PARIS HADN’T BEEN so hot for years. The grey stone buildings shimmered in the heat like desert mirages, insects swarmed over the declining waters of the Seine, and pavement cafés had never seen so much trade or so many lovers. With all the talk of war, love, like everything else, became more urgent; there was a feeling of excitement in the city as children donned their gas masks to frighten their friends, newspaper vendors barked, ‘Le Matin! Le Matin! Le Boche arrive!’ and shops on the rue de Rivoli did a roaring trade in china dogs lifting a leg on a copy of Mein Kampf. There was a sense of unreality, too, as if all this might be the product of a fever which would soon subside.
The day before the July ball, excited and nervous, Monique took Claudine to meet Karol Kalinowski at his apartment on the avenue Marceau. Claudine liked him on sight. His face was severe and his manner a trifle abrupt, she thought, but the twinkle in his green eyes was constant and there was no mistaking his devotion to Monique. They spent a cheerful two hours together, listening as Karol told stories of his homeland and plied them with refreshments almost as lavish as his compliments. Claudine was enjoying herself so much that she almost forgot Karol and Monique had not seen each other for three weeks, and that it might be tactful to leave them alone together.
She rode back to the Bois de Boulogne in a taxi, feeling very happy – almost as if she must try to keep her spirits from soaring too high. She was missing Armand dreadfully, of course, but it was so wonderful to be in Paris, away from the prying eyes that followed her about Lorvoire. And she could hardly wait to get home to see if her ball gown had been delivered yet … Again she sighed as she pictured the yards and yards of black rayon satin, the strapless cross-over bodice and daringly low back. Monique and Solange had shrieked with laughter during her final fitting, for when she stooped to pick up the hem, her breasts had broken free of the bodice.
‘It is no matter,’ Coco had assured her, ‘we shall merely stiffen the whalebone and tighten the cross-over.’
‘But will I be able to breathe?’
‘I doubt it, but which do you wish to secure, your modesty or your life?’
‘My life, I think. Even if I remain covered, this gown leaves very little to the imagination!’
‘Then we shall do our best,’ Coco laughed. ‘And perhaps, before you return to Lorvoire, you will do me the honour of being photographed in the dress. I am very proud of this creation.’
When she arrived home Claudine ran straight up the stairs to the nursery, but only to find that Louis was asleep. She stood over him for several minutes, looking at his adorable little face, the tousled mop of black hair, the long dark lashes curled over the silky smoothness of his cheeks. She loved him so much she ached with it.
‘He has worn himself out playing with all the new toys Madame la Comtesse has purchased,’ Corinne said, coming into the room and standing beside her at the cot.
‘She spoils him,’ Claudine said softly. ‘We all do.’ She turned back to the nanny. ‘Corinne, if anything were to happen to him …’
‘There now, madame,’ Corinne soothed. ‘Nothing is going to happen to him. Has your husband not given you his word?’
It was clear from Claudine’s expression that she needed more reassurance than that. Corinne pressed her hand. ‘Why don’t you go down to the sitting-room? The Comtesse is about to take tea with her visitors and I believe your aunt is amongst them.’
Immediately Claudine’s face brightened. ‘Tante Céline!’ she cried. ‘I had no idea she was in Paris.’ And after casting another lingering look at her son, she ran off down the stairs.
The following morning she was standing at the mirror in the hall, arranging her hat before joining Corinne and Louis for their walk, when she was drawn to the sound of voices coming from the study.
‘… so I am afraid, Monsieur le Comte, that I am unable to tell you any more than that.’
She frowned. It was a voice she recognized, but for the moment she couldn’t place it.
‘Have you sent anyone to Brest?’ Louis enquired.
‘Of course, monsieur. But it is over fourteen days now since the Royal Navy landed him, he is unlikely still to be there.’
‘But someone there must have seen him?’
‘There is a garage mechanic who was holding François’ car. François collected it, as arranged, and the mechanic has every reason to believe he then drove out of Brest.’
