he staggered as the cry started to echo through the valley like
the deathly chant of ravens. Voices, hundreds of voices,
resounding from the trees, from the barn, from the river,
from the chateau. They were coming from everywhere.
Below him, above him, in front of him, behind him, from
every side. Shouting his name: ‘Armand!Armand!Armand!’
At the side of the barn Francois was climbing swiftly and
quietly from the ladder into the hay loft.
‘It won’t work, de Lorvoire!’ he heard Armand scream
into the cacophony.
Armand!’
Armand!’
Armand!’
The noise rose to a deafening crescendo. Francois stole
through the hay, then lowered himself into the barn. He
could see them now, grouped in a pool of sunlight on the
waste ground.
‘Kill him, de Lorvoire!’ Armand roared to the sky. ‘Kill
your son or I’ll kill her.’
Armand!’
‘Armand! Armand!’
‘Shut up!’ he bellowed. ‘Shut up or I’ll fire.’
More voices, flat, monotonous, menacing voices. No
faces, only Lucien and Bingham and … Armand stepped
back, looking for Claudine. Then he saw her. She was on
the floor, covering her head with her arms. He raised the
gun, aimed it straight at her, then screamed as a foot crashed
into his wrist. Then he became aware of the pressure on his
spine, and he clenched his teeth as the agony tore through
his limbs. But he still had the gun, and he fired it, again and
again…
He couldn’t move his arm; the bullets were blasting
randomly into the air. Armand jerked his body forward then
screamed as Francois’ hands tightened their grip. But
now the gun was pointing right at her… A splintering pain
seared through his skull. His knees were sagging, but he
tightened his finger on the trigger. He tried to throw the
weight from his back. It shifted and he staggered, then the
gun was on her again. He fired - and in that same instant
Francois broke his neck.
Claudine stared at the bullet, buried in the ground only an
inch from her face. She couldn’t move, her whole body was
frozen in terror. She knew Francois was there, she could
feel him holding her, lifting her, but she couldn’t tear her
eyes from the bullet.
‘It’s all right,’ he soothed. ‘It’s all right, cherie, it’s over.’
‘Louis,’ she mumbled. ‘Where’s Louis?’
‘With Monique. He’s safe.’
‘Oh Francois!’ she gasped, then fell sobbing into his
arms.
Then she opened her eyes and stared down at Armand’s
limp, broken body lying at her feet. His eyes were still open,
staring back at her. She shuddered, and Francois stooped to
close them.
‘Did you know?’ she said. ‘About Jacqueline?’
‘No.’
He looked at her, and her heart twisted as she saw the
torment in his eyes. She could read his thoughts, almost as if
he were speaking them aloud. Hortense, Jacqueline and
Elise. Three women whose lives had been ruined because of
him, because he had been unable to love them. He would
never forgive himself, yet there was nothing he could have
done to prevent it. Claudine choked back her tears, and
pulled him tightly into her arms. He pushed his face into her
hair and clung to her the way Louis had clung to him.
Finally he pulled away and gazed searchingly into her
eyes. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered.
She nodded.
He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then
turned to Armand’s body.
‘What are we going to tell Liliane?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, if we can avoid it. It’s better that she thinks he
died by the firing squad.’
‘Do you think she knows? About all this.’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Except about Jacqueline,
she must have known about that. But she would never have
imagined him capable of doing all he’s done. What mother
would?’
‘A mother who persuaded me to have an affair with her
son?’
Francois lifted his head. ‘I asked her to.’
Claudine shook her head in dismay, then, as she started
shakily to pull herself to her feet a voice boomed into the
stillness.
‘Francois!’
Both she and Francois swung round. Then Francois flew
back as a stultifying blow crashed into his chest. Claudine
started for the barn as first one shot, then another and
another blasted through the air. Then suddenly she
staggered to the ground beside Francois as both Resistants and Germans emerged from the woods, from the barn, from the river bank and from the road, until the whole world was
alive with the sound of machine-guns, pistols, rifles, even
grenades.
Bullets tore through the air above their bodies, plunging
into the earth all around them. Black smoke curled round
the barn as canisters were thrown from the woods to
disguise the emergence of the Resistants. The air rang with
shouts, barked orders and the sound of running feet. Men in
berets and masks swooped into the field, while the German
soldiers in their tin helmets and uniforms flattened themselves
to the grass and blasted bullets into the melee.
Lucien and Beavis, crouching low with guns slung over
their shoulders, waded through the river to the bridge. Jack
Bingham, Pierre Bonet the melon farmer, and three others,
crawled through the next field’s vines towards the road. Still
more withdrew into the woods, firing and shouting and
holding cover for those gone to circle the Germans.
Francois turned his head to look at Claudine, half
expecting her to have crawled into the barn. But she was still
there, lying only an arm’s length away. He twisted himself a
little further so he could see her face. Her arms were spread
out, her hair was tangled around her mouth and her eyes
were wide, staring straight into his. His lungs turned to
pockets of ice as the whole world tilted on its axis. Then she
blinked, and he breathed again.
Almost from the moment he’d fallen, he had realized that
the hammer-blow to his chest had come from Claudine as
she’d knocked him to the ground, but he continued to lie
where he was, unmoving. Von Liebermann and Helber
must think he was dead.
‘Are you all right?’ he hissed.
‘I think so.’
‘Stay right where you are. For God’s sake let them think
you’re dead.’
She blinked again, not daring to move another muscle, as
the battle raged on around them. Then she watched, as Francois slid his hand carefully beneath him and pulled out his gun.
