7

The Mayor, Albert Camier, Father Duval and Jean de Bernard were all seated; Savage stood by the fireplace. Jean Pierre had brought a bottle of wine; his eyes were red from weeping. When he left them Jean de Bernard spoke.

‘My friends,’ he said. ‘This gentleman is my wife’s cousin. He has a plan for rescuing the children. I ask you to listen to him.’

‘We’ll listen,’ Camier said. He blew his nose and rubbed the handkerchief across his eyes. ‘We’ll listen to anyone, God help us!’

‘Right,’ Savage said. ‘Let’s look at the position. M. le Comte learned one very important fact tonight. Vierken wouldn’t release the children but he told him how they were going to be taken away. Transport is coming from Paris to take them to Germany. By rail. My fear was that they’d use lorries. But rail means cattle trucks. One truck should be enough. You know what they’re like; strongly built, completely closed. No windows. The destination is obvious. One of the extermination camps. I’d say Auschwitz; that’s where they send your Jews.’

‘God curse them!’ Father Duval said. ‘God damn them to hell!’

‘There’s nothing we can do while they’re in the school. Any attempt to get them out will fail; we’ll be shot down and they’ll be massacred. But a train, gentlemen, is a different matter. Before I go any further I want to ask you something. You’re not afraid to die?’

‘We offered ourselves,’ Camier mumbled. ‘They could shoot every man in St. Blaize if they’d let the children go.’

‘You can speak for the rest—say twenty men?’

‘For all,’ Jean de Bernard answered him. ‘Every man, as Camier says.’

‘And the women too,’ Father Duval said.

‘Good.’ Savage drank some wine. ‘In that case we’ve got a good chance. You know how to shoot?’

‘With sporting guns, yes. We can use knives, clubs, anything. But we have no weapons. They were handed in after the capitulation.’

‘I can get guns,’ Savage said. ‘I promised the Comte and I can get whatever we need.’

‘How?’ Camier stared at him. ‘How can you do this?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ Savage said. ‘I’ll get them and I’ll tell you how to use them and when. But you’ve got to realise one thing. I’m running this affair and I know what I’m doing. No arguments and no questions. Agreed?’

They hesitated; both looked towards Jean de Bernard.

‘You can trust Monsieur Savage,’ he said slowly. ‘Personally, I put myself in his hands. I have complete confidence in him.’

‘That’s enough for me.’ Father Duval got up. He held out his hand to Savage. ‘These are my children too.’ He spoke quietly. ‘I’ll give my life to save them. Tell us what to do and we’ll do it.’

‘Anything,’ Camier said. ‘My daughter …’ He blew his nose again.

‘That’s settled then,’ Savage nodded to them. ‘First I’ll need men. Young men, fit. I want them at the Lavalliere airfield at dawn. How they get there and how they duck the curfew is up to you. But there’s one condition. No woman is to be told. I don’t give a damn how hard it is, but if you tell your wife, Mayor, or you start hinting to anyone, Father—we’ll fail. The Germans will see or hear something. All it needs is one word in a village like this and the plan will be out. Let the mothers cry. For tonight. Is that clear?’

‘It’s clear. We won’t say anything. The men will swear silence. But how will you get the guns?’

‘By parachute,’ Savage said. ‘They’ll be dropped at Lavallière.’

‘Lavallière?’ They stared at him, Camier’s jaw slackened. ‘But that’s only ten kilometres away from St. Blaize—how could anything be dropped so close?’

‘Since 1941.’ Savage said, ‘there have been two drops made and one actual landing. A man was rescued and flown back to England. From Chartres. You look surprised? It’s perfectly true. That field is isolated, hidden from the road by a thick belt of trees. The road itself is seldom used by anything but farm traffic. And this area has been so thinly policed that it was relatively easy to land a plane on a full moon in a field that size. As for the drop—you had a British agent come here in ’42, didn’t you?’ They nodded. ‘He landed at Lavallière. So have others. You needn’t worry about that field, it’s never been discovered as a reception area. Our supplies will be dropped there.’

‘With S.S. crawling all over the place?’ Father Duval protested. ‘It may have been thinly policed before but that’s because we’d had no trouble. We’re under curfew now!’

‘Their troops are concentrating on the town and the main roads,’ Savage said. ‘And most important of all, they’re not expecting help from outside. The stuff will get through. It’s up to you to see there are men there to pick it up.’

‘Do we attack the train?’ Jean de Bernard asked him.

‘Yes. But not till it’s left St. Blaize. Again, they’ll be expecting trouble at the station; a riot, an attempt at rescue. They’ll be ready for anything. But not on the track. My guess is the station will be guarded at full capacity. But the engine and one truck can’t accommodate more than six men at the most. Probably with a machine gun mounted on the roof of the truck. That’s the only place they can place guards—the roof. Which means we can pick them off and there won’t be any danger of hitting the children. What I need now is a railway map.’

‘I have one in the desk here,’ Jean said. ‘I’ll get it.’ Camier turned to watch him; he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and ran it round his face and neck; he looked sick and his plump face seemed to have fallen in, leaving deep hollows round the mouth. He looked ten years older since the day began. Father Duval was looking at Savage. Many years in the parish and listening to the outpouring of human frailty in the confessional had given him a sound judgement of men. The Comtesse’s cousin filled him with unease. He was a Swiss and the priest was inclined to equate them with Germans. But there was something different about this man, something beyond the authority and obvious military connections which he wasn’t troubling to conceal. He was a dangerous man, a type not normally found in a small provincial village or a nobleman’s château. He moved with the taughtness of a powerful animal; there was a look in his face which worried the priest. And then he realised immediately that standing in the room with them was the man who had got into the Château Diane and murdered General Brühl. He cleared his throat and looked away.

‘Now.’ Savage opened the Baedeker. ‘From here they’ll go to Paris.’ He ran his finger down the line. ‘It’s the direct route. I take it there’s no transport in St. Blaize except bicycles and the station taxi?’

‘My car has no petrol left,’ Jean said. ‘But Camier has a van.’

‘I supply the Château Diane with groceries,’ the Mayor said. He looked embarrassed. ‘They allow me a little petrol.’

‘How much petrol?’ Savage asked him.

‘A few litres.’

‘Good; then that’s what we use to pick up the guns at Lavallière. Get eight men together and you drive the van. If you’re stopped by patrols, you’re on your way to the château with provisions.’

‘But Lavallière is nowhere near there,’ Camier protested. ‘How can I explain why I’m so far off the route …’

‘You’ll just have to talk your way out of it,’ Savage said coldly. ‘Unless you’re too frightened to risk your neck for your daughter. If that’s so, you’d better stay out of it altogether!’ He turned away from him.

‘No! No, no!’ Camier grabbed at his arm. ‘I’m not backing down—I’ll do it, I’ll think of something!’