Claudine edged closer to the door.
‘You’re taking the word of a garage mechanic?’
‘We have no choice, monsieur. No one else has seen him, no one has heard from him.’
‘Have you tried Élise Pascale?’
‘Naturally. She is as baffled as we are.’
‘This isn’t good enough, Paillole,’ Louis said. ‘I don’t need to remind you what a dangerous game my son is playing and it is one of which I strongly disapprove. I want him found, and I want him found alive’
‘Of course, monsieur. We all want that. But the reason I have come here today is to prepare you for the worst.’
Claudine’s heart stood still.
‘So you think he is already dead?’ Louis snapped
‘No. That is not what we think at all. What we think is what we have always feared.’
There was a long silence, then Louis spoke again. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Captain Paillole?’
‘We have no confirmation, monsieur, but I’m afraid, yes, that is what we suspect.’
‘Get out of here!’ Louis roared. ‘Get out and don’t come into my house again!’
Claudine fled across the hall to the sitting-room. Thankfully no one was inside. She heard the front door slam, then Captain Paillole’s footsteps in the drive. She crossed quickly to the window and watched as he drove out of the gates.
She could make nothing of what she had heard, nothing except that François had vanished – and somewhere inside her a knot of fear started to tighten. If she asked Louis to explain, it would mean admitting to eavesdropping. But did that matter? It was her husband they had been discussing – she had a right to know what Captain Paillole suspected him of.
Louis was still in his study when she knocked, but as she pushed the door open Monique came flying down the stairs crying, ‘Papa! Papa! Is he there, Claudine? Oh Papa! You are the most generous man in the world,’ she gushed, sailing into the room. ‘Did you see what he has given me, Claudine? Look here,’ and she passed Claudine a small leather case. Inside was an emerald necklace, earrings and bracelet. ‘Won’t they match my dress perfectly this evening? Oh Papa, you are so clever.’
To Claudine’s amazement there was nothing in Louis’ manner to suggest that only a few moments ago he had lost his temper; as he accepted his daughter’s gratitude his face was a picture of pleasure.
‘It’s stunning, Louis,’ Claudine said. ‘Absolutely …’
‘Just a minute,’ he interrupted. ‘Have you not found your own? I instructed Magaly to leave it on your dressing table.’
Claudine shook her head, bewildered.
‘Then I suggest you return to your room and inspect my choice. If it is not suitable we shall need to change it before tonight. And you, Monique, why don’t you go with her while I make a telephone call?’
The rest of the day was so taken up with last-minute house guests arriving and then their own preparations for the ball, that it wasn’t until late afternoon that Claudine had an opportunity to speak to Louis again. However, when she knocked on the study door there was no reply, and when she turned the handle she found that it was locked. Puzzled, she went back upstairs, and had got as far as the first landing when she heard the study door open, and saw Louis cross to the front door and open it. He spoke briefly to a man she couldn’t see, closed the door again and returned to the study.
There was obviously something strange going on, and as the evening went on Claudine found herself increasingly unnerved by it. Uppermost in her mind was the fact that François had disappeared. What he had done, or what Captain Paillole suspected him of, had for the moment ceased to matter: she just wanted to know where he was. Then it occurred to her that Corinne might know.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I do know where he is,’ Corinne said. ‘But I’m afraid he has instructed me to tell no one. The only reason I know is so that I can reach him if I feel Louis is in any danger.’
‘But what about François? Is he in any danger?’
Corinne smiled. ‘Not now, madame.’
‘Meaning he was?’
‘I think a little, yes.’
Claudine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Corinne! I want to know where he is!’
‘Madame, monsieur gives his orders for his own safety as well as yours, and I should be in breach of my duty to you both if I went against his wishes.’
‘I want to know, Corinne!’
But just then, to Corinne’s evident relief, the door opened and Solange came in with Louis.
