Darkest Longings (34 page)

Poppy chuckled. ‘You’ve surpassed yourself, Clo, old

girl. I can’t think of anyone alive who could have mixed the

classes as successfully as you have today. You’ll be the talk of

the countryside for a long time to come - though I gather

you’re the talk of the countryside already.’

Claudine smiled, and looked up as a rocket screamed

loudly overhead, then exploded into a thousand stars. There

was a loud chorus of approval, and as she lowered her eyes

Claudine saw Armand strolling down over the meadow with

his mother and the men from the village.

‘It was a shame Francois couldn’t be here,’ Dissy said.

‘He’d have been proud of the way you brought all this

together.’

‘Do you think so?’ Claudine whispered. And as she rested

her head on Dissy’s shoulder, there was nothing she could

do to stop the tears of all the pain she harboured inside from

flowing silently down her cheeks.

- 12

It was approaching two in the morning as the black Citroen I

glided smoothly over Chinon bridge, then turned and

headed for the forest road leading to Lorvoire. In just over a

week it would be Christmas. The rain was coming down in

torrents, and the rising mewl of the wind was the only sound that could be heard above the monotonous scraping of the windscreen-wipers. Francois had left Heidelberg over twenty-four hours before, stopping only for gas and a bite to, eat at an inn near Chalons, and now he was tired, unshaven and in a foul temper.

He had known of Hitler’s intention to annex Austria for I

over six months now, but the French government, true to form, were refusing to see what such a move could mean,’

not only for France but for the rest of Europe. Even the

generals were dragging their heels - though that didn’t;

surprise him either, it merely infuriated him. Very few men

in positions of power these days would allow themselves:

actually to believe that there would be another war - which meant that even Louis Rivet and Paul Paillole of the French Secret Service were unable to instill a sense of urgency into

the Defence Ministry. Still, that was their problem. What

concerned Francois now was his forthcoming trip to

London.

His chance meeting with Lord Halifax, who had been in

Berlin recently attempting to persuade Hitler not to help

himself to the Sudetenland, had proved rather more

profitable than his dealings with the French. Again, that

didn’t surprise him. The British often were prepared to

listen, and Halifax had now, via the British Embassy in

Berlin, extended him an invitation to meet that old sparring

partner of his father’s, Winston Churchill.

It wouldn’t be the first time Francois had met Churchill;

they’d come across one another many times over the past

five years, and Francois knew that while the old man

grudgingly admired him for the way he acquired information,

he was also offended by Francois’ continuing refusal to

work solely for the British. The very idea, of course, was

laughable - but Francois was in no mood for humour just at

this moment. The British Ambassador in Berlin had

superciliously informed him that he would not be welcome

in London without documentary evidence to back up his

claims - which was why he was returning to Lorvoire in the

dead of night, to steal into his own home and take the

relevant papers from his father’s safe.

Silently cursing, he swung the car into a clearing in the

forest, just beyond the gates to the chateau. He had to have

the documents. They included the minutes of a recent

secret meeting between the Fuihrer and his staff, which

Francois had obtained in Berlin and sent to Lorvoire by

courier; documents his father had obtained, and refused to

give him, on the German Enigma coding machine - these

would impress the British no end; and a detailed plan of the

Maginot Line. This last would impress the Germans when

next he returned to Berlin.

The rain was still beating down. Hunched into his

voluminous black coat, he made his way stealthily through

the forest to the bridge at the back of the chateau. It was

more than two months since he’d last seen his family, he

realized, but he’d been away much longer than that in the

past - the only difference now was that his father would take

a dim view of the way he was neglecting his wife.

The bunch of keys was already in his hand as he walked

over the bridge and, selecting the one he wanted, let himself quietly in through the door. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then he removed his shoes

and started across the landing. The door to Claudine’s

bedroom was ajar. He hesitated, listened for a moment,

then hearing the steady sound of her breathing, he walked

on.

For such a big man he moved with surprising agility,

stealing through the house as silently and smoothly as the

distorted shadow he cast before him. He knew every nook

and cranny of the chateau, every stair that creaked and every

door that groaned. In no time at all he was slipping quietly

into the drawing-room, closing the door behind him, then

crossing to the library.

He approached his father’s desk and took the bunch of

keys from his pocket, slid the smallest one into the lock and

eased open the bottom drawer which housed the document

safe. Then he sat down and turned on the desk lamp. The

safe combination was easy to remember, it was his and

Lucien’s dates of birth in reverse order.

In less that five minutes he had everything he had come

for. The documents were on the desk, the safe was closed

and the drawer locked.

Now, the only thing left to be dealt with was the gun

which was pointing straight at his head …

He glanced again at the shadow splayed across the wall,

then swore under his breath as he sank back in the chair.

The man was standing over him. The lamp was between

them, so that the man’s face was lost in shadow, but

Francois knew who it was, and his mouth curled in a grim

smile as he waited to be recognized.

‘Monsieur de Lorvoire!’ Philippe gasped.

Francois’ eyes narrowed, and he watched with callous

amusement as the footman’s mouth begin to twitch.

‘I - I heard a noise, monsieur,’ Philippe stammered,

feeling himself break into a cold sweat under that terrible

gaze. ‘I didn’t know it was you.’

‘You weren’t supposed to.’ He nodded towards the gun.

