IN THE WEEKS that followed François’ departure from Lorvoire, Claudine experienced such paradoxes of emotion that she often found herself laughing and crying at the same time. Things had moved so quickly between them in such a short time that she couldn’t get used to the idea that he loved her, and there were times when she was half-afraid it had all happened in a dream. But then she had only to picture his face in her mind’s eye – to see the tenderness of his smile as he gazed into her eyes, to feel the power of his touch as he caressed her, to hear the humorous lilt in his voice when he told her he loved her – for her heart to fill with love and certainty. That he trusted her, that he had chosen to draw her so securely into his life, made her almost dizzy with joy and relief.
But euphoric as she was, she never allowed herself to lose sight of the danger they faced. In a way she felt almost grateful for the danger, for that was what had finally brought them together; but she was never so blinkered by love that she forgot the terrible dilemma it had forced upon François.
As time passed she became increasingly frustrated by all the things she had forgotten to ask him. The boxes in the cellar still remained a mystery, and she would like to have known what lay behind his break-up with Élise. But what she now longed most desperately to know was why he had killed Hortense de Bourchain. She couldn’t explain it, but she had an uncanny feeling that what had happened then might somehow lie at the root of what was happening now. She was even tempted to ask Armand to tell her again what he had seen, but somehow that seemed disloyal to François. She would ask him herself, the very next time she saw him – she was in no doubt that he would come back, simply because she refused to consider the possibility that he might not. That he had gone to Berlin was all she knew; she could not contact him, and he had made it plain that, except in case of dire emergency, he would not contact her.
She had no idea if Halunke was still in Lorvoire. Lately, she had not seemed to sense his presence. And events in the world outside were taking such a horrifying turn that even the threat Halunke presented seemed mild by comparison.
The Boches were coming. Everyone in France knew it, and the nation was edging towards the brink of panic. Claudine felt it in the air every time she went out, and inside the château the talk was of little else. It was as though they were all bracing themselves for the day when their lives would be trampled by the advancing German army. Again, people were fleeing Paris, and refugees from the north streamed through Touraine, leaving a trail of terror in their wake.
Solange, still heartbroken over the death of Louis, waited every day for news of Lucien. Claudine did her best to comfort her, and telephoned their contacts in Paris, but without Louis to pull strings for them there seemed no hope of getting any information. All she could gather was that the Government was in chaos, and though she did her best to hide it, that alarmed her even more than the whooping cry of air-raid sirens and the eerie silence that followed. The fear was becoming oppressive, it seemed to be closing in from all sides – the Germans, Halunke, and the constant dread of what might be happening to François.
Then one day while she, Solange and little Louis were helping the one gardener left at Lorvoire to dredge the pond at the edge of the forest, Magaly called her inside and handed her a letter.
‘A peculiar little man, with the most dreadful nervous affliction, just knocked on the bridge door and gave this to Corinne,’ she said.
Claudine knew at once who it was from. Thrusting her gardening gloves into Magaly’s hands, she dashed up the stairs to the privacy of her bedroom, where she tore the letter open and with her heart in her mouth feasted her eyes on the words François had written.
Chérie, I know I said I would contact you only in an emergency, but I feel I must tell you this, if only to reassure you. General von Liebermann has sworn that for as long as I remain with the Abwehr, Halunke will cease to be a threat. Naturally I have reaffirmed my allegiance, though I still have no idea what will be expected of me. My only hope is that when I finally come out of this I will be worthy of your love. I think of you night and day, my love. If I had known what a difference you would make to my life, I would never have embarked upon my present road. But it is too late now for regrets, we must think only of the future.
You will know by now that Belgium has surrendered and that the Germans are already on French soil. I hear talk every day, here, how soon France will be conquered and how poor the morale of our troops is. Try to prepare yourself, and those around you, my love, for the fall of our nation, as it is almost sure to come.
And yet, in spite of this, you must keep heart, my darling, and please take care of yourself and of our son. You mean more to me than I can even begin to express. I wish I could have held you in my arms to tell you this, but try to imagine I am there, and be in no doubt of how much I love you. Ton mari, François.
She swallowed hard on her tears, and walking over to the bed, lifted the pillow where his head had lain and hugged it to her. This moment of weakness would pass, she knew, but dear God, she missed him! Maybe if they had had more time together, had shared their feelings sooner … She felt so cheated, so unfulfilled … She pulled a face, as if mocking her self-pity, and looked down at the letter. She longed to keep it, to hold it to her heart and read it over and over again, but he had told her before he left that she must destroy any written communication as soon as she had read it. As she put a match to it, watching it curl and twist in the flames, she wished her dread were as easy to destroy.
