5

Gertrude

PARIS, NOVEMBER 1940

RESISTANCE WORKER

Gertrude stood a few yards away from Herr Eberhardt’s desk. Her nerves jangled as she listened to him. Could she pull this off? He had to be convinced of her cover story, as it was vital to so many of the Resistance operations that she gained this job. Doing so would put her in a position to seduce him, and that could lead to her having access to so many secrets – information that would further the cause.

‘You will oversee the care of my children, and you will teach them French, too. Now, tell me, where did you learn to speak German? You speak it with a Berlin accent. I find that strange. And not only that, but you have the look of a Frau. I am curious, very curious.’

‘My father was German, Herr Eberhardt. My mother died at my birth and my father insisted that I speak German around the house. He died when I was six, just when he was about to take me back to Germany. He had been sent here as an engineer in the last war and married a French girl. His sister, my aunt, brought me up. She had come to France to join her brother after the war and met and married a Frenchman, and so did not want to go back. She insisted I take her husband’s name, Bandemer, but continued to speak German at all times when we were alone, though not in front of her husband, as he did not like it.’

‘And your father’s surname was?’

‘Schäfer.’

‘A very common name, and hard to trace who is who, through it. How convenient for you. Are you still living with this aunt? I should like to meet her.’

Gertrude’s throat dried. Herr Eberhardt didn’t sound convinced. ‘No, I moved to Paris two years ago. I originally came to finish my schooling, but my aunt does not want me back. She says I am to make my own way in life from now on.’

‘Where does she live?’

Oh God! This is getting complicated. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh?’

‘I . . . She moved and did not tell me. She did not like taking care of me and only did it as a duty. Her husband didn’t like me at all, and complained constantly at having to provide for me after my father’s money ran out.’

‘I don’t like this. My inner sense is warning me that all is not as it seems. Staff here may hear things and if any of them are spies, they could make it their duty to see things they should not. I am wondering if you are such a person. You are too good: you have every qualification I am looking for, you worked in a kindergarten for two years, you speak my language, and you have certificates that show a very good education . . .’

Her heart jumped painfully. Small beads of sweat broke out over her body. Using extreme control, she held her head high. ‘No, I am not a spy, merely someone who needs a job. And the one you are offering is just what I am able to do, and want to do. I know no one who would want information – how could I?’

‘We shall see. I can check your credentials, of course, but births and deaths and so on, these things have become increasingly difficult to trace. Many records were destroyed in the last war, though I suspect you know that. So, what am I to do about you? I could have the SS interrogate you . . .’

‘No! I have done nothing wrong.’ The fear that had gripped her at his mention of spies increased its hold on her, and in a begging voice she pleaded, ‘Please, I have only applied for a job. I will withdraw my application. I knew this would be a mistake, but there are so few jobs available, and I am about to become homeless and haven’t eaten for two days.’

‘You don’t give the impression of someone who hasn’t eaten. You have the fine figure of a Frau.’

A flash of inspiration hit her at his words. This was her chance, not only to create a diversion, but to test her ultimate goal of seducing him. Her handbag clattered to the floor. She dropped it as though by accident and made sure it fell behind her, ‘Sorry, I . . . You made me nervous.’ Turning, she bent to pick it up, knowing that he would see her seamed stockings and the outline of the clasps that fastened them to her suspender belt. If the rumours about him having an eye for women were right, he should feast his eyes on these and her rounded buttocks, tightly held in her pencil-slim skirt.

Herr Eberhardt was the chief of all military operations in France. Intelligence gathered by Gertrude’s stepbrother told that he had been widowed three years ago. On his appointment he’d chosen to take this large Parisian house, which was once several apartments, in Place d’Anjer, and make it into a home where he could work and have his four children with him.

Straightening and turning back towards him, she could see that her ploy had had the desired effect. His eyes narrowed and his voice thickened as he said, ‘Nice! Yes, you do have all I need. I think I will engage you for a time at least. I need to check you out.’

The emphasis he put on the last few words, and the look he gave Gertrude, told her that he intended doing so in more ways than one. A small victory won, she thought.

Smiling at him, she kept her thanks to a minimum, wanting to spit in his face now that she knew the seeds of her mission were sown.

