On the Tuesday, she put her cards on the table with Jacqui. She’d been intending a more subtle approach, but she saw that flood tide suddenly, and as it were took a header… Motivated partly through having had – and still suffering from – an edgy sense of now or never, anxiety to have the S.I.S. operation up and running irrespective of what might happen afterwards. Romeo’s partly concealed state of nerves was one factor, the alleged six-week life of pianists was another, and this morning, when she’d been leaving Ursule’s, she’d thought they had a tail on her. Wheeling her bike out across the pavement, she’d noticed a male cyclist in the entrance to an alleyway that was a short-cut to the Café Saint Sever: he’d been leaning against the corner with his bike propped beside him, and when he’d seen her she’d had a clear impression that he’d been startled – as if it were her he’d been waiting for and she’d caught him napping. Glancing away then – taking a long look down into the alley in which she knew for a fact there was nothing except dustbins and sometimes a scrawny cat or two, and in which he hadn’t been showing any interest until she’d appeared. A youngish man, wearing a grey cap and a striped pullover, overall blue trousers with braces… Her intention had been to ride up to Pigot’s garage, in search of Romeo: instead she mounted, without another glance at the man in the alley, pedalled along to the church and up to Rue la Fayette, over the Corneille bridge, and dropped in on a chemist in the Rue des Bonnetiers, where a girl assistant had told her she’d like to stock the Cazalet perfumes but that it was entirely up to her father, who last week had been away in Dijon, where his sister lived.
Father still wasn’t back, she told Rosie this morning. Try again in a day or two. He was supposed to have retired, but he kept the reins firmly in his own hands. She’d shrugged: ‘Doesn’t make life any easier.’
Outside, there was no sign of the man in the striped jersey. Either she’d been wrong about him, or he was a pro. There was another shop she’d been thinking of having a go at, in Rue des Béguines: not a very hopeful prospect, and rather out of her way, but a good alternative to the risk of leading him – them – to Marc Pigot’s garage.
Might miss Romeo, she realized. But that would be the worst of it. She’d made no arrangements for the day, other than to see Jacqui this evening. César had gone by train to Amiens to see one of the Resistance men whom Rosie had met last week and who’d expressed interest in setting up certain sabotage operations. He’d had some ideas which César wanted to discuss with him; also, Baker Street had approved all the weapons for which Rosie had asked – they’d told her so, on Sunday night – and he’d be passing this good news on at the same time.
So – back on the bike and down to Rue Saint Lo, and past the Palais de Justice. Grey, grim, and in one’s imagination – one’s vision of the activities inside it – frightening. Swastikas were swift flashes of colour in the corners of her eyes as she glanced left and right at the crossing, the Place Foch – trying not to see them at all… Joan of Arc’s place of execution on her left, then: and passing the Brasserie Guillaume she saw that same man – striped jersey, grey peaked cap, workman’s trousers – on the pavement outside the café. Although he was standing with his back to the road, reading a menu or a price-list on the post against which he’d leant his bicycle, the sight of him gave her a jolt.
She got no more than a vague promise of future interest at the other shop. As much as she’d expected… Emerging, checking that the coast was clear while replacing her sample-case in the pannier, she decided to go back to that brasserie. Reminding herself that it was always better to look potential dangers in the face, than to run scared; this bogeyman might not have the slightest interest in her, and if she could convince herself of this she’d have a better day. If not – well, at least she’d know better than to go within a mile of Pigot’s place. As it turned out, he wasn’t there – neither inside nor outside. At least, not visibly. She treated herself to a so-called coffee, while from a nearby table two young Germans eyed her, smiling nervously and muttering to each other behind their hands, and she decided – more or less – that the fact she’d seen him twice had probably been coincidence. Rouen wasn’t such a huge town, after all, and this square was more or less its centrepiece.
She still played it safe, though – wandered around trying to do business here and there, spent some time on a bench down by the river, had a lunchtime snack at a café near the cathedral, and didn’t go to the garage until mid-afternoon. Pigot was there, but Romeo wasn’t: he’d been there during the forenoon but wasn’t likely to be back.