That afternoon she, Monique and Solange went to the little cinema in Chinon to watch the newsreels. They went almost every day now, standing in the aisles when there were no seats to be had, cheering and booing with the others who had come from miles around to watch the progress of the war. Sometimes Claudine discussed the war with Armand, but she always came away angry at his lassitude. He had changed so much since they had parted: he was a bitter, rejected man and did little to disguise it. His sarcastic remarks about François sickened her, but she said nothing, torn by guilt at the way she had so selfishly used him.
Then, at the beginning of June, even Armand was forced to look beyond himself. The Germans bombed Paris. Of the two hundred and fifty-four people killed, almost two hundred were civilians and a great many of them were children. National outrage was swiftly followed by panic. Ten million people in the north abandoned their homes, left production lines unmanned, crops untended, houses deserted in a bid to escape the enemy. Meanwhile the Germans were claiming one victory after another, and the Allies, so rumour had it, were engaged in the most humiliating retreat. Solange was prostrate with fear as news of French casualties started to reach them.
‘These are the ones the Government is admitting to!’ she wailed. ‘How many men are really dead or wounded? Or captured!’ she screamed, burying her face in her hands.
‘I’m sure Lucien and François are safe,’ Claudine said gently, with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘We’d have heard by now if anything had happened to Lucien, and François will get word to us somehow, I promise you.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ Tante Céline, who had stayed on at the château after Louis’ death said later, when Claudine related this conversation to her. ‘François has never shown any such consideration for anyone in the past, so I fail to see why he should do so now.’
The hell of being unable to defend him was terrible, but somehow Claudine managed to bite back an angry retort. Then the door flew open and Monique came running in. ‘Quick, turn to the BBC!’ she cried. ‘Something incredible has happened! I was just listening in my room and came to find you. No, no, it’s too late now, the broadcast is over.’ She was so agitated that Claudine poured her a cognac and made her sit down.
‘Well, what is it? What did you hear?’ Céline asked, waiting only as long as it took for Monique to take a first sip.
‘It’s terrible!’ she answered. ‘Or is it? I don’t know! The British have taken over a quarter of a million troops out of France.’
‘What!’ Celine and Claudine gasped in unison.
‘No! No, it’s not like that,’ Monique said hurriedly. ‘They’ve saved them. That’s what they said, they’ve saved them. They sent the Royal Navy and, oh everyone, all their small boats, hundreds and hundreds of them …’ Tears started to stream down her face. ‘They didn’t only rescue their own men, they took ours too. They’ve been saving our men, Claudine. For the past ten days they’ve been sailing to Dunkirk and rescuing them.’
‘So who is to defend us now?’ Céline asked indignantly. ‘We’re just sitting here like hens in a coop, and the damned British have opened the door to the fox.’
‘Be quiet!’ Claudine interrupted firmly. ‘If the British really have got so many men out, at least they’re alive to fight another day. Remember that!’
‘Yes, but what about us? The women and children left here in France?’ Céline argued.
‘Our army won’t abandon us,’ Claudine answered. ‘Nor will the British.’
‘For heaven’s sake, child, be realistic! They aren’t in France any longer, so how can you say they haven’t abandoned us?’
‘Look, I’m not going to argue about it,’ Claudine declared fiercely. ‘I’m going down to the café to see Gustave. Are you coming, Monique?’
‘No, I’ll go and break the news to Maman. I don’t know how she’ll take it, but she must be told.’
The café was crammed with the old men of Lorvoire and the surrounding villages, and the talk was solely of the evacuation of troops from Dunkirk. Opinion was as divided as it had been at the château, some felt deserted, other were hopeful. Armand was one of the hopeful ones, and to Claudine’s relief she saw that something of his old spirit had returned. Nevertheless, she was wary; his mood could change at a moment’s notice.
‘You hold me responsible for your not being able to fight, don’t you?’ she said, when later he walked her back through the dusk to her car. ‘I don’t blame you. After all, it is my fault really. If it weren’t for Halunke …’
‘It’s too late for recriminations now,’ he interrupted. Then he laughed softly. ‘No longer your lover, but still your protector. Ironic, isn’t it?’
Despite the warm night, she shivered. It wasn’t the first time he’d said that, and there was an undercurrent to it that left her with a distinct feeling of unease.
‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ he said as they stood beside the Lagonda. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time …’ He paused. ‘I’ve met someone else. Actually, I’ve known her for some time. Her name is Estelle. You know her too, she works at the beauty parlour in Chinon.’
‘Yes, yes, I know her,’ Claudine said, unable to hide her surprise.
‘It might seem a bit sudden to you,’ he went on, ‘but the truth is, I was seeing her before you came to Lorvoire. In fact, I never really stopped seeing her, even when we were together.’
Claudine couldn’t have been more shocked. ‘I see,’ she said, wondering if what she was feeling was jealousy. ‘Well, under the circumstances I suppose I have no right to be angry.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t blame you if you were. After all, there were times when I was making love to her within hours of making love to you.’
His bluntness took her breath away. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked, after a pause.
‘For two reasons. The first is because I don’t want you to think that, if François doesn’t return, you and I can ever go back to the way we were. Once everything is sorted out, the war and Halunke, I’m going to ask Estelle to marry me, so that will be an end to it. La belle dame du château can find herself another lover. In the meantime I’ll carry out François’ dirty work for him for as long as it takes, but after that I want no more to do with you – either of you. And the second reason is because Estelle and I would like to use the old cottage. It’s on your land, so I need your permission.’
Inwardly she was appalled, but her voice was perfectly steady as she said, ‘If Estelle doesn’t mind that you once shared the cottage with me, then please feel free to use it.’
He nodded, and their eyes met. There were several moments of silent antagonism between them, then Claudine saw the hostility retreat from his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have told you like that. But we should be honest with each other, and …’
‘Armand,’ she interrupted, ‘if you feel so badly about carrying out François’ wishes, perhaps we should try to come to some other arrangement.’
He shook his head. ‘I gave him my word, and despite what I said just now, I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’
Smiling, she put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m glad about Estelle,’ she said – and immediately could have kicked herself. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he wanted her to be jealous. And she was jealous, a little. For much as she loved François she could not deny that for a while she had loved Armand too, and the days and nights they had spent together in that cottage would always be a very special memory for her.
‘Have you had any news of François or Lucien?’ he asked, opening the car door for her.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘I’m sure there will be some soon,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Meanwhile, what are you doing driving about in this vehicle when no one else can get petrol for love or money?’
‘We found some that Louis had stored in the stables,’ she answered. ‘But you’re right, I should only be using it for emergencies.’
‘I’ll tell you what, we’ll get you a bicycle. And one for Solange too. I rather think she’ll enjoy being a cyclist. Why don’t we go into Chinon tomorrow, the three of us, and see if we can fix you up?’
‘It’s a date,’ Claudine smiled. ‘And I think we should put it to Tante Céline as well. I can just picture her cycling down the hill into Lorvoire, can’t you?’
‘No, but I’d like to!’ And he waved her off into the night, then turned to walk back across the square towards home.
He knew it was pointless trying to hurt her as he had with talk of Estelle. It was only driving them further apart, which wasn’t what he wanted at all. Not that he’d been altogether lying about Estelle; he had been seeing her before Claudine came to Lorvoire, and he was seeing her again now, but he had always been faithful to Claudine during the time they were together.
And he would continue to be faithful to her, if only as a friend. He would control this loathsome bitterness – he would stick to the promise he had made François, and do all he could to protect Claudine from Halunke. And there was always the timid, submissive little Estelle to provide a frequent and welcome escape from his pain.
‘You must be out of your mind if you think I’m getting onto that contraption,’ Céline declared the following day, as they stood in the middle of the bicycle shop in Chinon.
‘It’s either that or roller-skates,’ Claudine informed her.
‘Roller-skates!’ Solange cried. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’
‘No, Maman, I strictly forbid you even to entertain the idea,’ Monique said firmly. ‘Now, is that the bicycle you like best?’ She nodded towards the gleaming red machine poised between Solange’s legs.
‘I think so. But I shall have to buy some trousers. No, I shan’t, I shall wear Louis’. Come along, Céline, lift up that dress and get onto the saddle. Oh, don’t mind old Claude there, he’s seen plenty of pretty legs in his time, haven’t you, Claude?’
‘Si, si, madame,’ Claude chuckled, quite overcome by the fact that for the first time in months someone had come into his shop with real money to spend. He held the bicycle steady, and Armand offered Céline his hand. Both men caught a glimpse of her suspenders, but only Armand and Claudine realized that this was what Céline intended; she was extremely proud of her legs.
