadly, I’m not the type of model Nazi he might require.’

‘Neither am I, sir,’ the man before him said carefully, and Kilian found himself being studied.

Kilian nodded brusquely, aware that the conversation was heading into dangerous territory. ‘Thank you for coming at short notice, Loewe.’

‘I’m at your service, Colonel. What can I do for you, sir?’

‘It’s an unusual request,’ Kilian began. ‘Please, sit down.’
They were away from his desk in the corner of his room, where comfy chairs and a low table gave the impression of a relaxed place for casual conversation. Kilian liked Loewe’s pride; the man, though his inferior, did not cringe in his presence.

‘You may recall we spoke earlier about your discretion … and that I was impressed with it.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I want to make use of that again.’

‘You want me to pick up Mademoiselle Forestier?’

Kilian gave a tight smile. ‘It’s a little bit more complicated. I do want you to pick her up, yes; in fact, from now on I want you alone to be responsible for taking Mademoiselle Forestier to any of the destinations she requires.’

‘I’ll be glad to do that for you, Colonel, but—’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll clear it with your supervisor.’

‘All right. But there’s nothing complex about driving Mademoiselle Forestier around, Colonel?’

‘There is if I attach a different slant to that escort.’

He watched Loewe pause, then frown. ‘I’m watching her?’

Kilian nodded.

‘Why?’

‘It’s not really necessary to know, surely?’

‘But what am I watching for, sir?’

‘For wherever she goes, whomever she meets.’

‘That’s not just watching someone from the convenience of the driving seat, sir. You’re asking me to follow Mademoiselle Forestier … is this right?’

‘Yes. I want her followed as closely as her own shadow. And it must be kept entirely secret.’

‘Does anyone else know about this?’

‘No,’ Kilian lied. ‘I’m asking you to do this for me.’

‘Why me?’

‘You are a civilian, you are of her age and thus can move more freely in her circles. But mainly, Loewe, it’s because I believe I can rely on you. Can I trust you?’ Kilian asked, impaling the man with a hard stare. He was impressed that Loewe’s gaze didn’t flinch.

‘Yes you can. But you speak of trust, and it cuts both ways. Can I equally trust that my work spying on a young woman is for a good cause?’

‘You can. I must take due precaution.’

‘Against what, Colonel?’

‘I’m required by my rank to be careful. She has come into my life unexpectedly, and I am simply being cautious.’ He shifted, feeling awkward about his lie. ‘Any officer might take that precaution.’

‘Has something happened, sir, to make you worried?’

‘No. It is simply that there is a new order decreeing all new relationships with civilians must be monitored,’ he lied again, feeling even more uncomfortable beneath the penetrating gaze of Loewe.

‘That must be very cumbersome for the officers, Colonel.’

‘Like much to do with this administration,’ Kilian snapped. Loewe blinked and Kilian smiled wryly. ‘Now they’ll definitely have to rouse the firing squad for that.’

Loewe stood and smiled back. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, Colonel Kilian … and so is Mademoiselle Forestier.’

Luc was in a state of fear. How had they become suspicious of Lisette so quickly? Whether she liked it or not, she had to start easing herself out of the web being spun around her. For the time being she was safe – Kilian had no idea that his new
civilian spy was in fact a real one. But Luc knew his cover could blow up at any moment.

Using the Métro, he made his way to Montmartre. He ran up the stairs to Lisette’s apartment, looking at his watch anxiously. She should be home from work by now. There was no answer when he knocked on her door. He paced, knocked again, louder this time. Still no response. She wasn’t home and no amount of willing would make her so.

‘Luc?’

He swung around to see Sylvie leaning against the wall behind him. Despite her beauty, Sylvie was every inch a fearless warrior and Luc would happily stand by her side and face off against any enemy. She ran into danger as fast and angrily as he did, but she wrestled no personal demons. She simply wanted France for the French again.

Lonely and grief-stricken in Paris, Luc had fallen into a relationship with Sylvie. He was sorry for that, but he had never lied to her about his feelings. For him the relationship had always been one of companionship and convenience. Looking at her now, he was reminded of Catherine – of the nature of the relationship he had taken for granted. He had not lied to Catherine, either, but look where that had led. Honesty doesn’t always win friends, his grandmother had once counselled.