So that was that.
She was at Jacqui’s at seven, bringing a bottle of Hermitage which César had presented to her – ‘To compensate for my bad humour yesterday. I think we’ll make a very effective team, Angel, you and I. Don’t you agree?’ She’d told him yes, no question. There was no reason they shouldn’t either. She wasn’t exactly mad about him, but they were here to work together, therefore had to get on, in the interests of the job.
Jacqui raised her glass: containing wine of her own, not the Hermitage, which would be better for at least a few days’ rest. ‘Here’s to us, Jeanne-Marie.’
Rosie echoed, ‘Us… Hey, this isn’t bad!’
‘Shouldn’t be, either – seeing as it’s reserved for the precious Wehrmacht.’ They were eating veal with a sauce that had brandy in it, and turnip which she’d mashed and fried. She put her glass down, and Rosie told her, ‘You really don’t do at all badly, Jacqui, do you?’
‘The veal was a present too, I admit. But in general it’s my own earnings I live on, I assure you. At weekends, certainly, I’ve no bills to pay, and that’s a big help, but otherwise she pointed downstairs – ‘the business has to pay, or I’d starve. Hans lent me the capital to set it up, mind you…’ She sighed. ‘Why I tell you so many secrets, Jeanne-Marie, I can’t imagine!’
‘I suppose there might not be many people you can – well, let your hair down with.’ She shook her head. ‘God knows, I talk to myself, half the time… But – the subject of money, Jacqui – does get to be a headache, doesn’t it?’
‘For you, you mean?’
‘Well – so far, the way I’m trying to earn a living—’
‘I’ll do what I can to help you, there, but—’
‘I’d sooner talk about your problems. You say he set you up here. And helps, one way and another. And – well, you like him, obviously, but—’
‘I like him very much!’
‘—but you really need him, don’t you? While on the other hand – I keep thinking about it, Jacqui, what you were telling me, having to put up with the malicious telephone calls, and people staring at you when you’re out—’
‘I can put up with it. For the time being. I think I said – she who laughs last?’
‘Jacqui, listen. You must know as well as I do that at the very least there’s a possibility the Boches will lose this war. A possibility – agree?’
‘I suppose. If one looked on the blackest side—’
‘Brightest, I’d say. And I’m certain – certain, Jacqui – that we are going to win.’
The dark head tilted… ‘We?’
‘The Allies, say.’
‘To you, that’s we?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s the plain truth, I’m sure of it, and consequently I’m very concerned for you. One thing about having only oneself to talk to all day is there’s time to think… And thinking about you, Jacqui, I’ve concluded that you’re an extremely kind person – you’ve been very kind to me, anyway – who’s being misled – misleading yourself, to some extent, to be quite frank – and – Jacqui, look, if the people around here who know this German’s your lover and hate you for it – that’s the way it is, uh? Well, my God – what’s going to happen to you when the Boches are driven out?’
‘If that were to happen—’
A bell rang. Doorbell. She had a forkful of turnip halfway to her mouth: she held it there, her head slightly on one side, listening…
‘I can guess who this is.’ Getting up. ‘He’s been away, and he was due back about now. In fact I heard, this last weekend… Listen, if it is him, he’s a German sergeant – Gerhardt Clausen, one of their – well, Security people. The one I mentioned I could introduce you to, as it happens – he’s actually very charming, and—’
‘I don’t believe this!’ It felt like having a very, very bad joke played on one… ‘Honestly, Jacqui—’
‘I tell you he’s nice!’
‘You’re going to ask him to come up?’