She’d been recruited into the small Trudaine Resistance group by her stepbrother, with the sole intention of having her apply for this position with Herr Eberhardt. Everything to do with the German occupation and its furtherance of their standing in the war had to come through him – every transaction and all military decisions, as well as outside operations. She had to succeed in her mission to become his mistress. She had to get close to any information going through his office that might prove vital to the work the Resistance was doing.

The thought of being his lover didn’t worry her. An experienced prostitute in her teens, she had no compunction about lying with Herr Eberhardt, and knew tricks that would please him. She had told Juste he needed a foolproof story for her cover. The one he’d given her had so many flaws, she feared. Oh God, this shows we have so much to learn . . . I only hope it’s true that the British are sending agents over to help us!

Somehow she had to improvise and sound more convincing, as there was no doubt in her mind what would happen if Herr Eberhardt found out the truth. Not only would she face execution, but their Resistance cell would be compromised.

‘You’re very beautiful, my dear. Come here.’

Walking across the few yards that separated them, she put a swagger in her step. She was rewarded by his obvious look of appreciation, but then he threw her by saying, ‘You demonstrate that you are worldly-wise in the ways of seducing men. Where did you learn your technique? Are you married or . . . ? Well, you tell me.’

‘No, not married. I – I . . .’ Dare she tell him the truth? ‘I have had a relationship . . .’

‘There is more to you, Frau, or is it Mademoiselle?’ His expression hardened. ‘What are you not telling me?’

There was no fooling him; she would have to embellish her story – incorporate some truthful bits, to make it altogether more believable. Putting a sob into her voice, she told him, ‘The truth is, I ran away from my aunt’s house when I was thirteen because her husband wanted to do things to me that I didn’t want him to. I came to Paris and prostituted myself, to enable me to eat and continue my education. I graduated with a degree in languages and went on to do a degree in teaching. I secured the job at the kindergarten, and my life became more normal. But then the invasion happened, and the defeat of the British and the Allied forces, and most people who could afford to have their children educated in languages at a young age fled. There was no work. I have been living hand-to-mouth, waitressing, cleaning – anything to keep going. When I saw your advert in the Café d’Anjer I knew this was the job for me. I made up lies, because I thought you would not let me near your children if you knew the truth!’

‘Ah, so now we have it! Well, well. You are not planning to teach my girls to become prostitutes, are you? Or my boys how to access them?’

He smiled as he said this. It changed his face. Already she had decided he was a handsome man, but now his smile gave him a roguish look. Taking off his cap, he ran his fingers through his blond hair. He had a surprising amount – more than she’d thought from the shaved sides of his head. And he looked younger. When he’d stood she had seen that he was a tall man. She liked that. Being tall herself, she hated looking down on men. For a moment she wondered if her own father had been tall – her real one, not the fabricated one or her late-stepfather, but the man who’d spawned her. The man who had loved her mother. The man who, before she was born, had been betrayed . . . No, she would not think of that. She still had too many hurdles to jump through, she couldn’t allow herself to think about sad things.

Smiling back, she told him, ‘No, Herr Eberhardt. I wish with all my heart I could wipe away that period of my life. I was often told I was made for loving, but my heart only ever wanted to lie with one man, not dozens. I always dreamed I would copy what my father told me about his life with my mother. He told me they were soulmates. He told me, when he said goodbye to me, as he knew he was dying, that I was to think of him always with my mother, and how very happy they would be to be together once more.’ Where are all these lies coming from?

Yes, it was partly true: she had run away from her real home – a large farm on the Vichy border – and at a young age, but not because her stepfather did anything sexual to her. He had hated her and vented his anger on her. And yes, she had prostituted herself to feed herself, but her stepbrother, Juste, came looking for her after her stepfather was killed in an accident on the farm, and she returned home with him.

Her beautiful mother forgave her and insisted that she continue her interrupted education. When the invasion came and then the defeat of the Allied forces, Juste moved to Paris to join a Resistance group. Their friend, Antoine, went with him, and Gertrude had been able to put them in touch with Esther, a dear friend from her university days. Esther knew Paris well and had helped them find a place to stay whilst they made contact with other Resistance groups.