‘Hello, Sylvie,’ he said, forcing himself to appear amiable. ‘You’re on nightshift?’

She nodded.

‘I needed to speak with Lisette.’

‘Obviously.’

‘Look, Sylvie—’

‘Not here, Luc. Talk to me downstairs.’

He sighed and followed her down and into her apartment.

‘So,’ she began. ‘Can I get you anything?’

He shook his head.

‘You’d normally enjoy some afternoon … comfort,’ she said, choosing her words with care.

‘Sylvie, please …’

‘What? I’m not good enough for you now that you’ve finally shown yourself to her?’ Her green eyes blazed with barely controlled jealousy.

He gave her a look of sorrow. ‘I was honest with you at the beginning about Lisette. And I didn’t plan on hurting you.’

She flicked her dark-golden hair self-consciously. ‘I know. But it does hurt. And don’t remind me that you made no promises, because I know that too.’

He stared at her, lost for the best approach. Sylvie had been a rock for him, especially in the early days of his anguish at being so close and yet so far from Lisette. It was Sylvie who had talked him through the hardest times, forbidden him to make contact, diverted him when he felt most vulnerable, and, yes, comforted him in her practical, no-nonsense way. Never once had they discussed their physical attraction as something romantic.

He reached for her and she didn’t protest. Luc held her close and, despite all that his senses were telling him, he returned to honesty. ‘What do you want me to say, Sylvie?’

‘What I want you to say I know you won’t … or can’t,’ she murmured.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘I am too,’ she said, pulling away, and he saw the effort it cost her to smile.

‘Sylvie—’

The knock at the door took them both by surprise and they parted as if burnt.

‘Who?’ he mouthed silently.

She shook her head with a frown, waving him back behind the door. He nodded and tiptoed to lean back against the wall. Sylvie opened the door.

‘Lisette! Hello.’

Luc froze.

‘Er … hello, Sylvie,’ he heard her say. ‘Have you seen Luc today?’

His heart felt as though it stopped for a beat. She was looking for him. If she listened hard enough, she could probably hear his heart hammering against his chest.

‘Today?’ Sylvie replied. ‘No, but I expect to.’

‘I see,’ Lisette replied, sounding embarrassed. ‘Do you know how I can reach him?’

He watched Sylvie shake her head slowly. ‘He comes and he goes. You know how it is. None of us tell each other more than we need to know. He stays with me when he’s in Paris, and as I don’t expect him to be warming my bed this evening, I imagine he’s out of the city.’

‘Well,’ Lisette said, awkwardly, ‘if you do hear from him, would you let him know there’s something very important I have to tell him?’

Luc was about to pull back the door and take the consequences of being discovered in a lie. But he hesitated and the moment was lost; Sylvie closed the door. He heard Lisette running up the stairs.

‘Don’t look so fraught. She didn’t suspect anything,’ Sylvie said, amused.

‘I’m not worried about that. I want to know what she has to say.’

‘I suppose you want her to tell you that she loves you, and
sleeping with her German is all for the good of the country.’

He moved to open the door angrily.

Sylvie grabbed his arm. ‘Luc, wait! Don’t do anything rash. Let’s not muddle what has happened between us or between you and Lisette with our work. We cannot endanger ourselves and compromise the networks.’

‘I’m not muddling anything, Sylvie. I’m very clear. I am in love with Lisette, that’s the truth of it. Nothing’s changed. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me. You are brave and beautiful, loyal and … you’ve given me strength when I most needed it. But I do not love you. I’m sorry.’

Her eyes glittered with the pain she was holding back. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, her voice hard again. Here was the Sylvie he trusted; the Sylvie who wore her cold approach as armour. She went looking for a cigarette. ‘You’d better go to her, then.’

‘Sylvie, I—’

‘Don’t worry. I’m always here for you if you need me. We still have a war to fight.’

She made sure her back was turned while she rummaged for a box of matches until he closed the door behind him. Only then did she let the tears break softly and silently, hardly noticing the unlit cigarette between her fingers.