‘Well, I may have to – I can’t be rude…’
Romeo’s voice in her brain – telling her Highly clued-up S.D. man, name of Clausen… Only a sergeant, but he carries a lot of weight…
Jacqui repeated from the doorway, ‘May have to. Just calm down, Jeanne-Marie, he’s just a perfectly ordinary—’
‘Much rather not meet him. For the best of reasons, Jacqui. Please – if you can possibly avoid it…’
The man who broke up the réseau here. Romeo again: Good-looking guy, and he’s up to all the tricks. Women like him – and he uses that.
Please, God… Because it could blow the whole damn thing. To be seen with Jacqui, and by this Clausen of all people: if she was going to work for S.O.E., the last thing one could afford – or that she could – was a known association. One skittle sending all the others flying: and if she saw that, she’d refuse the job. She wasn’t all that green, she’d worked for La Chatte, for God’s sake
Which would account for her knowing Clausen?
A door downstairs banged shut, then she was audibly on her way up – talking nineteen to the dozen… ‘—so it was a splendid weekend, Gerhardt, every minute of it. Well, as you know, I live for the weekends… Now, then, here she is. Jeanne-Marie, I’d like to introduce a good friend – Gerhardt Clausen. Gerhardt, this is Jeanne-Marie Lefèvre, who’s extremely sweet except she’s so determined I should stock and sell her damn perfumes—’
‘So—’
He’d spotted her wedding ring. She’d seen him registering it.
‘Madame Lefèvre. Enchanted.’
Wavy dark hair with an edging of grey at the temples, deepset eyes… He was in civilian clothes – smart ones, at that. A light barathea suit, cream shirt, blue tie. Looking up at him, she managed a small smile: ‘My pleasure, monsieur.’
‘Actually, sergeant. Not that it matters – my job permits me to go around disguised as some kind of human being.’ Easy smile, fluent French. ‘You’ve not been in Rouen long, I think?’
‘Cognac, Gerhardt?’
‘Oh, but you’re an angel!’
‘No. Not long.’ Answering his question, she looked at Jacqui – addressing her then, as the shy Jeanne-Marie Lefèvre might well do, seeking her friend’s support… ‘And if I can’t do a better selling job than I’ve done so far I won’t be here much longer!’
‘But things will pick up, I’m sure. With that one’s help, eh?’ He nodded towards Jacqui, who was pouring his drink. ‘She’s a great girl, I can tell you. As well as the most beautiful in France… He took the brandy, swirled the glass in his cupped palm. ‘Black market? Business must be good, Jacqui!’
‘It was a present – as you’ll have guessed.’ The cognac, they were talking about. She pointed: ‘So was that veal.’ There was a challenge in the statement, and in her expression as she’d glanced at him. Explaining to Rosie then – for her – Rosie’s – benefit, perhaps also for her own, following some instinct that it might be better if in Clausen’s eyes she shouldn’t have told her too much about herself – ‘I have a friend – a man friend – in Amiens, who’s extremely generous. That’s why I’m away at weekends mostly. And it was Gerhardt who introduced us.’
‘I see.’
Looking down at her folded hands: being Jeanne-Marie Lefèvre… Shy, and surprised at her new acquaintance having German friends, but less shocked or disapproving than impressed… Clausen meanwhile concentrating on Jacqui: it was fairly obvious, despite his superficially good manners, that he’d counted on finding her alone and was more than just disappointed that he hadn’t.
Which was fine. And natural – the way Jacqui was looking at this moment, and the way he could hardly take his eyes off her… Then she’d murmured something very quietly, and he’d laughed: Rosie heard him mutter, ‘Very well. Twenty-four hours. No – twenty-two hours, I’ll just manage that…’ Turning to include her in the conversation then: ‘I’m sorry – interrupting your meal as well as whatever vital matters you’re discussing. My apologies, madame… Jacqui – tomorrow evening?’
He might have introduced her to Colonel Walther, but in doing so evidently hadn’t exactly cut himself out of her life… Rosie wasn’t actually listening to their conversation at this stage – Jeanne-Marie wouldn’t have; wouldn’t have wanted to be seen as eavesdropping, anyway – but she was getting snatches of it – a reference to Amiens, and to Berlin then: and a squeak from Jacqui suddenly – ‘You’re going when?’ Rosie looked up, saw her hand on his arm and her eyes startled… ‘A permanent transfer?’
