9

Gertrude

PARIS, MARCH 1941

A FEAR OF TRUST

Kicking off her shoes, Gertrude crumpled in a heap on her bed. It had been an emotional day. But she would not give in to tears. She had a mission, and so far she hadn’t achieved anything towards that. Not even getting into the bed of Herr Eberhardt. Though she longed to.

Oh, she’d told Juste, and now Madeline, that she had done so, as it was important to their cause that she did, and she didn’t want them feeling let down. After all, she had been in the post four months now, and they would expect her to be in the position they needed her to be in.

In her discussion with Madeline she knew that her sister had picked up on the deep feelings she held for Herr Eberhardt – feelings she couldn’t deny. She loved him. And something told her he returned her love, and that is why he hadn’t taken from her what he said he would. Taking from a whore when you still loved a deceased spouse was not nearly as difficult, it would seem, as giving to another woman the love he had once given to his wife.

Not that he was going without. She’d followed him one night to the officers’ brothel – the German pigs had fashioned it from a Jewish synagogue, as if they hadn’t insulted the Jewish race enough. The horrific stories that her friend Esther had told her shuddered through her. All of Esther’s family were in a labour camp, but Esther didn’t know where. She’d had no news from them, though word had been passed to her, telling her what had happened to them and others. She had begged her mother and father to bring the family to Paris when news began to seep through of how the Jews were being treated in Germany, but to no avail.

Esther had come to France to study and had never gone back. Now there were rumblings about the Jews’ status here. Nothing specific, but enough to put fear into people. Most, even her old friends, walked on the other side of the road from Esther, but she understood and had told her friends that she wanted them to do this. They could all still meet in private. She’d told Gertrude to do the same and, although it broke her heart to do so, Gertrude knew she’d have to. She couldn’t risk being caught talking to a Jew, for it would have put her mission in jeopardy.

A knock at her door had her sitting up. Her heart pounded. Was it Herr Eberhardt?

One of the maids stood trembling with fear there. ‘What is it? What has happened?’

‘Hier ist eine Anmerkung von ihrem Freund.’ The girl scurried away.

Looking at the crumpled paper the girl had given her, she felt fear clutch at the nerves of her stomach. A note from my friend? But who? And why was it brought to me by a maid?

The knot of fear tightened as she opened it. Was the maid connected to the Resistance? No, Juste would have told her. Was this a trick to test her? Was the reason Herr Eberhardt hadn’t yet been with her that he still didn’t trust her?

The paper crackled as she undid it. A rough piece of brown grocery wrapping, its many folds had corrupted so that it was difficult to read the words. When she did manage it, shock stilled her:

This is to tell you that Esther has disappeared. I need your help. I’m being followed. I am afraid. I don’t know if these are our side or Germans, but it has been like this since I spoke to Esther. She had warned me not to talk to her in public, as she had all of us, but how could I not, when I love her? You could find out what has happened to her. Meet me when you can. Let me know through the maid. Antoine.

As had happened when she first entered her room after her visit home, Gertrude’s legs folded beneath her and once more she crumpled to the bed. This time the tears flowed. This time she gave into the helpless feeling inside her. Oh, Esther, Esther; would she ever see her again? Big and jolly, Esther had been a friend since their days in university together. She had worked in Paris and wanted to help the Resistance movement, but it was hopeless as she would not disguise that she was a Jewess. Her features gave her away and, no matter how they pleaded with her, she would not bleach her hair and eyebrows to help disguise herself. Whilst Gertrude admired her need to stay true to her faith and race, it made it very difficult to be open with their friendship, and impossible and highly dangerous to allow her to help them. The pity of it all frustrated Gertrude. ‘God, what is it with the Germans and the Jews? They’re just people, for Christ’s sake . . .’

Her thoughts turned to Antoine. Somehow she must find a way to help him, for she could not let down a dear friend from her childhood days. Tomorrow she must get a message to Juste; check if he knew about this maid, and whether he could do anything to help Antoine. But then the maid might be a plant! The whole story might be a sham to catch her out. She had to be careful. Messages for her were always left at the corner cafe. Why, oh why, would Antoine have not used that method?

