groin. But unlike Helber, he had his carnal desires well
under control - as de Lorvoire quite simply terrified him.
‘I presume,’ Francois said, turning round and perching on
the edge of the table, ‘that any preference I might have for
where I spend the festive season is unlikely to be considered?’
‘Aaah,’ von Liebermann sighed mournfully. ‘You would
like to be with your family? I understand only too well, my
friend. However, I am afraid that is not possible. Hen
Himmler feels it would be unwise for you to return to
France before the spring.’ He paused. ‘By which time it is
our hope that the question of your fealty to the Reich will
have been finally settled.’
Francois thought about this. ‘Do I understand,’ he said
carefully, ‘that there is something you wish me to do
between now and the spring to prove, yet again, where my
loyalties lie?’
Von Liebermann tutted and sighed. ‘You have such an
astute brain, my friend. It pleases me so much not to have to
spell things out. Incidentally, before we move any further
from the subject of your family, I am able to give you news of
them if you wish.’
Francois’ hand hesitated as he lifted the cognac to his
lips.
‘No,’ von Liebermann laughed, reading his mind, ‘we
have not obtained this information from Halunke, my
friend. But it may interest you to know that your wife has
taken the news of your defection rather well. She is even
now making preparations for her marriage to the vigneron
… I’m afraid his name escapes me.’
‘St Jacques,’ Francois supplied. His eyes narrowed. So
the Abwehr had read his letter, and they had also passed it
on to his father - there were times when he’d wondered
whether Louis had ever received it. But if he had received it,
why hadn’t he disinherited him?
‘Yes, St Jacques,’ von Liebermann nodded. His eyes shot
to Francois’, then with a smirk he said, ‘A rather odd choice
of lover for a woman in your wife’s position, wouldn’t you
say?’
Francois was not deceived. This was von Liebermann’s
way of trying to find out whether he harboured any secret
feelings for his wife. ‘Had you met St Jacques,’ he said,
smiling straight into von Liebermann’s eyes, ‘you might not
think so. He has a certain appeal for the ladies. And who
knows, perhaps my wife will find in her second marriage the
happiness she failed to find in her first.’
‘But not the status.’
Francois smiled. ‘If there’s one thing my wife cannot be
accused of, it is snobbery.’
Von Liebermann sighed. ‘It is a sorrowful thing when our
wives do not live up to our expectations, is it not?’ he said.
‘But mine did,’ Francois answered. ‘She has delivered an
heir, which was all that was required of her.’
‘Quite so. And now, like the rest of her sex, she is not only
dispensable but replaceable.’
‘As I said earlier, there is no one else,’ Francois said. ‘So
shall we get on with the task you have in mind for the proof
of my fealty?’
‘Of course,’ von Liebermann smiled. ‘Come, sit down
again, and I shall tell you what it is. I think, considering your
reputation for ruthlessness, that it is a task you are going to
enjoy.’
Holding the pistol with both hands, Claudine raised it,
lowered it very slowly and took aim. All around her there
was an unnatural silence, as if nature itself was holding its
breath. She squeezed hard on the trigger. The explosion
reverberated round the valley as though echoing through
the very bowels of hell.
‘Bravo!’ Lucien cried, as one of the wine bottles balanced
on a ledge between the two caves smashed to a thousand
pieces. ‘You’re a natural, ma cherie.’
Claudine’s face was aglow with pride, until she saw how
Armand was laughing at her. ‘Your turn,’ she said, handing
him the pistol.
‘But I’m such a miserable shot,’ Armand protested.
She gave him a sceptical look, and obediently Armand raised the gun the way Lucien had shown them, lowered it,
took aim, and missed.
‘Such humiliation!’ he groaned. But Claudine had seen
the way his eyes met Lucien’s, and before Armand could do
as much as tarn to her for sympathy, she had grabbed his
arm, twisted ii behind his back, kicked his legs from under
him and toppled him to the ground.
‘Bravo!’ Lucien exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know you were that
good at self-defence, Claudine.’
She stood over her victim with her hands on her hips.
‘Don’t think you can fool me, Armand St Jacques. I’ve seen
you both practising out here so I know what a good shot you
are. And I’m ready to take on anyone,’ she said, grinning
meaningfully at Lucien.
Despite the biting March wind, the three of them had
spent a happy and sometimes hilarious morning at shooting
practice in the courtyard. A few yards away, wearing a
multitude of coloured scarves, a woollen hat tugged down to
her eyebrows and thick leather gloves which certainly
belonged to Louis, Solange sat reading a book that had been
sent to her by her friend Simone de Beauvoir. It was not one
of Simone’s own books, but the Marquis de Sade’s One
Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom to which Simone had
written an introduction. As she slowly turned the pages,
Solange’s normally mobile face was frozen in an expression
of total incredulity.
‘Good book, Solange?’ Claudine called.
Startled, Solange peered out from under her hat as
though she had forgotten where she was. ‘Astonishing, cherie,’ she said. ‘Altogether astonishing.’
‘What’s it about?’ Armand said. All three of them knew
perfectly well what it was about.
‘Oh, I couldn’t say,’ Solange answered, quite flustered. ‘I
mean, I’m not really sure …’
‘Does Papa know you’re reading that, Maman?’ Lucien
called.
Solange glanced anxiously over her shoulder. ‘I don’t
think so.’
‘No, I don’t think so either,’ Lucien grinned. ‘So don’t,
whatever you do, ask him to explain it.’
Suddenly young Louis appeared round the corner of the
chateau. ‘Grand-mere! Grand-mere? he cried, and hurled
himself into Solange’s lap.
‘Cheri!’ she shrieked, giving him a big wet kiss on the
cheek.