Savage looked into the pallid face, greasy with sweat, at the trembling hand still clutching his sleeve. With a jerk he pulled free. ‘I want you to know this,’ he said. ‘You talk about your child. She’s not the only one. All the children are locked up in that school, and by tomorrow night they’ll be on their way to the extermination camp. To be gassed or shot. Now listen to me, Monsieur Camier. You’re frightened, yes? All right. But if you get so frightened that you ball this up, and those children can’t be rescued, I’m going to kill you. I just want you to know that.’ He turned away from the Mayor. ‘Now what we do is this. We pick up the guns and go to this point on the railway line. Here; about eight kilometres out of St. Blaize. There’s no signal box for another three kilometres and the place is isolated. Then we attack.’

‘If we succeed and get them back,’ Jean de Bernard said, ‘where do we hide them? The S.S. will come looking for them.’

‘The S.S.,’ Savage said, ‘won’t know the train hasn’t gone through for at least a day. If we clear up any evidence of the attack, run the engine and the truck off on a side line and leave them there, they might have pulled out of St. Blaize before word comes through that the children haven’t arrived. These transports don’t stop at stations, they go on for days; they only stop to refuel and change drivers. We’ll have time to hide the children somewhere.’

‘There isn’t anywhere,’ the priest said. ‘There are no mountains, no caves. The woods are the only place, but it won’t be possible to hide that many; there are children of five and six years old. What can we do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Savage admitted. ‘But we’ll think of something. First, let’s get them back. Now, Father, you’ll be the liaison. Go back to the school, move round and select eight men—we haven’t transport for more. Tell them to go to the Mayor’s house and wait there. And don’t give any details. Monsieur Camier, you go home. Check your van to see there’s enough petrol. It wouldn’t help if you ran out. What you must do is keep the men quiet when they get to you and wait till the Comte or I give you the word to move. Have you any questions?’

‘No.’ Father Duval spoke quickly. He didn’t want Albert Camier’s curiosity aroused. Fear and misery for his child had dulled his sharp wits and kept the obvious conclusion about the Comtesse’s Swiss cousin from occurring to him. Father Duval knew Camier too well to trust him. If he connected Savage with the man the S.S. wanted, he might well make a deal to save his own daughter, if he couldn’t help the rest. ‘No, everything is clear,’ he said. He took Camier by the arm. ‘We will do exactly as you say. God bless you, Monsieur. I will pray for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Savage said. He shook the priest’s hand. Jean de Bernard took them outside. When he returned Savage was sitting on the sofa, the empty wine glass held between his knees. He stood in front of him.

‘Father Duval guessed who you were,’ he said. ‘I just hope ‘Camier doesn’t.’

‘Giving me up won’t help the children,’ Savage said. ‘They know that; anyway I’ve got to take that chance.’

‘And will this rescue really work? Can you get arms and ammunition for us?’

‘I don’t know,’ Savage answered. ‘But by God I’m going to try. Starting right now.’

It was just dark when Savage came out through the door onto the rooftop. He shone the narrow pencil torch to find his way to the transmitter; a bank of cloud hid the moon and a light wind scurried through it, driving the wisps of smoky vapour away, until the moon hung revealed, the outline of the frozen peaks giving the semblance of a face to the luminous surface. For a moment he remembered his childhood excitement at discovering human features on something so distant and majestic, at being able to equate a planet millions of miles away in space with a mythical old man. Perhaps it was the human need to minimise, to scale down the universe to mankind’s pigmy size. Yet men had looked as he was doing, on the ineffable beauty of the cold, dead star, and seen divinity in it. Again the wind came sweeping, rushing the clouds to veil the icy face. Savage uncovered the transmitter.

Once more before he began to use the keys, he glanced upward, watching the progress of the wind, trailing vapour draperies. For a second he paused, caught by a memory of long ago, by the line of a verse learned in his youth which had aroused his curiosity and touched him with a sense of beauty. ‘My courses are set on the storm winds, I sail on the Lightning Stream’.

He adjusted his headphones. Like the man in the poem he was struggling against an intangible force of destruction, caught up in events which couldn’t be left free to rage and wreck the lives of other people. He had come to St. Blaize and fulfilled his purpose; by right he should be free, free to take the chance of escape the pass with Vierken’s signature could give him. Free to leave the village and its people, its children, to perish in the storm of events for which he was responsible. But the lightning stream was carrying him with it to an unknown end. He felt a sense of fatality, which he angily dismissed. There had to be a future for the children of St. Blaize; he had lost his own child, and the wife who hadn’t found her happiness with him. But the innocent were not going to be sacrificed this time.

If he didn’t much care what happened to him, he cared for them. He began to transmit. Deliberately he used the code which meant the message went to OSS rather than British headquarters. He remembered that snide, cold-blooded English Colonel; the request he was going to make wouldn’t have an icicle’s chance on a hot shovel if it went to him. He used General Heidsecker’s code name. ‘Geronimo. Geronimo from Apache. Mission completed, total success. Imperative assistance sent prevent reprisal against area. All children in village due extermination. Request drop of small arms, ammunition at Lavallière field by dawn, repeat dawn tomorrow. Reply confirming soon as possible. Apache.’

Huddled against a corner of the roof he settled down to wait. It didn’t occur to him to pray; there was no God, no benevolent power somewhere in the arch of night sky above him. Nothing would come on angels’ wings to save the children cringing in the school. Nothing had come to save his wife and child.

Only the courage and ingenuity of a few human beings might help them. And the policy decided in London. To send help or to refuse; to risk a plane and supplies for what he knew they would regard as a hopeless enterprise, or to ignore the message. Heidsecker was a good man. Savage used the word without analysing what it meant. It was a negative quality, meaning that the General wasn’t a bastard, whereas Colonel Fairbairn was. Heidsecker was a family man, noted for leniency and humanity in his dealings with his troops. Savage smoked a cigarette; his mouth felt dry and stale. If they didn’t send help—if they just didn’t answer because there was a breakdown and they couldn’t get through … He rubbed the cigarette out, exploding tiny red sparks on the slate. He looked at his watch again. Ten-thirty. He had been on the roof for an hour. The transmitter was silent. There was a noise behind him, and Louise said, ‘It’s me. I’ve brought you some soup.’

She came and sat beside him; her face was clear in the bright moonlight. ‘Jean told me what you’re going to do,’ she said. ‘Did you get through?’

‘I did; now I’m waiting to get the answer. Sit close to me, keep me warm.’

‘It sounds impossible,’ Louise said.

‘Nothing’s impossible if you have the will,’ he answered. ‘And the luck. And something to fight with.’ He looked at his watch again.

‘You’re a trained soldier,’ she said. ‘The people here don’t know how to fight. They’ll be massacred.’

‘Desperation makes people do extraordinary things,’ Savage said. He put his arm round her. ‘You’ll be surprised what these peaceful villagers will do when their children are at stake. I’m not worried about them.’

‘If they don’t answer you,’ she whispered, ‘or they won’t help—what do we do then?’

