birth, but Francois thought he could learn to ride. The child
was more excited than I’d ever seen him. He cried when
Francois left, and he wouldn’t stop crying. I put him to bed and
sat with him until finally he fell asleep, then I took the pillow,
covered his face and held it there until I knew he was dead.’
His last word fell into silence. His hands were shaking
and now there were tears on his cheeks. He was trapped,
Claudine knew, in the nightmare of the past, unable to bring
himself back to the present, unable to escape the stalking
shadow of guilt. In the end, her voice so thick with emotion
she could barely speak, she said his name.
He looked up in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. Then his face contorted. ‘A sorry tale, isn’t
it?’ he said scathingly. ‘One that I thought was going to end
there, because I thought I was finally rid of him, that he
couldn’t torment me any more. That living each day in the
knowledge that the person I loved most in the world loved
Francois de Lorvoire - that nightmare was over. You see, I
couldn’t take that any more. I’d lived with it for two years.
Two years of unadulterated hell, when first my wife, then
my son …’ He started to sob, and Claudine moved to
comfort him. But he pushed her away, wiping the back of his
hand over his eyes.
‘But he was your son?’ she prompted gently.
‘Oh yes, he was my son all right. Father Pointeau told me.
But it was too late by then. I’d already killed him.’
‘But how did Father Pointeau know?’
‘She’d confessed. Before she died, Jacqueline had
confessed her sins and told him how she’d lied to me. She
also told him never to tell me - never to let me be certain that
I was the father of my own son. How she must have hated
me to do that to me! Father Pointeau, of course, tried to
reason with her, tried to make her understand that she must
make peace with the world before going to meet her Maker.
But she refused. So, obeying the laws of confession, Father
Pointeau kept her secret - until the morning after I had
killed my son. He told me then, he said, because for a whole
year he had witnessed my misery and he couldn’t bear to see
me suffering any longer. The Good Lord would not want
him to keep such a secret, he said, so he told me.
‘Of course he didn’t know then that the child was dead, I
hadn’t told him. Can you imagine how I felt then, Claudine?
Can you even begin to understand? It was too late, the child,
my son, was already dead. My son who loved Francois,
whose mother loved Francois. And I, who had once loved
him too, swore that day that he would pay for what he had
done to my family. I sat there, in the confessional, and told
Father Pointeau everything. Then I told him what I
intended to do. How I would make Francois de Lorvoire
suffer as I was suffering, how I would kill those he loved
until he, like me, had no one. But more than that, I vowed
that if he ever had a son I would make him kill that son, as he
had made me kill mine.’
Claudine looked at Louis. ‘I am so sorry, Armand,’ she
whispered. Words seemed so inadequate. ‘I didn’t know.
Neither of us did. If we had …’
‘If you had, then what? There was nothing you could do,
it was already too late. The damage was done, my wife and
son were dead, and Francois de Lorvoire was going to pay.
Nothing, no one would have changed my mind. Don’t you
think Father Pointeau tried? I let him think he’d succeeded,
of course. I was a fool ever to have told him. And I
was to find out just how big a fool within a matter of days.
Von Liebermann had one of his snoops listening in to the
confessions. He’d had someone there for a long time, it
was just one of his many methods of getting information
about Francois. Of course, von Liebermann didn’t know
then that Francois was working for the Secret Service, but
he suspected it. So I, just like Francois, became a pawn in
von Liebermann’s game. And whenever Francois didn’t
play to his rules, that was when I got my chance. But even
so, von Liebermann never did manage to turn Francois,
make him the double agent he wanted him to be. Because
Francois is meaner, uglier and cleverer than any man
alive.’
Armand’s voice was thick with scorn, his mouth twisted
with venom. ‘The man isn’t human, he’s a devil, the devil.
His only weakness is that he loves, and that is why I’ve
used it as my weapon against him.’
‘But so many people, Armand! Not only those Francois
loved, but Yves and Thomas, the pilots and agents who were
captured in the escape-line, Estelle … Why did you kill Estelle?’
‘You saw her that day in the forest, cavorting with his
brother. Another de Lorvoire. I’d lost my wife to one, I’d
lost my son because of one -I wasn’t going to lose her to one
as well. She paid, you’ll all pay, but this will be the bitterest
price. As for the others … Regrettable, but there was
nothing I could do. I was a tool of the Abwehr. They made
me do it. Stinking, filthy Germans, I despise them. They’ve
manipulated me all the way. But not any more. They won’t
be able to control my life ever again, because after today
they’ll have nothing on me. Because Francois will be dead.
It will all be over, and at last I shall be free.’
‘No, Armand, you won’t be free. No matter what you do
to Francois you’ll never be free, because nothing you do is
going to bring your son back.’
He stared at her, blinking as though she had delivered
him a brutal blow.
‘She’s right, Armand.’
A shadow fell across the barn, and they both spun round
to see Francois standing at the centre of the arch.
‘Papa!’ Louis shrieked. And oblivious to the gun pressed
against his head, he started to struggle over Armand’s leg to
get to Francois. Then, to Claudine’s amazement, Armand
lowered his leg and let Louis go.
She watched as he flew across the barn into his father’s
arms. Francois scooped him up and Louis clung to him,
sobs shuddering from his little body as he buried his face in Francois’ shoulder. But Francois wasn’t looking at Louis, his eyes were fixed on Armand.
Claudine turned back, then started as she saw Armand’s
gun only inches from her face. ‘So,’ Armand hissed, looking
at her but speaking to Francois, ‘you’ve come at last.’
Francois didn’t answer.
Armand shifted so that his back was against the wall
beside Claudine. Then gesturing towards the floor in front
of him, he made her lie down.
