Cold Harbour (22 page)

“All sorted out. We’ll discuss it later. Be a good girl and
tell Maresa to inform René that I’ll need the Rolls.”

Genevieve was a child again to do her bidding. She did exactly as she was told, of course. Nothing changed.

THEIR FIRST SHOCK
came when they went out of the front door and down the steps. There was no sign of René or the Rolls, only Max Priem and a black Mercedes.

He saluted gravely. “Your car, it would appear, is out of order this morning, Countess. I’ve told our own mechanics to do what they can. In the meantime, I am wholly at your service. You wish to go to church, I believe?”

Hortense hesitated, then shrugged, got inside and Genevieve followed her.

HE DROVE THEM
himself and Genevieve had to sit there, looking at the back of his neck, acutely uncomfortable. Hortense ignored him and glanced at her watch. “We’re late. Never mind, the
curé
will wait for me. He’s seventy, if he’s a day, you know. The first man I ever fell in love with. Dark and handsome and with so much belief. Faith is an attraction in a man. I never went to so many services.”

“And now?” Genevieve asked.

“His hair is white and when he smiles, his skin crinkles so much that his eyes are hidden.”

Genevieve became uncomfortably aware that Priem was watching her in the driving mirror, his eyes full of laughter, and so did Hortense.

She said coldly, “I understand the SS do not believe in God, Colonel?”

“I have it on the most reliable authority that Reichsführer Himmler does, however.” Priem turned the car in
beside the church gate, got out and opened the rear door. “If you please, ladies.”

Hortense sat there for a moment, then took his hand and got out. “You know, I like you, Priem. It’s a great pity . . .”

“That I’m a German, Countess? My grandmother, on my mother’s side, came from Nice. Will that help?”

“Considerably.” She turned to Genevieve. “No need for you to come in. Pay your respects to your mother. I shan’t be long.”

She pulled down her veil and went up the path between the gravestones to the porch of the ancient church.

Priem said, “A remarkable woman.”

“I think so.” There was a slight pause as he stood there, hands clasped behind him, a kind of fantasy figure in that magnificent uniform, the cross at his throat. She said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to visit my mother.”

“But of course.”

She entered the churchyard. It was an ideal setting in the far corner, shaded by a cypress tree. The headstone was beautifully simple as Hortense had intended it to be and there were fresh flowers in the stone vase.

“Hélène Claire de Voincourt Trevaunce,” Max Priem said, moving to the other side and then he did a strange thing. He saluted briefly, a perfect military salute, nothing Nazi about it. “Well, Hélène Claire,” he said softly, “you have a very beautiful daughter. You would be proud of her, I think.”

Genevieve said, “What about your family?”

“My father died in the last war, my mother a few years later. I was raised by an aunt in Frankfurt, a schoolmistress. She was killed in a bombing raid last year.”

“So, we have something in common?”

“Oh, come now,” he said, “what about this English father
of yours, the doctor in Cornwall? The sister of whom you so seldom speak? Genevieve, isn’t it?”

She was frightened then at the fact that he knew so much, was aware of a desperate feeling of being balanced on some dangerous edge. She was saved because of a sudden shower. As it burst upon them, he seized her hand.

“Come, we must run.”

They reached the shelter of the church porch and she noticed that he appeared to be having some difficulty with his breathing. He slumped down on the stone bench.

She said, “Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing, believe me.” He managed a smile and produced a silver case. “Cigarette?”

“You were wounded in Russia?” she said.

“Yes.”

“It was bad there in the Winter War, they tell me.”

“I think you may say it was an unforgettable experience.”

She said, “Reichslinger and the others—you inhabit different worlds. You’re . . .”

“A German whose country is at war,” he said. “It’s really very simple. Very unfortunate perhaps, but very simple.”

“I suppose so.”

He sighed, his face softening a little. “Always since I was a boy I have loved the rain.”

“Me, too,” she said.

He smiled gravely. “Good, then we do have something in common after all.”

They sat there waiting for Hortense as the rain increased and her aunt had been right as usual for she had never felt so excited in her life before.