Evening was closing in when Luc knocked on Lisette’s door. He thought she looked pale.

‘Sylvie told you I wanted to see you?’ He nodded. ‘Thank you for coming. I … I wasn’t sure you would.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Can I offer you more of the cheap wine or a nasty coffee?’

He didn’t care much for the coffee but chose it all the same.
He watched her quietly as she busied herself with the brew.

‘Lisette … about Sylvie—’

‘I don’t wish to talk about her, Luc. That’s your business in the same way that Kilian is mine.’

‘Well, I have something to tell you that makes Kilian my business,’ he replied.

Her reaction was unexpected. She smiled sadly and seemed nonplussed.

‘What’s wrong, Lisette?’

‘Tell me about your family, Luc,’ she said, her tone almost dreamy. She was looking out of the window, and the neon signs from a bistro below cast a red glow onto her face, making her look ill.

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘I want to know about your family. I want to know what happened in l’Isle sur la Sorgue.’ She turned. ‘We could both be dead tomorrow.’

He frowned, concerned, and it was only then he noticed the envelope on the table, the Nazi crest emblazoned on its front. Luc took a breath before he nodded at it. ‘Is that from Kilian?’

She turned and glanced at it, then returned her gaze to the window. ‘Isn’t it lovely that spring is here?’ She gave a cheerless laugh. ‘I could almost pretend we weren’t at war.’

‘Lisette!’ he urged in a low voice.

‘I’ll tell you what’s in the envelope when you tell me what I want to know … all those things you held back from me when we were in Provence.’

‘We were barely together long enough for—’

‘We spent hours walking. We had plenty of time. Tell me, what happened with von Schleigel at l’Isle sur la Sorgue?’

‘It’s not relevant … it’s—’

‘Humour me, Luc. Please.’

‘I need it inside me, Lisette. You don’t understand. If I tell you, I risk losing the rage,’ he said, clapping a hand to his chest. ‘And I refuse to do that. It’s not just von Schleigel but … I can’t let the anger out. It’s mine.’

‘So you can go after him?’

Luc gave a short bark of laughter. ‘I don’t have the luxury of making plans. We all live in the present. You know that. We can’t think beyond today.’

She sighed. ‘The note is from Kilian, as you suspect. He wants to meet me tomorrow afternoon after work.’ He waited, sensing there was more. ‘I fear it could be a trap.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I learnt something today that may have damaged my cover.’

‘Tell me,’ he urged.

She slumped against the windowsill. ‘Von Schleigel met with Walter Eichel,’ she said, raising her eyes to meet his.

Luc turned away to take a breath as a thrill of fear snaked around his body. ‘Von Schleigel? You’re sure?’ He turned to her. ‘You know it’s him?’

‘There is no doubt. He told my godfather that I was detained by the Gestapo because of the man I was travelling with. My fiancé.’

Luc stared at her, shocked. ‘This happened today?’

‘Von Schleigel met with him yesterday.’

‘And your godfather told you?’

‘Yes. Of course he wanted to know about my fiancé. I told Walter that you were a friend and the only way we could escape the Gestapo was to claim we were engaged.’

‘I understand now why von Schleigel let us go,’ Luc said.

‘But he never forgot us.’

‘Never forgot me, Lisette. This has nothing to do with you. He never accused you of anything.’

‘No, but he certainly followed up by calling in on Walter to make sure that I hadn’t darkened his name. But what Walter really wanted to know was why the Gestapo thought he could vouch for my fiancé.’

‘What?’ Luc asked.

‘I was desperate. I told von Schleigel that Walter knew you.’

Luc ran a hand through his hair. ‘That was a huge risk.’

‘I had to take it.’

‘What did your godfather say when von Schleigel asked him about me?’

‘He vouched for you, of course.’

Luc stared at her in fresh surprise. ‘Why?’

‘Because he took the same instant dislike to von Schleigel that I suspect most people do.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Von Schleigel left for Poland, apparently satisfied, for his new role at the prison camps there.’

Luc nodded grimly. ‘If I survive this war, Lisette, I’m going to find him … and either spit upon his grave or put him in one.’