‘I’m sorry. But – yes, on Friday. I’m only back here to clear up. Not my decision, my dear, I wouldn’t volunteer to leave this place!’
Meaning – obviously – ‘to leave you…’
A minute later he tossed back the last drops of his brandy, handed the glass to Jacqui and was kissing Rosie’s hand. She could feel the sweat breaking out on the palms of her hands and her own racing pulse – current thought-processes to some extent aimed at beating all that, a kind of internal whistling in the dark, but then making it worse when the thoughts took their own direction – for instance, as now, that in any get-together in the Palais de Justice he’d be considerably less courteous…
But he was leaving Rouen, apparently. Here to say goodbye – in whatever form the farewell might have taken.
‘I’ll just see him safely down the stairs, Jeanne-Marie—’
Hearing her own complacent, ‘All right…’
Incredible. An S.D. sergeant – with God only knew how many S.O.E. scalps on his belt already… Although, she thought – alone, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers – maybe she hadn’t carried it off too badly. At any rate, he’d seemed to take her at face value. Now, she could let her pulse slow, relax in the cold sweat…
Jacqui came back. ‘It’s a blow that he’s leaving. For good, too, this time. As you said, one hasn’t such a wealth of friends here… I don’t want to eat any more – do you, now it’s cold?’
‘No. But it was terrific, Jacqui, thank you.’
‘So what did you think of him?’
‘Oh, well.’ She shrugged. ‘As you know, I don’t—’
‘You don’t like them. And I suppose – in principle…’ Wry smile, as she accepted a cigarette. ‘What if you hadn’t known he was a German?’ She leant to the single candle, sat back leaking smoke… ‘What would you have thought of him, then?’
‘You’d like me to say I thought he was madly attractive.’
‘And you don’t?’
She drew hard on her cigarette: still needing it…
‘Jacqui. I wonder – how frank we can afford to be with each other.’
‘Come again?’
‘Could we agree to say exactly what’s in our minds, d’you think, with the understanding that nothing’s passed on to what they call ‘third parties’?’
‘As far as I’m concerned—’
‘Good. It’s a deal. And the answer to that question is I can’t imagine taking him for anything but a German… Tell me something? How you met him, and how come a sergeant introduced you to a colonel in another town?’
‘Very long story…’
‘Well, let’s get into it gradually. As it happens, I know quite a bit of it, and I can guess at most of the rest. But you see, Jacqui—’
‘What are you talking about?’
She shook her head. ‘First things first. Number one is – believe me, I am your friend, and I’ve a lot to offer you. No, I really have – wait, just hear me out… For instance – this is the big one, really, we were starting on it when your sergeant friend arrived, if you remember. I was asking you – the way people here feel about you, how you think it might go for you when the Boches are licked?’
‘If they are.’
‘I say when. But go on.’
A silence: staring…
Hostility? Fear?
‘What is this, Jeanne-Marie?’
‘What might they do to you?’
‘Tear me in pieces? That what you want me to say?’
‘Reasonable supposition, anyway. So how would you like some cast-iron insurance, a guarantee nobody’d lay a finger on you?’
Staring again… ‘Jeanne-Marie – are you some kind of—’
‘A word to the Resistance that you’re working for us is all it’d take, Jacqui. I could arrange it pretty well immediately.’
‘My God, you are!’
‘There’d be no danger—’
‘Are you kidding?’ Shaking her dark head, eyes wild. ‘How about a word from me, to—’
‘Jacqui – don’t threaten me. I know the risks here. I’m counting on your intelligence – that you’ll see what I’m offering you – in a minute… No danger to yourself, I’m saying. It’d be known to only a couple of people here, and of course in London. We’d want you to do something for us – obviously, we aren’t thinking of telling lies for you, if you don’t help us… But I’m putting a lot of trust in you already, aren’t I? You could inform on me – to that Clausen person, for instance?’