Their bicycles were delivered the following day, and by the time they had finished practising – in the ballroom, because the gravel outside was too difficult for beginners – Céline was as dedicated a cyclist as any of them. Liliane, who watched from the piano stool, bemoaned the fact that she was too fat to ride one herself, and Solange instantly told Armand that he was to build a box to put on the side of hers, so that she could cycle her friend about the countryside.
Claudine caught Armand’s eye, and he winked. ‘Thank you,’ she said, walking her bicycle across the room to join him. ‘It was your idea, and Solange likes nothing more than a new challenge.’
‘She does look better, doesn’t she?’ he said. ‘And do you know, I think I will build the box. Even if she can’t manage it with my mother inside, it’ll always come in useful for carrying things.’ He glanced at his watch, and seeing the time Claudine clapped her hands and cried, ‘The news! Everyone into the sitting-room to listen to the news!’
The headline that day was that Monsieur Paul Reynaud, who had succeeded Edouard Daladier as Prime Minister two months before, had appointed General Charles de Gaulle as Under-Secretary for Defence. Then Solange’s hand found its way into Claudine’s as it was reported that, despite the unprecedented success of the Dunkirk evacuation, forty thousand prisoners had been taken. It wasn’t yet known how many of them were French.
The last part of the bulletin was given over to a speech made the day before in the British House of Commons by Prime Minister Churchill. His strange, hypnotic voice came over the airwaves in tones of such passionate patriotism that it seemed to hang in the air like the thin, curling tendrils of cigarette smoke, and not one of them remained unmoved.
‘We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender! And even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it, were subjugated and starving, then our empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British fleet, would carry on the struggle until in God’s good time the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue of the old.’
For the listeners who did not understand English the speech was delivered again in French, spoken by an actor.
Claudine got up and turned off the wireless.
‘He speaks as though France were already lost,’ Liliane said, speaking the thought uppermost in everyone’s mind.
Claudine looked at her aunt, and Céline looked away. ‘The speech was made for the benefit of the British,’ Claudine declared. ‘And let’s not forget that their Government has a pact with France that neither country will agree to peace without the other.’
‘But even so, he talked only of “this island”,’ Armand reminded her. ‘I think Maman is right, he already believes France to have fallen.’
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Claudine retorted. ‘And now that General de Gaulle is Under-Secretary perhaps we shall see some changes.’
‘If it’s not already too late,’ he said sourly. And as if to add menace to his pessimism, the distant wail of an air-raid siren started its eerie crescendo across the countryside. They quickly made their way down to the cellar, but Claudine handed Louis to Monique and waited at the top of the steps with Armand, where they watched the enemy aircraft soar overhead and a few minutes later heard the dull boom of exploding bombs reverberate through the hills. The munitions factory on the road to Tours was undamaged, they discovered later, but a busful of workers arriving for their evening shift had perished.
In the end, the boys at the Army Cadet School, not ten kilometers away in Saumur, were among the last to make a stand against the great might of the German army. They fought on, despite the fact that the Government had fled first to Briare, then to Tours, then to Bordeaux and that rumours of an armistice were growing stronger by the minute. At the château, with the battle raging almost on their doorstep, Claudine and the rest of the family went on with life as best they could. Every day now was filled with the doom-laden roar of Allied and enemy aircraft flying overhead, gunfire echoing through the countryside, and the acrid stench of explosives lingered in the still, hot air of summer.
On 18th June, General Charles de Gaulle made a broadcast from London calling upon all Frenchmen to remember that ‘… whatever happens, the flame of French resistance must not and shall not die!’ But apathy and a sense of defeat were spreading now like a disease, and four days after de Gaulle’s speech, Marshal Henri Philippe Pétain – the proud, erect man with pale blue eyes whom Claudine had met once in Paris, and who had taken over the Government after Paul Reynaud’s resignation six days before – signed the armistice that betrayed Great Britain and brought peace to France. But not even the indignity of seeing its national representatives forced to return to the railway carriage in the Forest of Compiègne where France’s Marshal Foch had dictated terms to a defeated Germany in 1918, seemed to bother the French. There was a new sound ringing through the countryside now – the sound of rejoicing. The war, for France at least, was at an end.
