Voices on the Wind (31 page)

She had forgotten until that afternoon what it felt like to be afraid for her life.

He didn't waste time when she told him. His face closed up, as if a shutter had dropped. He didn't argue or ask more than one or two sharp questions. Then he nodded and said, ‘I was afraid this might happen. But not so quickly.'

Kate said, ‘Who's looking for me? Do you know?'

‘The English, I suspect, backed by certain French interests. They've moved very fast.' He frowned, hesitated and then said, ‘We must get to Marseilles tomorrow. That's the first consideration.'

‘Not my safety?' Kate asked the question quietly.

He said, ‘If you're afraid, you can go back to England tonight. But I don't think you will.'

‘You said nobody would think of looking for me here. But this hotel has to submit a list of registered foreigners like any other place.'

He was thinking aloud. ‘They'd try Nice first,' he said. ‘They'd assume you'd stay there. But you were seen in Antibes, which means they've found nothing in Nice and are looking further afield. Now they know you're here, because you ran away. That was a stupid thing to do. Kate, you can't stay here now. But we won't check out. There's a private villa, very close; we can go there tonight and on to Marseilles tomorrow.'

‘Why didn't we go there in the first place?' she demanded. ‘Who owns this villa?'

‘I can't tell you that until you've seen Eilenburg,' he said. ‘You'll have to trust me. Don't take anything but what you need for tonight. We'll slip out after dinner and say nothing at the hotel. Excuse me; I'll meet you downstairs.'

The man who had taken her handbag made his report. No identification, but the photograph matched. The suspect had made a run for it and he'd lost contact. She was in the Antibes area and should be traced within the next twelve hours. He listened to his instructions; they came direct from Paris. Mrs Alfurd was to be persuaded to return to England. He queried the word persuaded. It had a wide interpretation. Eliminated? Eliminated if necessary but only as a last resort. Understood. What about the man with her? No action to be taken against a French national unless it was untraceable. The agent understood again. He had a wide brief. He started that same evening with the smaller pensions and hotels.

Roulier drove into the villa in darkness. Kate couldn't see much of it, because there were no lights outside, and they went in through what was obviously a back door and up a rear staircase. He guided her along a corridor that opened out into a handsome landing, and opened a door for her. ‘You'll be comfortable for tonight,' he said. ‘Don't worry, you're safe here. Sleep well, and I'll come for you in the morning. We'll leave at eight. Good night.' He kissed her quickly and unexpectedly on the cheek and then hurried away. There was nothing to identify the place. No books, or magazines; empty drawers and a vacant bathroom. It was as impersonal as an hotel room. She could have found a Gideon Bible on the bedside table. The window looked out on to darkness. The linen was starched and cold as if it had been waiting a long time for a guest. ‘You'll be safe here.' She remembered the feeling, and knew what the room felt like. It was a safe house, like the other safe houses where she had hidden from the enemy. Only now the enemy was her own side, hunting her down because she was the only survivor of an old and shameful massacre. She and the Gestapo Standartenführer waiting in Marseilles prison. She thought of the young professional in the café. He was a familiar type; very fit, highly trained, blank-eyed. He'd know how to get a woman out of the way if she was being a nuisance to someone. Then all they had to do was make certain Eilenburg didn't come to trial. At his age it wouldn't be too difficult. The secret of what happened to the hero Jean Dulac and his heroic network would stay in some government file, and the guilty would die peacefully, old men full of honours.

Katharine Alfurd kicked off her shoes. ‘Like hell they will,' she said aloud to the bare walls. ‘Like hell they'll shut me up and get away with it.'

He tried to wait patiently. He measured the length of his cell three times, and then sat down and read the Bible they'd given him, glancing through the Gospels with indifference, taking his mind off the coming visit. She was the difference between life imprisonment and a short sentence, he'd been told. You must think back and remember everything so that you can convince her when you meet. You mustn't hesitate or get confused. She can save your last years from ignominy. She can give you an ironic victory over your judges. And we've brought her here; there is her photograph so you can search your memory and remember everything. As she was when you last saw her, and as she is today.

