The French Promise (32 page)

Max pursed his lips and nodded. A long silence opened
between them but Luc let it stretch
before he added that he had something for Max.

‘What?’ The younger man frowned.

Luc pulled a small object from his pocket and handed it to him. ‘This was your father’s,’ he said, slightly embarrassed. ‘I took it from him after he died but I didn’t steal it. It was the only personal effect he had on him and at the time I figured I would find a way to return it to his family.’ He shrugged.
‘Time passed.’

Max stared at the smart but surprisingly heavy cigarette lighter. It was a Ronson in the Art Deco style of straight, neat lines; shiny steel inset with polished black jet and inscribed with his father’s initials, the M and the K curling around each other.

Max held it in his cupped hands, staring at it like a supplicant.

Luc felt a twinge of embarrassment at sharing this moment that
resonated with pain.

‘What’s going through your mind, Max?’ he asked softly.

‘That he held this; probably used it daily. I’m being silly enough to believe I can almost touch his memory because of it. A few of his effects – uniforms and the like – were sent to my mother. I found it all in storage in our family cellar, none of it as personal or meaningful as this. He also left his estate to her.
I don’t know why; I’m sure his family would have preferred it otherwise.’

‘Your father loved your mother enough to write that letter to her and for your mother to be strong in his thoughts as he died. I suspect he felt guilty too. Have you met any of his side of the family?’

Max shook his head. ‘I haven’t been able to face looking
for them yet. But I will. No doubt they’ll hate me on sight.’

‘I doubt it, Max. You walk in your father’s image. They can keep him alive through you.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’m glad I’ve finally been able to give that possession of your father’s to its rightful owner … you even share his first initial.’

Max smiled sadly. ‘I’ll treasure it, thank you.’

Luc nodded. ‘Once your father had slipped away I neatened his hair, straightened his clothes …
and then just before I left I checked his pockets for valuables because his uniform might have attracted looting. He had nothing with him other than his precious letter, his lighter and cigarettes. No one except you has ever known I had it … not even Lisette.’

‘Do you believe in fate, Luc?’ Max’s gaze burnt, searing its way to his heart.

He wanted to say no but he nodded.

‘We were meant to meet.
You were meant to give me this. And I was meant to find von Schleigel and give him to you.’ Max slipped the lighter into his inside breast pocket and wasted no further time.

‘His new and very French name is Frédéric Segal and he is the proud, much-admired owner of the highly successful café in Fontaine-de-Vaucluse in Provence. By summer it’s a very popular ice cream parlour. Right now it’s a spot
that claims to serve the best hot chocolate, the best crêpes …’

Luc’s throat suddenly felt like a desert with a bitter wind blowing over it. ‘I should have guessed he’d go back.’

‘Back?’

‘He boasted once of how much he liked the region around l’Isle sur la Sorgue; he even mentioned Fontaine-de-Vaucluse.’

‘Well, he’s made a nice life for himself,’ Max admitted. ‘He speaks French like a native and
may even run for mayor,
although I suspect he would shy away from such a public office.’

Luc looked astonished. ‘How did you find this out?’

‘I told you I have means, Mr Ravens. I have paid people and I have befriended others with access to some closed records. I’m a lawyer, trained to find out information – often the sort of detail that people want to hide. He is my gift to you for
your curious loyalty to my father. To know that he died with you at his side, that you took care of him at death, means a lot to me.’

‘And what do you suspect I might do with your gift?’

Max shrugged. ‘What you do is entirely your choice. If you leave it behind in France and never think of it again, I wouldn’t be at all surprised – or offended.’

‘And if I act upon it?’

‘It’s probably what your
wife feared most.’

‘She knew I would, that’s why.’

Max said nothing, simply held his gaze. He pushed his folder towards Luc as if to say that everything he needed was in there. They both stared at the folder sitting halfway between them.

‘I want more than this …’ Luc finally said, his voice tight, as though he’d reached a difficult decision. ‘More? I don’t understand.’

