Voices on the Wind (19 page)

The Mayor shook his head. The power of the Gestapo was greater than the army or the French Government. General Knocken, head of the Gestapo in France, was their only hope of appeal. There was a long silence. Finally the Mayor said, ‘I am the one who should go. It is my responsibility.'

The meeting ended. As the Mayor anticipated, some, whose business interests were protected by Gestapo influence, sent in a report to Eilenburg. The summons to the Villa Trianon came that evening.

Eilenburg was friendly. He treated the Mayor with respect, invited him to sit down, offered him a drink. Then he handed him the report of the meeting. The Mayor didn't read it.

‘I can think of several people who could have sent you this, Standartenführer,' he said. ‘It doesn't surprise me.'

‘And do you really imagine General Knocken will see you?' Eilenburg enquired. ‘Do you know how many other people wait for days on end, hoping to get a hearing from him?'

‘I have no doubt there are many,' was the calm response. ‘But I am the Mayor of one of the most important towns on the Midi. I think he would see me eventually.'

‘And what would you hope to achieve?' Eilenburg asked him.

‘Some measure of restraint on the reprisals you threaten to take here. I would try and convince him that if you carry them out, a comparatively peaceful and cooperative section of Southern France would rise up
en masse
against the German Occupation forces. He might not want that to happen.'

Eilenburg laughed. He shook his head.

‘No civilian population has risen up,
en masse
or otherwise, against the German forces since France was defeated. How many active members do you think the Resistance can call up in the whole of the country?' He leaned towards him. ‘Less than two thousand. They're scattered through the countryside, the mountains, the industrial areas and they're regularly wiped out. Most of the activists are Communists, Monsieur le Maire. We know about the so-called secret armies, waiting for the Allied Invasion to rise up and come out in support. In reality they don't exist. A few bands of murderers waiting on word from Moscow; that's the core of the Resistance here. And of course the Allied agents they send in from London: amateurs, women. We've picked them up as they landed and shot them before they had a chance even to send a message. But go to Paris by all means, and try.' He leaned back. The Mayor pushed back his chair. Eilenburg waited till he was standing and then said, ‘One moment. I can save you the journey.'

The Mayor looked at him and wet his lips. At last, the price would be named. No different to Stohler in principle, but greedier.…

‘I would hope so, Standartenführer.'

‘Then sit down and we'll talk,' he was told. It made him feel foolish to take the chair again.

The Mayor said, ‘What do you want from us?'

Eilenburg said quietly, ‘I want the leaders of the Resistance. Whoever they are. Give me the men who've killed German soldiers and destroyed German property over the last two years. I want the men and the women too. You call them patriots; I call them murderers, cowards who let the innocent die for them. Forty citizens was the last tally, wasn't it? The last time Stohler decided to make an example? Until you bought him off. I am not to be bought. Understand that.'

The Mayor said, ‘I understand that.'

‘Good. Now, let me show you something. It may help you to make up your mind.'

He pulled a report out of a folder on his desk and pushed it across to the Mayor.

‘That is the post mortem our doctor carried out on a local man who died a few days ago. A man I questioned here myself and released because he was too ill to keep in jail. I thought he was innocent of any connection with the Resistance. Just a poor devil in the last stages of consumption who cleaned the streets for a living. Read it.'

The Mayor did so. The name meant nothing. He looked up. ‘Asphyxia? He choked to death?'

‘Suffocated,' Eilenburg said. ‘Probably with a pillow. I was wrong, Monsieur le Maire; he had helped these Resistance heroes. And in return they murdered him because I let him go free. You may keep that report.'

‘Why should I want it?' the old man asked slowly.

‘It will help you to see where your real responsibility lies,' Eilenburg answered. ‘Show it to others. Ask yourselves whether it's worth protecting people who would do that to one of their own.'

‘It wouldn't be any use,' the Mayor said. ‘Nobody would believe a report that came from here.'

‘They'd believe it if it was printed in the
Nice Matin
,' he countered. ‘Give it to the editor. He was among you this morning. Good night.'