Claudine was stupefied. That the French should welcome surrender was horrifying enough, but when that surrender called for three-fifths of France, including Touraine to be occupied and governed by the German army; when it called for four hundred million francs to be paid every day to the Reich, and for over a million and a half Frenchmen to be deported to prisoner-of-war camps – the sheer atrocity of it was inexpressible.
The first Germans arrived in Chinon at four in the morning on August 5th. There were no more than five of them and they came on bicycles – so Monsieur Bonet, the melon farmer informed Claudine.
‘They reached the statue of Jeanne d’Arc, fired guns into the window of the laundry, then went away again,’ he said, scratching his head in bewilderment.
He cycled off then, but returned at six that evening to tell her that the Boches were back, this time with the rest of their company. They had taken over the Hôtel de France on the square, the Hôtel Boule d’Or on the quay, and many of the desirable residences on the rue Voltaire.
The following day Claudine and Monique cycled into Chinon, neither of them knowing quite what to expect, but unable to contain their curiosity. Nothing could have prepared them for the shock of finding scores of young men in dull grey uniforms swarming all over the town, wearing rifles slung over their shoulders and thick leather belts full of ammunition. The infamous jackboots were much in evidence, as were Nazi flags, draped from the windows of requisitioned buildings or fluttering triumphantly from flag poles which only a week ago had flown the tricolore. But more than all these things, what really shocked them was that every soldier they came across was brandishing a camera or licking an ice-cream, or shielding his eyes from the sun as he admired the castle ruins on the hill.
‘Anyone would think they were on holiday,’ Claudine said, and her look of incredulity turned to a scowl as she read a notice in the florist’s window: Ici on parle allemand.
They turned their bicycles at the statue of Jeanne d’Arc and pedalled into the square. Three young German soldiers saluted them cheerfully from the side of the street, and several more who were sitting outside Madame Desbourdes’ café laughed and joked with the locals as though they were prodigal sons returned. None of them could be in any doubt that they were welcome, or why: they had money to spend, and the French, as ever, were only too willing to take it.
‘They’re so good-looking,’ Monique murmured, as one of them caught her eye and smiled broadly. ‘And so young.’
‘And so damned arrogant,’ Claudine seethed, turning her back as another invited them to sit down. ‘Look, what’s that, over there on the wall?’
They wheeled their bicycles over to the Town Hall to get a closer look at the posters. They showed a German soldier holding two children in his arms, with the slogan, ‘Abandoned population, put your trust in a German soldier.’
‘That’s sick!’ Claudine spat, strongly tempted to tear them down. ‘How dare they exploit children like that! And how dare they call us an abandoned population.’
‘But that’s what we are,’ Monique said softly. ‘We have no army now.’
Claudine’s eyes were blazing with indignation. ‘Come along,’ she snapped, ‘let’s go home. I feel unclean just being on the same street with them.’
But it was plain that no one else in the area shared Claudine’s scruples, and when eventually the defeated army started to drift back from the front, returning to their work in the factories and on the land, the occupying forces behaved with such extravagant civility that after a while even Claudine found it difficult to dislike them. How could you hate General Kahl, their commanding officer, for example, who roamed the cobbled streets of Chinon each morning with his pet poodle on a lead?
Then, to her amazement, she found herself inviting one or two of the lower-ranking officers to drive out to Lorvoire and join her and Armand at Gustave’s café. Armand, who had teased her relentlessly about her sense of outrage at the German presence, immediately accused her of fraternizing, but when it came to it the afternoon passed perhaps more pleasantly for him than for anyone else. In the end Gustave, aided by one of the German youths, had to carry him home. Claudine followed, and couldn’t help laughing at the look on Liliane’s face when she saw her son draped over the shoulder of a German officer. But to her surprise Liliane invited him in, and in less than ten minutes had learned that Einrich was nineteen years old, came from Hamburg, and had four brothers, two of whom had been killed in the fighting near Amiens. Also that his mother had suffered a heart-attack when she heard of her second son’s death.
‘General Kahl for me to go home is to arrange,’ he told them in his awkward French. ‘For few days only, but my mother …’ He broke off, his eyes filled with tears, and Claudine guessed that the lump in Liliane’s throat was as large as the one in her own. They were men like any others, she grudgingly admitted – in fact boys, most of them, a long way from their families and only too grateful for any little kindness shown them. All the same her feelings towards the Germans en masse had not changed. They had no right to be in France, and if their families back in Germany were suffering they had no one but themselves to blame; they were the ones who had brought Hitler to power.