Two weeks ago Juste had come home to beg Gertrude to seek this position. He had been devastated to have to ask, but it was a massive opportunity to have someone inside the home of this man. No local girls fitted the criteria, and though Esther was willing and originated from Germany and had the language skills needed, her being a Jewess made it impossible to consider her doing so.

Gertrude had put Juste’s mind at rest and had agreed. Yes, like him, through their mother, she was part German; but, like him, she would do anything for her beloved France.

As she had left, her mother, unaware of the full extent of the mission, had said, ‘Not only do you look like your father – though an Englishman, he had everything a German loves: blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, a tall gracefulness and a handsome look – but you have his courage. He did have courage, remember that.’ For a moment she had looked sad, and Gertrude had known she was thinking back through her memories of the past. It was good to know that Mother’s true love hadn’t been the evil stepfather, but her lover during her time in England, the man who had fathered her. After a moment her mother had said, ‘I hate to think of you doing this, as you will be in grave danger, but there does come a time in our lives when our decisions don’t just affect ourselves and we have to take the decisions we wouldn’t normally take. Go with my blessing, my darling daughter, and know that I am proud of you.’

Herr Eberhardt had been silent for a few minutes, his gaze not leaving her. Holding his mouth with his thumb and forefinger, he was considering Gertrude, trying to read her and make his mind up about the truth of her story. She prayed he would believe her, because now, with the embellishing of her tale, it did sound feasible. When he spoke his voice held a lightness, a satisfaction. I’m sure he does believe me, she thought.

‘Very well. I understand why you made up those lies. The truth is not something that would endear you to a prospective employer. However, I have decided to give you a chance.’

‘Oh, thank you, Herr Eberhardt, thank you.’

‘There will be ways you can thank me.’

‘I will do my best to please you in every way I can.’

‘Good. But, for now, I have an important meeting pending.’ Pushing a button on his desk, he told her, ‘Frau Mauers, my secretary, will show you to your quarters. I think you will be happy with them. You have today to collect your things and settle in. You will be shown the nursery and classroom, and I want you to make a list of all the materials you think we need for them. I have four children. My girls, Greta and Adelheid, are four and six years old, and my sons of eight and nine are Bernd and Nikolaus. The boys have their own tutor, so you will liaise with him as to the times when you can have them for their language class. He is German and does not speak French. I expect you to cover other subjects with the girls, though – all things to do with their basic educational needs. I will test them regularly, as I do the boys. You will otherwise be in charge, with the help of a nursery nurse, of all the needs of my children: their recreation, their diet and their general well-being. For this you will have staff that you can call upon to take direction from you and to help out. You will have one day a week off, but I would expect that you will have made adequate arrangements for the children’s care for that day, and not leave it to me to do so. That is all for now. Expect a visit from me later this evening . . . Ah, Frau Mauers.’ A good-looking woman of around thirty years of age entered the room. ‘This is Mademoiselle Violetta Bandemer, the new nanny and governess. Please show her to her quarters and make sure she has a password, so that she can come and go as she pleases.’

For a moment Gertrude hadn’t thought he was referring to her. I must get used to being called Violetta! For the last two weeks she’d practised and practised, but still, when Juste had called her by the name when she hadn’t been expecting it or hadn’t been looking at him, she had failed to answer him.

Leaving the office quarters of the building transported her into a new world: one of thick carpets, chandeliers, beautiful antique furniture and artwork that took her breath away. Renoir graced the walls of the main hall, Picasso’s clown paintings the long corridor leading to the nursery quarters, and Beatrix Potter prints the children’s sitting room.

Her own room lacked any ornamentation, but to her the soft furnishings of blues and greys, the walls of Regency striped white and silver, the royal-blue velvet drapes and matching Queen Anne chair, and the bed, huge and with an ornate headboard, were enough. If she were to add anything, it would be elegant figurines. Maybe of ladies and gentlemen of days gone by: dancing, walking, or sitting on a bench. For the walls she would choose Claude Monet, as so many of his paintings had the rich blue that would tone perfectly with the curtains and carpet.

