She’d recovered from that blunder, she thought. Having come close to cooking her own goose or at least warning him off with the direct question she’d promised herself (and assured Martin Leblanc this morning) she wouldn’t ask. The parallel between the fiction she’d been proposing and the position of Léonie and Rouquet being so close, the question had virtually asked itself – and might have paid off if one had taken a few seconds to weigh it up, gone for it less directly. She’d actually got out of it quite well, she thought, pointing out (a) that Jacqui’s story needed all the background it could get, since it might have to stand up to close scrutiny by FFI or other post-Occupation investigative authority, and (b) that Clausen’s withdrawal from Paris being for all he knew imminent, he might well have baulked at the prospect of leaving her in, say, Gestapo hands: so what alternative might he have had – in her account of it, the way she’d tell it – other than either dithering, thus allowing time for the leak and her escape, or himself tipping her off, letting her go and then on the face of it discovering what she’d been up to?
He’d stayed silent: watching her, presumably thinking it out, unmoving while Jacqui decided abruptly to get lunch and declined Rosie’s offer of help. Rosie recalling Leblanc’s Don’t underestimate this man… Adding then as her own unhurried afterthought, ‘What you’d have told your own superiors would have been your own business, you’d know how to address that. You’d be gone and so would all your records; all anyone here would have to go on would be what Jacqui told them. That’s what would have to be realistic enough to hold water. Don’t you agree?’
He hadn’t come out of his own deliberations until Jacqui had gone inside.
‘You’ve come up with a good idea, Jeanne-Marie, but we’d spoil it by allowing it to become too complicated. In principle, it’s excellent. I’m delighted Jacqui asked you here – and grateful that you sought her out in the first place… Speaking of which, when you called here on Friday Jacqui tells me you met Henri Lafont downstairs?’
‘He approached me, yes.’
‘You didn’t know who he was?’
‘Not at the time. I asked Jacqui.’
‘Oh, yes. He told me he’d met you, too. That was before Jacqui told me you’d been here – or that he had.’
Rosie shrugged. ‘A weird character, I thought. That high voice – and to start with, a threatening manner. Is he a friend of yours?’
‘We have some professional interests in common, that’s all. He’d come by in the hope of catching me, he mentioned.’ Watching her, dwelling on a pause as if inviting comment. Rosie thinking, He’d have known you weren’t in. No car down there – known it for certain. And not being an idiot, you’re at least as aware of that as I am… Remembering Jacqui’s chatter an hour ago: He’s kept so busy, up half the night… A statement in which she, Rosie, had shown no interest: just as she wasn’t reacting now to whatever Clausen was trying to convey or probe for. He was changing the subject anyway: ‘As I say, I’m grateful for your excellent suggestion. Regarding detail, I’ll sleep on it. A possibility one must of course allow for is some French member of my office staff volunteering evidence to any subsequent inquiry, challenging Jacqui’s story.’
‘How might you deal with that?’
‘Brief Jacqui on how to challenge any of them. I’d have spoken to her of my suspicions of X, Y or Z. I’ll give her some notes to memorise… You really mean it, though, you’d go down to Nantes with her, stay there with her?’
‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t. One difficulty may be this business of finding my daughter, but—’
‘Here we are, at last!’
Jacqui, with a loaded tray – an entrée of stuffed aubergines. Rosie still thinking of her and of the freak with the girlish voice: wondering whether she might be two-timing her beloved Gerhardt. As Gerhardt might, she thought, suspect? Knowing as one did quite a lot about Jacqui’s past, and guessing that Clausen might know even more, might also have in mind that leopards were at least reputed not to change their spots?
This one might have, though. Although in circumstances such as she was facing now – and needing Clausen as her protector—
‘How lovely, Jacqui!’
‘Please take lots.’
‘You might be sorry you said that. How on earth d’you manage – so quickly, so little effort?’
‘I had a girl in this morning, for a few hours. And we cook on gas – the same cylinders they use to drive the buses – which aren’t running now in any case… But certainly we do live well.’