In a flash of clarity she knew what she must do. She must report the maid. She had no choice. If the maid was a plant by Herr Eberhardt, then the consequences of not reporting her would be dire for herself and for the group. She could not risk that. If the maid was a true worker for the Resistance, then they might look on Gertrude as having betrayed them. But no, they would see her reasoning, for the rules of contact had been breached. She had no choice.

Standing in front of a row of nervous-looking maids, Gertrude pointed to the one who had brought the note to her. The screams of protest from the girl would live with her forever.

‘No . . . no . . . no . . . I – I was only working for her friend. I did not know her before. She is an agent, a spy!’

This, said in French, made Gertrude realize, with horror, that the girl was genuine. Bile rose in her throat and threatened to choke her. Her heart was weighed down with guilt, as guards were ordered to take the girl away. She clenched her fists and clamped her teeth together in an effort not to protest, and tried to close her ears to the desperate screams of the girl pleading for mercy. They went on and on, fading into the distance.

Dismissing the rest of the maids, Herr Eberhardt stared at Gertrude for a long moment. His face was cold and unreadable. ‘So, Mademoiselle Bandemer, what am I to make of this? Why would a French girl pose as a German to get a job in my house, only to bring you a note and denounce you as a spy? This is very strange, don’t you think?’

‘It is, Herr Eberhardt, and I can understand why you are confused. I am myself. I wonder if she was testing me out, prior to recruiting me? Maybe somehow she knew I was French, even though no one else has suspected.’

‘But this Antoine, are you saying you don’t know him? Is he real? Is he a dissident? And who is Esther?’

‘Antoine is a common name. I do know many men with that name, but none that would be a dissident. And as for Esther, again it is a common Jewish name. I was at university with an Esther, but I haven’t had any contact with her for a long time. I had been told that she and her family had disappeared.’

‘No matter – the maid already squealed, as you heard, so we will get plenty out of her. You did a good thing in reporting her.’

There was tension in the silence that followed this. Gertrude could not look away from his stare. His grey eyes clouded over. His voice took on a different note from the cruel, accusatory one he’d just used, as he asked almost in a whisper, ‘What is it with you? Why do you affect me so? It is as if you are in my mind. You know, don’t you? You know about the pain I suffer.’

‘Yes, I know. I know what is behind you wanting to be rough with me, and I think you are with any woman that you take.’

‘I find that unsettling. Why should you realize my pain and not others?’

‘I saw the face-down photograph and guessed it was one of your wife and family, so I had an advantage. In my training to please men, by a very old and wise madam who used to own a brothel here, I was taught how to get inside men’s heads and understand the different types who seek out the favours of a prostitute. Some have mother-fixations, some sister-fixations, some a deep self-disgust. Others are grieving for loved ones and feel angry and ashamed. I put you in this last group. I – I can help you . . .’

‘How? This is ridiculous!’

‘I would take your guilt into account. I would not allow you to penetrate me until you are ready to do so without feeling that crippling emotion. I would let you talk as I massaged your body. I would bathe you, and lie beside you until you slept, letting my naked body caress you, but not demanding anything from you – just letting you fantasize as to whose body it is. And I will allow you to weep because it isn’t the body you want it to be. You will know when you are ready to let go and let your wife rest in peace, and then you will be able to love again, and I will be here for you, waiting.’

He did not speak. Turning from her, he picked up the picture from his desk and stared at it.

‘Would you like me to leave, Herr Eberhardt? It is in moments like this that you need to be alone. You have a big decision to make – one that could see you going forward or one that could stagnate you.’

His ‘Yes’ was controlled, but she heard a deep swallow before he spoke.

‘I would like to walk out for a while. The children are having their afternoon nap and I usually take this opportunity to get a little time on my own. Do you object to that, Herr Eberhardt?’

‘No, carry on as normal. I will speak to you once the girl has been interrogated.’

Back in her room, Gertrude’s hand shook as she wrote a note for Juste telling him what had happened, and why she had done what she’d done. She told him that her heart ached for the girl, but her stomach churned with terror at what would happen once the girl was interrogated. Juste was always ready to receive a communication from Paulo, the cafe owner, at this hour. If he saw her going into the cafe wearing her green jacket with the fur collar, he would know that she was leaving a message for him. As soon as she left, Juste would be in the alley at the back door of the cafe, ready to receive the communication.