The Mayor was shown out of the office. When he was alone, Eilenburg scowled. A clever man, the Mayor. Brave and cunning. It wouldn't do to leave him free for long. Unless he damned his soul and collaborated with the Gestapo to save the town. That was Eilenburg's gamble. He dismissed his staff and went back to the hotel.

The girl was waiting for him. Her name was Antoinette. She smiled and hurried to meet him. He slipped his arm round her.

‘You bought that dress today?'

‘Yes. From a shop on the Promenade. Do you like it?'

‘Very much. And the shoes. They're pretty.'

She nestled into him like a kitten. She held out one small foot in the neat little red shoe.

‘I love my new clothes,' she said. ‘I've never had anything like them before.'

Eilenburg kissed the top of her head. ‘You shall have lots of clothes and shoes. And maybe a nice fur to keep you warm in the winter. How would that be?'

She wrapped one thin arm round his waist. ‘I wish I could give you something.'

He smiled. ‘You can. But we'll have dinner first. I'm going to take you down to the restaurant tonight.'

She drew back from him. ‘Oh no. I'd feel so awkward.'

For a second he doubted her. Nothing showed on his face. ‘Awkward to be with me, Antoinette – yes, I suppose that's right.'

Her vehemence surprised him. ‘That's not the reason. I'd be proud to be with you, anywhere. I just meant that I've never been in a place like this except to clean the slops and change the beds. Will you tell me what to do? What to eat with?'

He felt so relieved he hugged her.

‘We'll have dinner up here for the first time, then,' he promised. ‘When you come to the restaurant you won't feel shy.'

The girl sighed. ‘I wonder what Claude will say,' she murmured.

‘Claude?'

‘The receptionist. He sent me up here the other night. You sent me away.'

‘So I did,' Eilenburg admitted. He stroked the soft curly hair and lifted her face up to kiss her. ‘I'd forgotten about Claude. He was a pig to you, wasn't he?'

‘He is a pig to everybody,' she said. ‘It doesn't matter. If he asks me for money I won't give it.'

She didn't see the look in his eyes, because hers were closed as she reached up for his lips.

‘He won't ask you for anything,' Eilenburg said.

The next morning, while they ate breakfast, Paul Roulier said, ‘I have been thinking, Madame Alfurd. How would you like to go back to Nice?'

She was taken by surprise. ‘What for?'

‘A short holiday. You'd be my guest. I can promise you, you'd be very comfortable and you could revisit some of the places. Wouldn't it help?'

She hesitated. Go back to France. Her husband would never go. He'd made excuses every time. He didn't want to waken old memories; she had been content to let them sleep in her mind until he died. Go back and see it all again. It had hardly changed in 1947. The marks of the war were still there. She remembered seeing Pierrot in court that autumn afternoon. Philippe Derain, on trial for his life as a traitor in the pay of the Germans.

‘You say I'd be your guest,' she said after a time. ‘Monsieur Roulier, if I accept this invitation, you've got to answer me a question that I've deliberately not asked you. You spoke of finding the people who betrayed us in the war. “Will you help
us
,” isn't that what you said?'

‘Yes,' he agreed. ‘Obviously I am not investigating this alone.'

‘Then who are you representing?' Katharine demanded. ‘Whose guest will I be if I go to France?'

‘I can't tell you that,' he answered. ‘Not until we have all the evidence we need. But I can give you my word that we are Frenchmen and our motive is the same as yours. To find out the truth and flush out the guilty. If we don't I can promise you something else. Christian Eilenburg will never be brought to trial and the real traitors will be safe for ever.'

Katharine Alfurd said, ‘How can you be sure of this?'

‘Because already efforts are being made to do a deal,' he replied, ‘on your side and in France. Public opinion wants to see Eilenburg punished. But very powerful people are determined to prevent it. As they prevented Pierrot from being convicted. We want to expose them. It would suit their purpose if Eilenburg dies in prison and what he knows is buried with him.'

‘I see,' she said. ‘Eilenburg won't be allowed to defend himself. I see how it follows. But I don't see what difference I can make.'