He wished his hands would stop trembling. Weakness, and age, he thought defensively. Not guilt. I've lived without guilt for all these years and my conviction isn't shaken. I did the right thing for my country and I am not ashamed. I've marshalled all the facts and incidents and got my memory into focus. Now I'd better concentrate on this Christian nonsense, since it's all they'll let me read, and try to be quite calm until I'm sent for.… No watch, no means of telling the time. Ah, there, the door is opening.

Christian Eilenburg got up. The prison officer said coldly, ‘You've got visitors. Come with me.' He followed with a firm step, and his blue eyes were bright and piercing as they used to be. He wondered if she would recognize him.

Katharine Alfurd stood up, and for a moment she felt Paul Roulier's hand on her elbow, giving her support. She freed herself firmly. He was so old. Old and white-haired and frail, in the prison uniform. She would never have recognized him. There was a table between them, and a French prison officer who had to remain throughout the interview. He gave the old man a chair, and he sat down very slowly, stiff and uncertain in his movements. They put out chairs for her and for Paul Roulier. Roulier spoke first. ‘How are you today?'

The voice was surprisingly strong. ‘Better. I feel better every day. The doctors are pleased with me.' The mouth turned down in sarcasm. ‘They don't want me to have another heart attack.'

‘Nobody wants that,' Roulier said. ‘This is Madame Alfurd.'

‘I know it is,' Eilenburg said. There was an extraordinary moment when he looked at her, and for that moment, the years fell away. ‘Cecilie,' he said. ‘You called me a filthy bastard.'

‘And so you were,' she heard her voice say. It wavered, and without warning her eyes filled and overflowed with tears.

‘Don't cry,' Eilenburg said. ‘There's no reason to cry now. You didn't cry then. I remember how brave you were.'

‘Do you remember the others too? The ones you beat and crippled – the women you gave your men to torture –' Roulier had eased his chair back, leaving them facing each other. He saw the French gaoler standing impassive at the side, hearing everything and showing nothing.

‘Yes,' Eilenburg answered. ‘I can remember them if I want to. Some I respected, some I despised. Some of them, like your woman companion who was so terrified of rough handling, I pitied. I was sorry for them, sorry I had to treat them badly. But it was my duty. Was it your side's duty to betray them to me? Have you asked yourself that?'

‘Yes, I have,' Katharine answered. ‘That's the only reason I'm here. I wouldn't breathe the same air as you, if it wasn't for that question. We had a traitor, a man who was working for you. He was never punished after the war. I did my damnedest and so did a lot of people in France, but when he was tried, people behind the scenes made sure he was acquitted. Why? Do you know why?'

‘Philippe Derain, the bookseller from Beaulieu,' Eilenburg said softly, leaning towards her. ‘A double agent, working for both sides. Paid by us and paid by London. I read about that trial in Spain where I was hiding. You gave evidence against him; so did others. Nothing happened. He was set free. I remember thinking it was strange you should hate him so much when he saved your life. He got you released through the Abwehr. I was very angry at their interference. But perhaps a little relieved to see you go.'

She saw a smug little smile, proclaiming his softheartedness, and could have struck him. As she had struck Pierrot, the traitor. He leaned back in his chair.

‘The Abwehr lived to regret that association,' he said. ‘I never trusted him. I wouldn't have let him go on after we destroyed Dulac. But they insisted. He was their man. I had to cooperate at the time. Later, when I was in Marseilles in charge, I couldn't find him. He destroyed the evidence we wanted. So maybe that's why he was protected afterwards. Maître Roulier, do you have a cigarette?' He glanced at the prison officer. ‘I'm permitted to smoke?' There was a brief nod.

‘Thank you. Ah, this is good.'

Katharine said slowly, ‘What evidence? What do you mean?'

‘Germany was fighting for her life,' Eilenburg said. ‘Your armies were pushing on to the Rhine. You were mounting an invasion on the coast here. And that was when the traitors at home decided to strike. Some of them were here, in France. I came close to catching them, but Philippe Derain was paid by them. I said he was an Abwehr agent, didn't I? He earned the blood-money they paid him for betraying Dulac and his people. Blood-money from both sides.' He sucked greedily at the cigarette. ‘You accused him of that betrayal at his trial. It was fully reported in the Spanish papers. But you couldn't prove it, Cecilie. Nobody could, because he'd done it so cleverly. Saying he worked for the Abwehr wasn't enough. Saying he got you released wasn't evidence that he'd denounced his Resistance comrades to the Gestapo. It should have convicted him but it didn't because there was a piece of the puzzle missing.'