The cafe hummed with German conversation. Soldiers sat at every table and low whistles and guffaws welcomed her appearance, until one soldier said, ‘Sie vorsichtig, sie ist ein Favorit der Ihr Eberhardt,’ and all turned away from her. From the way in which the soldier had warned his comrades to be careful and telling them she was the favourite of Herr Eberhardt, it seemed that gossip was rife about her. She’d have to take extra care, as this meant she would be scrutinized by any German with whom she came into contact. To be thought the mistress of one of the most powerful countrymen in France would earn her a little respect, but would also make her an object of curiosity.

Picking through the magazines in a pile in the corner whilst waiting for her coffee, she found a copy of Mode du Jour. The girl on the cover looked similar to herself, with the same-shaped face, long lashes and swept-back blonde hair. And she loved the little black hat the girl wore – a felt imitation of a scarf wrapped around the back and tied on top of her head in an elaborate bow. It was chic and flattering. Thinking that she must get one similar, Gertrude smiled to herself as she read the caption beneath: ‘du neuf avec du vieux’ – ‘the new with the old’. Was it possible to stop being the woman she was and fully become the agent she had to be? She knew it was, but she could mix both of them, couldn’t she?

The wind whipped around her as she took her coffee outside. Choosing a seat sheltered from the breeze, she peeled off her second glove – she’d removed only one in the cafe to help her to sort through the magazines. Taking her time, she managed not to drop the note she had tucked inside. It was easy then to open the magazine with her other hand and slip the note between the front cover and the first page, before relaxing back and continuing to flick through the pages while she drank her coffee.

Though the drink was delicious, and was made of superior beans to those used in other establishments, on account of the cafe’s German clientele, it did nothing to lift her spirits or to quell the trembling inside her. Her instincts were to run round to the back of the cafe and find comfort in seeing Juste. Her head told her that she mustn’t.

‘Mademoiselle has found an interesting magazine, no?’

The voice made her jump. Looking up, she saw that it was Antoine. With hardly a movement of her head she scanned the street. She could see no sign of anyone watching her.

In a low tone that spoke of her anger she snapped at Antoine, ‘Go away! Are you stupid? How dare you put me in danger?’

‘What happened to my friend – did she deliver you a note?’

‘Go away, Antoine, please. The cafe is full of German soldiers who know who I am. Please, go away.’

‘I will wait around the corner for you. Oh, and I will take that magazine. I see you have finished with it.’

Snatching it up, she stood. The iron chair crashed to the ground. Two German officers appeared from inside the cafe. Antoine walked away unhurriedly across the street.

‘Was he troubling you, Mademoiselle?’

‘No, not at all. He merely asked for the time. When I looked and realized it was later than I thought, I rose too quickly. I am fine – there is nothing to concern yourself about. I have to hurry. Excuse me.’

‘I’ll take the magazine back inside for you . . .’

Handing it to the younger of the two, she stammered to thank him in French and German, ‘Merci. I mean, Ich bin dankbar’ – knowing that she wasn’t grateful at all – and went as if to walk away. Please God, don’t let my note fall out!

‘Mademoiselle, vous n’avez pas payé!’

Thank God for Paulo. He must have seen the danger she was in from behind his counter and was causing a distraction by asking her to settle her bill!

Smiling at the German, Paulo took the magazine from him and picked up her coffee cup while she fumbled for the change with which to pay him. Paulo never charged her as a rule. Always he would say: ‘Non, je ne prends pas d’argent de mes amis.’ But this time she was more than happy to be a paying customer, and not just a friend having coffee!

Nodding at them all, she turned on her heels and put more than the usual swagger into her walk, hoping that the desire this might invoke would take from their minds any doubt they had about her and the incident with Antoine. What was the matter with him? His actions are causing grave danger to everyone!