‘God knows,’ he said. ‘But we’ll do something. You know I’ve been thinking about Vierken. Why did he tell your husband how they were going to move the children? And the time—I don’t like that part. And why a cattle truck and a special engine, just for a few children … They’re desperately short of rolling stock. It doesn’t make sense. There’s something wrong with it, but I’m damned if I know what it is!’

‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ she said. ‘That’s how they transport people to the camps; that’s where the children are going.’

‘Hundreds of people, yes,’ he said. ‘But not fifty children. It’s not very efficient, and that smells bad to me.’

‘I think you’re imagining something’s wrong,’ she said. ‘I believe it will be just as he said. Do you know, I feel so guilty because our children got away? I went to Minden’s room tonight; nothing’s been taken. He must have just picked up the children and run. I wish I knew where they were!’

‘He’s taken a risk,’ Savage said. ‘I have to give him that. If anyone finds out, he could be in real trouble.’

‘He was always fond of them,’ she said slowly. ‘He didn’t do it just because of me. I told Jean I’d slept with him.’

‘Oh,’ Savage said. ‘Why? Why did you do that?’

‘I felt I had to,’ she said. ‘I think he understood. You’re the one he minds about.’

‘And you,’ Savage said. He turned her towards him. ‘Where do you stand—with him or with me? I want you to come back to England with me.’

‘I won’t do that,’ Louise said. ‘I won’t leave him alone here. After the war’s over, it will be different. But I’m not walking out on him now.’

‘I have a feeling,’ Savage said, ‘that you still love him. And you won’t admit it.’

‘If that were true, it would be easy. It might have been true if I hadn’t met you. But you’ve changed my life. Nothing will be the same again for me, whatever happens.’

‘How would you like to live in Mexico?’ Savage asked her. ‘I’ve had a bellyful of Europe and I don’t feel like settling down in the States. How would Mexico suit you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Louise said. She leaned against him. ‘I’ll think about it. What is your real name?’

‘McFall,’ he said. ‘Brian Patrick John. I love you very much and I’m not going to lose you. I want you to know that. If you won’t come back with me I’ll come and get you.’ He kissed her quietly. He looked at the luminous face of his watch. ‘Christ! It’s after midnight—why the hell haven’t they answered!’

‘It must take time,’ she said. ‘You’ve hardly given them time …’

‘I’ve given them as much as we’ve got,’ he said. ‘If they can’t cut through the red tape, then those children are as good as dead!’

‘I want to come with you,’ she said. ‘I want to help.’

Savage shook his head. ‘Not a chance, my darling. You’re not going to be within a mile of this. It might surprise you, but I don’t fancy you getting killed. You stay here and wait. This is for men only.’

‘I don’t want anything to happen to you,’ Louise whispered. Her eyes filled with tears and she brushed them away. ‘Or to Jean. Don’t let him do anything foolish …’

‘I wouldn’t have thought it was in his character,’ Savage said. ‘He’s not the reckless type.’

‘You shouldn’t despise him,’ she said slowly. ‘I made that, mistake. I blamed him because I didn’t know what we were up against. I know now, I’ve seen it for myself. He’s not got your kind of courage but he’s not a coward. And he loves St. Blaize and the people. Don’t let him throw his life away.’

‘All right,’ Savage said. ‘I’ll look out for him, if that’s what you want.’ At that moment there was a buzz from the headphones and the answer from London began to come through.

Frank Heidsecker was having dinner at the Savoy when he was called to the telephone. It had been a tiring day, but stimulating. The weather reports were improving and the low cloud and winds which had bedevilled the first days of June seemed to have disappeared. Heidsecker left his office at seven and went back to his hotel to bath and change. He had a date with an attractive Englishwoman whom he had met at a cocktail party the week before. Her husband was serving with the Canadian division, which was at that moment waiting on the South coast for the order to sail. Heidsecker was happily married, but throughout that relationship he had enjoyed affairs with attractive women, and he was looking forward to sleeping with the charming wife of the Canadian Major, if he could persuade her to come back with him after dinner. Instead of going to bed and enjoying himself, the General spent the rest of the evening at his headquarters in St. James’s Street while his disappointed guest went home intact.

There were four men round the table in the General’s office, and a stenographer in WAC uniform. It was eleven o’clock and the room was thick with cigarette smoke. Of the four men one was in civilian clothes. He had a round, pale face and heavy spectacles. He looked grave and self-conscious.

‘In my opinion,’ Colonel Fairbairn spoke up, his voice on a higher register than usual as his indignation mastered him, ‘in my opinion, this is a ridiculous request and highly improper! This man has no authority to interfere!’

‘I don’t think we can call it interference,’ an American Lieutenant Colonel interposed. ‘This message says that our help is needed; otherwise if I get it right, they’re going to kill the children. I’m not saying there’s anything we can do, but I can’t go along with your criticism of our operator.’ He sat back in his chair and folded his hands on the table. He didn’t like the English liaison officer from SOE.

A Group Captain in the RAF glanced up at him and then towards the General. ‘If you want our help, sir,’ he said, ‘I can arrange it, provided we don’t take too long to reach a decision.’

‘And before we do,’ the man in civilian clothes spoke up, ‘we have to recognise that this has grave political implications.’

‘As I see it,’ Heidsecker spoke and everyone turned towards him, ‘the issue here is very simple. We sent an agent into France with a mission so important that I can honestly say it has decided the outcome of the war. He accomplished that mission. Intelligence from Paris informs us that he went beyond his instructions and that there are rumours of serious sabotage at the Château Diane as well as Brühl’s murder. Our man couldn’t have done this without the co-operation of the French. And it’s the people who helped him who are going to suffer.’ The General looked round the table; Fairbairn pinched his lip between thumb and finger and avoided his eyes. ‘Children, gentlemen,’ Heidsecker said. ‘Children are going to be murdered; that’s what that message said. I for one will not refuse to help them.’

The official from the Foreign Office, who was only an observer and not as senior as he liked to pretend, coughed and said, ‘I’m sure it would damage Anglo-French relations if the story got out after the war that we’d done nothing to assist them. I’m sure my department would agree with your decision. General.’

‘And I’m sure mine wouldn’t.’ Fairbairn couldn’t restrain himself. ‘I think the whole idea is insane. We knew there’d be reprisals and we knew they’d be extreme. It’s happened dozens of times before. People are taken as hostages and shot—we don’t rush in with planes and guns to rescue them! It isn’t possible. I want it on record that I think we should order this man to do absolutely nothing to draw attention to himself, but to get back by the recognised escape route as soon as he can. Of course it’s admirable that he succeeded. Nobody, General, is more delighted than I am. After all, I helped to brief him. But I don’t believe we should involve ourselves in French affairs. If I may put forward a practical view, that part of France is notoriously lukewarm towards the Allies, and an atrocity like this might be just what is needed to tip them over to our side!’

Heidsecker regarded him for a moment. ‘I’ve noted your opinion, Colonel, and it’s on the record. I reject it completely. Group Captain—you can arrange for a plane? I suggest we do the thing properly and send a transport in with the supplies. Lavallière field is big enough for it to land. If the operation against the Germans is successful we can airlift the children out.’

