Darkest Longings (55 page)

groin. But unlike Helber, he had his carnal desires well

under control - as de Lorvoire quite simply terrified him.

‘I presume,’ Francois said, turning round and perching on

the edge of the table, ‘that any preference I might have for

where I spend the festive season is unlikely to be considered?’

‘Aaah,’ von Liebermann sighed mournfully. ‘You would

like to be with your family? I understand only too well, my

friend. However, I am afraid that is not possible. Hen

Himmler feels it would be unwise for you to return to

France before the spring.’ He paused. ‘By which time it is

our hope that the question of your fealty to the Reich will

have been finally settled.’

Francois thought about this. ‘Do I understand,’ he said

carefully, ‘that there is something you wish me to do

between now and the spring to prove, yet again, where my

loyalties lie?’

Von Liebermann tutted and sighed. ‘You have such an

astute brain, my friend. It pleases me so much not to have to

spell things out. Incidentally, before we move any further

from the subject of your family, I am able to give you news of

them if you wish.’

Francois’ hand hesitated as he lifted the cognac to his

lips.

‘No,’ von Liebermann laughed, reading his mind, ‘we

have not obtained this information from Halunke, my

friend. But it may interest you to know that your wife has

taken the news of your defection rather well. She is even

now making preparations for her marriage to the vigneron

… I’m afraid his name escapes me.’

‘St Jacques,’ Francois supplied. His eyes narrowed. So

the Abwehr had read his letter, and they had also passed it

on to his father - there were times when he’d wondered

whether Louis had ever received it. But if he had received it,

why hadn’t he disinherited him?

‘Yes, St Jacques,’ von Liebermann nodded. His eyes shot

to Francois’, then with a smirk he said, ‘A rather odd choice

of lover for a woman in your wife’s position, wouldn’t you

say?’

Francois was not deceived. This was von Liebermann’s

way of trying to find out whether he harboured any secret

feelings for his wife. ‘Had you met St Jacques,’ he said,

smiling straight into von Liebermann’s eyes, ‘you might not

think so. He has a certain appeal for the ladies. And who

knows, perhaps my wife will find in her second marriage the

happiness she failed to find in her first.’

‘But not the status.’

Francois smiled. ‘If there’s one thing my wife cannot be

accused of, it is snobbery.’

Von Liebermann sighed. ‘It is a sorrowful thing when our

wives do not live up to our expectations, is it not?’ he said.

‘But mine did,’ Francois answered. ‘She has delivered an

heir, which was all that was required of her.’

‘Quite so. And now, like the rest of her sex, she is not only

dispensable but replaceable.’

‘As I said earlier, there is no one else,’ Francois said. ‘So

shall we get on with the task you have in mind for the proof

of my fealty?’

‘Of course,’ von Liebermann smiled. ‘Come, sit down

again, and I shall tell you what it is. I think, considering your

reputation for ruthlessness, that it is a task you are going to

enjoy.’

Holding the pistol with both hands, Claudine raised it,

lowered it very slowly and took aim. All around her there

was an unnatural silence, as if nature itself was holding its

breath. She squeezed hard on the trigger. The explosion

reverberated round the valley as though echoing through

the very bowels of hell.

‘Bravo!’ Lucien cried, as one of the wine bottles balanced

on a ledge between the two caves smashed to a thousand

pieces. ‘You’re a natural, ma cherie.’

Claudine’s face was aglow with pride, until she saw how

Armand was laughing at her. ‘Your turn,’ she said, handing

him the pistol.

‘But I’m such a miserable shot,’ Armand protested.

She gave him a sceptical look, and obediently Armand raised the gun the way Lucien had shown them, lowered it,

took aim, and missed.

‘Such humiliation!’ he groaned. But Claudine had seen

the way his eyes met Lucien’s, and before Armand could do

as much as tarn to her for sympathy, she had grabbed his

arm, twisted ii behind his back, kicked his legs from under

him and toppled him to the ground.

‘Bravo!’ Lucien exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know you were that

good at self-defence, Claudine.’

She stood over her victim with her hands on her hips.

‘Don’t think you can fool me, Armand St Jacques. I’ve seen

you both practising out here so I know what a good shot you

are. And I’m ready to take on anyone,’ she said, grinning

meaningfully at Lucien.

Despite the biting March wind, the three of them had

spent a happy and sometimes hilarious morning at shooting

practice in the courtyard. A few yards away, wearing a

multitude of coloured scarves, a woollen hat tugged down to

her eyebrows and thick leather gloves which certainly

belonged to Louis, Solange sat reading a book that had been

sent to her by her friend Simone de Beauvoir. It was not one

of Simone’s own books, but the Marquis de Sade’s One

Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom to which Simone had

written an introduction. As she slowly turned the pages,

Solange’s normally mobile face was frozen in an expression

of total incredulity.