Once back in her room, the hours dragged. Gertrude’s mind wouldn’t let go of what might be happening to the servant girl and how much information she would tell the Gestapo. Every sound, other than the usual ones of the girls playing, had her cringing with fright. Please, God, please let the girl find courage within herself not to tell them anything. This plea interjected with the thought that the girl might not know much at all about the group, and the names of those active within it, and had her praying even more fervently: Please, please don’t let her know about Juste or Madeline!

Fraught with worry, every sinew in her body felt stretched as if to breaking point. Every nerve objected to movement. Never had she been so glad to see the nursery maid arrive to take over the care of the girls. It hadn’t registered at first that the woman had come earlier than usual, so she hadn’t questioned it. Now she could only feel grateful, as all she wanted to do was have a long soak in a hot bath, and the extra time she had would allow for that.

The plumbing in this grand building always surprised her. Never had she known a time when she hadn’t had to fill a bath with hot water from a huge pan, kept boiling on the top of a stove. Now she relished the sound of the water hitting the cast-iron tub and the waterfall effect, which filled her with peace, as it filled up. Easing herself into the bath, her body already damp from the steam that fogged the room, she anticipated the pleasure of the hot bubbles. They would soothe her aches and perhaps ease some of the tension from her. Lying back, she closed her eyes.

They shot open at the sound of a key turning in a lock. A distinctive click. Footsteps coming towards the bathroom froze her. Fixing her gaze on the bathroom door, she waited, not daring to breathe.

Cooler air hit her face. Through the steam that blurred her vision she saw the outline of a man. ‘Who . . . who are you, and what . . . what do you want . . . ?’ But as she asked, she knew. ‘Herr Eberhardt?’

‘Yes. I haven’t much time before the children’s dinner, and I always sit with them. But, well, I wanted to try your treatment. Is half an hour long enough?’

Knowing that he must have come through the locked door in her sitting room, through which she had no access, made her realize that her sitting room must lead to his office somehow – though not directly, as that wasn’t possible. There must be corridors that connected them. She liked the idea of hidden corridors, and the thought that he had planned this visit and had ordered the nursery maid to relieve her earlier than usual.

‘We can make a start. It is good you came now, as putting it off would have made it more difficult for you.’ Standing as she said this, she gave him a moment to look at her wet body.

‘You’re beautiful, Violetta.’

She wrapped a huge white towel around her, loving the embrace it gave her as she stepped out and moved towards him. ‘You are too, Herr—’

‘Kristof – mein Name ist Kristof.’

‘Kristof? I like that. Well now, Kristof, it is best just to do as I ask. Is that all right with you?’

He nodded.

‘First of all, take off your clothes.’ As if she had spoken to a child, he removed his shirt and trousers. She helped him with his vest, then from behind him slipped off his pants, taking a moment to savour the feelings rippling through her at the sight of him. His body belied what his fair hair colouring had given her expectations of. His skin, tight and bronzed, stretched over muscles that told of a man who did more than his daily dozen. It also told of a man of power, but she sensed his vulnerable side and knew that she had hit on exactly the right way to handle him. He needed someone, sometimes, to take the lead. To give him orders and to care for him. She knew she could play that role.

‘You are beautiful, Kristof. Step into the bath and, as you haven’t much time, tonight I will just bathe you.’ Once more, and without protest, he did as she said. ‘Relax, Kristof – Kristof, I love your name. I could say it and say it.’

‘And it sounds nice when you do. I have never met anyone like you. It is as if you undo me and find my core.’

‘That is because I know you. I knew you the moment I met you. I got straight into your soul and took you into mine.’

The action of soaping him with her hands was the most sensual thing she had ever done. It brought every part of her in tune with every part of him. Her desire for him raged inside her, but she knew she must not take him to that – not yet. His need for her, too, showed in the hardness of him and in the way he looked at her. With his breathing coming in deep but short and heavy spasms, she wondered if together they would resist, but knew they must. ‘Know that you cannot take me, Kristof. You are not ready, in an emotional sense. When you do take me, it has to be perfect, not tarred with the scars of grief and guilt.’

‘I don’t know if I can resist . . .’

‘You must. I must, too. The satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the aftermath for you, my darling.’