‘You’re going to take them out, sir?’ That was the Lieutenant Colonel who had corrected Fairbairn.

‘I am,’ the General said. ‘I’m going to give this rescue everything we’ve got! Those kids are going to be saved, and I’m going to be personally responsible!’

‘In that case,’ the Group Captain said, ‘we’ve a lot to arrange and very little time.’

‘Colonel Fairbairn,’ Heidsecker said, ‘we’ll need your full co-operation.’

‘Once a decision has been reached,’ the Colonel said irritably, ‘I shall abide by it. We will do everything necessary.’

‘Good,’ the General said. He flexed his shoulder muscles. ‘Now, gentlemen, it’s getting on for midnight. Let’s get down to details.’

She knelt down beside him as he listened, taking the message down. Savage pulled the headphones off and swung round to her.

‘They’re sending everything,’ he said. ‘And a plane to take the children back! It’s due at Lavallière at first light, around five o’clock. Come on, we’ve got to get going!’

They found Jean de Bernard in the library. He got up and looked at them, anger and suspicion on his face. ‘You’ve been together? You know it’s after one o’clock.’

‘They’re sending help,’ Louise broke in on him. She went up and caught his arm. ‘Jean, don’t you understand, we’ve been on the roof, waiting—the message just came. They’re sending guns and ammunition and a plane which can take the children back to England!’

‘Thank God,’ he said. He spoke to Savage. ‘Camier and the others will be waiting. I’ll go down on the bicycle; I know a way across our fields which will bring me to the edge of the village. I can get to his house from there without being stopped.’

‘We both go,’ Savage said. ‘And then on to the field to wait for the plane.’

For a moment Jean hesitated. Then he came to Savage and held out his hand. ‘I congratulate you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t believe it could be done.’

‘No more did I,’ Savage answered. ‘And until we see that plane take off with every child inside it, I wouldn’t congratulate anyone, if I were you.’

‘Why have you come here? I told you to stay in Paris!’ Régine had never seen him look like that before. His face was grey with anger, the deep-set eyes were burning. He stepped close to her and she saw his right hand twitching. She thought suddenly that he was going to hit her, but she didn’t move.

‘Adolph, I had to come,’ she said. ‘Why are you so angry? Why did you send the car and let me through?’

‘Because I thought something was wrong,’ he shouted. ‘I thought you were in trouble! Now I find there’s nothing, nothing but an idea that you can interfere! You can go straight back—I’ll send you back immediately!’

‘Why don’t you want me here?’ she asked him. ‘It’s because of what you’re going to do to the children, isn’t it?’

‘Children?’ He seized her upper arm, his fingers crushing the flesh until she gave a cry. ‘How do you know about the children? Answer me!’ He slapped her so hard across the face that only his grip on her arm kept her from falling. Tears rushed into her eyes and streamed down her face. He raised his hand again. This was a stranger, a man she didn’t know, a violent enemy prepared to beat her unconscious. But they were lovers. She loved him and he loved her. The ferocity of love was not like this. She shrank away, one arm flung up to protect herself. ‘How did you find out?’ He snarled the words at her. ‘You’ll tell me, or by God I’ll call Kramm in here and let him get it out of you!’

‘Minden,’ she gasped. ‘Minden told me. He came to my aunt’s flat with my nephew and niece … He’d rescued them from the school just in time. He told me about Operation Herod …’

‘Minden …’ Vierken released her. She stood before him, weeping.

‘He snatched the de Bernard children away, did he? By God he’ll be sorry he did …’ Without warning his mood changed. The fury he felt towards Régine suddenly veered away from her. He had another scapegoat. Minden: the brilliant biochemist who was one of Brühl’s staff, the lover of Louise de Bernard. They were all the same—Vierken raged at the thought of him. He had completely forgotten Régine. Like all intellectuals, thinking themselves superior to the military élite of the Reich, naturally he could indulge his sentimental whim and flout the S.S., thwart them of their vengeance. He hadn’t fought in Russia …

Suddenly he saw Régine, wiping her wet face, the ugly weal where he had struck her darkening on one cheek.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said. ‘I lost my temper. I’m sorry. Poor little one, come here.’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ Régine said. Suddenly she threw her arms round his neck. ‘Don’t hate me, darling! Don’t be angry with me! I can’t bear it—I love you so much …’

He embraced her; she held on to him and sobbed.

It was not her fault; women were more sensitive about these things. He regretted having been unkind to her. He stroked her hair and soothed her. Minden, his mind said, Minden. So he went behind our backs, did he, and robbed us of two of them …

‘Hush,’ he said to Régine. ‘No more tears. I’m not angry with you, sweetheart. It’s all over. We won’t quarrel.’ He could feel the warmth of her body and the heat rose in him. He was tired and in need of relaxation. He pressed her against him. ‘We’ll have something nice to drink,’ he said. ‘And we’ll stay together. I’m not angry you came—I’m glad.’

‘The children,’ Régine whispered. ‘You’re not really going to do anything to them, are you? It’s only a bluff, isn’t it?’

He was unbuttoning her coat, his fingers brushing against her breasts. ‘Of course,’ he mumbled, seizing the soft flesh, bending to kiss her. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

He ordered champagne; they drank it sitting on the bed. It was the same canopied bed in which Brühl had been murdered. Vierken was not superstitious about such details. It was the best bedroom in the Château and he took it.

She cried while they were making love; he was too absorbed and excited to see any significance in it. Lying in his arms, Régine stayed awake while he slept. She loved him; he was part of her. But so was St. Blaize; the Château where she had grown up, her father, fading out of life, her brother Jean, the children, who were now, thank God, asleep in their aunt’s flat and not shut up in that school, like the others …

Nineteen years she had lived in the one place; she knew every villager by name. Jumont, clasping her hand and begging for help outside the schoolhouse. He had two grandsons and a grand-daughter, a great-niece … She turned over on the pillow and looked at Vierken sleeping beside her. He had said it was a bluff; he had told her not to worry. Doubt tortured her, an instinct stronger than her longing to trust him urged her not to believe it. She slid out of his embrace and lay on the edge of the mattress, huddled and cold. He couldn’t mean to hurt them. He had children of his own; he had shown her a picture of them, two boys in Hitler Jugend uniform. He couldn’t do anything to Jumont’s grandchildren, to Caroline Camier, to dozens of others she kept seeing in imagination. He couldn’t.

She was asleep when the telephone rang. She woke, startled and confused, to find Vierken gone. The ringing continued; she picked the receiver up and as she did so, Vierken answered from the extension; there was a sound of water running. He was in the bathroom, She held the receiver and listened. She had taken German as a major subject for her ‘Bacchot’. She and Vierken spoke it when they were alone together. The caller was a subordinate; Vierken addressed him as Major.

‘What’s the position down there?’