‘If I go after von Schleigel,’
Luc began, lifting his own glacially blue gaze level with Max’s, ‘there’s no guarantee of what might occur. If he has stayed true to form, then he will remain a slippery, cunning and cruel character and it would be unwise of me to underestimate him.’

Max nodded. ‘So?’

‘So I need you to give me a promise.’

‘What am I promising?’

‘That should anything go bad for me, you will make arrangements
for my daughter to be escorted back to Australia. I will write down all details.’

‘Mr Ravens, you will not—’

Luc held out a hand. ‘Your father was a man of his word, Max. I hope you are too.’

Max took a deep breath. ‘All right, I promise to take care of her. Anything she needs I will fix. Money is not an issue.’

‘Then you should meet her, earn her trust as you have earned mine.’ He looked at his
watch. It was nearing three. ‘She should be arriving back shortly. Why not wait? Better still, join us for dinner. Your responsibility to Jenny lasts only until you deliver her back to our friends in Tasmania. After that you need not think of any of the Ravens again.’

Max looked unsure but nodded. ‘I promise. Thank you. Dinner would be nice,’ he finally said.

Luc picked up the file. ‘If you don’t
mind waiting in the hotel lobby, I’ll just take this to our room. Thank you for all your work on behalf of my family.’

‘Wait, there’s one more thing—’

Luc waited.

‘In the file is an important address. I think you should use it. A telegram and some details are all that are required.’ Luc’s gaze narrowed. ‘You’ll understand. Read the file.’

They fell in step alongside one another after Luc had signed
for the drinks.

‘Since discovering I’m half German I can’t quite shake myself free of collective guilt … for what happened to people like your Jewish family.’

‘Max, you were just a few years old—’ He got no further, almost running into Jenny and Jane as he and Max emerged into the lobby.

‘Hello, Dad!’ Jenny said but her attention was instantly riveted on his companion.

‘There you are,’
Jane said, her nut-brown eyes looking warm despite the cold air that they’d brought in with them. Her gaze lingered on his before it shifted. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘is this a relative of yours?’

Luc did a double take. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’

‘Because you look so alike,’ Jenny offered.

‘No, we’re not family,’ Luc replied, feeling startled by the comparison. ‘Er, this is Max Vogel. Max, this is
Jane Aplin. And my daughter, Jenny,’ he said, winking at her.

Both the girls said hello to Max as one. He shook their hands, told them he was pleased to meet them. Luc noted that Jenny looked entranced.

‘I’ve suggested Max join us for an early dinner,’ Luc said. ‘So how did you get on?’

‘We’ve spent an enchanting day haunting the couture houses of Paris as well as swanning around the Galeries
Lafayette,’ Jane answered. ‘But the cold weather is taking its toll,’ she said looking around, presumably for rest rooms. He could never understand how women derived so much pleasure from looking through clothes, touching fabrics, feigning horror at prices, taking time to tell you how wonderful something is and how much it might suit them and then walking on.

Jenny triumphantly held up a telltale
bag from which she withdrew an even more obvious box. He privately baulked at the sight of the distinctive Chanel packaging and then in
a moment of clarity let the emotion go. The fact that Jenny wanted to smell like her mother and to use the world’s most famous perfume to do so was entirely innocent. And while the perfume she reverently dabbed on her wrist for him to smell dragged him instantly
back to a limousine he was driving while in the back a Wehrmacht colonel made love to the woman who owned Luc’s heart, he refused the thought any kindling to burn.

‘Magnificent,’ he said, meaning it.

‘Jane bought it for me,’ she said proudly.

He’d looked with mock exasperation at Jane, immaculate in a navy suit. She was unwrapping a silk scarf from her throat, her coat already draped
over an arm.

‘A coming-of-age gift,’ she said defensively but stealing a happy glance at a glowing Jenny. ‘Don’t worry, she’s spent plenty on your account.’

‘I’m sure of it,’ Luc groaned. ‘I’m just dropping something up to the room. Shall I take your parcels, Jen?’