‘Do indeed.’ Clausen: he’d opened a second bottle of the Riesling. It had already had a relaxing effect on him, Rosie had noticed. ‘In fact it’s breaking a lot of hearts to leave this city. I’m giving away no secrets, admitting that. Our women are especially sad about it – understandably enough – but for all of us, in fact—’
‘What women are those?’
‘Our own – who work with us here. Basically two kinds. You don’t speak any German?’
‘None.’
‘Well, there are the Edeltrippen – which literally means “noble typists” – girls of good education and background who mainly work in our offices but will also – oh, sew on buttons, anything – and they have a great social life, I can tell you. As well as the shopping, which at the rate of exchange that we enjoy—’ He shrugged. ‘Best not to rub that in, perhaps. But in Germany right now, life’s not so comfortable – especially with the bombing, not much fun at all. What I was saying though – another German word for you – there are also what we call the Blitzmädchen. War Maidens, eh? They work for our forces – in canteens and so forth, telephone exchanges—’
‘And more personal services?’
Jacqui laughing: ‘Really, Jeanne-Marie—’
‘I meant the “noble” ones. He said they’d do anything.’
‘Bring tarts to Paris?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘The brothel-keepers will be sorry to see us go, I can tell you. D’you know how many are reserved solely for the Wehrmacht?’
Jacqui began again on the same note. ‘Really, Gerhardt—’
‘I’ll tell you anyway. Out of the one hundred and twenty which are registered, forty are reserved for soldiers, four for officers and one for generals.’
Rosie said, ‘A bit limiting for the generals.’
‘It must be,’ Clausen agreed. ‘One might even refuse promotion to general’s rank when the time came.’
‘One serious question – if it’s not a secret—’
‘If it is, I’ll tell you.’
‘The tricolor on the police headquarters – I saw it yesterday when I went to meet Jacqui – and now there’s one on l’Hôtel de Ville as well. You’re allowing this?’
‘Surprises you? Yes, I suppose it would.’ Putting down his fork. ‘The answer is that the military commander of Greater Paris, General Dietrich von Choltitz – a fine soldier, I may say – is not anxious to destroy Paris unless he’s forced to. Those two buildings are of no military importance, nor is he interested in a few roughnecks throwing their weight about in the back alleys. As long as he can keep open the roads that matter – those through Paris and encircling it – and the bridges, of course – thus allowing for orderly withdrawal, or fighting withdrawal if necessary – it’s all that concerns him. I might add that all the bridges and certain other structures are being wired for demolition in any case.’
‘Although you just said—’
‘It’s officially still a secret: but the Resistance know it. Just as they know we have a number of fortified defensive points – blockhouses, which we call Stützpunkte – thirty-two of them commanding what are strategic points.’ He stood up, continued while removing the first-course plates – Jacqui replacing them with others – ‘The head of the Paris FFI – Parodi, a young man who calls himself a general, is allegedly the representative of de Gaulle – was quite by chance arrested at a checkpoint yesterday and taken to be interviewed by von Choltitz at the Hôtel Maurice. They talked, and von Choltitz then released him. Yes – imagine it. Well – to anyone who knows that man’s military background, it’s astonishing. But you see – what I’m telling you is actually no secret. You could say it’s as good as finished here.’
‘The occupation of Paris, you mean?’
‘To all intents and purposes, you could say so. Oh, there’ll be some fighting, more killing – and for those of us who are ordered to remain, of course—’
‘Might you be?’
‘I would not have thought so, but actually until one receives one’s orders—’
‘You can’t tell. I see. But as regards Jacqui’s future—’
‘I wouldn’t want her to stay here even if it looked as if I were going to. No – I’ll rough out some sort of dossier in the morning, bring it home and talk it over with you tomorrow night perhaps, chérie.’ An arm round her shoulders, a quick hug. ‘It’s a very good idea, isn’t it?’
‘Quick as that.’ Jacqui had pecked him on the cheek. ‘Decision taken, we’re for the rural peace and quiet, Jeanne-Marie. Seriously, we’re both very grateful to you. Here now – Noix de Veau.’