‘Quiet, Standartenführer. There was an alert about an hour ago, but nothing happened. We let them stay round the school, and at six this morning we moved them off the streets. A few protested but the rest went home. There were four arrests, three women and a man, and that convinced the rest of them. Everything is under control. The transport has arrived. It came at six o’clock this morning. It’s ready for them.’

‘Good,’ Vierken answered. ‘They’re not expecting anything to happen till tonight. I told de Bernard we were sending the children out this evening. They won’t have had time to prepare anything. You sent the special detail to Chemire?’

‘Yes sir. The grave has been dug.’

‘Good,’ he said again. Régine lay back on the pillow, one hand pressed to her mouth, the receiver gripped in the other.

‘I think I’ll come down and see them go,’ he said. ‘Take the schoolmistress with them.’

‘Right, Standartenführer.’

‘And no trace is to be left, you understand? Nothing!’

‘I told Grunewald to find a spot inside the woods,’ the Major said. ‘He reported an hour ago. Nobody will find them; it’s completely hidden. There are no farmhouses anywhere near. Nothing will be heard.’

‘Move them out in an hour,’ Vierken said. ‘I shall be there to watch it. Heil Hitler!’

Very carefully she put back the receiver; her hand was steady and she replaced it without making any noise. She lay back, her arms straight at her sides.

‘The grave has been dug.’ They weren’t going to Germany; the children of St. Blaize were going to be taken off the train and marched into the woods at Chemire and murdered. She gave one cry of choking anguish and then stopped. He came into the bedroom, naked, with a towel over his arm, and stood looking down at her.

‘You look pale,’ he said. ‘Go back to sleep. I’m going out and I’ll be back in two hours. Then I’ll wake you.’ He bent over her and kissed her mouth, biting her lower lip. ‘You’re so bad for me,’ he murmured. ‘You take my mind off my work …’

‘I’m not tired,’ she said. She smiled and rolled away from him. ‘If you’re going out, couldn’t I go to St. Blaize? I need clothes.’

‘Not for me,’ he said. ‘I like you as you are.’

‘Take me to St. Blaize,’ she pleaded. ‘I want to look nice for you. Please, Adolph.’

‘All right; but not to stay. Just to pack what you want and then the car will bring you straight back here. I don’t want you hanging about the village.’

‘Why not? Are you expecting trouble?’

He shrugged. ‘No, certainly not. But I want you here, waiting for me. I’ll come to the Château with you. Get dressed then; we haven’t time to waste.’

She sat in the back of the car with him; he reached out and held her hand. She smiled at him. ‘I questioned your sister-in-law,’ he said. ‘I made it very disagreeable for her.’

Régine went on smiling. ‘How disagreeable—did you hurt her? My brother?’

‘No, no, my darling,’ he protested. ‘There wasn’t any need. I’m a mild man, you know that. I just bullied her a little; to please you!’ He squeezed her hand. ‘It will amuse me to go there with you.’

‘Yes,’ Régine said. ‘It will be most amusing.’

The sound of the plane woke Louise. She had refused to go to bed, but stayed in the salon in a chair. Jean de Bernard had come to her quietly and kissed her goodbye. She had given him her hand and pressed her lips to his cheek. Savage was standing in the doorway. She could sense him watching them, fighting against Jean. She looked into her husband’s face.

‘Take care; and God bless you. I wish I was going with you.’

‘You have a long time to wait,’ he whispered. ‘Hours and hours before anything happens. Stay calm, and try not to be anxious. I believe we’ll succeed.’

‘Not if we hang around here,’ Savage said. He came to Louise and she gave him her hand too. You love me, his eyes said. He kissed you like a brother.

‘We’ll be back,’ he said. ‘Just stay quietly here.’

Then they had gone. She got up, shivering because the fire was almost out, and listened to the sound of the engine. And if it was seen to land … She turned and suddenly dropped on her knees. Her prayers were incoherent, helpless. She got up again and went upstairs to see if her father-in-law had awoken. His light was on and he was sitting up when she-went in.

‘An air raid? Are they dropping bombs?’

‘No, Papa. It’s just a passing plane. It means nothing. Go back to sleep.’

‘I can’t sleep,’ the old man quavered. ‘Jean hasn’t been to see me—the children never came—nobody cares about me!’

‘That isn’t true!’ Suddenly she lost her temper with him. ‘Don’t be so selfish—if you knew where Jean was tonight and what nearly happened to the children …’ She checked herself. ‘I’m sorry. Papa. I didn’t mean to shout at you. But you’re not being neglected. Go to sleep.’

‘I know there’s something wrong,’ the Comte said. ‘What do you mean? Where is Jean? What about the children?’

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Louise said slowly. ‘And you’re lucky. I’ll go and make you a hot drink. Then you’ll sleep.’

‘It’s the Germans, isn’t it?’ he said. He pulled himself upright. ‘Go to my chest of drawers and get me my revolver. I won’t let them hurt Jean. I’m not afraid. Go to the chest of drawers!’

‘No.’ Louise shook her head. ‘Please, Papa, don’t get excited. It’s my fault for saying anything about it. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing I can do either.’

‘I fought them in the First War,’ the Comte said fiercely. ‘I’ll fight them now!’ He threw back the bedclothes and before she could reach him he was stumbling to the chest. He pulled open a drawer and turned to her, triumphant. His face was very flushed and his eyes shone. ‘There! You didn’t believe me—but I’ve always kept it. Just in case we were in danger! And it’s loaded, ready …’ The long-barrelled revolver hung down in his hand, its weight too much for him. Louise ran forward and took it.

‘Papa, for God’s sake! Give me that. Lean on me now and come back to bed. You’ll make yourself ill.’

He fell onto the bed and it was a struggle to lift him into it. At last he lay exhausted on the pillows; his high colour was receding, his eyes were still too bright. He breathed through his mouth.

‘Hot milk,’ Louise said to him. ‘You’d like a nice glass of hot milk. I’ll get it for you.’ She took the revolver with her and went downstairs to the kitchen. Even the old had their secrets. Nobody knew of the gun’s existence. The old man had kept it hidden in the drawer against some imaginary need. She picked it up and saw that it was fully loaded. She went upstairs and hid it in the bureau in the salon. Jean’s revolver was gone; he had taken it with him. When she went back to the kitchen the milk had boiled over.

The Hudson stood on Lavallière field, the dawn light showing it up like a huge primeval bird. Savage ran to it first, followed by Jean de Bernard. The villagers hesitated; they seemed almost afraid to approach. Camier’s van was hidden under some trees on the edge of the field. It had been pushed off the road. The trees round Lavallière provided an impenetrable screen of the field from the road. The moon still shone brightly, giving the scene a still, lunar quality. The sun had not risen yet. The pilot dropped down from the cockpit and Savage held out his hand. He was followed by his navigator and his airgunner. All three shook hands with him.

‘Right on time. Where’s the stuff?’