Claudine had no choice but to accept her defeat and several minutes later took Louis off to her own room so he could join her in the bath. And after all, she thought as she lay back in the scented water while Magaly handed her a glass of champagne and Louis sailed his toy boats around her, if Corinne believed François to be safe then he probably was. And she had no intention of spoiling this evening by worrying about a husband she detested.
The ball was in full swing by the time the Polish Ambassador led his staff, bare-footed, in a polonaise across the Embassy lawn. The watching crowd gasped in admiration as the macabre glow of red Bengal lights illuminated the dancers, bejewelled women glittered in the darkness and coloured smoke entwined itself around them. It was as though they were dancing on fire.
Guy de Maulevrier, a family friend who was Claudine’s escort for the evening, ushered her to the front of the audience, and seeing her, Monsieur Lukasiewicz, the Polish Ambassador, took her by the hand and drew her into the dance. Others were joining in too, and as the music swelled to a deafening pitch and the rhythm quickened to a polka, beautiful women frolicked about the gardens in the arms of their dashing young courtiers – while inside the statesmen talked soberly of war.
At the end of the dance, breathless and laughing, Claudine fell back into the arms of Guy de Maulevrier, who whisked a glass of champagne from a passing tray for her, then stooped to kiss her shoulders. She was enjoying herself, surrounded by friends. There was singing; only the Poles knew the words, but everyone joined in, making as much noise as they could so that the surrounding streets rang with their merriment. Guy’s hands were again on Claudine’s shoulders, making her feel reckless and carefree and happy. Then suddenly there was someone tugging at her wrist, and looking round she saw Tante Céline.
‘It’s Monique,’ Céline shouted above the din. ‘You’d better come.’
She hurried through the embassy after her aunt until they reached the Ambassador’s outer office, where Monique was sitting alone. She looked up when they walked in, and as her black bobbed hair fell back from her face, Claudine almost gasped aloud.
‘What is it?’ she cried. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Karol,’ Céline answered. ‘He hasn’t arrived. I sent my chauffeur round to his apartment, and he’s just returned. There’s no sign of Karol, and it’s past midnight.’
Claudine sat down beside Monique and took her hand. ‘There will be an explanation, chérie.’
‘That’s what Céline keeps saying,’ Monique wailed, ‘but what explanation can there be? He knew how important tonight was to me. He was to meet Maman and Papa. Oh, Claudine, you don’t think he’s changed his mind about me, do you?’
‘No, of course I don’t,’ Claudine assured her. ‘He’s in love with you. He …’
‘But I’ve thought men were in love with me before,’ Monique cried, wrenching her hands away and burying her face in them. ‘Oh God, I can’t believe this is happening to me again. Why does it have to be like this for me? I can’t have him, he can never be mine, that’s why I try so hard to fall in love with other men. And I thought Karol was the man, I thought that this time …’
‘Monique, what are you saying?’ Claudine interrupted. ‘Who can never be yours?’
Quickly Monique shook her head. ‘No one, nothing. I didn’t mean anything. Oh, Claudine, what have I done to deserve this?’
Claudine looked at her aunt for help, but Céline only shrugged. ‘All right,’ Claudine said decisively. ‘Tell me who Karol’s friends are, Monique, and I’ll go and ask them if they know where he is.’
‘Here,’ Céline said, taking a pad and pen from the desk behind her, ‘write them down, Claudine.’
Monique knew only three of Karol’s friends, and they had a good deal of trouble over the spellings, but Claudine took the list back to the party and began to ask about Karol. No one knew where he was. She stopped for a word with Monsieur Reynaud, the French Finance Minister, and was just turning away from him when she became uncomfortably aware that someone was watching her. Fear shot through her: the man in the Lorvoire forest had followed her here to Paris … And then, as her body began to tingle in that horribly disturbing way it often did when under his scrutiny she turned round, and found herself staring straight into François’ eyes.