‘All the difference in the world,' was the reply. ‘If you can persuade Eilenburg to talk to you. If you trust me and come back to France, I'll guarantee you get to see him.'

She began to stack the crockery; he could see she was agitated and he didn't offer to help. She went out to the kitchen and he stayed at the table, listening to the sounds of plates clattering and an exclamation as she dropped something. When she came back he got up and waited.

‘I can leave Polly with my daughter,' she said.

He didn't understand what she meant. ‘Polly?'

‘My dog. I can't take her with me.'

‘Oh, no, of course not. What about a kennel?'

‘Certainly not.' Her tone was sharp. ‘I'll ring up my daughter and ask her.'

Roulier said, ‘Don't tell her where you're going.'

Katharine stared at him. ‘Why on earth not?'

He frowned. The truth or a half-truth – she wasn't a woman who would forgive a lie. ‘Because it could be dangerous for you, if it was known that you had gone to Nice,' he said. ‘Surely you can see why?'

Katharine sat down. She had forgotten to remove the marmalade jar. It was a present from her grandchildren for her last birthday. White pottery with a bright orange lid.

‘I'm the last one left,' she said. ‘That's right. All the others are dead. Just me and Eilenburg.'

Roulier nodded. ‘Are you still prepared to go?'

She smiled slightly, which surprised him. ‘Why not? I'm not leaving very much behind. So long as Polly doesn't fret. I'll ring my daughter now.'

‘Cecilie.' He got up as soon as she approached the table. The café was as full as before; the band was strumming away the same selection of popular tunes from inside. A German NCO looked up at Kate as she passed and grinned at her. She ignored him and sat opposite Pierrot.

‘He won't listen,' she said in reply to his whispered question. ‘He's not frightened of being betrayed either. I did my best.' She ordered coffee and took one of Pierrot's rank cigarettes.

He said, ‘Did you bring me the transcripts?'

‘Yes, they're in the newspaper.'

‘I'll take them to the lavatory, read them and then bring the paper back. I won't be long.' He picked up the folded copy of the
Nice Matin
, excused himself and disappeared into the main building. In less than five minutes he was back, the newspaper laid on the chair beside her.

‘He lied when he said London was giving us full backing,' he muttered. ‘I suspected it because of the messages I was getting. He's crazy to do it, Cecilie. Did you read your newspaper by any chance?'

‘No.' She shook her head.

He was taut and angry. ‘Then look at the fourth page, second row down. A little piece about someone we both know. Don't worry, I've taken the transcripts out. I'll destroy them when I get home. Go on, read it.'

It was a short paragraph. It reported that Louis Pierre Cabrot, having been released from Gestapo custody, had been found murdered at his home two days later. Post mortem examination showed he had been suffocated while asleep.

Kate folded the newspaper. ‘Oh my God.'

‘Yes,' Pierrot said grimly. ‘You can see what it means. Murdered. And not by the SS. It's been very cleverly done. Cecilie, I'm coming to the apartment tomorrow to see him. Tell him I'll be there just after six. I'll pay the bill. Say goodbye now and we'd better make it look natural.'

He got up and before she could stop him, he bent over and kissed her hard on the mouth.

‘Don't!' she hissed at him.

‘We're being watched,' he murmured. ‘Your NCO hasn't taken his eyes off us. Kiss me back, Cecilie.'

She did, and she saw the desire in his eyes as he held her.

‘I won't let him sacrifice you,' he whispered, and she turned and hurried away.

Pierrot had been telling the truth about the German. He got up and tried to block her way. He followed her out and Kate pedalled hard away from the café to escape him. At a safe distance she stopped, and began to wheel her bicycle along the Promenade. There was a slight swelling on her lip where Pierrot had kissed her. She had never been afraid of a man in her life. There was something so strong and insistent about the desire he felt for her, and which seemed to escape his control whenever he touched her. His tongue had stabbed at her lips like a weapon. She had felt no excitement, only anger and resentment. In some way he and the grinning German lumbering after her were identified in her mind. She rubbed her sore mouth with the back of her hand. Next time, she said to herself, I'll slap his face if he tries to take advantage like he did today.