IN LONDON, CRAIG
Osbourne rang the bell at Munro’s flat in Haston Place. When the door opened, he went upstairs and found Jack Carter waiting to greet him on the landing.

“Is he in, Jack?”

“I’m afraid not. He was called to the War Office. A good job you’re here. I was about to send the bloodhounds out after you. Your people have been trying to get hold of you.”

“OSS? What for?”

“Well, the way things worked out, you were never debriefed over the Dietrich affair. They’re annoyed at Munro using Ike’s authority to steal you but rather pleased at the way you handled things. I think another medal might be in the offing.”

“I’ve got a medal,” Craig said.

“Yes, well be a good lad and get over to Cadogan Place, just to keep them happy. What did you want anyway?”

“I promised Genevieve I’d keep an eye out for her sister. Thought I’d drop in at the nursing home, but the guards refused me admittance.”

“Yes, well security has been tightened there for various reasons.” Carter smiled. “I’ll give Baum a call. Tell him to expect you.”

“Fine,” Craig said. “I’ll go and take care of things at OSS Headquarters then,” and he turned and hurried down the stairs.

IN A SPY
film Genevieve had seen, the hero had placed a hair from his head across a door so that he could tell later whether his room had been entered. She had employed the same ruse with two of the drawers in her dressing table. It was the first thing she checked when she got back from church. They’d both been opened.

Maresa was not around because she’d told her before going out that she wouldn’t need her again until after lunch, so she lit a cigarette, just to fill in a little time, then went in search of Priem. She found him at his desk in the library, Reichslinger at his side, going over some list or other together.

They both looked up. She said, “It really is too much, Colonel. That your security people should search our rooms from time to time is something that one must regrettably take for granted. What I am not prepared to overlook is one pair of very valuable diamond earrings, pearls set in silver, a family heirloom. I really would be infinitely obliged to you if you would see they are returned.”

“Your room has been searched?” Priem said calmly. “How can you be sure?”

“A dozen different ways—things not as I left them—and the earrings, of course.”

“Perhaps your maid was simply tidying up. Have you spoken to her?”

“Not possible,” Genevieve said impatiently. “I gave her the morning off before leaving for church.”

He said to Reichslinger, “Do you know anything about this?”

Reichslinger’s face was pale. “No, Standartenführer.”

Priem nodded. “After all, there would be no question of you undertaking such a search without my authority.”

Reichslinger stayed silent. Genevieve said, “Well?”

“I’ll deal with it,” Priem told her, “and come back to you.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” She turned and walked out quickly.

Priem lit a cigarette and looked up at Reichslinger. “So.”

“Standartenführer?” Reichslinger’s face was already damp with sweat.

“The truth, man. Five seconds is all you’ve got. I warned you.”

“Standartenführer, you must listen. I was only doing my duty. The Walther—it worried me. I thought there might be other things.”

“So you force Mademoiselle Trevaunce’s maid to search her mistress’s room and in the process, the stupid little bitch gets sticky fingers? Very helpful, Reichslinger. I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Standartenführer, what can I say?”

“Nothing,” Priem said wearily. “Just find Maresa and bring her to me.”

GENEVIEVE WAITED IN
her room a little nervously, sitting by the open window to the balcony, trying to read. But Hortense, after all, had been right. In a little more than an hour after her visit to the library, there was a knock at her door and Priem entered.

“You have a moment?” He crossed the room, held up the earrings and dropped them into her lap.

“Who?” she asked.

“Your maid. You see, I was right.”

“The ungrateful little slut. You’re certain?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said calmly and she wondered what had passed between him and Reichslinger.

“Right—it’s back to the farm for her.”

“An impulse of the moment, I would say, more than anything else. A stupid girl who persisted in her innocence of the charge in spite of the fact that I had discovered the earrings in her room. In any case, she could hardly have hoped to get away with such a thing.”

“Are you suggesting that I give her another chance?”

“That would require a little charity, a commodity in short supply in these hard times.” Priem looked out across the balcony. “It really is a most pleasant view from here. I hadn’t realised.”

“Yes,” Genevieve said.