Then, to her surprise, graffiti declaring allegiance to General de Gaulle started to appear, with the cross of Lorraine scratched underneath. They were scrawled on posters, on walls, even on the backs of German cars and the façade of the Hôtel de France, where most of the senior-ranking officers were billeted. Claudine wanted very much to know who was doing it.
‘I’ve absolutely no idea’ Céline sighed when she asked her. ‘Why on earth d’you want to know?’
Claudine paused in her weekly chore of polishing the silver. ‘Perhaps because it tells me that there are some people in France with a degree of integrity left.’
‘Meaning? No, no, I know what you mean. But this is the way life is now, Claudine, you have to accept it like everyone else.’
‘I have accepted it, as far as I can, but they’re still the enemy, Tante Céline. And you’ve heard General de Gaulle on the wireless these past weeks, he’s calling for all Frenchmen everywhere to resist. And someone’s listening to him, the graffiti proves it. I just want to know how to make contact with them.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Maybe I could help them,’ she said.
Céline crushed out her red-tipped de Rezske cigarette, put down her magazine and turned to face her niece. ‘Claudine,’ she began, ‘the war is over. The Germans are here, and they are making life as pleasant as they can for us under the circumstances. If you do anything to disrupt that you won’t be doing anyone any favours, least of all yourself. Now, take my advice and let it be.’
‘If Louis was here, d’you think he’d let it be? No, of course he wouldn’t, it would make a mockery of all the lives given in the last war, and this one too. François and Lucien would feel the same.’
‘Oh là là!’ Céline laughed scornfully. ‘As far as we know, Claudine, your husband is a traitor …’
‘And I’m beginning to feel like one too, socializing with the Germans the way I do.’
‘Keep it that way! Make friends, not enemies, it will be wiser in the long run.’
Claudine sucked in her cheeks thoughtfully as her aunt confirmed the feeling she had had herself. ‘You’re right,’ she said in the end, ‘but our lives aren’t our own any more. We have to have so many passes and identity cards in order to be able do anything or go anywhere. We have to queue for our food – waiting for the Germans to take their pick of everything first, of course. We have to be indoors by ten every night…Oh, I don’t know, the list is endless, and it makes me furious …’
‘All right,’ said Céline, ‘so life is difficult. But no one is going to thank you for making things even harder, are they? Which you will do if you antagonize the Germans.’
‘Hear! Hear!’ Monique said, walking into the drawing-room just then. ‘Speaking personally, I’m rather glad they’re here, they’ve certainly livened things up a little.’ She held out a card to Claudine. ‘It’s an invitation to a dance at the Hôtel Boule d’Or tomorrow evening. Shall we go?’
‘No,’ Claudine answered with finality. Then, seeing the plea in Monique’s eyes, ‘You haven’t got an escort, so how can you go?’
‘Armand says he’ll arrange one for me.’
Claudine threw up her hands. ‘Go then! There’s nothing I can do to stop you, but I won’t be there.’
Just then they heard several vehicles coming up the drive. It was such a rare sound these days that both Claudine and Monique went to the window to look. A black Mercedes and four outriders emerged from under the trees and swept grandly across the top of the meadow.
‘What do you think they want?’ Monique asked, her eyes searching the faces beneath the round tin helmets of the German motor-cyclists.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Claudine answered tightly. ‘You two stay here.’
As the car came to a halt outside the front door, she walked down the steps. ‘Can I help you?’ she said, shielding her eyes against the dazzling sun as a uniformed figure sporting an extravagant array of medals alighted from the rear of the car.
The man nodded to one of his subordinates, who quickly stepped forward. ‘Colonel Blomberg wishes to speask with the Comtesse de Lorvoire,’ he barked.
‘I am she,’ Claudine said frostily, aware that her casual attire and the duster she still held in her hand had fooled them into thinking her a servant.
The Colonel removed his cap, revealing a balding head, thick grey eyebrows and piercing yellow eyes. His bottom lip protruded, and whiskers sprouted from the nostrils of his bulbous nose. ‘Madame,’ he said, having to tilt his head to look up into her face, ‘it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
Claudine took the hand he offered and was immediately revolted by its limp and sweaty grasp. ‘What can I do for you, Colonel?’ she said, forcing a smile.
The Colonel turned again to the sergeant beside him, spoke rapidly in German, then waited while the officer explained the purpose of their visit.
As she listened, Claudine’s heart sank. Friends of theirs in other parts of northern France had been forced to evacuate their homes to make room for German officers, and she knew there was no appeal.
