Darkest Longings (54 page)

Claudine, but I wonder if perhaps we’re not being a little too

hasty. You see, I don’t want to raise false hopes, but…’

Claudine stiffened, and Armand put a hand over hers as if

to steady her. Her powers of resilience were remarkable, he

knew, but he also knew that she couldn’t take much more. ‘I

think we should know everything,’ he said.

Louis looked down at the letter lying on the table in front

of them. ‘It may be nothing,’ he said, ‘it may be only the hope

of a desperate father. But I think there’s another message in

that letter besides the obvious one. Look at the date. You

see, Francois wrote this letter almost four weeks ago.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Armand said.

‘It doesn’t take four weeks for a letter to arrive from Paris,

not even in these times. Claudine received one from Celine

only yesterday that Celine had written five days before. It’s

my guess that Francois expected someone to read this letter

before me. That he was telling someone else, not me, that

lie has defected to the German side. It would explain the

delay. And never in his life has Francois written to me using the address Mon cher Papa.’

‘No!’ Claudine shouted, slamming her hands on the

table. ‘He can’t do this to us! He can’t! He’s confessed his

treachery and we must act upon it.’

‘Claudine,’ Armand said softly, ‘I think Louis might have

a point. And we owe it to Francois to see …’

‘We owe him nothing!’ she cried. ‘He has deserted us! He

has deserted his country and I won’t help him!’

‘You must, cherie’ Armand replied. ‘We all must. He

could be in a great deal of danger …’ He stopped as the

blood drained from her face, but forced himself to go on. ‘I

know that the torture of not knowing is going to worsen the

pain for you, but if we have any doubt at all about this letter, I

don’t think we should do as Francois asks.’

‘I agree with Armand,’ Louis said.

Claudine’s beautiful face was ravaged with grief and as

she turned her eyes to Louis a silent scream erupted from

the core of her despair.

Later that night Claudine sat on the edge of Francois’ bed, hugging a pillow and gazing sightlessly down at the floor. ‘I

hate you,’ she said into the darkness. ‘I hate you for what

you’re doing to me. I don’t know who I am any more, I don’t know what I want. But I don’t love you, Francois. Do you hear me? They’re wrong! I don’t care what happens to you! I; don’t want you to come back. I never want to see you again

‘Oh, Francois, I can’t love you, it hurts too much … I

can’t hope that you’ll come back, because if you don’t…

Oh, my love, where are you? Where are you?’ She pressed ;

her face into the pillow as the tears started to stream down

her cheeks.

‘If you didn’t want me,’ she sobbed, ‘why didn’t you let

me go at the beginning? Why did you have to do it like this?

But if you can’t love me, then please find it in your heart to

love Louis. Come back for him, Francois, he needs you. I’m

crying now, Francois, but I won’t cry again. After tonight

there will be no more tears, there will be no more love.

There will be nothing, after tonight.’

After scanning the bookshelves for some time, Francois

pulled out a volume of Goethe’s poetry. He yawned. His

hair needed cutting, he thought, catching a glimpse of his

reflection in the brass lamp-stand beside him, and perhaps

he should go upstairs and change out of the grey wool

sweater and brown corduroy trousers before dinner. But it

didn’t really matter whether he did nor not, and he strolled

listlessly back to the fireplace and sat down heavily in the

chair where he had spent the best part of the afternoon.

He had been here, at von Liebermann’s country residence, since France declared war on Germany - just under four months ago now. During this time his anger

over what had happened to Elise had given way first to

frustration at his enforced inactivity, then to utter boredom.

He couldn’t deny that von Liebermann was the most

generous of hosts; intellectual soirees were arranged for him, there were visits to the theatre and the opera, and any number of women were brought in for his entertainment;

every French and British newspaper was delivered on a

regular basis as well as the German ones, and he had free

, access to the wireless, and even a chauffeur at his disposal

twenty-four hours a day. But despite all that, there was no

getting away from the fact that he was a prisoner.

After Poland’s defeat he had been taken to Warsaw,

where he had seen for himself the effectiveness of the

Blitzkrieg. The city was in ruins, and God only knew how

many had died. But they were the lucky ones; over a million

men, women and children had been captured and taken to

prisoner-of-war camps in Eastern Europe. Francois had

assumed that after this von Liebermann would send him to

France so that he could report on what he had seen and try

once again to persuade the French to capitulate. But he was

still, as the Christmas festivities approached, imprisoned in

this cell of luxury - knowing as well as von Liebermann that

to escape would be the easiest thing in the world, but that he

wouldn’t even attempt it while the Abwehr controlled

Halunke.

I-He rested his feet on the fender in front of the log fire and

pondered the situation. Even now, von Lieberman still did

not trust him. Of course, the Abwehr would have intercepted

his letter to Louis; so far so good, they must be thinking,

I but why has the Comte de Lorvoire not now disinherited his

elder son? Which was exactly what he himself was thinking:

why in God’s name had Louis not gone ahead and disowned

him, as instructed? The disinheritance was crucial, as the French Secret Service, under whose auspices he had been!

toiling for the last five years, had agreed. It would finally!

convince the Abwehr that he was to be trusted, but at the I

same time it would negate his usefulness to them as a spy by I

letting the French and British know he was considered a traitor. It was a complex and dangerous game they were playing, and one in which he might well lose his life. I He stirred irritably in his chair. Why was his father taking I

so long? Unless the Germans were convinced they could trust him, what happened to Elise could happen to Claudine. Halunke might well have intended to kill Elise, but undoubtedly von Liebermann was much gratified that I he hadn’t, for she was now a living reminder of the threat his family was under if he didn’t cooperate. And the hell of it was, Captain Paillole and his agents couldn’t go anywhere near Lorvoire now, either to protect the family or see what

was delaying Louis, because their presence would immediately

alert German suspicions.