‘How can you take such a chance?’ Her hands opened. ‘Unless you’re raving mad?’
‘I don’t believe you’d shop me. But in any case it’s important enough that I have to take the risk. Besides, I genuinely like you, the thought of the mob getting their hands on you when our armies drive these bastards out is – sickening… OK, so I’m grinding my own axe too – wanting your help. You may not realize it, but you’re in a position to give us absolutely vital help… Well – here we go – don’t faint now, Jacqui, but it’s to do with your Colonel Walther’s rockets.’
‘I guessed. Ten seconds ago. And you’re asking the impossible, my dear… Look, I won’t inform on you, but I couldn’t—’
‘That’s what’s known as a knee-jerk reaction. Listen… Why we need this information is that if the rockets were deployed and active before we can mount an invasion – well, at that point the south of England’ll have to be packed solid with troops, transport, guns and so on, and the ports crammed with ships. If there was some kind of continuous bombardment—’
‘No invasion.’ Jacqui smiled. Still short of breath, though.
‘So no defeat of Germany. What are you selling me?’
‘We’d still win, Jacqui. Take longer, that’s all. Delay it all while we smash the rocket sites. Or enough of them. What we want is to smash them before they get into action – so there’s no such delay – and to do that we need to know where they are, or will be.’ She’d lit a new cigarette – Jacqui’s was still going. ‘This is where you come in. And you see how important it is – so you’d be equivalently important to us, and we’d look after you… Wouldn’t be so difficult for you, would it?’
‘You think not?’
‘Doesn’t he leave papers around, and maps? Don’t you hear things – where he was last week, or where his teams are going next?’
‘I suppose…’
‘You wouldn’t have to use a radio, or contact anyone, or even pick up a telephone. I’d come to you for a hairdo once a week, and you’d give me whatever you’d got. Verbally, or on paper if you like. Verbally’s the safe way, if your memory’s up to it. No risk at all. Not like it was when you worked for La Chatte, huh?’
‘Oh.’ A shrug… ‘You know about her, then.’
‘Lord, yes. Well, she came to London, didn’t she?’ Rosie glanced in the direction of the sideboard. ‘D’you think we could both use some of that cognac?’
‘My God, couldn’t we…’
‘But La Chatte – yes… I know quite a bit of your background, as it happens. Father French, mother Italian – right? Accounts for your lovely colouring, of course. You really are beautiful, Jacqui, Sergeant Clausen wasn’t exaggerating in the least… But your father was drowned, wasn’t he – air crash into the Bay of Biscay in – 1925? And your mother remarried – to an Italian, and when last heard of they were living in Rome… Thanks – I think I do need this.’
Jacqui sat down again, sniffing at hers… ‘I can’t get over the risk you’re taking.’ She nodded towards the phone. ‘One short call to Gerhardt, for instance – or a word to him – you heard, he’ll be here tomorrow night—’
‘And gone by Friday. I’m glad of that.’ Rosie put her glass down. Nodding, breathing smoke… ‘What I’m offering you, you see, is a whole package of long-term benefits. One – insurance against what’s bound to happen to you when the Boches are beaten. You know it would happen – in my contention one might say will happen – whether or not you ratted on me now. OK, I’d be dead – Ravensbruck’s where they’ve killed most of us, so far – but there’d be a hellish time in store for you, too. Or, suppose you were right about them winning – you aren’t, but suppose you were – you’d have lost nothing, because nobody’s going to know anything about this. You can take that as a promise too. In fact the Boches won’t win -the only reason you can’t see it is you’re stuffed with all their propaganda – but obviously you’d continue your relationship with Walther – you’d have to, that’s your special value – and when it’s over you’d not only be safe, you’d be a patriot. Oh, and also,’ – she raised a forefinger – ‘you’d be of independent means. Walther or no Walther.’