‘May I ask why you have chosen to come to Lorvoire?’ she said. ‘There are many other châteaux in the region, some of them unoccupied.’
‘I think,’ the Colonel answered, sweeping an arm towards the imposing façade, ‘that must speak for itself. However, as your menfolk are not at present in residence, we shall not require you to move out. There will be room for us all.’ His smile sent a shiver down Claudine’s spine. ‘I have been assured of the most excellent hospitality here,’ he continued, walking past her and up the steps into the château. ‘I am told there is an apartment on the second floor that will suit my needs admirably.’
For a moment, as the Colonel gazed at the paintings in the hall, then ran his finger over the highly polished sideboard, Claudine could only look on. Then, with an effort, she pulled herself together. ‘I think you will find our circular guest room much more to your liking,’ she said equably. ‘I will ask the butler to show you the way.’
‘There is no need, madame, you can show me to the apartment yourself.’
‘I have no intention of doing any such thing,’ she retorted grandly. ‘As a guest in my home you will reside in a guestroom.’
‘I think you misunderstand, madame. I am not a guest in your home, it is you who are the guest, and as such …’
He broke off as Solange, an apron over her dress and a scarf wound like a turban round her head, came out of the dining-room, waving her hands in the air and gabbling under her breath. She stopped suddenly when she saw the German, then with her eyes nearly popping from her head she barked, ‘Who are you?’
‘This is Colonel Blomberg, Solange,’ Claudine answered for him. ‘He is going to be staying with us for a while, in the circular guest room.’
‘Enough of this!’ Blomberg bellowed, marching past them and starting up the stairs. ‘Bring in my baggage,’ he called to the officer who was standing to attention at the top of the steps.
Claudine and Solange glanced at one another, then Claudine went swiftly up the stairs after the Colonel.
‘Your room is this way,’ she snapped as they reached the first landing, but ignoring her the Colonel walked the few steps to the second flight of stairs and continued up.
Gritting her teeth, Claudine watched him, his long black boots creaking as he moved, and tried to decide what the hell she should do. But come what may, she wasn’t going to give up her rooms for anyone, least of all a despicable little toad like Blomberg.
‘This is your bed-chamber, I take it?’ he said, as she came into the sitting-room of the apartment and found him on the threshold of her room. ‘So over there must be your husband’s,’ he went on, not waiting for her to answer.
How on earth did he know so much, she wondered as he walked across to François’ room, threw open the door and looked in. ‘Mm, this should suit me well,’ he grunted. ‘In fact, it is all I shall need, so I see no reason for you to leave your room.’ He turned to look at her, and she felt herself shrink from the gleam in his eye. ‘We could become very good friends, I think. As a matter of fact, your husband assures me we shall. A most obliging man, your husband. Not only does he offer me his home, but he has offered me his wife too. Most generous, don’t you agree? I had thought to refuse the offer, but now I have met you, madame …’ He ran his tongue over his lips and lowered his hungry eyes to her breasts.
Claudine’s head was spinning. This disgusting little man knew François! Claimed that François had … She took a breath to try and steady herself. François would never, never have made such an offer. Unless …
Oh, dear God, the very thought that he had undergone any degree of torture made her feel faint. Her eyes moved back to Blomberg. He was so unlike the other Germans she had met, but she had heard plenty of rumours of how they were behaving in other places. It was incredible, he hadn’t been in her home five minutes, and already …
Mentally, she shook herself; she must think, and think fast. If she was right, and François had been forced into making the offer, what might happen to him if she refused? On the other hand, Blomberg could be lying … There was nothing for it, she had to try to bluff it out.
She turned away and walked imperiously towards the door. Then, with her head held so high that she had to look at Blomberg down the length of her nose, she said in a dangerously low voice, ‘May I remind you, monsieur, that you are not in a bordello, but in the ancestral home of the Comtes de Rassey de Lorvoire. If you are intending to stay, therefore, I suggest you learn some manners. Now, remove yourself from this room before I am forced to send someone to Chinon to report your outrageous behaviour to General Kahl.’
Blomberg’s repulsive face contorted in a snarl as he started towards her. Somehow she stood her ground. When he reached her he lifted a hand to strike, but when she didn’t even so much as flinch he turned away, snorting with digust, and stumped out of the room.
Shaking with relief, Claudine leaned back against the wall. Her bluff had worked – so far – and silently she thanked God for General Kahl, for it was undoubtedly his name that had saved the day. But François, where was he, and what in God’s name was happening to him?
