Voices on the Wind (28 page)

And her fate depended upon the girl whose nerve had broken before it was even tested. If Julie had been arrested, the next visitors to La Rosée would be the Gestapo. She couldn't go back to the villa and risk being caught in the middle of the night. Jean knew where she was, but he would die before he told them. Not so Julie. She closed her eyes to shut out the agonizing mental picture of the man she loved in Gestapo hands.

‘Please God,' she prayed, ‘let him be killed … let him be dead rather than that.…' She began to weep, sobbing as she hadn't done since childhood. ‘Oh God, God, what's happened to him … what's happened to all of them? She sat crouched in the darkness, so torn with grief that suddenly she crumpled up and slept from sheer exhaustion.

When she woke it was raining. There was a leak in the roof and she was wet and cold from lying under it. Shivering, Kate brushed the dirt off her clothes and began the climb down the staircase. Her plan was to move cautiously in the direction of La Rosée. She had been trained in the procedure for approaching a house suspected of being staked out by the Gestapo. German cars parked within two streets' vicinity were a warning, so too was any sign of disturbance since she had left last night. Deliberately she had left the gate unlatched. If it was closed, then someone had come in. The rain was slackening, and a piercing shaft of blue sky appeared through a rift in the clouds.

Mediterranean storms were swift and violent but they didn't last. The streets were washed silver grey by the rain and the air smelt cool and fresh. She saw no cars parked anywhere near and began to feel confident. She walked past La Rosée first time, on the opposite side of the road. Nothing moved inside the garden, and the gate was not latched. Wet and hungry, Kate decided it was safe to go back. She slipped across the road, pushed the gate open and ran up the little pathway to the back door. Inside the hallway she heard a movement coming from the kitchen. Hope soared for a moment and she called, ‘Jean? Julie?' The door slammed open and she was seized, pinned against the wall by a man in civilian clothes, and with both arms wrenched behind her back propelled into the kitchen.

‘Well, Mademoiselle.' Another man with fair cropped hair was sitting at the table. ‘You've taken a long time to come home, haven't you? Where have you been?'

She asked for her jacket. It was hanging over the back of the kitchen chair. The fair-haired man picked it up, searched the pockets and found the lipstick.

‘You won't be needing this where you're going,' he said. He dropped it on the ground and deliberately smashed it with his heel. There was a red smear on the stone floor like blood. The man holding Kate handcuffed her hands behind her back.

The car was outside in the street; she was pushed along the path and shoved into the rear seat, with her captors on either side. They smoked and talked in German and she felt the fair one glance at her from time to time. She looked ahead and kept her knees together to stop them shaking. Cold with fear was not a cliché. She was chilled and trembling, sitting between them, their elbows in her sides, their thighs pressed against hers. Especially the man with fair hair. Julie, she thought, Julie told them. Oh God, why didn't I take the jacket with me … hopeless to blame herself. She hadn't a chance when she was seized. Julie hadn't taken her L pill in time either. They must be able to feel her trembling. They must know how terrified she was. Multiple rape was one method the Gestapo used on women who refused to cooperate. God help me, Kate prayed as the car came to a stop outside a handsome pink-washed building. God, please help me to be brave because I can't die and escape what's coming.

They took off the handcuffs and left her in a cell. The floor was bare, and there were empty wooden wine racks along one wall. A single naked light burned high overhead in an arched ceiling. There was nothing to do but sit on the floor, or stand, while she waited. She rubbed her bare arms against the dank, cold air, and then she prepared herself as she had done in childhood before going to bed. She knelt down, and began to pray.

Eilenburg congratulated his two men. Skilled policemen who had joined the Gestapo and distinguished themselves in Paris. He heard the brief account of the girl's arrest. The military had already been informed that the last suspect had been captured, and the Dulac network had ceased to exist. With the exception of their own agent, who remained to monitor any attempts to replace the casualties by SOE. Eilenburg had a headache, and it was increasing. He thought about leaving early and spending a quiet evening with Antoinette. The peace of the villa was soothing to his spirit. He already loved the place. He had no need to see the girl or involve himself further with the process of interrogation. His assistant said, ‘She's been here two hours. How do you want her questioned, Standartenführer?'

