Falk looked at his brother, then gave a harsh snort of laughter. He laughed so hard his gun wavered and he pulled himself up short. “Ah, Brother, you’re such an idealist! Those poems you used to read as a child—romantic rubbish! Your belief in God, your much-vaunted
intellect and skill at philosophy, when you do not see what life is really about. Life is cold and hard and cruel. We do not possess the soul you have always talked about. We’re nothing better than ants who crawl around blindly across the planet. You have never understood reality. It’s dog eat dog in this world, Brother. Everyone for themselves. You think your little life matters—or hers? You really believe that
love”
—Falk spat the word out—“can conquer all? You’re deluded, Frederik, as you always have been. And now it’s time I taught you what reality is about.”
Falk’s gun swerved away from Frederik as he pointed it at Sophia.
“
This
is ‘reality’!”
Frederik dived in front of Sophia as a shot rang out in the quiet dawn.
And then another.
Frederik turned around, unhurt, to see if Sophia had been hit. But it was Falk who dropped to the ground. He shuddered a little, mortally wounded, as the gun fell from his fingertips. Frederik ran to him and knelt over him, looking down into his brother’s eyes, which were rolling in their sockets.
Falk opened his mouth and managed to focus on his twin. With difficulty, he formed some words.
“You won.” And with a small smile of surrender, life left him.
There was silence in the garden apart from the birds in the trees above, who still welcomed in the new day, and the sweet smell of lavender scented the air. Eventually, having closed his twin’s eyes and kissed him on the forehead, Frederik looked up.
Connie stood behind Falk, Jacques’s hunting gun still pointing at where he had been standing.
“Thank you,” Frederik mouthed to her, tears in his eyes.
“He’d earned it. And I thought it was about time I used some of my expensive training,” Connie added quietly, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “I did the right thing?” Her eyes begged Frederik to approve.
He looked down at his dead brother and then turned his head to Sophia, who was ashen with shock.
“Yes,” he said, “you did. Thank you.”
Jacques appeared beside her. “Give me the gun, Constance.” He took it gently from her hands. As he did so, Connie began to shake violently. Jacques put an arm around her shoulders and led her to the chair next to Sophia.
“He’s dead?” Jacques asked Frederik, looking down at the body on the grass.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you were such an accurate shot, Constance,” said Jacques as he bent over Falk and saw the blood seeping through his uniform.
“I was trained to kill.”
“He was your brother?” said Jacques to Frederik.
“Yes. My twin.”
“I suppose many others knew of his presence here?”
“I doubt it. He wanted the glory of my capture all for himself.”
“Well, we cannot risk that he didn’t tell someone where he was going,” said Jacques. “Frederik, you must leave immediately. At the very least, anyone passing by the château may have heard the shots. Mademoiselle Sophia, you must hurry downstairs and stay there for now, while we decide what is best to do. Constance will take you.”
“Thank you,” said Sophia as Connie helped her up and the two women held on to each other for support.
Frederik left his twin’s body and walked slowly toward Connie. “I won’t let you take the blame for this. Falk came for me and it’s I who should have ended it. When his death is discovered, I wish you to say that it was I who shot him.”
“No, Frederik, I didn’t kill him just to save Sophia and you.” Connie stared into the distance. “I had reasons of my own. At least now I’ll know that no other woman will ever be subjected to what he did to me.” She lifted her eyes up to Frederik. “I’ve wished him dead for many months.”
“We must dispose of the body immediately, Frederik,” said Jacques. “I’ll need your help to dig a grave.”
“Of course.”
“Here in the walled garden is safest, so we don’t take the risk of moving him and being seen. I’ll collect the shovels. Perhaps you could
remove your brother’s clothing and I’ll burn it on a bonfire,” Jacques suggested. “Constance, when you’ve taken Sophia down to the cellar, there’s brandy in the kitchen. Take a drink—it will help. You’re not needed here.”
After she had taken a shaken Sophia back to the cellar and assured her Frederik would be down to see her to say good-bye, Connie did as she was told. The brandy helped, although, even in the heat of the June day, she continued to shiver.