‘Incredible!’
‘Oh, the Master Race lives well. How will it be on your farm?’
‘Well, we won’t starve, but—’
‘How will we get there?’
‘When the time comes’ – Clausen was offering sauté potatoes – ‘we’ll settle that and other details. More importantly here and now, Jeanne-Marie, is how soon you’ll be ready to leave Paris. To give up on the search for your daughter, to put it bluntly.’
‘I’m not giving up. But how long would you guess we might have? A week?’
‘Maybe that long.’ Pausing, he and Jacqui exchanging a thoughtful look: Rosie recognising that even if she was playing fast and loose – or contemplating it – neither of them was going to find the separation easy. Thinking fleetingly then of herself and Ben, who’d already been separated for what felt like an eternity – felt like it but could not, touch wood, last much longer now… Clausen saying, ‘How I should have put it, perhaps, is whether when the time comes for Jacqui to leave you’ll be ready to go with her, irrespective of having found your child. Otherwise – well, locating the farm, and her introduction to the people – and in any case you’d be company for each other. The journey itself may not be at all easy, you realise?’
‘I know. Yes. Ideally of course I’d bring them along too. Juliette, anyway, the old woman can go hang. Can we leave it as a decision to be made when the time comes? I won’t let you down—’
‘You’re living now at Vincennes?’
‘Have been, but I’m moving. The telephone number I gave you, Jacqui, is a café-bar in Montmartre where I’ve been basing myself in daytime – and that stands. I’ll be in lodgings quite close to it. Vincennes is so far out.’
‘By bicycle, I’d say it would be.’
‘Further still to Nantes, mind you.’
‘Oh, very funny—’
‘I don’t mean it as a joke, entirely.’ She looked at Clausen. ‘Transport may not be easy, I guess. In fact getting through at all – as you said… Very likely be chaotic on the roads.’
‘On bicycles – with an old woman and a small child?’
‘Well, no, of course—’
Clausen said, ‘I’ll requisition a gazo for you. With spare gas cylinders. Easier from your point of view than wood or charcoal. That can be done tomorrow too. I’ll have one of my staff bring it here and park it at the back. He won’t bother you, chérie, he’ll just leave it.’
‘French staff, or German?’
.’Oh, French. Why?’
‘Mightn’t he chauffeur us to Nantes? If you paid him well enough?’ Jacqui clapped her hands: ‘Listen! He might play a role in the charade – in the plot with me stealing information?’
‘No. Too complicating. The fewer people who know anything at all, the better.’
Rosie nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘I suppose you’re right. What a mess it’s going to be. Résistants and pseudo-résistants – that’s me, of course – denunciations, no one believing anyone else… I’ll hate it, leaving you!’
‘I wish to God I could take you with me.’ Shaking his head. ‘If I could have that one wish granted…’ Swirling wine around his glass, tossing it back…
‘You see’ – Jacqui, to Rosie – ‘how it is with us.’ A shrug then: ‘Although, chéri – although we know it can’t be – can’t now, that is – we also know that some time, even if it’s years—’
‘Will I’m afraid be years.’ Putting down his knife and fork; the others had already finished. ‘But the future’s a blind alley.’ To Rosie then: ‘Here and now, all we can be certain of is that we have now a rather excellent cream cheese, then for dessert Fraises des Bois in red wine. As one might say, living for the moment, uh?’
The cheese was Fontainebleau, and the little wine-soaked strawberries were delicious. Rosie then accepted a German cigarette as well as coffee – real coffee – and a glass of Cognac. ‘How I’ll stay on my bicycle after all this, God knows… Gerhardt – the French staff you mentioned – when you leave, won’t they be in danger from the Resistance?’
‘Those who stay, yes. They know it, of course, they’ll have made their own arrangements. Others will come with us.’
‘To Germany?’
‘By no means all of them, though. As perhaps you realise, we employ literally thousands one way and another. The rest will’ – pausing, lighting a cigar – ‘will disappear, become résistants – whatever.’