She nodded and he said he would only be a few minutes.

Jane excused herself to make a quick call from the hotel phone.

‘Of course,’
Max said. Jane glanced at Jenny before drifting away but Jenny barely noticed her.

She’d been trying not to stare at Max but she found it hard not to keep stealing glances at this stranger whose presence was overwhelming. She hadn’t been ready for him. One minute she was chatting excitedly to Jane about their purchases, and the next she couldn’t see anyone but the fair-haired man standing slightly
self-consciously next to her father.

‘Shall we sit down?’ Max offered, clearing his throat.

Jenny sat where Max gestured, angry for being tongue-tied.

‘Sounds like you two had a great day,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she replied, wondering what colour you called eyes like that. Argent came to mind. ‘Who are you again?’ Jenny continued, colouring suddenly, aware that he was staring at her.

He grinned
and his eyes crinkled as amusement touched them. Jenny swallowed.

‘Your parents knew my father during the war.’ He paused. ‘I … um, well, I didn’t know him at all and so your father agreed to meet and tell me what he could. It was very kind of him.’

‘Is your father dead?’ she asked, knowing it was blunt and that this would be one of those times her mother would have turned and given her that soft
look of exasperation.

‘Yes.’

‘My mother is too.’

‘I know. And I’m deeply sorry to hear it.’

She shrugged. ‘Dad and I are getting on with it,’ she said, unable to meet his eyes, so she fiddled with a loose thread on the arm of the seat. She could feel her neck and cheeks burning.

‘My mother died recently too,’ he said softly and his sad tone cut through her scattering thoughts. When she looked
up he lifted a shoulder and smiled crookedly at her. ‘It makes no difference what age you are. You always miss your mum.’ He brightened. ‘I have to tell you, Jenny, your perfume is very beautiful. It’s my favourite scent.’

‘Really?’ She could hug herself.

He nodded. ‘So what have you been up to in Paris?’ he continued.

Feeling easier by the second and wanting to prolong
her time alone with him,
Jenny forced herself to relax, surreptitiously wiping moist palms on her skirt. She told him everything she could in her succinct way.

‘Oh, that’s all very well,’ he said dryly. ‘But I don’t hear that you’ve experienced high tea at Ladurée, or eaten a Mont Blanc at Angelina, or drunk hot chocolate at Les Deux Magots. These are all musts!’ he said dramatically. ‘The belly has needs.’

She giggled.

‘Shame on your father. It looks like I shall have to take command of your touring, Miss Ravens.’ Her eyes widened.

‘You?’

‘Yes. What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘I’m busy tomorrow,’ she answered, ‘but how about the day after?’

‘Monday? That’s fine.’

She gulped inwardly. ‘Perfect.’

Luc arrived. ‘What’s perfect?’ he said, just as Jane drew alongside too.

‘I’m spending Monday with Max,’
Jenny announced.

She watched her father throw a look at Jane as if he hoped she’d offer to chaperone.

Max didn’t see it but even so he extended his invitation. ‘Jane, are you working or visiting?’

‘Visiting. Until this week Jenny and Luc were perfect strangers to me.’

‘Then let me show you my Paris as well.’ He looked at Luc. ‘Mr Ravens has an appointment down south, I gather, so if you two lovely
ladies are at a loose end, please allow me to chaperone you around the City of Light.’

Jenny frowned. ‘Dad, where are you going?’

He hesitated. ‘Well, I was planning to see someone I used to know in Lyon,’ he lied.

‘I thought we’d go to Saignon together.’

‘Oh, Jenny, we will. I wouldn’t dream of going without you.’

He herded them out and wasted no time ordering a taxi but Jenny was convinced
her father was hiding something. And whatever it was, Max Vogel was in on the secret.

Luc deposited Jenny early the next morning into a glorious suite in the hotel that the general manager lived in. He’d given her a reassuring hug but she’d barely looked over her shoulder as she and her new companion scuttled off, chattering excitedly. He and the manager’s wife, Chantal, swapped the smile that relieved parents share when children look
settled and happy.