Until that moment she had not understood just how afraid she had been for his safety, or how badly she had missed him. Now seeing him, all she wanted was to run to him, hear him tell her that he was all right. But she remained where she was, strangely unable to move.
He made his way through the crowd towards her, and as though she was drifting somewhere apart from herself, she watched him come, feeling his black eyes sink deep into hers and hearing her breath whisper from her lips.
‘What a fortunate man I am to have such a beautiful wife,’ he murmured as he reached her, bringing her hand to his lips. ‘These are the diamonds my father gave you today?’ He fingered the bracelet on her wrist. ‘He always has had a remarkable eye for quality.’
There was an ambiguity to his remark that Claudine thought she understood, but she said, ‘When did you arrive in Paris?’
‘Earlier today. I’m afraid I had business to attend to before …’
‘What business?’
‘Business.’
‘Don’t treat me like a fool, François!’ she snapped, suddenly angry. ‘I want to know what’s going on. I have a right to know. If you have put my son in any more danger.’ She broke off as he tilted her face up to his.
‘Our son,’ he reminded her.
For a moment her eyes were locked on his, and she felt her lips parting as though waiting for his kiss; but then, slapping his hand away, she said, ‘If you’ve put him in any more danger François …’
‘He is in no more danger than he was before.’
‘Then where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you …’
‘Ah, so you did overhear the conversation in my father’s study today. He thought you did.’
‘Then would you mind explaining …?’
‘I’m not explaining anything in the middle of a crowd like this. Now, I rather feel the desire to dance with my wife.’ And taking her by the elbow, he led her into the garden.
She could hardly believe what was happening to her. With one hand he held the small of her back, and with the other he twined his fingers through hers. Her body’s response to him was so strong that she could barely move.
‘You don’t appear to dance as well with me as you do with others,’ he remarked. ‘But that is hardly surprising.’
She looked up into his face, but as he started to smile at her she turned quickly away.
‘How is the situation at Lorvoire?’ he asked, after a minute or two.
‘To be truthful, I’m not sure,’ she said, mentally shaking herself out of her trance. ‘I still have the feeling of being watched – but Armand doesn’t seem to feel it at all. He thinks whoever it is has gone away. Has he?’ she asked, when François didn’t answer.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, chérie.’
She faltered at the endearment, and anything she might have been about to say was snatched from her mind.
‘Have you come across any strangers at Lorvoire?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she answered. But then, thinking about it, ‘Actually, there is someone. His name is Claude Villiers. He’s been organizing boules tournaments.’
François nodded thoughtfully, then returning his attention to her, he pulled her closer and said, ‘I shall have him checked out. I can’t have anything happen to my beautiful wife, now can I?’ His white teeth flashed a smile. ‘Armand is taking good care of you?’
‘Yes,’ she breathed, feeling hopelessly dizzy at the way his body was pressing against hers. She blinked, trying to bring herself bade to reality. This couldn’t be desire she was feeling, not now, after all this time, when she had fought so hard to conquer it and when Armand had shown her what it was to be truly loved. Yet the feel of his legs moving against hers was quickening her heartbeat and locking the breath in her lungs. She looked up at him, and her heart turned over at the harsh, disfigured face that tonight seemed so strangely alluring.
He was looking down the length of his nose at her, his thick black brows ironically raised. ‘If you continue to look at me that way, ma chére, I shall feel obliged to do something about it.’
It was as if all the blood in her body had suddenly rushed to her loins, and she found herself clinging to him as though trying to stay on her feet.
‘In fact,’ he went on, ‘since our home is filled with guests I shall indeed have to come to your bed tonight. However, I’m not sure I feel inclined to make love to a woman who whores like a peasant with my own vigneron.’
He grabbed her as she made to break away. ‘Does Armand know that you lust after your husband?’ he said, laughing.
‘You’re insane if you think that!’ she spat. ‘I loathe and detest you, and I don’t care who knows it!’