Francois sighed quietly to himself, then looked up as the

door opened and von Liebermann walked in.

‘Ah, there you are, my friend,’ said the German, his

narrow eyes shining with pleasure. His corpulent frame

moved to the row of decanters on the heavy mahogany table.

‘Would you care for a drink before dinner?’

Francois declined with a shake of the head. ‘And what are

you reading there?’ von Liebermann asked, glancing back

over his shoulder.

Francois grimaced as he realized the significance of the

title he had chosen, which would not be lost on the General. ‘Roman Elegies,’ he answered, putting the book to one side.

Von Liebermann’s fat shoulders shook as he turned back

and saluted Francois with his glass. ‘Poems written for a

mistress who eventually became a wife,’ he chuckled. ‘How

very fitting.’

Francois didn’t comment. When he first arrived he had

made his feelings about what had happened to Elise quite

dear. As a result he had seen nothing of Helber since, for he

had told von Liebermann precisely what he intended to do

to the manhood of his toady.

Von Liebermann had merely smiled. ‘All I can say is, do

not pursue your revenge too soon, my friend, or it will be the

worse for others.’

‘I take it you are threatening me with Halunke?’ It was a

stab in the dark, but von Liebermann’s thin eyebrows had

lifted.

‘So you have discovered his code name,’ he had said.

‘Most diligent of you.’

Francois had let the matter drop then, and neither man

had mentioned either Halunke or Elise again, until now.

‘I must say, it surprises me that you have expressed no

interest in the welfare of Mademoiselle Pascale since

arriving,’ von Liebermann said, easing his bulk into the

chair opposite Francois’.

‘As she is of no further use to you, I imagine she is quite

safe,’ Francois answered.

Von Liebermann nodded. ‘You are correct in your

assumption. So why are you bothering to have her watched?’

‘For her own peace of mind.’

‘Very commendable. Particularly since her injuries mean

that she is of no further use to you either.’

Francois’ jaw tightened, but he bit hard on his anger,

knowing there was little point in giving vent to it now.

‘But the affair was over anyway, was it not?’ von

Liebermann smiled. ‘So all we have to do now is discover

which fortunate lady has succeeded to your affections?’

‘You can try, but as there is no such lady you’ll be wasting

your time.’

Von Liebermann laughed. ‘Very wise, my friend. A man

in your position cannot afford the luxury of love, as you have

discovered. Now, I have some good news for you. You are to

return to France in the New Year. Or rather, in the spring,!

You have not been kept in the dark on the matter of Weser the plans for the Norwegian operation - though I imagine you would appreciate more details. Alas, I cannot furnish

them, though with a mind as brilliant as yours you will have

already taken into account the fact that Swedish supplies of iron-ore travel to Germany through Norway. Therefore, it is necessary for us to turn our attention to Norway before

executing Fall Gelb.’

Francois knew that Fall Gelb - Plan Yellow - was the

invasion of the Low Countries. As far as he knew, this had.

been planned for January, but if the Norwegian operation

had to come first it would obviously be postponed. However,

this information would be useless by the time he got to

France; unless the Nazis were stupid, Weser would already

be well under way.

‘I’m afraid your bargaining power in France will be

limited,’ von Liebermann continued. ‘However, it is not

Herr Himmler’s wish that you obtain intelligence from the

French, he merely requires that you use your remarkable

talent for persuasion to convince them that they cannot

possibly win this war.’

‘It will not have escaped your notice that I have failed to

achieve this in the past. What makes you think I can do so

now?’

‘In the past there was no war between Germany and

France. You have seen what happened in Poland, a most

lamentable defeat for that nation. But if the Poles had not

fought the inevitable, they would not now be in the situation they are in. I’m sure that Monsieur Daladier and Monsieur Lebrun have no desire to see their country suffer such a fate.

Have you asked yourself why France and Britain, having

declared war on the Fatherland, did not attack from the west at

a time when it would have been most prudent to do so?’

Francois had, many times, but he said nothing.

‘The only conclusion we can draw from this near-passive

observation of Poland’s fate,’ von Liebermann went on, ‘is

that France - and maybe Britain - do not, despite their

declarations of war, want to fight.’

‘You are less certain about Britain?’

‘A cunning nation. They have their Expeditionary Force in what they feel to be strategic position in northern France.

We shall see whether they will fight. Naturally, we shall try

to persuade them not to, we have no desire for further

bloodshed. But you know the British as well as I; not nearly

as pragmatic as the French. So perhaps your first job as an

officer of the Abwehr will not be such a difficult one.’

‘An officer?’ Francois repeated.

‘That is the other good news I have for you. Herr

Himmler has seen fit to bestow the rank of major upon you.’

‘I am honoured,’ Francois murmured. ‘Please thank Herr

Himmler on my behalf when next you see him.’

‘You can thank him yourself,’ von Liebermann grinned.

“We are to spend the Christmas period at Karinhall as the

guests of Herr Goering and his estimable lady wife. Herr

Himmler is also invited. As is the Fuihrer’

‘It will be an honour indeed to spend time in such

distinguished company,’ Francois remarked, getting to his

feet.

Von Liebermann’s beady eyes watched him as he walked

across the room and helped himself to a cognac. Like

Helber, he was not unaffected by de Lorvoire’s potent

sexuality, there were times when he had only to raise an

eyebrow for von Liebermann to experience a stirring in his