‘What about the man with the high voice?’
‘Lafont.’
Jacqui grimaced: ‘Who cares?’
‘Well – you have a point,’ Rosie agreed. ‘I thought he was – sinister, in the extreme. But still – interesting, from this distance and in a repulsive sort of way. You said he has a lot of women friends – and lives grandly on money stolen from Jews he’s sent to the camps?’
‘Jews and others.’ Clausen lit his own fresh cigarette. ‘But your question, what will happen to them when we leave – for Lafont himself, that’s no problem. Two years ago he was granted German citizenship and the rank of captain in the SS. Reward for services rendered – in the course of which he’s enriched himself very considerably. As well I must admit as destroying countless résistant groups. If it hadn’t been for the Gestapo of Rue Lauriston, the Resistance today would be a very much more formidable force than it is.’
‘Did he start life as a policeman?’
‘Far from it. Actually his story’s an amazing one.’
‘I’m sure Jeanne-Marie would like to hear it, Gerhardt.’
‘Not from me, though.’
‘Not?’
Rosie said, ‘Never mind.’ A smile at Jacqui: ‘You can tell me, when we’re alone in the depths of the countryside with damn-all else to talk about.’
‘Gerhardt – after all, what harm?’
‘Oh, no harm at all. In fact I suppose – if it would entertain you—’
‘I’m sure it would!’
‘The main facts, anyway – as well, mind you, as I know them. But if you should meet him again—’
‘God forbid!’
‘—just don’t tell him I told you any of this… Policeman – no, that he was not. He was a child of the slums who became a petty crook, and my people – that’s to say the Abwehr, which I was in before I transferred to SD, and the two were merged in any case, eight or nine months ago – Abwehr recruited him from a prison cell. Fresnes, as it happens. This was – oh, soon after the Armistice, when the Gestapo took it over. His name then was Chamberlin, he changed it to Lafont. Recruited his people in that same way – they’re all criminals, to begin with all men he’d known before as fellow-criminals. Even now there’s not one who doesn’t have a prison record. To start with he set up an agency locating and seizing assets of all kinds for the Reich government. Everything from gold and bearer bonds to cattle. Then he became a gestapist – and very highly thought of – by catching and breaking down a Resistance leader who was our own Gestapo’s most wanted man. Name of Lambrecht – head of the Resistance in Belgium, and by that time with active cells all over – France, Holland, everywhere. Lafont found him living under cover in Toulouse, personally broke into his bedroom and knocked him out, flung him into the boot of a car and drove to Bordeaux where he’d arranged to have the use of a Gestapo cellar – in which he and half a dozen of his gang worked on Lambrecht for two days and nights without a break. Finally, as I said, broke him. Lafont himself uses a whip – but clubs, boots, chains, whatever. Imagine it – and that voice shrieking all the time in his ears – two days and nights… Anyway, Lambrecht broke, and the result was more than six hundred arrests all over Europe. I heard there were even some in Germany. It was a major coup – triumph for Lafont, of course. He took on a man by name of Bonny – Pierre Bonny – who’d been an inspector in the Sûreté; a crooked one, before the war they threw him off the force – Lafont took him on as his adjutant. Administrator, keeps the books and so on. I’m not sure Lafont can read or write.’
‘Extraordinary your people recruiting him in the first place.’
‘Those are the facts of it, anyway. He’s an extremely powerful man now, and on the best of terms with everyone who matters. The chiefs of Gestapo, for instance – in particular Carl Boemelbourg – ever hear of him?’
‘Should one have?’ Blank look, despite the bell that was ringing in her skull. Jacqui murmuring to her, ‘Boemelbourg is pédéraste number one. Lafont, they say, used to send him flowers and boys.’
‘But all the top people here – generals, politicians, newspaper editors, actresses, writers, leading lights of Paris society, Vichy ministers – Laval especially – all treat him with respect and accept his famously lavish hospitality. “Monsieur Henri”, they call him.’
‘And still the whip?’
‘Oh, yes. Still the whip.’ A shrug. ‘So one hears.’