The endearment brought tears to his eyes. She allowed him to weep, even though it wrenched her heart to see the silent tears flow from him. She gently rinsed him, filling the sponge and squeezing the water over him. When his crying stopped, she asked him to get out of the tub so that she could rub him dry. As she did so he said, ‘Thank you. Thank you, my Violetta.’

For a long time his eyes held hers. In them she could see healing; it wasn’t complete, but some of the coldness and the aloofness had gone.

‘Please, Violetta, don’t turn out to be false. I have feelings for you. If you are deceiving me it will break me.’

Taking his hand, she kissed it all over, turning it and placing her lips on his palm. It smelt of the roses that her soap had left on it. She wanted to take each finger into her mouth, but she knew the time wasn’t right to tap into any more of his sensuality. She just needed the distraction of this small act to get herself to a place where she could lie to this man, whom she loved.

Her heart ached to have them transported to another time – a time that held peace. A time when deception wasn’t needed. Their time. But it wasn’t to be, and so much depended on her, so many lives. She had to live the lie.

‘I can understand your doubts, Kristof, and they are natural. You know I am French – yes, half-German, too. But you know I love the country I was born in, and am unhappy at how things are for my people. But I have to live. I have to work. You are the only one offering the work I am trained for, and you have given me a position within your house. That makes me valuable to those working against you. So, as I think happened this afternoon, they will try to recruit me. I think the maid was doing that work, and will do anything – and say anything – to make it look as though it wasn’t her fault, because she is afraid for her life.’

At that moment she hated herself for what she was saying, but she knew she had no choice. Her own brother and beautiful new sister, and the other members of the group, were at risk. ‘If I had pursued it, I think the man I would have met would have tried to talk me into helping them. But I think their cause is hopeless, and what we French should work towards is living in harmony with our superiors, who, I believe, will make France a better land, given time. And I hope that, as we come to conform, Herr Hitler will relax the regime of occupation and put in place a government that will rule us fairly and help us to prosper.’

‘That is it! That is exactly how he sees it. He knows that Germany is the superior race and should rule the world. Our race has qualities beyond those of others. A superiority given to us by God, but one that has been suppressed for too long. We can see the evil of the Jew, an evil that God used his son to fight against. Jews are scum and need disposing of. They corrupt with their greed and vile practices. They suck others dry to make themselves rich. Herr Hitler has a vision, and it is the right vision. He will also rid the world of the evil of those travellers, homosexuals and disabled persons who have not been born in God’s perfect form. There is a struggle to go through; nations have to be conquered, but once they are and we can put into action our plans for the world, it will be a better place. A place where the strong live and prosper and all the badness has gone.’

This frightened her. To hear God’s name being taken to justify what Germany was doing to the rest of the world, and to the Jews in particular, made her feel sick, but she knew better than to argue. Not yet. One day she hoped to make him see it all in a different light, but that was for the future. All she hoped for now was that he did not believe anything the nursery maid said, and that her job here could continue.

His next words shot her out of this complacency. ‘You say she may have led you to someone working against us – a dissident? Yes, you’re right. Maybe we should let her do that. We could have you followed and maybe catch a whole group!’

‘No, I will not do it. You can have me shot – I won’t care. I would rather that than do as you say. I could never help you in your fight against my people.’

‘Good God, Violetta! I was just beginning to trust you.’

‘You can trust me, as I will not help them, either. Look at how I told you about the girl! That should show you I wouldn’t help them. I could have just gone to this whatever-his-name was . . .’ Beads of sweat ran down her neck.

Kristof had put his trousers back on and she helped him with his shirt. As he buttoned it he looked once more into her eyes. She held her gaze steady. Relief entered her as a smile creased his cheeks. ‘You are unreadable, and still some doubt niggles me. But then, what can you do? What can I do? I know I don’t want to suspect you, and you haven’t given me any reason to.’ Again he was quiet. After a moment he said, ‘Very well, we will see what we get out of the girl. I will make a judgement then.’

‘Thank you. You are strong when you are in your role of power. It is the part of you that holds your emotions and your feelings that is fragile. Come back to me when you feel able. Together we will get you well. Not that it is a weakness in you. No, rather it is your strength, because you have the capacity to give a great love that does not die. I am not trying to help it to die; I am trying to help you to live with the knowledge that you can’t taint one love by having another; when that one is no longer accessible to you.’