‘I shall be here with our daughters all of today,’ Chantal said in her smoky voice.

‘It’s very kind of you to have Jenny. I will be out tonight and may not be in the hotel until much later. Are you still comfortable about Jenny staying overnight?’

‘Of course. We have been looking forward to it. Juliette has the whole day and night plotted out.’

‘I’m sure she’ll have a wonderful
time. Thank you, Madame Pernot.’

Luc returned to his room and sat down at the desk. He’d
lain awake the previous night, the sound of Jenny’s regular breathing sighing from the bed next to his, and he used the quiet hours to hatch a plan.

He knew it couldn’t be too tight; he needed to leave room for spontaneous decisions because he didn’t know what he would be walking into. Naturally
he would have preferred to have more time to plot, but he reminded himself that during the war when he was a proper Maquisard, living rough in the hills of Provence, he and Laurent were like the gunslingers they’d seen in Westerns as young men. In fact, the older men called them ‘the cowboys’.

Sadly, Laurent’s luck had run out and he’d been publicly executed in the Gordes town square. Laurent
had offered himself as a Maquisard out of patriotism but Luc had been driven by a darkness of revenge that travelled in his soul.

Could he be responsible for another deliberate death?

He remembered Milicien Landry, the French policeman who aided the German round-up of Jews in the southern region. Luc had slit the man’s throat in 1943 for beating his grandmother to her death. Surely von Schleigel,
who ordered the execution of two of his sisters, deserved the same outcome? Luc stared absently while this question hung heavily in his mind. It was the first time since he’d received Max’s letter that he’d acknowledged why he’d made this trip. He had come to end von Schleigel’s life. While the rage of years past was never far from his mind, its heat had cooled since he’d found his peace in Australia.
He was nearly two decades older and with age came wisdom.

So he asked himself now, what would killing von Schleigel actually achieve? Landry’s death had occurred in wartime. Taking von Schleigel’s life now would be cold-blooded,
premeditated murder. It wouldn’t return the lost; it wouldn’t bring him any peace – he knew that. It wouldn’t even be satisfying. He wasn’t even that sure he knew how
to kill any more.

Nevertheless, von Schleigel’s close presence in Provence was pricking Luc’s conscience like a numb limb coming back to life with the curious and uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles. It was the notion that von Schleigel had escaped punishment that was stirring his blood. And while he had no right to be anyone’s judge and jury during peacetime, this man had probably
ordered the murder of countless innocents without a moment’s consternation.

‘He must be held accountable!’ he growled at the flock wallpaper.

Von Schleigel was living a nice life versus every member of the Bonet family dead. The Bonets were not unique, but Luc was in the rare position of being able to square off with the man who’d brought about the deaths of three beloved innocents and countless
others, he reasoned. He didn’t think for a moment that Sarah, Rachel or Wolf would want him to take this man’s life, but they weren’t here to play devil’s advocate with him.

The fact was he’d promised von Schleigel a reckoning two decades ago; he would have to find a way to end the Nazi’s life without blood on his hands, but was that possible?

Opening Max’s file, Luc looked again at the grainy
photo and felt his resolve lock into place as he began to read the carefully prepared notes.

The former Gestapo officer was now sixty-one. He wore glasses and walked with a slight limp, and Luc was right, he had remained as wily as ever. Max had apparently tested
Frédéric Segal, speaking to him innocently in German while ordering an ice cream sundae the previous summer. Segal had apparently hesitated
for barely a heartbeat before apologising in careful French that he did not understand German. But Max had been looking for the hesitation … and heard it; saw it. Nevertheless it was clear the hunted man never let down his guard.

Luc read on that his enemy had married Gwenoline, now fifty-seven, and they had two daughters, Brigitte, nineteen, and Valerie, eighteen. Gwenoline and Brigitte
worked at the café but Valerie was at university in Chambery. Luc hated learning that von Schleigel had become a family man; he didn’t deserve the happiness of a wife and children, although Luc couldn’t concern his thoughts with von Schleigel’s loved ones. They had no idea of the monster in their lives and would surely be horrified if they knew of his past life. Or maybe his wife did know? If
so, then not sparing her feelings suddenly felt a lot easier to justify.