She saw that strike home. She’d known it would. Jacqui had been lifting her glass towards her lips: she’d frozen, holding it there.
‘How d’you work that out?’
‘Doesn’t a quarter of a million francs sound like independence?’
‘Quarter-million…’
‘Right.’
‘Who’d pay it – and when?’
Rosie sipped brandy. ‘You’d have it – well, not tomorrow, Clausen’ll be here tomorrow… Thursday?’
‘Can I believe you?’
‘Better than a free sample of scent, isn’t it?’
‘The scent thing’s all baloney, obviously. But – this money—’
‘Not baloney at all. It’s what I’m in Rouen for. I’m going to try hard to make a go of it, too.’
‘S.O.E., are you?’
‘S.O.E.? What’s that?’
‘All right. All right… Jeanne-Marie, are we talking about a quarter of a million in cash?’
‘Absolutely. Be a useful nest egg, wouldn’t it? It’s not just a bribe, incidentally, we realized you might need it. If Walther ran out on you – well, I’m sure he wouldn’t – but if Clausen arranged for his transfer to the Eastern Front, for instance—’
‘Now look—’
‘Such things have been known. Although Clausen’s going to be out of it now, isn’t he… Did La Chatte pay you well, Jacqui?’
‘Oh – no, not so well.’
‘You were going to tell me – about you and Clausen, and Walther, weren’t you? Tell me I’m on the right track now – it wasn’t Clausen, was it, it was a man called Bleicher, who trapped La Chatte. And he was Abwehr, not S.D…. But is Clausen a chum of his?’
‘They worked together, at one time. Some other place—’
‘Bleicher caught La Chatte – and she must have shopped you—’
‘Perhaps without knowing. He’s clever – like Clausen, they’re birds of a feather, that’s the way they work… What I know for sure is Mathilde-Lily was arrested – yes, by Bleicher – and she agreed to work for them. She used her radio to London, giving information they wanted her to give.’
‘What about you, though?’
‘I never worked for them. I was arrested, Bleicher asked me a lot of questions – about her, not about me, I wasn’t important to them as she was, I was only her employee. And at that time I was sure she’d betrayed me, so—’
‘You told them all you knew.’
‘Well.’ A shrug. ‘Most.’
‘And Bleicher became your lover?’
‘What gives you that idea?’
‘Just guessing… mostly… But when you came here, he put his friend Clausen on to you – personal favour, or professional cooperation, or both – and – as you said, through Clausen you met Colonel Walther.’
‘Gerhardt was looking into Security for him, then – when Hans was setting up, in Amiens. And – there was some socializing, some parties – he’s supposed to be only a sergeant, but that’s not how they treat him or how he lives.’
‘All the same, Walther took you over.’
‘If you want to put it that way. Although Gerhardt—’
‘—stayed in the wings. Yes, I – imagine. Mind you, La Chatte really slept around, didn’t she?’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting—’
‘I’m talking about La Chatte. She slept with Bleicher, didn’t she? Amongst others?’
‘This is an interrogation, Jeanne-Marie!’
‘Sorry. More a matter of comparing notes, really. It’s as well to be on the same wave-length – for you to know I know the background, or most of it… I must say I’m immensely relieved that Clausen’s leaving. If you and I are going to do business, Jacqui.’ She leant forward to stub out her cigarette; in the same movement, glancing at the clock and realizing that if she was going to beat the curfew, she’d have to run.
A better idea, then…
‘Jacqui – would it inconvenience you dreadfully to let me spend the night here?’
‘Spend the night?’
‘Curfew-time approaching, long way home—’
‘Oh. Well – no, of course. We can make up a bed for you on the sofa there.’
‘Lovely. So no rush, now… We are going to do business, eh?’
Staring at her. Speechless, thinking about it. Scared of it, obviously, despite the carrots: but wanting them – wanting them too badly to refuse them, Rosie guessed. She suggested – feeling sure of it, also an absolute imperative to make it so – ‘Let’s talk details, Jacqui…’