‘Inside. Get your chaps together and we’ll get it unloaded. I’m not too crazy about standing out in the open like this.’ The pilot unbuttoned his helmet and took it off; he looked around him at the figures of men swarming round the plane. The big American was obviously in charge. And he knew how to organise. Within ten minutes the supplies were on the ground and being neatly stacked into piles. A Frenchman came up to him and spoke in excellent English.

‘I’d like to express our gratitude to you for coming here. It’s a tremendous personal risk for you, but the lives of every child in our village is at stake. The Germans have taken them and they’re going to send them to Germany. Thanks to you, we may be able to stop them.’ Jean de Bernard held out his hand. The pilot took it.

‘Kids?’ he said. ‘They’ve taken your kids?’

‘Yes,’ Jean said. ‘They’re being held in the school.’

‘The bloody bastards!’ the pilot exclaimed. ‘You can count me in on this. The Yank’s in charge, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Jean said. ‘He’s coming now.’

‘Let’s get this stuff into the trees,’ Savage said. ‘Then we can sort it out; and this plane’s got to be hidden. How the hell,’ he swung round to the pilot, ‘are we going to do it? It’s like a bloody battleship!’

‘The ops boys thought of that,’ the pilot said, ‘seeing I’ve got to hang around. You’ll find some tackle inside for pulling her. And camouflage nets.’

It was obvious that there weren’t enough of them to move the aircraft, but they tried. Heaving on the ropes attached to the undercarriage. Savage, the crew and the men of St. Blaize strained and struggled, but the load was too heavy. The pilot offered to start the engines and taxi, but Savage refused.

‘Too big a risk,’ he said. ‘Something might pass on the road over there; we wouldn’t hear it but sure as hell they’d hear us. Camier—get that van over here! The rest of you, move the guns into the trees. And be careful of that crate, it’s full of grenades!’

Camier ran back to his van, his breath tearing through his heaving lungs. Sweat had soaked his shirt, his legs trembled. They had been stopped once on their way out of St. Blaize by an S.S. patrol. Luckily for him, the check point was at a junction which allowed him to insist that he was on an extra supply run to Headquarters at Anet. Sitting in the van, Camier allowed himself a moment of collapse. He sank against the steering wheel, his head supported on one arm, and closed his eyes.

He would never forget that moment, when the guards surrounded him and the face of an S.S. corporal peered through the window. He had felt physically sick with fear; at the memory his stomach heaved again. There were eight men hidden in the back of the van, crouched on top of each other. All the S.S. had to do was open the back doors … He had his papers ready and the pass which he had been given to enter the Château Diane; he had thrust them at the corporal, and the semi-darkness before dawn hid his livid face and the sweat running in trickles down his neck.

The van was well known at the Château. The pass was signed by the Wehrmacht commander of the Dreux district, General Fielder, and it was stamped and re-stamped for many journeys in the past weeks. The corporal had hesitated.

Camier had found a voice from somewhere.

‘I shall be late,’ he croaked. The Standartenführer wants duck eggs for breakfast. I’m bringing them specially …’

They had stepped back and let him go. He had no idea what made him think of the excuse. Duck eggs. He raised his head, drew a deep breath into his aching chest and wiped his oily forehead on his bare arm. Then he started the van, and bumping over the soft, uneven ground, he drove it slowly out towards the plane.

It was an old pre-war Renault; its chassis rattled and its engine protested at the strain being put upon it. But with the human power pulling on the ropes and the van dragging at the tow, the plane began to move across the open field until it came to rest under the shelter of some trees. Camier helped to spread the camouflage nets, instructed by the pilot. Savage ordered some branches to be cut, and these were laid along the wings; the tail was in deep shadow. They gathered to open the boxes of arms and the small wooden crate marked ‘Grenades’, with a skull and crossbones painted in red on one side. Every man present had experience of hunting. Hate and terror for their children sharpened their perception. Clumsy hands imitated the actions of Savage as he showed them how to use the sten guns.

To Jean de Bernard he tossed one fully loaded. ‘Set a man to watch the road for patrols,’ he said. ‘And tell him for Christ’s sake not to open fire on any Germans. Just report back here and run like hell if they look like stopping.’

‘If they reckon I’ve landed,’ the pilot said, sounding casual, ‘how long would it take them to get here?’

‘They’d have been here by now,’ Jean de Bernard answered.

‘Incidentally,’ Savage looked up, ‘being in uniform won’t protect any of you from these boys. They don’t go by the Geneva Convention. They’ll kick your balls off and then shoot you. So get yours in first if they come.’

‘Don’t worry about us,’ the pilot said. ‘I’ve got my instructions. I know what to do.’ Looking at the clean-cut, pleasant young face, Savage doubted it. Brave, cheerful, typically English. He had as much hope against the average S.S. soldier as a child threatening a man-eating tiger with a pop-gun.

‘Right,’ Savage said. The sun was rising; the sky was blushing on the horizon; obstinately, the silver moon still hung above them. ‘Let’s have a look at the grenades.’ He glanced at the faces of Camier and the eight men. They looked gaunt and grim. Poor bastards. He was surprised to feel sorry for them. To him this was a well-practised exercise, something for which he had been trained. These people had lived in peace; their children’s lives depended upon their learning skills in a few minutes which he took for granted. He reached in and took out a grenade.

He held it up for them. ‘Pineapples,’ he said. ‘The pin has a ring in it; pull that, release the catch on the side, count to three and throw. I once heard of a man holding one of these in live training and saying, “But I never learned to count, Sarge …” There were so many pieces of him nobody else counted them. So remember. Pull, release catch, count, throw. I know they’re pretty, but don’t stop to admire them.’ One of the men smiled; some of the tension relaxed. ‘We’ll use these for the engine,’ Savage explained.

‘Nobody tosses one near the cattle truck, whatever happens. We don’t want any of the children getting hurt. A couple of these well aimed will bring the train to a halt. And get rid of our pals who may be inside the driver’s cabin.’

‘Would they use a driver from St. Blaize?’ That was Jean de Bernard.

‘Unlikely,’ Savage countered. ‘It’ll be one of the regulars from Paris. He may be Boche or he may be French. Anyhow we can’t worry about him. It’s just his bad luck.’

‘I’d like a cigarette,’ the pilot ventured to Jean de Bernard. ‘It’s getting very light now. Have one?’

‘Thank you.’ Jean bent over the lighter flame.

‘Have you got children in this too?’

‘No,’ the Comte answered. ‘Mine were lucky. They escaped.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’ve a long time to wait. They’re not taking them out of St. Blaize until tonight.’

‘Tonight!’ The cigarette dropped. ‘Christ, I’m willing to wait for an hour or even a bit over, but tonight! There isn’t a chance—we’re sure to be seen here! Look, it’s daylight now …’

‘Planes have landed here for the last two years.’ Savage had come up to them. ‘Not a Hudson, maybe, but aircraft carrying agents. Nobody guarded this place or gave it a thought. I landed here myself by parachute. You were told to wait. If we get the children out you’ll fly them back to England. If we don’t, you can get the hell out yourself. But not till tonight.’ He turned away and called out to one of the villagers. The pilot looked after him. He replaced the cigarette and sucked on it.