Max detailed that the Segal family lived well in the salubrious area of Fontaine-de-Vaucluse. They supported two cars, enjoyed picnics on a Monday when the café was closed – not in tourist season, of course, Max warned – and took holidays each year in Italy or Switzerland. How Max had found out this information, Luc couldn’t
imagine, but he had to hand it to the young man. He’d managed to build a comprehensive snapshot of the man’s life.

Luc studied Max’s next page, which was devoted to von Schleigel’s routine. He was rarely away from the café but the best time to isolate him was during his morning exercise. He liked to arrive at the café early: five a.m. in summer, and just prior to daybreak in winter. From there,
before he’d
even opened up, he would walk the town, or he might cycle – following the river, usually – and approximately weekly he would hike up to the source of the River Sorgue, which was undeveloped and saw few people.

I don’t know if this is caution against predictability or capriciousness. If you choose to confront him, it cannot be by ambush because he keeps to no pattern with
his exercise, although this time is the only period – day or night – when he is alone,
Max had written alongside his notes.

Luc looked away from the file, staring out of the window, his gaze distant as he considered the implications of Max’s warning. There was no question that the only option was to confront von Schleigel on the mountain. He remembered its isolation vividly from the
Bonet family trips there during his childhood.

He could picture the summit in his mind’s eye, clearly remembering looking down the 230-metre cliff face to where the exceptionally green water, like liquid emerald, tumbled down the rocks. It flowed, sparkling and winking, through the town and into others that in the previous century had made use of its speed and force through water mills.

I think
he says his prayers up here,
Max noted.
Perhaps he seeks absolution?
It was obvious he had reached the identical conclusion that this lonely spot above the town was the only place to take von Schleigel by surprise.

You will need to coerce him
, Max had scribbled and underlined.

Luc shook his head at the risk Kilian’s son had clearly taken to compile this valuable information.
He stood, restlessly began to pace the room, feeling irritated. Max had known yesterday that he was essentially loading a bullet into
a gun when he’d handed over that file. He’d never doubted that Luc would want to take his revenge on von Schleigel. He bit his bottom lip as his thoughts scattered like a tin of dropped marbles, rolling away to all corners.

This wasn’t working. He needed
to think clearly without any emotion, especially if he was going to survive the confrontation. A man like von Schleigel would be used to looking over his shoulder and being suspicious of every stranger who asked an odd question. Max had either been exceptionally smart with his research, or really so naive that he’d somehow got away with it.

Luc banged the wall with his fist. ‘Putain!’ he swore
softly. He understood why Lisette had implored Kilian’s son not to contact her again; she had known that Luc would be unable to leave this alone. Yes, he was certainly predictable and that made him all the more annoyed. He needed distraction and then his mind would clear.

He closed the file, locked it away in his briefcase, grabbed his hat, coat and scarf and left the room. Not permitting himself
to question his motives or his actions, he left the hotel, climbing into a cab.

‘Yes, sir?’ the taxi driver asked.

Luc gave the driver the name of a hotel on the Left Bank.

Not much later he was standing in its lobby, dialling the hotel operator.

‘Mademoiselle Aplin, please,’ he said, not daring to hesitate. If he did, he’d have the excuse to back out and run.

‘Thank you,
monsieur
,’ the singsong
voice said and he heard clicks and beeps before a ringing tone sounded. He waited, deciding that if she didn’t answer within two or three rings, he’d hang up.
One
…

‘Jane Aplin,’ she said, her voice sounding breathy. The hotel switchboard clicked away and left them to their conversation.

He swallowed. ‘Jane, it’s Luc,’ he said, holding his breath.

‘Luc? Good grief. I wasn’t
expec—’

‘I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted you.’