He looked down at the report on his desk. The other woman had said she was the radio operator. She would know the codes for transmission to London. She could be made to send a message asking for reinforcements. Psychological pressure, not physical duress, was the best way to achieve that. Perhaps a glimpse of her colleague might persuade her to cooperate. He phoned down to the basement and gave an order. He decided that in spite of his headache he had better see her for a brief interview afterwards.

A uniformed SS guard took Kate along the passageway. It had been the old wine cellar of the Villa Trianon, but each cave had been fitted with rough wooden doors. Each had a sliding peephole. They stopped and the guard pushed Kate up against the gap in the door. She couldn't see anything at first except the bright overhead bulb, the stone walls and floor, then Julie lying under a blanket, a naked foot protruding. There was a vile smell. The guard said, ‘She's sleeping. Tonight, she'll be shot.' He dragged Kate away and slammed the peephole shut. ‘Upstairs for you,' he said in his thick French. As she walked up the steps into the daylight, tears welled up and trickled down her face. He thought she was crying for herself.

‘Sit down,' Eilenburg said. She started to say no, but was pushed into a chair. Her eyes were blurred, she couldn't see him clearly. Just a man behind a desk in a black uniform, with white-blond hair. He had just ended an angry telephone conversation before she was brought in.

‘Would you like a cigarette?' This was the soft approach; she'd been warned about that in training. First they're rough and threatening, and then a new man comes in who seems decent, even sympathetic. He'll persuade you to see sense for your own sake. If you resist, he'll call in the others. Probably be the one who watches and directs them. Don't take cigarettes, coffee or any other favours.

There was no point in dissembling. Julie, she thought, and suddenly her fear became a blinding hate and anger.

‘I want nothing from you, you filthy bastard.'

The shock made him look at her properly. The men sometimes abused and defied, but it was very rare indeed from a woman. White as death, face wet with tears, spitting at him like a wildcat. Courageous, he thought. Brave and foolhardy. Very young. He felt contempt for the people who had sent her and the miserable broken woman who had tried to resist and failed so pathetically.

‘You saw your companion? Yes, obviously you're upset. If I send my man out, will you behave yourself or shall I have you restrained?'

‘I've got nothing to say, so you might as well get on with your interrogation,' Kate said. ‘You're wasting your time trying to fool me. Go to hell!'

Eilenburg made a judgement. He said to the guard, ‘Get out. Stay in the corridor. I can deal with her if she's troublesome.' Kate saw him leave, and the man got up from behind his desk and sat on the edge of it facing her. Slowly he lit a cigarette. ‘I'm sorry about what happened to your friend,' he said. ‘I gave her the same chance as I'm giving you. She wouldn't take it. She had a bad time and she will be executed this evening. Your name is Cecilie and you are a radio operator who landed here to work with Jean Dulac and his network. I know everything about you. You were Dulac's mistress. He's dead, did you know that?'

She didn't answer; if possible she lost more colour but that was all. ‘He was very brave,' Eilenburg remarked. ‘I admire courage, even though I have to break it. He'd given us a lot of trouble for a long time and we had to catch him. Of course, having a traitor among you helped us.' He didn't even look at her when he said it. After a moment he observed her with an expression of interest. ‘You loved him, didn't you, Mademoiselle? Do you know how he died?'

‘No,' the voice quivered this time. ‘I don't want to know. You said he was brave. That's good enough.' Her head lowered slightly.

‘He wasn't tortured,' Eilenburg went on. ‘He would have been, unfortunately, because he had no intention of betraying anything or anyone to us. Especially where you were hiding, I can see that now. So he threw himself out of the window. Just down the passage there, in the room at the end. He didn't suffer, it was instant.'

She mumbled something; he thought it was ‘Thank God.' She covered her face with her hands and stayed very still. He waited. Then he said, ‘Where's your radio?'

Kate raised her head. ‘I destroyed it,' she said.

‘Without asking for help?'

‘I sent a message. I told them I wouldn't transmit again. Then I smashed up the set.'