‘Evidently,’ he remarked, looking around to see who had heard, but as she made to wrench herself away again, he pulled her back. ‘I haven’t finished.’
‘Let go of me!’ she seethed. ‘Let go or I’ll scream!’
‘Scream by all means, if you want everyone present to witness your face being slapped.’
She was silent, staring stonily past him as she waited for him to continue.
‘Where is Monique?’ he said, after a while.
‘Inside.’
‘Then I want you to go to her and tell her that Kalinowski will not be coming tonight.’
Claudine’s eyes shot to his. ‘How do you know? Where is he?’
‘There will be no engagement,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Kalinowski has returned to Poland and I have no reason to believe that he will set foot in France again.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I have seen to it that he will not,’ he answered. ‘Break the news gently to my sister. I believe she thought herself in love with him.’
‘What have you done?’ she hissed. ‘Why have you interfered when he’s asked her to marry him?’
‘He was in no position to ask her. He already has a wife.’
‘Oh no!’ Claudine groaned. ‘But if he already has a wife, why did he ask Monique to marry him?’
‘Did he?’
‘Well, of course he …’ The words dried on her lips as she remembered Freddy.
‘Precisely,’ François said. ‘I’m afraid Monique has a way of reading things into a situation that simply aren’t there. But that’s no excuse for the way he allowed her to believe he was a free man. He is notorious for his conquests, and my sister, I’m sorry to say, is easy prey.’
The dance ended then, and François led her to a shadowy corner of the garden. As they passed through the crowd Claudine couldn’t help noticing the way heads turned – it was rare to see François and Claudine de Lorvoire together in public. Strangely, even after the way he had behaved, she felt a thrill at the interest they provoked, but then she snatched her hand from his as her body threatened once again to betray her.
‘This won’t be easy for you, Claudine,’ he said, when they were away from the crowd. ‘I know Monique will take it hard, but I think your approach will be far gentler than mine, which is why I’ve asked you to break it to her.’
‘Your consideration for your sister does you credit,’ she said tartly. ‘Will you show your mistress the same consideration when you ask her why she introduced Monique to Kalinowski in the first place?’
‘My mistress is not as guilty as you might think,’ he answered, quite unperturbed. ‘Monique happened to be at Élise’s apartment when Kalinowski arrived. She made all the running, I gather, and sadly Élise could do little to stop her.’
François knew that his discussing – and defending – his mistress in such a matter-of-fact way was incensing Claudine beyond words. Looking down at her, he saw the way her breasts were heaving with indignation, the way her eyes were flashing in the darkness, saw the moistness of her soft, sensuous mouth. He put a hand on her shoulder and started to caress her.
She shrugged him off. ‘Are you touching me while your mind is on Élise, François?’ she sneered.
He laughed. ‘Touché. But I was thinking that maybe I will come to your bed tonight after all, if only to remind you how repulsive you find me.’
‘I don’t need reminding!’ she spat, and turning on her heel she stalked imperiously back into the crowd.
*
The following night François’ impassive black eyes were watching Élise as she entertained Max Helber. As always when she entertained his guests, nothing was too much trouble, and he was amused to see German dishes being served one after the other. She was, he thought, putting up a remarkably good performance of feigning a first encounter with Helber.
He glanced at his watch, then set his glass back on the table and rose to his feet. It was time now for Élise to disappear, as he had confidential matters to discuss with the German. Knowing how she would enjoy being seen with the man whose current success with the economy was likely to make him the next Prime Minister of France, he had arranged for her to join Paul Reynaud’s opera party. Reynaud’s mistress would be there too, and knowing how much Élise disliked Madame des Portes, François was almost sorry he wouldn’t be there to see the fireworks.
Élise was still listening raptly to Helber’s flowery opinions on French literature as François walked over to the fireplace and rang for the maid. ‘Fetch madame’s cloak,’ he said, when she came in.