‘Wait for this, he’s sure to ask her to read to him when he
sees the book,’ Claudine whispered. And when this was
exactly what happened, and Solange turned puce with
discomfort, the three of them roared with laughter.
‘Come along, young man,’ Lucien said, swinging his
nephew up onto his shoulders. ‘I have a book for you that
comes all the way from Denmark. And if we ask Grand-pere nicely, perhaps he’ll let us look for Denmark on his globe so you can see how far away it is.’
Claudine watched as Lucien and Louis disappeared
through the kitchen door. Any minute now Solange would get
up and follow them inside, so that she could continue to keep
Lucien under her maternal eye. Instead of irritating Lucien,
his mother’s protectiveness seemed to amuse him; he’d turned
it into a game of hide-and-seek which Solange, with her usual
sense of fun, had entered into gladly. Of them all, it was his
father who had been most surprised to see Lucien when he
arrived three days ago - but things were so quiet at the front,
Lucien explained, that there were now serious doubts as to
whether there really would be a war after all. And over the past
forty-eight hours many of the young men from Lorvoire and
the surrounding villages had started to reappear too. The
generals, deciding that mere was little point in them kicking
their heels at the lines, had sent them home on leave.
Lucien’s first dinner at home had been a sober affair, for
he had spent the afternoon in the library with his father,
being told about Francois. Lucien’s handsome face had
been pale and drawn when the two of them finally emerged,
but it soon became clear that his concern was not for his own
career, but solely and wholeheartedly for his brother. A
concern he was simply not worthy of, Claudine had told him
when he joined her later in her sitting-room for a nightcap.
‘But how can you say that?’ Lucien had protested. ‘You
haven’t heard from him for almost seven months. God only
knows what might have happened to him in that time.’
‘Does it matter?’ she had retorted. ‘He made his choice,
he knew what he was letting himself in for.’
‘You don’t mean that. And besides, you don’t know if it
was his choice,’ Lucien pointed out. ‘I know your marriage
hasn’t been all you might have hoped for, but…’
‘There are no buts, Lucien. He’s done nothing to make
me care for him and everything to make me hate him. And if
I ever see him again I shall take great pleasure in telling him
how well he’s succeeded. I loathe and detest him to the very
depths of my soul. The only decency in him was his love for
his son, but now even that’s gone.’
‘I don’t believe that, and neither do you.’
‘How can I not believe it!’ she had cried. ‘Your father
showed you the letter, you read what he said. How can any
man of principle and integrity consider handing his own son
to another man?’
‘And his wife?’ Lucien said gently.
‘Yes! And me!’ she had yelled. ‘But don’t think I care
about that! I’ve never in my life wanted to be free of him
more than I do now. He’s a traitor! A murderer! A sadist!
He’s vile and evil, and I don’t know how you can defend him
when we both know that he has very probably ruined your
career.’
‘Oh, I’ll survive,’ Lucien had said. ‘But will you,
Claudine? With so much bitterness wrapped up inside
you…’
It had been a painful conversation, and now, as Solange
rose to her feet and went into the chateau - still clutching
her book to her chest - Claudine resolved to put all
uncomfortable thoughts out of her mind. She turned to
Armand.
‘Come to the cottage,’ she whispered, ‘and let me make you some lunch.’ By the time they had finished eating the sky outside was so black and thunderous that Claudine had to light the oil
lamps. The rain was beating rhythmically against the windows and the wind shrilled through the cottage’s battered roof, almost drowning the sleepy sound of an
American band playing on the wireless. They sat side by
side at the old table, sipping their coffee.
‘Kiss me,’ Claudine said.
Armand knew it was an invitation to more than a kiss.
They often made love in the afternoons, slowly savouring
one another’s bodies in the long, languorous hours between
lunch and Claudine’s return to the chateau. But now he only
brushed his lips lightly across hers, then turned to take
another sip of coffee.
‘Is something the matter?’ she said. And then, feeling her
heart start to pound, ‘Don’t you want to make love?’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we have
to talk, Claudine. We have to talk about us.’
Today, this afternoon, he was ernoons, slowly savouring
one another’s bodies in the long, languorous hours between
lunch and Claudine’s return to the chateau. But now he only
brushed his lips lightly across hers, then turned to take
another sip of coffee.
‘Is something the maey were living a lie, and now he was
going to put an end to it.
When he looked up, Claudine was staring at him with an
almost petulant expression on her face. ‘Are you trying to
tell me you don’t want to marry me? Is that what this is all
about?’
He sighed. ‘It’s not a case of whether I want to marry you,
Claudine,’ he said. ‘You know I do. But you have to face the
fact that that will never happen so long as Francois …’
‘I don’t want to talk about Francois!’
He pulled his chair closer to the table. ‘That’s not going
to be easy when we both know that he’s the reason for things
being the way they are between us.’
‘What do you mean, “the way they are”?’ she said in a
tight voice.
‘You know what I mean, but if you’d prefer me to spell it
out…’
‘Perhaps you’d better.’
‘Well, to begin with, this pretence is tearing us both apart.
I love you, Claudine, you know that, but if you care anything
at all for me you’ll understand that the time has come - no, is
long overdue - for you to let me go.’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Then ask yourself why you can’t. And please don’t say
it’s because you love me.’
‘But it is.’
‘No, Claudine! You’ve never loved me, at least not in the
way you love …’ He held up his hand as she started to
protest. ‘All this time, what we’ve had here in this cottage,
it’s all been a game. It’s a game that has meant a great deal to
you, I know, but it’s a game you would never have played if
you hadn’t been lonely, if Francois hadn’t turned his back
on you the way he did.’ He sighed, and looked away from the
pain in her eyes. ‘I’m going to end our affair,’ he said, quietly
but firmly. ‘It’s the only way I can see of saving my own