Philippe started as he realized he was still pointing it, and

his boyishly middle-aged face was white and trembling as he

placed it on the desk.

Francois stood up, then sweeping the documents into the

deep pocket inside his coat, he turned off the lamp.

Philippe’s heart started to pound as his eyes adjusted to

the eerie blue darkness. Francois’ face was hidden in

shadow, but Philippe could see the whites of his eyes and

the vicious silvery gash that tore across his cheek. Ordinarily

Philippe was a brave man, but faced with such menace he

was terrified, not only for his life, but also, he suddenly

realized, for his immortal soul. Involuntarily his hand

moved to make the sign of the cross, but before he could

even begin Francois had grabbed it and twisted it behind his

back.

‘God won’t save you!’ he hissed. Then he laughed, a low,

demonic sound, and Philippe felt the air around him turn

chill. ‘Pick up the gun, Philippe, and return to your room.

Forget you have seen me tonight … if you can.’ Again

Francois laughed, and Philippe needed no second bidding.

He picked up the gun, and fled from the room.

Once he was in the hall he stopped, and took a deep

breath in an effort to steady his nerves. His fear had been

genuine enough, his heart was still thudding like the drums

of hell and that diabolical laugh still rang in his ears, but

petrified as he was, he could still rejoice in the immense

good fortune he’d had to stumble upon Francois de

Lorvoire in the dead of night, stealing documents from his

father’s safe. The content of the documents was of no

concern to Philippe, nor did it interest him that de Lorvoire

obviously didn’t want his family to know he was here. All that concerned him was the fact that, just as his employer had suspected, Francois de Lorvoire was no longer in

Germany. Now all Philippe had to do was to get the

information through.

Having given Philippe enough time to return to his room,

IF

Francois let himself out of the library and started backup!

the stairs. He’d been in half a mind to dispense with the

footman there and then, but since he didn’t present any immediate danger, either to himself or his family, he’d decided not to bother. However, the very moment Philippe

looked like becoming a problem, his stay at the chateau

would be cut dramatically short. Francois liked that

‘dramatically’; given the man’s theatrical background, it was

peculiarly appropriate. He allowed himself a quiet chuckle

as he considered how Philippe’s employer might respond to the bogus footman’s hasty despatch.

Dismissing the man from his mind, Francois made his

way back to the nursery landing. Once again he hesitated at

Claudine’s door, and this time, instead of walking on, he

pushed the door wider and stepped into the moonlit room.

He walked to the foot of the bed, his hands in his pockets;

and a heavy frown between his eyes. He looked down at her

for some time before allowing himself actually to see her.

When he did, the frown deepened as he became aware of his

response. Her tousled raven hair tumbled over the pillows,

and her sleeping face looked vulnerable in the soft grey light

from the window. Her shoulders were bare, and he could

see the gentle curve of her breasts beneath the flimsy silk of her nightgown.

There was no denying her sensuality, and his body craved

the release, but even as the thought entered his mind, he

discarded it. Quite apart from the need to keep this visit

secret, any encounter with his wife meant walking into an

emotional minefield … But his need was pressing, which

made him wonder how long it was since he had seen Elise.

Six weeks - six long weeks since they had lain in her bed and

she had told him how all Paris was talking about the success of the Lorvoire wine feast for which Claudine had been responsible. The memory brought a grim smile to Francois’

face as he recalled how his response had dissolved into a

groan when Elise’s succulent mouth closed over his

genitals.

His eyes were now on Claudine’s mouth, and he nearly

laughed aloud at the idea of her satisfying him in that way. He

wondered then if he had ever kissed her; he couldn’t

remember. If anything, that pleased him - he had done

I everything in his power to make her despise him, and hoped that by now he had succeeded. It would make life a great deal easier if he had, but he had never met a woman of such

infuriating tenacity. Under different circumstances he might

have admired her for it, for no matter what he did to her, it

seemed that nothing would break that intransigent spirit of

hers. But since he had learned of the Abwehr’s intention to

recruit him, and knowing only too well the methods German

Intelligence employed to achieve what they wanted, the

clangers and decisions that faced him during the years ahead

were such that he could not allow himself the luxury of the

kind of wife she so obviously wanted to be.

What a fool she was, he thought, for not having listened to

him at the outset! She could have saved herself so much

pain. But he had never done anything to encourage her love,

and the responsibility for her suffering must be hers alone.

She meant nothing to him, she was there only because his

father wanted her to be.

Not wanting to waste any more time, he turned away from

the bed and went back to the landing to recover his shoes.

He stopped for a moment, sensing suddenly that the night

sounds had changed. But it was only that the rain was lighter

now, and raking his fingers quickly through his damp hair,

he let himself out into the night.

As she heard the door to the bridge swing closed,

Claudine opened her eyes. She had known he was there.

She had been in the nursery, not in bed, when he came out

of the forest; she had seen him crossing the bridge from the

window, and had run back to her bedroom so he should not

find her awake. She had heard him go downstairs,

come up again. She had felt him standing at the end of her!

bed, watching her, but she had not stirred. She didn’t want him to ask why she had been in the nursery, and she didn’t!

want to know why he had entered his own home like a burglar. Not that he would have told her, of course, but he ‘

would have been angry that she had seen him. And

something she couldn’t face just now was Francois’ anger.

Ever since the night of the wine feast she had felt as

though her life was crumbling to pieces. The confusion and