Twirling round in a happy dance, she forgot for a moment the reason the room was hers. When she remembered, she sat down on the end of the bed. The ripples this caused in the silk bedspread matched the ripples of fear trembling through her. And once more she asked herself, Could I pull this off?

Thinking of Herr Eberhardt, she was shocked by how much detail of him she had taken in: his square chin, his overly thick eyebrows and his grey eyes. The picture she conjured up replaced the ripple of fear with one of expectation. What would it be like to make love to him, for she knew that was what would happen – and this very night! How would he summon her? How would he make her feel?

Frau Mauers had told her that the children would be ready to be presented to her after their evening meal at around six-thirty, so she should have settled herself in and be waiting in their sitting room for them then.

Would he bring them to her and introduce them himself? Would that be the time when he would let her know where and when he wanted her? The thought clenched the muscles of her stomach in a way that gave her anticipatory pleasure. Trying to fight the feeling and evoke her earlier repulsion didn’t help. She wasn’t any longer repulsed by what he expected of her, and neither did she give any consideration to the reason she had to do it. The only thoughts she had were those of not being able to wait.

Trying not to think about it right now, she explored further. A door to the right of her bedroom led into a bathroom. Nothing about it was out of the ordinary, and this she found disappointing after the splendour of her bedroom. A further door led to her sitting room, and this did not disappoint: rounded, comfy sofas of a pearl-grey colour and dark-wood carved occasional furniture, against the same blue carpet that extended from the bedroom, and with the same deep-blue curtains at the French windows, made the two rooms blend perfectly.

There were two sets of windows, and both, to her delight, opened onto balconies. She skipped around the room. She had never known such luxury. Hugging herself, she crossed over to the window that looked out towards the front of the building and stepped out onto the balcony.

Below her were the stunning gardens in the centre of Place d’Anjer – a place of such elegance, with tall buildings surrounding the grassed area and trees shading the benches. She had only ever been here once before, and the beauty of it and the people walking around her had captivated her. She wondered if the apartment she could see across the road was still occupied by the client she had visited that day – such a long time ago now, but she could still remember him. A man in his forties, he had taken her to his apartment and dressed her like a postcard depiction of a French maid, before giving her a feather duster. With this she had to dust the room, but when he said ‘Now’ she would tickle his naked body with the feathers until he told her to stop. She had never laughed so much in all of her days of prostitution. Her laughter had enhanced his pleasure, leading him to pay her double what he had promised. Afterwards she had gone into the cafe on the corner – she could just see it now by leaning forward. There she had enjoyed a chocolate drink that had transported her to Heaven, and had giggled again as the eyes full of disdain all around her tried to make her feel out of place. They hadn’t succeeded. She’d always known her own worth.

The playroom and classroom were nothing out of the ordinary, except that they lacked anything to stimulate the children’s imagination – there wasn’t anything to build with or to mould with, and no artistic materials. She found this surprising, as Herr Eberhardt had an obvious love of paintings. She herself loved to paint, a discipline she would have chosen for her degree if she’d thought she could make a living at it, but it was now something she did for pleasure. Making a list of things she would need for the nursery and classroom, she then took a quick glance at the two bedrooms that the children occupied and at their bathroom, before hurrying out. If she didn’t make haste and get back to the grotty apartment Juste had rented for her, to give credit to her story, she would not have time to return with all she wanted to bring before the children arrived. Luckily the tram went by the end of her road, so she wouldn’t have to walk. And she could note if there was anyone following her. Not that this bothered her – nothing about where she lived would raise suspicion if her story was checked by anyone.

Back in her new apartment she changed her white blouse for a rose-pink one with a V-neckline. It wasn’t of the quality she was used to wearing, but it was practical and she admired herself in the mirror. Her hairstyle suited her strong features, with the long blonde strands held prettily in a net at the back of her head and the front swept over to one side, finishing in a curl just above her shaped eyebrows. Resting her hands on her hips, she turned this way and that and liked the way her figure was enhanced by the pinched darts sewn into the front of her blouse from underneath her bust to her waist. Altogether she presented a demure picture with a hint of promise and seduction. Perfect! And right on time, as she had just a minute to get to the children’s sitting room down the hall.