Half an hour later, Jacques arrived back at the cottage. “Falk has been buried and his uniform burned. Frederik is down in the cellar saying good-bye to Sophia and then he will leave.”
“Thank you, Jacques.”
“No, Constance, it’s us who should thank you.” Jacques looked at her with new respect. “Now, I’ll collect supplies to help Frederik on his way, and when he’s gone, we’ll talk.”
• • •
“Good-bye, my love.” Frederik held Sophia to him. “I’ll send word to you, I swear, but for now you must concentrate on your own safety and that of our child. Take advice from Jacques and Constance—they’re good people and I know they will protect you.”
“Yes.” Tears ran down Sophia’s face from her sightless eyes. She reached for the signet ring on the fifth finger of her right hand and pulled it over her swollen knuckle. “Here, take this. It has the de la Martinières insignia engraved upon it. I wish for you to have it.”
“Then you must have mine. It carries my family crest. Here, I’ll put it on your finger for you.”
Sophia held out her hand and Frederik placed it on her ring finger.
He smiled. “We’re exchanging rings, down here in this terrible place, on this terrible day. It’s not where I would choose, but it’s better than nothing. Wear that ring, Sophia, and never forget how much I love you. You will be in my heart, always.”
“And you in mine.”
“I must go.”
“Yes.”
Reluctantly, Frederik took his arms from about her, kissed her on the lips one last time, and walked toward the door. “And whatever
happens, please tell our child that his father loved his mother so very much. Good-bye, Sophia.”
“Good-bye,” she whispered, “and may God go with you.”
• • •
Later, when Frederik had finally left, Connie went down to the cellar to comfort what she knew would be a distraught Sophia. And found her instead crouched over her bed, panting.
“My God!” Sophia exclaimed. “I thought you would never come. The baby . . .” Sophia screamed as a contraction ripped through her body. “Help me, Constance, help me!”
As the liberation of France began and the Allies stormed onto the beaches of Normandy, the battle raging for days, the cries of a newborn infant echoed around the darkened cellar.
Three Months Later
O
n a mellow evening in late September, Édouard de la Martinières stepped into the walled garden of the château just as the sun was setting. He saw a woman sitting under the chestnut tree, cradling a baby. Her eyes were lowered to the child, her full attention on soothing it.
He walked toward the woman, momentarily confused. “Hello?”
The question in his voice was answered the minute the clear brown eyes looked up in surprise at his unexpected intrusion.
“Édouard!”
He walked over to her and she stood up, the baby in her arms.
“Forgive me, Constance, your hair color . . . you look very different. For a moment, I thought you were Sophia.” He smiled.
“No . . .” Connie’s eyes clouded, then she said, “I can’t believe you’re here! You should have sent word, Édouard.”
“I didn’t want to risk announcing my presence. Even though Paris is liberated and de Gaulle is back in control, there’s still danger until the whole of France is free.”
“After the Allied invasion down here on the beaches nearby, the Germans fled like a plague of locusts, with the Resistance snapping at their heels. Does Jacques know you’re here?”
“No, he wasn’t at the
cave
, or in his cottage, but I saw the shutters of the château were open. I came here to see Sophia and Sarah.”
“It has been wonderful to finally live here freely,” acknowledged Connie.
“Is Sophia inside?”
“No, Édouard, she is not. Please . . .” Connie sighed. “Sit down. I have so much to tell you.”
“So it seems.” Édouard indicated the baby.
Connie, unprepared for his visit, was at a loss to know where to begin. “Édouard, it’s . . . not what you think.”
“In that case, I should fetch a jug of rosé from the
cave.
I won’t be long.”
Connie watched Édouard disappear through the door of the walled garden. She’d wished for, yet dreaded, this moment so many times in the past few weeks. Now it was here, she wondered how she would find the words to tell him what she must. Even though his long-awaited presence would at last set her free, Connie watched with a heavy heart as he returned with the jug of wine and two glasses.
“First of all, before we talk, I want us to drink to the end of hell. France is almost free again and the rest of the world will be following shortly.” Édouard clinked his glass against hers.
“To new beginnings,” murmured Connie. “I can hardly believe it’s nearly over.”
“Yes, to new beginnings.” Édouard took a sip of his rosé. “Tell me, where’s Sarah?”