He smiled gravely. “So. There is much to do if we are to be ready for the Field Marshal’s visit tomorrow. You will excuse me now?”

“Of course.”

The door closed behind him. She waited for a couple of minutes, then left herself, quickly.

“
MARESA IS HAVING
an affair with one of the soldiers,” Hortense said, “or so Chantal informs me.” She glanced up at her grim old maid. “You may bring her to me now.”

“This means something?” Genevieve asked.

Hortense allowed herself a tiny smile. “Maresa’s soldier is on extra guard duty on the terrace outside the library tonight and tomorrow and she’s not pleased. I believe she thinks you are to blame.”

Genevieve stared blankly at her. “I don’t understand.”

“The soldier at the gate when you arrived,” her aunt explained. “You wouldn’t show him your papers. By the time the story reached Reichslinger, the boy had become rude and ill-behaved. His captain felt this reflected on himself and took appropriate action. Maresa was very angry with you, according to Chantal.”

“You intend that we use her in some way? That’s what all this has been about, isn’t it?”

“Naturally. If you are to get into the library, it must be during the ball. You will have to make an excuse to slip away for a while. The catch on that third french window is
still broken after thirty years. If you push hard enough, it will open. How long will it take you to open the safe and use this camera of yours. Five minutes? Ten?”

“But the guard outside,” Genevieve said. “On the terrace.”

“Ah, yes, Maresa’s young man. Eric, I believe the name is. I think we can rely on her to take him off into the bushes for a reasonable length of time. After all, everyone else will be enjoying themselves.”

“My God,” Genevieve whispered. “Are you sure there isn’t any Borgia blood in the family?”

MARESA ARRIVED A
couple of minutes later, shepherded by Chantal, her face swollen, ugly with weeping.

“Please, Mamselle,” she pleaded. “I didn’t take your earrings, I swear it.”

“But you searched my room on Reichslinger’s orders, didn’t you?”

Her mouth gaped in shock and she was obviously too shaken even to attempt to deny it.

“You see, we know everything, you stupid girl, just like Colonel Priem,” Hortense said. “He made you tell him the truth, didn’t he and then told you to shut up about it?”

“Yes, Countess.” Maresa dropped to her knees. “Reichslinger’s a terrible man. He said he’d have me sent off to a labour camp if I didn’t do as he told me.”

“Get up, girl, for goodness sake.” She did as she was told and Hortense continued, “You want me to send you back to the farm? Disgrace your mother, eh?”

“No, Countess—please. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

Hortense reached for a cigarette and smiled up at Genevieve coldly. “You see?” she said.

CRAIG OSBOURNE HAD
found himself trapped for most of the day at OSS Headquarters. It was evening before he got away, seven o’clock when he arrived at the nursing home in Hampstead. The guard didn’t open the gate, simply spoke through the bars.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Major Osbourne. I think you’ll find Dr. Baum is expecting me.”

“I believe he’s out, sir, but I’ll check.” The guard went into his office, returned a moment later. “I was right, sir. He went out an hour ago, just before I came on.”

“Damn!” Craig said and started to turn away.

“Would it be urgent, sir?” the guard asked.

“Actually, it is.”

“I think you’ll find him in the snug at the Grenadier, sir. That’s a pub in Charles Street. Just down the road. You can’t miss it. He’s there most nights.”

“Why, thank you,” Craig told him and he turned and hurried away.

THE OFFICERS WERE
holding a small party at the Château that evening as a preparation for the great event and Ziemke had asked Genevieve to be there, especially as Hortense had again indicated her intention of dining in her room.

“I’ve promised to perform for Rommel,” she told the General, “and that will have to suffice.”

Genevieve was dressed and ready to go down just before seven, had dismissed Maresa, when there came the lightest of taps on the door. She opened it and found René Dissard standing there, holding a tray.

“The coffee Mamselle ordered,” he said gravely.

Her hesitation was only fractional. “Thank you, René,” she said and stood back.

She closed the door, he put down the tray and turned quickly. “A moment only, Mamselle. I’ve received word to go and visit one of our most important contacts in the Resistance.”

“What about?”