Immediately Élise looked up, and he could see her irritation at being dismissed so unceremoniously. Ignoring it, he poured a cognac for Helber and himself.
‘François, may I have a word?’ Élise purred through her teeth.
‘Certainly, ma chére, if it won’t take long.’
‘It won’t,’ she snapped, and he followed her through into the bedroom.
‘Well?’ he enquired, closing the door behind him.
‘I wish to know if you will be here when I return?’ she said testily.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t propose to give you a reason.’
The pain she felt at his words showed in her eyes, but her tone was brittle rather than peevish as she said, ‘You haven’t made love to me since you returned from Lorvoire, François – over three months ago. What’s happened? Have I done something …?’
‘Élise,’ he interrupted smoothly, ‘surely you don’t need reminding that you tried to kill my son.’
‘But I thought we had put that behind us! When we were in Germany …’
‘Are you really so stupid as to think I could forget something like that?’
‘No, of course not. But …’
‘But what, Élise?’
She had known his coldness so often in the past, but lately it had begun to frighten her. ‘I would never do anything to hurt him now!’ she cried ‘I swear to you, François. Upon my mother’s grave I swear it!’
He seemed amused by that. ‘Wouldn’t you, Élise?’ he said. ‘Then tell me, who is having him – and my wife – watched?’
‘You’ve asked me that before, and the answer is still the same. I don’t know, François. Truthfully, I don’t know.’
‘Is it the man who raped you?’
She gasped at the deliberate brutality. Then suddenly he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face very close to his. ‘Don’t bother to lie, Élise,’ he said. ‘Just tell me who he’s working for.’
‘I don’t know! I don’t know who he is, he just came here and …’
He smiled grimly at her hesitation. ‘Does he have any connection with von Liebermann?’ he asked.
He knew about her contact with von Liebermann! Again she shrank from him, and he tightened his grip on her hair as he saw she was about to deny the association. ‘I am fully aware of your links with the Abwehr, Élise, so just answer my question.’
‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Yes, he has!’
He let her go. ‘Thank you. That was all I wanted to know. However, you have succeeded in confirming something else I have long suspected.’
‘What?’ she asked, dreading the answer.
‘That you are unable to keep your mouth shut when subjected to what our friend Liebermann calls coercion.’
She turned away, too confused for the moment to see where all this might lead. She expected him to leave the room, but then he came behind her, and holding her by the shoulders he pulled her back against him. ‘So you see, ma chérie, why I have told you nothing these past months. What you do not know you cannot tell.’ She drew in her breath sharply as his hand slipped inside her dress. ‘Now all you have to do, Élise, is decide whether your allegiance is to me, or to the Nazis.’
‘It is to you, François! It has always been to you.’
‘But when I join with them, your conscience will not be troubled? You will come with me?’
‘Yes! I’ve told you before …’ She gasped as his fingers closed over her nipple, and she wanted him so desperately that she could think of nothing else.
‘Do you want to make love, Élise?’ he murmured in her ear.
‘Yes, oh yes,’ she moaned, turning in his arms.
He looked down at her, and when he saw the lust in her eyes an ugly sneer curled across his lips. ‘Then as a professional whore you should have no trouble in finding someone to satisfy you,’ he said, and letting her go, he turned and walked out of the room.
‘I have all the information you require,’ François told Max Helber moments after Élise had left them.
Helber’s wide eyes gleamed, then looking about the room, he said, ‘We are alone?’
‘The maid has left too,’ François confirmed.
‘Then begin.’
François sipped his cognac, relaxing back into his chair. He eyed the German for some time, inuring himself to the revulsion he felt for that smooth, fleshy face with its half-timid, half-greedy smile. He had never understood how one man could be attracted to another, and that he should find himself the object of such perverse fantasy disgusted him like nothing else. But these were Helber’s terms for tendering his invaluable morsels of intelligence, and François had no choice but to accept them.