‘Nasty piece of work,’ he remarked to Jean de Bernard. His tone was low. ‘Typical Yank.’

He dug into the pocket of his flying jacket. ‘I’ve got a drop of something here,’ he said. ‘Keep out the cold.’ He offered a small flask to Jean, who shook his head.

‘No thank you. You’ll need it for the flight back. Why don’t you relax now? Perhaps you could sleep.’

‘I might.’ The young Englishman stretched his back. ‘I think I’ll go and take a zizz inside.’ He smiled at Jean and stamped on his cigarette end.

He climbed up into the belly of the aircraft and disappeared. Jean de Bernard stood apart, listening to Savage demonstrating and explaining the small-arms. There were pistols as well as the sten guns. He was a good instructor, precise, and patient. It was a side of his character which the Comte had not suspected. He couldn’t understand Savage; the type was completely alien to him. But then he was too European. He hadn’t really understood Louise either.

He only loved her. With the prospect of fighting the S.S. in front of him, he faced not only the fact of loving his wife, but of being killed before he could do anything about it. She had forgiven him; he knew that. The moment when he found her kissing Savage had roused him to contemplate murder. He looked at the American and wondered how deep his hatred of him went. Morality, sensitivity, nothing so effete as ethics would trouble Savage. He wanted Louise and he would do his best to take her. Unless, in the heat of the battle … Jean de Bernard dropped his cigarette close to the mashed stub left by the pilot, and stepped on it. Savage could have stood aside from what was happening. The children of St. Blaize were not his concern; his job was done. He could have used his permit and left them. Jean knew that there were men who would have done exactly that. He went over to the group and touched Savage on the shoulder.

‘Let me help,’ he said. The sun was up and it was growing warm. The time was six-twenty-three.

Inside the school Michelle Giffier formed the children into groups. There was a lot of crying, even among the older ones. Waking in their classrooms had unnerved them. The teacher organised the wailing little ones herself, helped by a few of the senior pupils. She took them to the lavatories, where she washed their faces and hoped that establishing a routine would calm them. Her own face was haggard and dirty; tears had dissolved her mascara and the split on her lip was now an ugly swelling. She found a hand-comb in her bag and began to tidy the children’s hair, lining them up in front of her. Straggling bows were re-tied, frocks smoothed down, and hands inspected. An atmosphere of false security pervaded them, emanating from the slight young woman they had known all their lives.

She never glanced near the guard; the one who had manhandled her the night before had gone. A sullen robot stood in his place, his eyes staring at and through her and the children. She had a horrible sensation of being watched by a machine. It was obvious that he didn’t regard her or them as human beings. The sensation was more frightening than the frank brutality of his predecessor. She beckoned Caroline Camier and Pierre Farrière.

‘Get the books out,’ she said. She smiled at them both. The boy was twelve, sturdy and dependable, the eldest of five. His mother had been the woman shot outside the school the night before. He and Michelle Giffier knew nothing of this.

‘Since we’re here, we might as well work. Caroline, you look after the little ones; set them some drawing to do. Pierre, we’ll start with history. See that everyone starts at page twenty-seven of book three. St. Jeanne d’Arc. It was always my favourite lesson. Go on now.’ Steadily she began to read aloud. The door opened after half an hour; she stopped and got up. The S.S. Major was approaching. She saw the children’s eyes following him as he came to her desk. He saluted her.

‘Madame. In twenty minutes you must be ready to leave. Gather any clothes together and have the children ready.’

‘Leave?’ Michelle Giffier went white. ‘Leave for where? What do you mean?’

‘You are being taken to a place of safety,’ the Major said smoothly. ‘You have nothing to fear.’

It was the formula with which he had calmed anxious Jews, awaiting removal to the gas chambers. It didn’t work with the school teacher. She supported herself on the desk with both hands and said loudly, ‘We are not going to any place of safety. Either you let my children go to their homes or we stay here.’

Her injured lip began to quiver; hate and terror brought the tears and they spilled down her face. The Major gave a little smile.

‘The outside of this building has been soaked in kerosene,’ he said. ‘Within half an hour I shall order it to be set on fire. You may stay inside with the children if you wish. You have twenty minutes. Heil Hitler.’ He gave a casual salute and turned away. Outside in the sunshine, he yawned. He had dozed in the back seat of the armoured car, but only for an hour or so and his temper was irritable. The cattle truck had arrived and waited at the station. Already a crowd of parents had returned to the school, reinforcing the group who had remained outside all night. The recitation of the rosary infuriated him. He had ordered his men to break up the kneeling group, but some distance away they had reformed, and the low murmur of voices rose and fell all night. He was waiting for the Standartenführer before he could actually load the children into the truck and take them to the station. He had sent the execution detail on ahead to Chemire, where they were waiting. It was all well organised and ingenious. He took his seat in the armoured car and settled down to wait for his superior.

Louise had fallen asleep; she lay on her bed fully dressed, so exhausted that she didn’t hear the car arrive. A hand seized her shoulder and shook her. She woke instantly and saw Régine bending over her.

‘Wake up for God’s sake!’

‘What are you doing here?’ Louise blazed at her. ‘You filthy little bitch—get out!’

‘Where’s Jean? Where is he?’

‘Why do you want to know? So you can tell your friend in the S.S.

‘It doesn’t matter what you say to me,’ Régine said. ‘Nothing matters but to help the children. That’s why I’ve come. And keep your voice down. Vierken is downstairs!’

‘You brought him!’ Louise looked at her in horror. ‘You brought him to St. Blaize! Well now you’ve done it, haven’t you!’ She turned away, overcome with despair. Jean and Savage were missing. If Vierken asked where they were …

‘Listen to me.’ Régine caught hold of her arm. ‘Listen to me for the love of God! Minden came to the flat and brought Paul and Sophie—he told me what was happening! I came down to try and help. To plead with Vierken. He’s my lover, I didn’t believe he’d do anything to really hurt them.’ She let go of Louise and hid her face in both hands. ‘They’re not going to Germany,’ she said. ‘They’ve dug a mass grave for them in the woods. They’re going to be taken there this morning and murdered. I listened in on the telephone. He doesn’t know I know.’

‘They’re not taking them to Germany?’ Louise stared into the girl’s face; her eyes were wild. ‘They’re going to kill them …’

‘I told you,’ Régine hissed at her. ‘This morning. He’s going down there now to send them off. For Christ’s sake where is Jean? Someone’s got to organise the village. They mustn’t leave the school!’

‘Jean has already organised a rescue,’ Louise said slowly. ‘He and Roger and Camier and others. But they’re not expecting anything to happen till tonight. They’re miles away from Chemire. Oh my God!’ she cried out. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Régine mumbled. ‘I thought if I could tell Jean …’

‘I’m going downstairs,’ Louise said suddenly. ‘I’m going to talk to him myself.’ She stopped at the door. ‘You’d better stay here,’ she said. ‘Keep out of this.’ She went down the stairs; she felt calm, but icy cold. A mass grave in the woods. He had his back to her when she went into the salon; he was examining one of the family miniatures. He had taken it off the wall.