Connie explained how she’d been arrested on the journey south across France. “We’ve made investigations in the past few weeks and believe she was sent to a German work camp. We will simply have to wait for further news.” Connie sighed.
“Let us pray we get it,” Édouard said with feeling. “Since the northern and southern invasions, the new spirit of the people is palpable here in France. We must hope the Germans officially surrender soon. But the devastation of the country and the mourning for the hundreds of thousands lost to the war will take many years to recover from. Now, Constance, please tell me about . . .
that
.” Édouard indicated the baby. “I can’t pretend I’m not shocked. How . . .?
Who?
”
Connie took a deep breath. “The child is not mine. I’ve only been taking care of it.”
“Then whose child is it?”
“Édouard, this baby is your niece. The child is Sophia’s.”
He stared at Connie as if she had gone mad. “No, no! This cannot be! Surely, Sophia could never have . . .” Édouard shook his head. “No. It’s unthinkable!”
“I understand you find it impossible to believe, just as I did when Sarah told me. But, Édouard, I helped bring this baby into the world.
Sophia went into labor on D-day, so we thought it appropriate to call her daughter Victoria.”
Édouard still had his fingers to his brow, trying to take in what Constance was telling him.
“I understand your shock, Édouard. And I’m sorry it’s me who has to tell you. You must remember that we all treated Sophia like a child. But, in fact, she was the same age as me, and a woman. A woman who fell in love.”
Édouard looked up at Connie suddenly. “Why do you keep talking of Sophia in the past tense, as though she’s no longer here? Where is she? Tell me, Constance, where is she?”
“Sophia is dead, Édouard,” Connie said slowly. “She died a few days after Victoria was born. The labor was long and hard, and afterward, although we did everything, we couldn’t stop the bleeding. And, of course, it was impossible to take her to a hospital. Jacques called a doctor who did what he could for her here, but nothing would have saved her.” Connie’s voice cracked with emotion. “Oh, Édouard, forgive me. I’ve been dreading this conversation with you ever since it happened.”
Édouard was silent. Then a guttural howl from deep inside him shattered the still evening air.
“
No! No!
It cannot be!” He stood up and turned on Constance, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. “Tell me you’re lying. Tell me I’m dreaming this, that my dear sister is not dead when I still live! It cannot be, it cannot be!”
“I’m so sorry. But it’s true, it’s true!” Connie was terrified now by the look in his eyes. As he shook her, she gripped the baby tighter in her arms.
“Édouard! Stop that at once! You have nothing to reproach Constance for, and every reason to thank her!”
Jacques strode across the garden and pulled Édouard away from a frightened Connie. “Édouard, listen to me, the woman you attack was your sister’s savior! She protected her at great risk to her own life—even
killed
for her! I will not have you behaving like this toward her, however deep your shock and grief.”
“Jacques . . .” Édouard staggered backward, turned around, and looked at his old friend as if he barely recognized him. “Tell me, please tell me what she says isn’t true,” he entreated him desperately.
“It
is
true, Édouard. Sophia died three months ago,” Jacques confirmed. “We tried to get a message to you, but everything has been in chaos since the Allied invasion. I’m not surprised you didn’t get it.”
“Oh, God, oh, God! Sophia . . . my Sophia!”
Édouard began to sob. Jacques put his arm around his friend’s shoulders and held him as he wept.
“I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it. The thought that
I
did this! If I hadn’t tried to save France before her, there’s no doubt that Sophia would still be alive. It shouldn’t have been her life that was sacrificed, it should have been mine,
mine
!”
“Yes, it is indeed terrible she did not live,” agreed Jacques quietly, “but you must not blame yourself. Sophia idolized you, Édouard, and she was so very proud of the part you’ve played in helping France achieve its freedom.”
“But, Jacques”—Édouard wept—“there was I, sitting safely in London for months as she suffered here alone. I believed I must stay away from her, that my presence would only endanger her. And now she’s dead!”
“Please remember, my friend,” Jacques said gently, “that Sophia did not die at the hands of the Gestapo, she died in childbirth. Whether you had been present or not, it’s doubtful you could have saved her.”