He put out his cigarette. ‘I don't believe you. You don't expect me to believe you either. Do you want to be hurt? Do you want to end up like your friend? Why did they send her in the first place? She was quite unsuited to this sort of work.' He seemed almost to be talking to himself. She wanted to get up and scream at him to stop, stop telling her, stop pitying his own victim. ‘She lied so badly, it was pathetic. She didn't even have a proper story prepared. I have an interrogator who loves nothing better than a really brave man or woman so he can reduce them to a gibbering wreck. She broke very easily. Just a few slaps and some sex with my men. That's what she feared more than pain. Did you know that about her?'

Kate said nothing. Hot and then cold in turn, and the floor was fuzzing into a blur. Finch, she thought, fighting the faintness, ‘I won't have a dirty little man like that putting his hands on me.…' They'd beaten and degraded her and thrown what was left into that cell, covered with a dirty blanket. His voice seemed to fade and then come back louder than before.

‘I did my best to persuade her,' Eilenburg went on, the quiet voice patiently explaining. ‘I appealed to her to save herself just as I am doing to you, Cecilie. I admire courage, believe me. I don't like having to hurt women. I don't want to send you down to that Frenchman. You won't be able to hold out, any more than your friend.'

Kate looked at him. ‘Don't be too sure,' she said. For a moment they stared at each other. He had the palest eyes she'd ever seen, with tiny pupils. He locked his hands and stared over the tips of his fingers. He shook his head slightly.

‘All you have to do is give me your call sign to London. Without suffering a lot of pain and indignity first. Because you'll give it to us in the end. You could save your life, do you realize that? A lot of your people have collaborated with us and are living as free men and women. You'd be surprised how many. Suffering and death are not inevitable.' He paused, lit a cigarette, watched her without seeming to pay her any more attention. Everything he did was a silent message. I am about to lose interest in you. And when that happens, you're lost.…

Kate cleared her throat. You're not going to give in so get it over with. Cut off the escape route before you have another moment to be tempted.… The words sounded hoarse and faint.

‘I told you, go to hell, you bastard.'

He stretched out his hand to a buzzer when the telephone rang. He picked it up, spoke in rapid German. Kate closed her eyes. She began to shiver.

Some moments passed, he was still talking. She opened her eyes, focussed on him. He was looking at her, holding the receiver. He put it back on the telephone. His voice seemed to fade and then come back louder than before.

‘It seems you have a powerful friend, Cecilie. How lucky for you. But then you're an attractive girl. He's bought and paid for you. Get up; you're free to go.'

She didn't know how she got to the street outside. She had no possessions, nothing to sign for when she was released. They steered her to the front door and let her stumble down the steps. She had to lean against the wall to steady herself. For the first few moments she panicked. It was a trick. Next minute someone would come up behind and seize her and take her back. But no one came near. A car chugged along from the top of the road; Kate started walking, trying not to run. When it pulled up beside her she did run and then suddenly she stopped and turned. ‘Cecilie – here, get in quickly.' She struck out at him blindly, seeing the cat's eyes narrowed in concern and feeling his hand reaching out to take her arm. She hit him several times, and then everything darkened and faded, and she was unable to fight any more. On the way to Beaulieu she had to get out because she was going to be sick. He supported her while she retched on an empty stomach, and then sank back shivering for the rest of the journey. ‘It's shock,' he said, ‘you'll be all right. They didn't hurt you –'

‘I saw Julie,' she whispered. He put his arm round her. She wrenched away from him. ‘Don't touch me! Don't come near me!' When the car stopped, she tried to open the door and jump out. Pierrot reached across and held the handle shut.

‘Let me go,' she shouted at him. ‘I'm not going with you anywhere.…'

‘I got you released,' he said. ‘You're coming with me and you're going to do as I tell you. Resistance in Nice is finished. Except for me. And my work isn't over. Now get out and come with me.'

She saw the woman sitting in her wheelchair. She glanced up and smiled at Kate, and then went on reading. He showed her a bathroom and said he'd have some food and coffee ready when she came out. She couldn't bear to look at herself in the mirror. She was alive and safe. Bought and paid for, that monstrous man had said. Free to go. Jean was dead. She wept, her tears falling freely. Julie, broken in body and spirit, waiting to be shot.… She washed her face and, trembling, came out into the flat to find him in the kitchen, with hot coffee and bread and cheese laid out for both of them.