He waited until there was a drift in the smoke, then aimed
directly at the Mercedes. Again he waited, until von
Liebermann’s eyes finally came to rest on his, but before
von Liebermann had a chance even to register surprise, the
bullet ripped through his face.
And there was still one more score to settle. From the rear
door on the other side of the car, Max Helber emerged, his
face splattered with von Liebermann’s blood. As he staggered
round the car, dazed and disoriented, into full view,
Francois took aim again, pointing the gun this time between
Helber’s legs.
As Helber screamed, chaos broke loose. The Mercedes
roared off, and what seemed like an entire battalion of
Germans closed in around the woods. No one thought to
look in the direction of the barn, no one knew that the
bullets which had killed the General and his henchman had
come from Francois de Lorvoire.
Still neither he nor Claudine moved, but lay there
feigning death until finally the battle was drawn into the
depths of the wood and the gunfire started to recede into the
distance.
After a while they heard footsteps running towards them.
‘Francois!’ Lucien called in a heavy whisper.
‘It’s all right, I’m alive,’ Francois answered, recognizing
his brother’s voice.
‘I thought you must be. I saw what Claudine did. Are you
all right?’ he added turning to her. ‘Come on, let’s get you
both out of here.’
Francois was already on his feet. The smoke had all but
disappeared by now, and for the moment there was no sign of the Boches.
‘It’s all right, cherie, you can get up now,’ he said, starting
to help Lucien drag Armand’s body into the barn.
When she didn’t move, he looked up. ‘Claudine, you can
get up,’ he said, a hammer of alarm suddenly starting to
thud in his chest.
‘I can’t,’ she answered.
Dropping Armand, he threw himself down on his knees
beside her. ‘What is it?’ he said.
‘Oh Francois, I’m sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I’m so sorry.’
And then he saw the pool of blood, spreading thickly
across the ground beneath her.
It was the first real day of summer, warm and tranquil.
Francois was standing on the hillside, gazing out at the
valley of Lorvoire. It was a very different view now from the
one he had looked out on a week ago when the fire had
heaved its massive chest and roared through the vineyards,
curling great tongues of flame round every root and leaf of
the vines. The village was unharmed, so too was the
chateau, but the sloping banks of the valley were now a
blackened mass of destruction. He could still smell it, the
pungent aroma of fuel that the Germans had thrown on the
vines before setting them alight, and the acrid stench of the
ash that drifted lazily on the breeze. He raised his eyes to the
trees at the top of the hill opposite, where he could see the
coned turrets of the chateau shimmering like silver in the
sunlight. No one was inside now, it had been closed and
boarded-up just over a month ago. Jean-Paul had seen to it,
but there had been nothing Jean-Paul could do to stop the
Germans raiding it first. They had even helped themselves
to the Jews’ property stored in the cellar. Since then the
servants had dispersed, and the family, all of them, had been
living in the chapter-house at the Royal Abbey of
Fontevraud -the abbey where he and Claudine had
married.
Now the family had gone too. The night before, Beavis
had taken Solange, Celine and Louis to England in a
Lysander, which had landed in a field near Angers, bringing
in two more British agents. And Lucien had taken Jack
Bingham and Monique to Poitiers, where Bertrand Raffault
was to arrange their safe passage through France and into
Spain. Lucien himself would return in a few days, but he
wouldn’t stay long, Lorvoire was too dangerous a place for
any of them to stay now. Reprisals for the battle which had
raged on the field at RignyUsse - a battle which had
claimed the lives of five German soldiers - had been severe.
Twenty of the twenty-five Resistants captured had been shot,
and God only knew what hell the remaining five were now
having to endure. Lucien and Gustave had put it about that
he, Francois, was dead, but it was clear that the Germans
didn’t believe it. Why else had they razed the vineyards?
Why else had they pasted up reward posters all over the
district? If he had believed that the Resistants’ lives would be
spared in exchange for his surrender, he would have given
himself up long ago, but he knew the Germans only too well
- no one was going to be released from the bowels of the
Hotel Boule d’Or, and his family needed him, not only now
but in the future, when this bloody war finally came to an
end.
He sighed - and then the ghost of a smile crossed his face.
It was on this very spot that he had found Claudine, the
morning after they were married. He remembered how
young she had seemed then, how angry, hurt and confused.
Then the harshness returned to his face as he thought of all
she had suffered since. All she had suffered because of him.
Until he fell in love with her he had always held himself
aloof from the world, believing himself immune to the
vagaries of love. Nothing could touch him, he was an island
remote in an ocean of humanity, and just like waves lapped
at a shore so emotion never stole beyond the surface of his
heart. But Claudine had changed all that. She had reached
into his heart, shown him that love, the kind of love he had
for her, was not a weakness at all, but a strength. She had
tamed him, mellowed him, warmed the fires of his soul. She
had ignited his passion with love, tempered his fury with
laughter. It was as though she had brought summer to a
winter-torn land, rain to a desert. He loved her so much.
She was the reason he laughed, the reason he raged. He
lived for her. And it was the knowledge of how much she
loved him in return that would give him the strength to carry
on. To accept all that had happened and one day put it
behind him.
He closed his eyes and let the faces of his past crowd in.
There were so many, but some of them would haunt him
maybe until the end of his days. Hortense. Elise. Jacqueline.
Jacqueline who, in wanting him, had driven her husband to
madness. And that was the greatest mystery of his life. Why