When finally he spoke, his voice had a rich, mellifluous tone guaranteed to make Helber squirm in his chair. ‘I have in my possession,’ he began, ‘a series of maps indicating all factories in Great Britain involved in the manufacture of munitions.’
‘And France?’ Helber said, uncrossing his legs.
‘Not yet.’
‘But you will be able to supply them?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Good.’ Helber considered for a moment. ‘And now perhaps you would like to tell me where you have been these past weeks?’
‘Certainly. But before I do I want some information from you.’
A lascivious light leapt into Helber’s eyes as it always did when his turn came to impart intelligence. ‘So soon?’ he said, running the tip of his pink tongue over his lips. ‘Then of course I shall oblige. What would you like to know?’
François watched as the loathsome man set down his glass and started to unbutton his fly. ‘I want to know who von Liebermann has employed to watch my family.’
Helber showed no surprise. His plump lips parted in a smile and his girlish fingers pulled his penis from his trousers. ‘Does it matter who it is?’ he said, resting his hands on the arms of the chair.
‘Yes.’
‘But why? You must surely be aware that it is in all of our interests to know where you are at all times. Your safety is of the utmost concern to the General.’
François let that pass. ‘I want to know the name of the man snooping about Lorvoire,’ he said.
‘I fail to see why his name should be important. He is there merely to ensure that you do not act in the interests of anyone but The Reich.’
‘Have you any reason to believe I have ever done otherwise?’
‘Plenty, my friend,’ Helber laughed, only just managing to resist the urge to start stroking himself. ‘You act in your own interests, we know that, we accept it. But there is a war approaching, a time when each and every man must declare his fealty to one side or the other.’
François’ jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. ‘This man, he has a personal vendetta against me, does he not?’
This time Helber allowed his surprise to show. ‘What makes you ask such a question?’
‘Because it is your style to ferret out these people. They are easier to control when their motives are personal.’
Hearing the turbulent note in the Wine Supplier’s voice, Helber could restrain himself no longer, and almost groaned aloud as his fingers circled his penis. ‘How is that so?’
‘You simply offer to assist them in their revenge in exchange for a little something you need to know. Then, once you have the man – or woman – working for you, you threaten to inform their victim of their identity if they don’t continue to do so. It’s an old trick, Helber, but a good one. So, who is he?’
‘I cannot tell you that, my friend.’
François lowered his gaze to Helber’s hands and held it there for some time before looking back to the fleshy, womanish face. ‘Then tell me if he means any harm to my family,’ he said.
Helber was beginning to pant. ‘I believe he does, yes,’ he answered.
Now he was getting somewhere. Dropping his eyes again to Helber’s erection, François, said, ‘Why don’t you join me on the sofa, Max?’
For one dreadful moment he thought Helber was going to ejaculate on the spot, but he managed to contain himself and settled beside François on the sofa. François said, ‘You understand what I am offering for this information, Max?’
Helber nodded, but for the moment, with François’ powerful body so temptingly close, he was unable to speak.
‘Tell me what I want to know, Max,’ François coaxed.
Still Helber was unable to speak as François’ hand waited to take his penis. ‘Is he German?’ François said.
Helber shook his head.
‘French?’
Helber nodded.
‘His name, Max,’ François said, fighting the nausea as he took the man’s penis in his hand.
Helber’s breath wheezed from his lungs and he started to grunt.
‘His name,’ François encouraged, starting to move his hand.
Helber’s lips were trembling, and a high-pitched sound was coming from the back of his throat. François lowered his hand to the man’s testicles and Helber started to splutter.
‘His name!’ François roared, and he clenched his fist so viciously that Helber screamed, and François leapt to his feet as the semen spurted over his hand and onto his shoulder. Snatching a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his fingers, and saw Helber’s eyes roll back in their sockets in the dying throes of his ecstasy. Christ, he should have known that wouldn’t work with a creep like Helber. The man was a Goddamned masochist.