‘What was it?'

‘His instructions from London,' Eilenburg replied. The blue eyes glittered like sapphires in a skull. ‘Instructions to hand over Jean Dulac to us, and destroy his network. He didn't succeed because Dulac was warned and got away. So your own people pronounced the death sentence. They sent that radio message, didn't they? Knowing what the results would be.'

He rubbed out the exhausted cigarette stub in a tin ashtray. ‘I'll stand trial for what your people will call war crimes. I'll be abused and vilified and they'll drag out the old insults like the “Butcher of Marseilles”. But you know that the men who sent Dulac and the Maquis out on to the streets to fight on a false message were the ones who are really guilty. I did my duty to my country and my Führer. I would do it all again. But they'll escape. Unless you stand up and tell the truth. This time, they won't be able to hide from it.'

‘Your time is up,' the officer announced. The chairs scraped back, Eilenburg needed help to get to his feet. He held out his hand. ‘Whatever you think of me,' he said to her, ‘I was true to my beliefs and to my own people.' Katharine stared at the hand, skinny and wrinkled and not very steady.

She turned her back on him. They walked out into the brilliant sunshine, and she shivered. ‘Do you believe in hell?' she asked Roulier suddenly.

He looked surprised. ‘No. Why, do you?'

‘There must be a place for people like him,' she said. ‘There must be a hell. Did he expect me to shake his hand? To touch him?'

‘Apparently. He doesn't see himself as guilty of anything.' He opened the car door for her. ‘How do you see him?' Katharine asked. ‘He called you Maître – are you his lawyer?'

‘I'm his lawyer's assistant,' Roulier admitted.

‘You said you weren't working for the Germans,' she reminded him. ‘That was a lie, then.' He started the car and they moved out into the traffic.

‘It was true; my client isn't German. You're blaming me for taking the case, aren't you, Kate?' She shrugged, looked away from him out of the window.

‘Lawyers can't take sides,' she said. ‘I suppose the money's good. Where are we going now?'

‘Back to the villa,' he answered. ‘You wanted to meet my employer. They'll be there this morning.'

The man looking for Kate Alfurd had a French counterpart. They liaised in a café at Juan les Pins. It was full of young holidaymakers, a paradise for the jeans and pop brigade who swarmed over the town. The cafés and restaurants were full; the discos bulged and blared. There was an atmosphere of gaiety and exuberance that was infectious to the visitor whose youth was in the past. The two men blended well; if they were a little too well-built, thick-necked and muscled in their T-shirts and shorts, it wasn't noticed. They huddled in a corner drinking lager and talking quietly with the noise of a live group belting out over their heads.

‘Bad news,' the Frenchman said. ‘The lawyer brought a woman to see him this morning. The description fits. It's her, and she's vanished.'

‘Shit,' the Englishman muttered. ‘I thought I'd got her this morning. Guess where? The Hôtel du Cap! I got the name from the police. When I went there they stonewalled.'

‘They would,' his companion scowled. ‘Have to protect the millionaires. She'd left, then?'

‘No; not checked out, I got that much from the reception. It was as easy as pulling teeth to get them to say anything. I hung around, and I didn't get the feeling I was exactly welcome. I bought a drink at the bar, and do you know how much it cost me?' He named an astronomical sum. The Frenchman whistled in sympathy. ‘After a long wait, while they didn't see me on purpose,' he grumbled. ‘No sign of her or the man. So I left. I staked out the entrance and the way down to the Eden Roc, but they weren't in the restaurant or on the beach. I didn't bloody know she was in Marseilles. All I can do is stick it out till she gets back. If I show up there again I'll get thrown out.'

His companion had a dour, ill-tempered face. ‘I'll pay a visit,' he promised. ‘They won't be funny with me. I'll get the information, and if she's there, I'll let you know. Then it's up to you.'