Herr Eberhardt’s eyebrows lifted in appreciation when he entered, holding a little girl’s hand and with his other three children just behind him.

‘Children, come on in and meet Mademoiselle Bandemer. Mademoiselle is to be your new nanny and governess, my girls; and for you, my sons, she will be on hand to see that everything is as it should be for you, as well as teaching you the French language and seeing that your recreation time is well organized. Mademoiselle, this is Greta, and Adelheid, and here we have Bernd and Nikolaus.’

Greta hid her head further into her father’s trouser leg, Adelheid gave a small smile and a curtsey, and the boys, wearing those ridiculous leather shorts with braces, both put one arm across their middle and bowed.

‘Greta!’ Herr Eberhardt’s tone held anger and brought the little girl to tears. Ignoring her for a moment, Gertrude greeted the others in German. ‘It is nice to meet you. And I hope you like making things – castles and fairies, aeroplanes and tanks – as well as drawing and painting. What about animals, pets. Do you have any? Do you like animals?’

Bernd spoke first. ‘Horses, I love horses, and I would like to paint them, Mademoiselle.’ This broke the ice, as the other two chipped in with what they would like to do.

‘Well, I have a list of things we will need.’ She handed it over to a very surprised-looking Herr Eberhardt.

A little tearful voice came from behind his knee. ‘I like cats.’

‘Well, then, as you are the youngest, that is the first thing we will draw, and the best one can be pinned above your bed, Greta.’

This had the girl’s head popping out and a smile creasing her pretty face, taking her straight into Gertrude’s heart. But she would have no favourites, for she liked them all. The older ones were a little stiff – or, rather, over-polite, but that would go in time.

‘Well now, children, it seems you are going to get on well with Mademoiselle. Good. I will order this list of materials for you tomorrow, and once you have mastered how to draw you can all do a picture for me and I will treasure them. Thank you, Mademoiselle. Now, Adelheid and Greta, it is time for you to go to bed. Bernd and Nikolaus, you have your music lesson.’

After saying an affectionate goodnight to his children, he asked Gertrude to join him after dinner, in his domestic office. ‘Your dinner will be served in your suite at seven-thirty. I will expect you at eight-thirty. I wish to discuss all of the children’s domestic arrangements and schedules.’

He hadn’t left long before the nursery maid came in. Introducing herself as Della, she had a sour look and immediately quelled the children’s enthusiasm – something to sort out another time, thought Gertrude, for now she had the excitement of the meeting with Herr Eberhardt.

For a moment the anticipation of being close to him made her wonder if perhaps she was being a traitor. God, she hated that word. But then she was on a dangerous mission and was in as much peril, if not more so, as those out in the field were. And it was important that she gain his trust and spend moments with him when he would be off-guard. Besides, she couldn’t help the pleasure that gripped her at the thought of intimate moments with him, though she would never forget that he was the enemy and would never – never – let her heart rule her head. So what was the harm?

‘There are still some things about you that I am not sure of. Your name, Violetta, for one. A pretty name, but not one I can imagine a German man calling his daughter. And nothing is coming back on our searches of your French surname, though the records are scant; and as for your father’s surname, I knew that would be difficult to sort out. There are so many families with the name Schäfer.’

Gertrude stood in front of him feeling disappointed, she had to admit, as he had greeted her formally and opened with this sentence, spoken in such a way that it gave no hint of his earlier insinuations.

‘Where did you live when you lived with your aunt?’

More interrogation! Somehow, though, she wasn’t afraid this time, and that helped her to answer all his questions in a way that wouldn’t give him any chance of finding her out as a liar. She used her real background in farming, but placed the supposed farm where she told him she had lived as a girl, in a different area from where her mother’s farm really was. And she embellished it by saying that it was rundown and had been up for sale.

She found him knowledgeable about farming, but he didn’t catch her out. ‘All of your answers are feasible. Yes, I believe you were brought up on a farm, as I myself was, but it is convenient that it is now sold and the owners have disappeared. I shall try to find out all I can. My instincts tell me I must. I will be extra-vigilant, because I fear your strong connection to France, and how convenient your past is and your application for this job. This will be in addition to the normal security that has to be carried out on all personnel that I engage, especially if they are French. Most are German, and I like it that way. They hate the French as much as I do – at least the principles by which the people of France live, and the importance they give to trivial things. Though I love their food, their art and their women.’