It was past 4 o’clock when she left them. Jacqui came down to see her off; Clausen had a telephone call to make. He’d given her their number here, suggesting that all communications in either direction should be via Jacqui and by the sound of them purely social. He’d copied the Blue Dog’s number into a notebook.
‘This is in Montmartre, you say. You’re moving from Vincennes right away?’
‘To somewhere near it. On my way this morning I left my things there. There are dozens of rooming houses close by.’
On his feet and with the lunch-party concluded, Clausen’s manner was brisk, even impatient. The telephone call which he’d told Jacqui he had to make, for instance – Rosie had the impression he wanted her out of the way before he made it. He’d be working out details for Jacqui’s dossier this evening, he’d said, and making a draft of it in the morning; also seeing about a gazo… ‘When the time comes, you’ll come here – correct?’
‘But not in the next few days – unless I find Juliette. If or when I do, I’ll let Jacqui know.’
‘It’s hardly likely, is it? In just days, and a city the size of this one.’
‘You could add that they might not even be here. I’m very much aware of it. Three days isn’t much, I know, but – give me that long anyway?’
Three days in which to find Guillaume and Léonie. If the summons came before that, she would not move. Instead, disappear. Move away from the Dog – since they had its number and would be able to pinpoint it quickly enough. Leblanc would help; or Dénault, if they released that crowd. One would be relying on them now entirely. On Leblanc, anyway.
Not having had the guts to push it with bloody Clausen.
Why not, though? If the worst came to the worst – no leads or results despite the ringing bell – which was only a clue of sorts, seemed to her at this moment convincing enough but in the longer run might not pay off – if for instance Leblanc and company couldn’t handle it. But with Clausen breaking his own rules already – not finding it easy but having to, for Jacqui – for himself, in fact, besotted with her as he was, which in itself was a handy ring in the bull’s snout – hell, why not use it? When one got his call or Jacqui’s, instead of, ‘All right, I’ll come right away’, tell them, ‘There are two others I want with us: won’t move without them’; faced with that, and with his beloved’s means of escape all set up, feeling perhaps a bit windy about it all, wouldn’t he go the extra distance?
If they were still alive…
She asked Jacqui – outside, down on the forecourt, unlocking her bike – ‘You mentioned when I arrived that Gerhardt had been up all night.’
‘Did I?’ A shrug. ‘He certainly was late. And had to go in again this morning. Well – short-handed as they are now—’
‘Had to go in where, this morning?’
‘To his office. In the Propaganda Division in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees – number 52. Propaganda Abteilung, they call it.’
‘Just offices?’
‘Rather grand ones. But yes, what else? Oh, he also has facilities at l’Hôtel Continental – in Rue de Castiglione. That’s all SS and SD, but for his own work with the staff he spoke of—’
‘Yes. Right.’ Straightening, dropping the chain and padlock into a pocket of her raincoat. ‘Remember I told you yesterday, Jacqui, that there were two people who I’ve reason to think may be in SD custody?’
‘What I remember best is telling you I know nothing about any of that stuff. How can you allow yourself to be seen in public in that garment?’
‘You’re just envious! Would you think it’s possible that if they’d been in Gerhardt’s charge he might have handed them over to Lafont?’
A moment’s silence. Then: ‘As I said only a moment ago, I don’t know anything like that. But I doubt it: doubt it in fact very much. Now please—’
‘I must be off, mustn’t I?’ Leaning over the bike to exchange kisses. ‘Thank you for a delicious lunch, Jacqui – and I do like your Gerhardt.’
The hell I do…
Bell still ringing, anyway. That stuff about Gestapo chief Carl Boemelbourg, who according to information received by SOE and/or SIS – Pierre Cazalet’s report, as quoted by Hyatt a week ago at Fawley Court – had delegated Léonie and Rouquet’s interrogation to Clausen, but was also a crony of Lafont’s. Riding out between the tall iron gates, looking back to wave goodbye, putting as much as there was together, logic – instinct, anyway – did seem to point to Lafont.
In which case, God help them.