‘On your front!’ he growled. ‘Put your hands under your
body and turn your face to me.’
She did as he told her, and then, keeping the gun out of
her reach but still aimed at her head, Armand lifted his eyes
to Francois. ‘I take it you’ve been there for some time,’ he
sneered.
‘Long enough,’ Francois replied.
‘So tell me. How does it feel to know that Halunke, the
only man you’ve ever feared, was all the time fucking your
wife? Does it feel good, Francois? Or do you want to kill me
for it? I even drank your son’s milk from her breasts. I
suckled her, Francois. How does that make you feel? Does it
get to you, right deep down inside?’ He twisted a hand into
his gut. ‘Because that’s where it got me, Francois. It got me,
and ate me like a cancer. But we’re equal now, aren’t we?
You made my wife love you, and I made yours love me. But it
doesn’t end there, does it? It doesn’t end there Francois, because
you made me kill my son!’ Armand stopped and wiped the
saliva from his lips with the back of his hand. ‘So you know
what you have to do. You’ve ruined my life, de Lorvoire, and
now I’m going to ruin yours. So kill him, kill him now, or I’ll
kill her.’
For a long moment Francois merely stared at him. Then,
without uttering a word, he put Louis oh the ground, took
him by the hand and walked away.
Claudine knew they had gone, she could hear their
footsteps crunching on the gravel. Her heart started to
pound in her chest. He had gone; he hadn’t spoken a word,
he had just walked away.
Armand swore violently under his breath, and her eyes
dilated as his hand tightened on the gun.
Then he started to laugh, a low rumbling sound that
seemed to creep into every shadowy corner of the barn. ‘So
he’s fooled us both! He’s fooled you, and me, he’s fooled us
all. Francois de Lorvoire has won again! Yes, he even
managed to convince me that he loved you. But he doesn’t
love you, does he, Claudine? Because he’s left you here to
die. He’s walking away. He’s made his choice, and he’s left
you. But as far as he was concerned there never was a
choice, because all that matters to him is his son. You don’t
matter at all, you never did. So how does it feel, Claudine, to
know that he’s tricked you as foully and as ingeniously as
he’s tricked everyone else? How does it feel to be one of his
victims? Hurts doesn’t it? It hurts here.’ He thumped his fist
into his heart. ‘So why don’t I put you out of your misery?’
He hooked his thumb over the cock and drew it back.
Claudine closed her eyes, and through the horror of what
was happening to her she started to pray.
The shot blasted into the silence, ricocheting from the
walls, vibrating from the beams and echoing out into the
field where it finally faded into the chill, empty air.
Still holding Louis’ hand Francois kept on walking, not
betraying, even by the twitch of a muscle, that he had heard
the shot.
Minute after minute ticked by. The wind rustled the trees
behind the barn, and the magnificent chateau of RignyUsse
slumbered peacefully on the opposite bank of the Indre. Besides Francois and Louis, the only other sign of life was inside the Mercedes, parked on the cart track
halfway between the field gate and the barn. From behind
the open window in the rear seat von Liebermann and Max
Helber watched as de Lorvoire finally stopped at his jeep,
stooped to speak to his son, then handed him up to his sister.
Then she drove away.
Another ten minutes slipped by. Clouds massed angrily
overhead; the rain didn’t come, but the sky darkened about
the sun covering its face with black, bulbous warts of cloud.
Inside the barn, Armand stood up. A sheen of sweat
glimmered on his face, but his senses were brittly alert. He
stepped over Claudine and stole quietly across the barn to
the arch. As he peered outside, he prepared the gun to fire
again. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously as he saw
someone sitting on the bank of the river with a fishing rod.
‘Get over here,’ he hissed to Claudine.
Too terrorized to do anything other than obey, Claudine
got up and went to stand beside him.
‘Who’s that?’ he growled.
Claudine turned to look where he was pointing and as she
recognized the man sitting nonchalantly on the riverbank, a
sob gurgled in her throat. She had no idea how he had got
here, but it was her father, and she was so swamped by relief
that it was all she could do to stop herself collapsing. She
knew she should never have doubted Francois, but when
she had heard his footsteps retreat, when he had gone with
no arguments, no protests, no attempt even to reason with
Armand, she had believed … But now she knew that
somehow he was in charge of the situation. Somehow he
had found out about the torturous climax Armand and von
Liebermann had plotted between them, and had laid his
own plans. And if Beavis was here, perhaps there were
others.
‘Who is it?’ Armand seethed.
‘It’s my father,’ she answered, knowing that he would
recognize him sooner or later.
Armand uttered a stream of obscenities, then pushing her
in front of him and jamming the gun into her neck, he edged
a short way out of the barn. Seeing von Liebermann’s car,
he waited for a sign to tell him what was happening, but the
General’s face was lost in shadow.
Then suddenly both Armand and Claudine spun round
as they heard a footstep behind them. It was Lucien,
standing at the corner of the barn.
‘At last,’ Lucien said, starting towards them. ‘We were
beginning to think you would never come out. Now put the
gun down, Armand, and let’s talk.’
Before Armand could answer, someone else was striding
up behind him, and he twisted round again to see a masked
figure coming from the other side of the barn. ‘Hand it over,
there’s a good chap.’ The American accent was strong Claudine
suddenly realized that this must be Jack Bingham.
Armand took a step back, pulling Claudine with him, his
eyes darting between Lucien and Bingham. Then he
noticed that Beavis had gone. ‘Get away from me!’ he
growled. ‘Get away or I’ll kill her.’
‘And what then?’ Lucien said mildly.
Armand stared at him.
‘And what then, Armand?’ he repeated. ‘Tell me, Armand!’
Armand flinched as Lucien boomed out his name, then