‘Standartenführer Vierken!’

He turned round slowly, still holding the miniature. ‘Madame? I was admiring the fine quality of this painting. Where is Régine? I told her to hurry.’

‘Régine is upstairs,’ Louise said. She walked away from him. ‘You know what I’m going to ask you?’

‘No.’ He glanced up from his examination of the miniature. ‘How should I know? Is this an ancestor—of your husband’s, I assume. Americans can’t trace themselves that far.’

‘I’ll go down on my knees and beg you,’ Louise said. ‘Let the children go home. Whatever the village has done, punish the adults. Shoot as many of us as you like—but don’t murder the innocent!’

‘I don’t think your kneeling would make any difference,’ he said pleasantly. ‘It might be amusing to watch, however. I’m usually amenable to pretty women. Like your sister-in-law, for instance.’ His eyes considered her, dark with hatred and contempt. ‘You don’t believe it’s going to happen, do you, Madame de Bernard? You think I’m bluffing, don’t you? Régine does. Surprising, because she knows me very well. You think you people can kill Germans and sabotage our war effort and we won’t punish you as you deserve? You’ll know better next time. I’m going to make an example of this place.’

Louise stood with her back to the bureau. ‘You must have children of your own,’ she said. ‘How could you do this thing?’

Vierken laughed. ‘My children have nothing to do with it, it’s your children who are going to be re-settled.’

‘That’s a lie,’ Louise said slowly. ‘I know what re-settled means. You’re going to kill them. Put down that miniature—don’t put your filthy hands on anything belonging to us!’

He half turned; the delicate seventeenth-century enamel smashed into the fireplace.

‘Now,’ Louise said slowly, ‘either you let the children go home or I am going to kill you!’ She held the old Comte’s revolver in both hands. Vierken stood very still.

‘You’re being very foolish,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t hit anything with that.’

‘You send a message,’ Louise said, ‘releasing them from that school. You’ve got a car outside. Write the order and your driver can take it. Now.’

‘And afterwards?’ Vierken asked her. His right hand was creeping inwards towards the holster at his side.

‘Don’t do that, Adolph,’ Régine said from the doorway. ‘She means it. She’ll shoot.’

She walked into the room; her hair was brushed smooth and she had smeared a crimson lipstick on her mouth. She looked ghastly: ‘Don’t move,’ she repeated.

‘Do as she says. Send that note.’ She didn’t look at Louise, she was staring at Vierken. Her hands opened and closed at her sides. ‘She’ll shoot you—let them go!’

Vierken looked from her to Louise and then back to Régine. A smile of contempt twisted his mouth. ‘Come over here,’ he said in German. ‘She can’t shoot both of us. Be calm, sweetheart. Just take my gun.’

Régine walked up to him, she turned and faced her sister-in-law. ‘I’m not going to let you kill him,’ she said.

‘Get back,’ Louise cried out. ‘Get away from him—he’ll use you as a shield!’ Régine didn’t answer. She plunged her hand into the holster and brought out his revolver.

‘Good girl,’ Vierken said softly. ‘Now step between us and give the gun to me …’

Régine looked at him and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. You lied to me, Adolph.’ She had stepped back and the black eye of the muzzle was pointing at his chest. ‘I listened in on the telephone this morning. I know what you’re going to do to the children. I know about Chemire.’

‘You wouldn’t hurt me, sweetheart,’ Vierken said. ‘You love me. You wouldn’t shoot.’

‘Send the message,’ Régine said. Her voice trembled. ‘Release them. For the last time, I beg of you …’

‘Go to hell!’ Suddenly his nerves snapped. ‘They’re going to be shot and buried! Every last one of them—give me that gun, you little whore, or I’ll break every bone in your body!’ As he leaped for her, the first shot cracked out. Louise screamed. There was a second shot and then a third. Vierken jerked backwards, his body jack-knifing as the bullets slammed into him at point-blank range. He crumpled and fell. Régine stood over him, firing repeatedly until the gun clicked empty. He didn’t die at once. He twitched and choked, blood bubbling out of his mouth. His eyes opened, glaring and then suddenly they filmed over.

She stood and pulled the trigger. There was another useless click. Louise ran to her and wrenched the revolver away.

‘Stop! Stop it, for God’s sake!’

Régine fell on her knees beside him; she was moaning. ‘Adolph … Adolph—oh God, oh God.’ She held herself, rocking with grief.

Louise found the old servant Jean-Pierre standing in the doorway. He carried a little axe they used for chopping firewood. ‘Madame—we heard shots … What’s happened?’

‘There’s been an accident,’ Louise whispered. ‘Shut the door …’

‘I had to do it,’ Régine wept. ‘I loved him but I had to do it. I couldn’t let him murder the little ones …’ She looked up and saw Jean-Pierre staring down at her in horror. ‘“They’re going to be shot,”’ she said. ‘“Shot and buried.” When he said that I killed him.’

Louise caught hold of her. ‘There’s the driver outside,’ she said. ‘Get up, come away from here. Jean-Pierre, go and see if he heard anything!’ She had half lifted Régine to her feet and was supporting her to the door. For a moment the girl pulled against her and looked back. There was no hysteria left in her; her eyes were dead.

‘He called me a whore,’ she muttered. ‘I thought he loved me …’

‘Come upstairs,’ Louise begged her. ‘Don’t look at him any more. If you hadn’t done it, I would have shot him … I wish to God I had!’ The old man appeared beside them in the hall.

‘The driver’s still waiting by the car, Madame,’ he said. ‘He didn’t hear anything.’ The walls at St. Blaize were a foot thick. ‘Is it true?’ he asked her. ‘Is she telling the truth—are they going to kill my grandchildren?’ His mouth quivered.

‘Yes,’ Louise answered. ‘I’m afraid it is. They’re all going to be murdered. Unless I can get to the Comte in time.’ She went to the window and looked out. Vierken’s Mercedes gleamed in the sunshine; the driver leaned against the bonnet.

‘I’m going to get that car,’ she said. ‘It’s the only chance we’ve got. But you’ll have to deal with the driver. There’s a revolver in there.’ She pointed to the salon. ‘It’s loaded. I must have dropped it. I’ll send him inside. Make sure you don’t miss!’

‘I won’t,’ the old man said. ‘Leave him to me, Madame. Marie-Anne, come here and take Mademoiselle Régine upstairs!’ Louise ran down the steps and out into the sunlight. She went up to the car and the driver straightened himself.

‘You’re wanted inside.’ she said. He turned and ran to the front door. She didn’t wait to see what happened. She wrenched open the car door and slid behind the wheel. The keys were in it. She pressed the starter; it fired instantly, and a moment later the car skidded through the gates and swung onto the road to Lavallière.