She found Blomberg in the circular room, where Solange was bustling around him, patting his arm, pulling back the covers from the bed and calling him Monsieur Allemand. Claudine couldn’t resist a smile. Solange was playing her part well, and the Colonel was clearly irritated beyond words.
‘Get this confounded woman out of here!’ he roared, when he saw Claudine at the door. ‘And tell your cook I’d like dinner served at seven o’clock sharp.’
‘Of course, Herr Colonel,’ Claudine said smoothly. She had scored her victory for that day and wasn’t inclined to fight again – or not just yet. However, there was one point she couldn’t resist scoring. Taking Solange by the hand, she arched her brows, and again making him aware of his lack of height, said, ‘Monsieur, I’m sure you won’t mind my pointing out that it would be more suitable to address my mother-in-law as Madame la Comtesse.’
As she closed the door, she clapped a hand over Solange’s mouth so the Colonel wouldn’t hear her shriek of laughter. ‘Dignity, Maman,’ she hissed. ‘We’re going to make that appalling man shrivel in the face of it.’
Knowing that for all sorts of reasons it would be unwise for her to enquire about François herself, Claudine left it to Solange, who brought the subject up over dinner that very night.
‘My daughter-in-law informs me that you are an acquaintance of my son’s,’ she began, peering with keen interest at the fork the Colonel was holding.
Reddening, Blomberg looked at it too, and Claudine turned away before he could see her smiling. Solange was purposely unnerving him, making him question his table manners, though in fact had been using the correct implements throughout the meal.
‘May I ask when you last saw him?’ Solange continued.
‘At the end of June,’ Blomberg replied, dabbing the corner of his rubbery mouth with a napkin.
‘And where was that?’ Solange said pleasantly.
‘In Germany, of course.’
‘Where in Germany?’ Monique enquired.
Blomberg gave a haughty smile. ‘I am not at liberty to say,’ he answered, nodding to Magaly who was standing at his elbow with the coffee pot.
Solange yawned. ‘In my experience,’ she said, ‘when someone gives that answer it is because they don’t know.’
Watching her over the rim of his cup, the Colonel took a sip of coffee, then set it back in the saucer. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said ‘I spent rather a pleasant evening in Monsieur le Comte’s company – at the home of my brother-in-law.’
‘Are we acquainted with your brother-in-law?’ Solange asked grandly.
‘I should think it unlikely. His name is Max Helber.’
Somehow Claudine managed to keep an expressionless face, as she made a series of quick deductions. If anything had passed between Helber and François, François had clearly not managed to obtain Halunke’s identity or he would have sent word by now. It was appalling to think that François might have submitted himself to Helber to no purpose … She would not even consider that possibility, she must put it out of her mind.
‘No, we don’t know him,’ Solange sighed. She inhaled the delicious smell of freshly mown grass wafting in through the open window. ‘I take it my son was in good health when you saw him, Colonel?’
‘He was – then,’ Blomberg answered.
Not one of them missed the emphasis.
‘What do you mean, then?’ Solange barked.
‘Maman, I think the Colonel is playing games with us,’ Claudine interrupted. ‘As he said, he hasn’t seen François since June and it is now the beginning of September. It is my belief that he doesn’t have the first idea where François is now, so shall we save our breath for a stroll in the water-garden?’
The four of them walked out into the cool evening air, and Tante Céline shook her head warningly at Claudine. ‘He is not a man to cross, chérie,’ she warned. ‘He may be a German, but he is also a colonel. As such, he is used to respect.’
‘Respect is something you earn, Tante Céline,’ Claudine answered crisply, ‘not something you demand.’
She hadn’t told any of them what had passed between her and Blomberg in her apartment that afternoon. Nor would she – because if it ever came to the point where François’ life depended on it, she would be forced to succumb to his loathsome blackmail, and she would rather die than have anyone in the world know about it. And now that he had mentioned Max Helber’s name, she could no longer be under any illusion that his presence at the château was a mere coincidence. But what he hoped to do or discover here was something she could only guess at …
The evening had turned chilly. Claudine, looking up at the peachy-yellow sky, suddenly felt her skin start to prickle. She spun round, half expecting to find someone behind her, but there was no one. Even so, she was certain that someone was following her progress through the garden, if only with his eyes, and if it hadn’t been so close to curfew she would have sent someone to the village for Armand.