She could have said that she hated the Germans, but instead chose to be diplomatic, and although his continued mistrust added to her fear, she made an extreme effort to keep that fear out of her voice and to answer him in a way that she hoped sounded genuine. ‘I have the best of both countries. I have an upbringing by my German aunt, who taught me all the good things about her homeland. And my schooling and my own experiences taught me the good about my own country. I consider France my home, and I do not like what is happening at the moment, but I also consider myself to be part of the “master race”. My father was proud to be German and wanted me to know about his roots. He often said he would take me back there to live, but became ill before he could do so. And of course the only family he had left – his sister – lived here.’

‘What did he tell you about Germany?’

Again that was easy, for her mother had told her so much, but she had to be careful to tell only the things that a child would remember. ‘He told me of the cakes – beautiful creamy cakes – and how when you went to a neighbour’s they always fed you. And he made me laugh when he told me that he went from one house to another one day, as he had messages to deliver, and at the end of his deliveries he could hardly walk, he was so full!’

He laughed at this. ‘Is that all he told you? He didn’t tell you any more serious things about our culture?’

‘I was only six at the time.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Thank goodness her mother had told her such trivia. Yes, Mother had left Germany in 1910, but she hadn’t wanted to. She’d been eighteen when she’d left, so she had many memories. Her own mother had died and her father had taken her to England. Many Germans were emigrating there in search of work, but so much happened to her mother in England that it made it impossible for her to stay. Though she had wanted to support her lover in his quest to prove his innocence, being German she was heavily implicated, and he wouldn’t hear of it. Instead he helped her to escape with the aid of one of his friends, a Frenchman whom she later married. Gertrude shuddered as her hateful stepfather came into her mind.

‘Has someone just walked over your grave?’

‘All of this is bringing memories back to me, and it scares me. I am wishing that I had never applied for this position.’

‘But you have – and a big part of me is glad about that. These measures of caution are important, as I have already explained. I have to take great care. Now, a few things about the children, and then we should do something about the hints we gave each other earlier. I meant it when I said I would expect more of you.’

‘And I meant it when I agreed. I – I . . .’ For some reason her mouth had dried. ‘I am willing to serve you in any way you need of me. I – I mean . . .’

‘I know what you mean.’ He stood and crossed the room towards her, and when he reached her he grabbed her and pulled her roughly to him. His lips pressed onto hers, in a way she could not call a kiss, but a demand. It hurt as his teeth knocked on hers and caught her lip. She gasped and pulled away from him. But he grabbed her hair, dislodging the net and forcing her face to stay next to his. His body pressed into hers. She could feel the hardness of him. His eyes glared an anger at her. Through closed lips he snarled, ‘You will not fight me. You will let me take you how I please and when I want to, whore!’

This shocked her and shattered her earlier dream. She detected a bitterness in him, but thought she knew the reason why. ‘Herr Eberhardt, you don’t have to force me. I am willing. It doesn’t have to happen like this. I understand.’

Letting go of her hair, he stepped back. ‘What? What do you understand? How can you understand?’

For a moment she thought he was going to cry, so she told him gently, ‘I think you are grieving still, and find it more acceptable just to take to appease your needs than to want to give of yourself.’

‘Shut up, whore!’

This time he turned away and stood with his back straight, clutching his hands behind him. On the desk she noticed that a picture had been placed face-down – a picture of his wife maybe?

‘Will you let me help you, Herr Eberhardt? I can. I am skilled in many aspects of healing through massage and close contact, and can help to dispel guilt from sexual activity. It is what made me such a good whore.’

‘Please leave. Please just go back to your quarters. I will speak to you tomorrow about the children’s routine. I will send for you when I am ready. Just take over from the nursery nurse after you have breakfasted and spend a free day with them, doing as you please.’

‘Very well. Goodnight, Herr Eberhardt.’

As she closed the door she heard the sound of a sob coming from him.