‘You are a very special person, Violetta. I . . . I – well, I have a deep feeling for you.’

Tears stung her eyes. This wasn’t right, and yet it felt so right. With a heart torn in two, she told him, ‘I love you, Kristof.’

His arms moved around her, taking her into the warmth of his body, the place that was made for her. Why did that place have to be circled in the world of the enemy?

To see the tree in the square, which had only ever held beauty, bearing the dreadful burden of the bloodied and bruised body of the young maid swinging by her neck, backwards and forwards from one of its branches, struck horror into Gertrude. She would never get the image out of her mind. Nor would she ever forgive herself.

Antoine, too, had died. Seen as a traitor, he had been shot by members of the Resistance. But was he a traitor? Or was he just like her, a slave to the love that he held inside him. His love for Esther and hers for Kristof – forbidden loves. Oh God, poor Antoine . . . and that poor maid. And, Esther, where is she? The pity of it all brought the tears flowing again.

‘None of this is your fault, Gertrude.’ Madeline tried once again to console her, but the words she uttered, though well meant, did not penetrate her pain, or wipe away the guilt. ‘Listen to me, Gertrude. Antoine betrayed us for his own reasons. He caused the maid’s death; he left you no choice. You did the right thing. The repercussions may still not be over. But the early signs are that, in the end, the maid did not break. If she had, we would all have been rounded up by now.’

She knew this to be true, if only she could accept it. ‘Who was she, Madeline? Why didn’t I know there was one of us in Herr Eberhardt’s house?’

‘Antoine recruited her. Her name was Hélène de Agusta. She met Juste and, as far as he could tell, she was a good candidate. Her ideals were sound. He did not know that she worked at the house. Again, this demonstrates Antoine’s guilt. He must have persuaded her not to disclose that fact. She hadn’t been used on any assignments, or introduced to any safe houses or members other than himself and Juste, so she knew little. Antoine said she was the daughter of a soldier who had been killed as he fought with the Allied troops, and Hélène wanted to avenge him and fight for her country as her father had done.’

They were in one of the safe houses – a dark, dingy, dank place, the home of a loyal family whose son was one of their group. The smell of damp walls and poverty took Gertrude back to a time she did not want to visit. A time when such places were all she could afford. Places that often held only a bed, on which her body was used to gratify the sexual urges of many a pervert. No one should endure such conditions, but so many did, and not just prostitutes and lowlifes, but families – good, hard-working families. Would there ever be a better France, a free France? At this moment she could not see it happening.

‘Will you be all right, Gertrude? Do you want us to get you out of there?’

This question from Madeline shocked her. Take her out of Kristof’s home – no, that must not happen! ‘No! No, you cannot! I – I . . .’

‘Oh, Gertrude, my dear, be careful. Don’t let your heart rule your head.’

‘I won’t. I would never let you down. I am near now to a time when I should be able to get you information that will help you plan your missions. Isn’t what I just did proof enough that I will always make the right decisions? It ripped me to pieces to do it, Madeline. To betray two of our own, for the greater good of our cause – especially Antoine, a friend. It has almost broken me, but not my conviction. What Antoine did was wrong. He did what you are urging me not to do; he put us all, and our mission, in jeopardy for the sake of his love for Esther. I understand that, but I would not do the same. Always know that, Madeline. No matter what happens, I would not do that.’

‘I know.’

Feeling herself wrapped in Madeline’s arms helped. But it did not erase all the pain; only time could do that for her, as she knew it would for Juste. Her eyes held his, over the shoulder of her sister. Her dear brother, once a carefree pest, who always shone in his father’s eyes, and whom she’d seen blossom into a man, now looked a shadow of his former self. His face was ashen, his eyes big and dark in their sunken sockets. With sculptured cheekbones that now protruded, his face held the same pain at the loss of Antoine, and even more so at being the one to order his execution.

‘Juste?’

He came forward. Madeline released her. Juste took Gertrude into his arms and together they wept.