He went to the bathroom and scrubbed his hands under scalding water. By the time he returned, Helber had regained his composure and was sipping another cognac. François never failed to be surprised by Helber’s lack of shame for his disgraceful behaviour; somehow it made the man more intolerable than ever.
‘So,’ Helber said cheerfully, ‘you were going to tell me where you have been these past weeks.’
François’ hard eyes contemplated him for several minutes before he walked across the room and settled against the edge of the table. He was weighing up in his mind the little information Helber had ceded. He knew only that the man watching him and his family was French, and that his motives for doing so were personal. It didn’t narrow the field greatly, but he would get Erich von Pappen onto it and see what he came up with. He could start with Villiers, the man Claudine had mentioned. In the meantime, he knew exactly what it was going to take to persuade von Liebermann to keep the man at bay.
‘I have been in Moscow,’ he answered.
Helber was immediately interested, but tried not to show it. ‘Tell me more,’ he said casually.
‘As you are aware, Britain and France have opened negotiations with the Kremlin in order to strengthen their guarantee to Poland. Marshal Voroshilov, the principal Soviet negotiator, informed them that his government has a complete plan, with figures, for co-operation.’
‘The details?’
‘They have, ready to put into the field, one hundred and twenty infantry divisions and sixteen cavalry divisions; five thousand heavy and medium cannon, and approximately ten thousand armoured vehicles.’
Helber nodded. ‘Impressive. How did the Poles react?’
François raised his eyebrows. Helber might be a disgusting man but he wasn’t a stupid one. ‘Colonel Beck’s government has refused to allow the Red Army into Poland under any circumstances. To quote Marshal Smigly-Rydz, “With the Germans we risk losing our liberty, but with the Russians we would lose our souls.”’
‘A shrewd man, Marshal Smigly-Rydz,’ Helber commented. ‘And what chance, in your opinion, do the Allies stand of changing the minds of the Polish government?’
‘In my opinion, little or none. However, talks are still taking place.’
Helber got up and helped himself to yet another cognac. ‘I take it you have a full report on what you discovered, both in England and Russia? And you can give me the charts you mentioned earlier?’
François nodded. ‘They will be handed to you when you cross the border back into Germany. Someone will telephone you tomorrow, to tell you which station they have been left at.’
‘Good. Good.’ Helber appeared extremely happy. ‘General von Liebermann will be most grateful to you, my friend. Now, is there any further information you require from me? Free of charge,’ he added, catching François’ eye.
‘You won’t have come empty-handed,’ François answered, ‘so I’ll take what you’ve got – for what it’s worth.’
Helber opened his case and pulled out the documents Brüning and Grundhausen had sent by courier the week before. ‘I think you will find them interesting,’ he said.
François took the papers and put them on the table. ‘One thing before you go, Helber,’ he said. ‘Having now committed myself to the Nazi cause, I expect von Liebermann to keep control of this Frenchman.’
‘Oh, he will, my friend, have no fear of that. As long as you continue to prove your loyalty to the Fatherland, your family will be safe. Incidentally, I am intrigued to know: how does it feel to be a traitor to your own country?’
‘I imagine as good as it felt when I squeezed your balls.’
Helber left soon after, not entirely sure he understood François’ answer. But the dull ache between his legs not only reminded him that the Wine Supplier’s fingers had, for the first time, been there, it also increased his determination to see the man’s total surrender one of these days. And the way things were developing, he might not have long to wait.
Twenty minutes later, as François followed Helber out into the street, Halunke slithered down behind the steering wheel of his car and watched the dark figure of his nemesis get into his Citröen and drive off into the night. As he disappeared from view, Halunke’s fingers tightened on the rossignol he would use later to pick the locks of La Pascale’s apartment. She was small compensation for his patience when the great prize of de Lorvoire’s wife still remained so elusive; but for now she was as far as von Liebermann would allow him to go, and tonight she would bear the full brunt of his frustration.