‘Don’t apologise. It’s a lovely surprise. Is everything all right? Jenny’s fine?’

‘She’s great.’

‘And you?’

‘I …’ He hesitated, genuinely unsure of what to say. ‘Well, alone and needing distraction, I decided to take a walk and found myself here.’

‘Here? In
my
hotel?’

He felt ridiculous. ‘I was passing, thought I’d drop in
and see if you were free for a coffee.’

The silence was not awkward, but it was telling.

‘Jane, listen, I’m sorry,’ he leapt in. ‘We’re seeing each other tonight, right? I guess I was just avoiding the work in my briefcase—’

‘Luc?’

He swallowed, deeply embarrassed. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m in room 251. I’ll let the front desk know I’ve invited you up.’ The line went dead before he could respond.

Luc stared
at the receiver. Was this what he wanted? In a fog of conflicting thoughts he replaced the phone in its cradle and glanced at the front desk. He paused, watched the man answer a call, then nod Luc’s way. He had no choice now. He walked to the lift, feeling as though an invisible hand were pushing him along.

‘Which floor,
monsieur
?’ the bellhop asked.

‘Two, please,’ he said, looking vague,
hoping his distraction would discourage the youngster from making any polite conversation.

It did. He stepped out of the elevator, relieved when the lift doors closed and he heard it groan back down. Luc swallowed, checked his tie in the mirror, straightened his hair and squared his shoulders. He arrived silently to stand outside the door of room 251. This was the moment. He could turn
and run, and while it might offend, he would have no further complication in his life. If he knocked on this door, he was opening himself up to what could potentially be a decision with rippling repercussions … unless of course he’d only imagined that tone in her voice and she was really pulling on scarf and gloves to head out for a coffee with him.

He blinked, raised his hand, taking in everything
from the brass number of the door to the scent of daphne in a central vase, which had followed him down the corridor, haunting him with its sweet clove fragrance.

He hadn’t realised he’d knocked until he dropped his hand back to his side. Jane opened the door and stood before him brazenly in a silver-grey satin bathrobe, rubbing at her toffee-coloured wet hair with a towel. Her breasts jiggled
invitingly beneath the slippery sheath of fabric. Definitely not getting ready for coffee, he decided.

‘I had a massage this morning and took a long bath as a treat,’ she explained because he obviously must have looked surprised.

‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘Don’t be, come in,’ she said easily, walking back into the room. ‘Take your coat off. I can order up some coffee if you …’

She turned, stopped speaking
abruptly as she took in his famished gaze. Luc knew he was staring. Her eyes, the colour of a forest, looked dewy … almost sleepy in the aftermath of the massage and the warm tub after it. She smelt of bath oil – jasmine, frankincense and sandalwood. The deep ‘V’ of skin showing beneath her robe was flushed from the warmth of the water and he could see moisture glistening in the cleavage of her
breasts. His breathing stilled and he felt paralysed in a moment of pure lust.

Jane chose to fill this awkward moment with an unexpected gesture by untying her robe and allowing it to fall open. She was predictably naked beneath and the fact that she didn’t let the soft robe fall off her shoulders and to the ground made the gesture all the more erotic. He could see the heavy swell of
her breasts but her nipples, hardening beneath the satin, stayed tantalising hidden. He didn’t take another moment to let his gaze roam in further exploration. In a single step he closed the distance between them and reached hungrily for her. Jane let herself go limp in his arms initially but once his mouth had found hers and their passion had ignited, he felt her arms snake around his neck, pulling
him closer still, and she allowed him to put his hands beneath the robe and curl into the small of her back. She sighed into his kiss, her tongue anxiously seeking his.

Luc lost himself. Everything that had been crowding his mind fled. It was as if he was in an empty space that glowed with a molten light, where only he and Jane were illuminated. Nothing intruded. As long as their mouths searched
each other, they were connected and remained isolated in their warmth, their glow, their desire. It was only when he finally pulled his pleasingly swollen lips away did real life intrude,
flooding back into the empty space between them.