‘Good book, Solange?’ Claudine called.

Startled, Solange peered out from under her hat as

though she had forgotten where she was. ‘Astonishing, cherie,’ she said. ‘Altogether astonishing.’

‘What’s it about?’ Armand said. All three of them knew

perfectly well what it was about.

‘Oh, I couldn’t say,’ Solange answered, quite flustered. ‘I

mean, I’m not really sure …’

‘Does Papa know you’re reading that, Maman?’ Lucien

called.

Solange glanced anxiously over her shoulder. ‘I don’t

think so.’

‘No, I don’t think so either,’ Lucien grinned. ‘So don’t,

whatever you do, ask him to explain it.’

Suddenly young Louis appeared round the corner of the

chateau. ‘Grand-mere! Grand-mere? he cried, and hurled

himself into Solange’s lap.

‘Cheri!’ she shrieked, giving him a big wet kiss on the

cheek.

‘Wait for this, he’s sure to ask her to read to him when he

sees the book,’ Claudine whispered. And when this was

exactly what happened, and Solange turned puce with

discomfort, the three of them roared with laughter.

‘Come along, young man,’ Lucien said, swinging his

nephew up onto his shoulders. ‘I have a book for you that

comes all the way from Denmark. And if we ask Grand-pere nicely, perhaps he’ll let us look for Denmark on his globe so you can see how far away it is.’

Claudine watched as Lucien and Louis disappeared

through the kitchen door. Any minute now Solange would get

up and follow them inside, so that she could continue to keep

Lucien under her maternal eye. Instead of irritating Lucien,

his mother’s protectiveness seemed to amuse him; he’d turned

it into a game of hide-and-seek which Solange, with her usual

sense of fun, had entered into gladly. Of them all, it was his

father who had been most surprised to see Lucien when he

arrived three days ago - but things were so quiet at the front,

Lucien explained, that there were now serious doubts as to

whether there really would be a war after all. And over the past

forty-eight hours many of the young men from Lorvoire and

the surrounding villages had started to reappear too. The

generals, deciding that mere was little point in them kicking

their heels at the lines, had sent them home on leave.

Lucien’s first dinner at home had been a sober affair, for

he had spent the afternoon in the library with his father,

being told about Francois. Lucien’s handsome face had

been pale and drawn when the two of them finally emerged,

but it soon became clear that his concern was not for his own

career, but solely and wholeheartedly for his brother. A

concern he was simply not worthy of, Claudine had told him

when he joined her later in her sitting-room for a nightcap.

‘But how can you say that?’ Lucien had protested. ‘You

haven’t heard from him for almost seven months. God only

knows what might have happened to him in that time.’

‘Does it matter?’ she had retorted. ‘He made his choice,

he knew what he was letting himself in for.’

‘You don’t mean that. And besides, you don’t know if it

was his choice,’ Lucien pointed out. ‘I know your marriage

hasn’t been all you might have hoped for, but…’

‘There are no buts, Lucien. He’s done nothing to make

me care for him and everything to make me hate him. And if

I ever see him again I shall take great pleasure in telling him

how well he’s succeeded. I loathe and detest him to the very

depths of my soul. The only decency in him was his love for

his son, but now even that’s gone.’

‘I don’t believe that, and neither do you.’

‘How can I not believe it!’ she had cried. ‘Your father

showed you the letter, you read what he said. How can any

man of principle and integrity consider handing his own son

to another man?’

‘And his wife?’ Lucien said gently.

‘Yes! And me!’ she had yelled. ‘But don’t think I care

about that! I’ve never in my life wanted to be free of him

more than I do now. He’s a traitor! A murderer! A sadist!

He’s vile and evil, and I don’t know how you can defend him

when we both know that he has very probably ruined your

career.’

‘Oh, I’ll survive,’ Lucien had said. ‘But will you,

Claudine? With so much bitterness wrapped up inside

you…’

It had been a painful conversation, and now, as Solange

rose to her feet and went into the chateau - still clutching

her book to her chest - Claudine resolved to put all

uncomfortable thoughts out of her mind. She turned to

Armand.

‘Come to the cottage,’ she whispered, ‘and let me make you some lunch.’ By the time they had finished eating the sky outside was so black and thunderous that Claudine had to light the oil

lamps. The rain was beating rhythmically against the windows and the wind shrilled through the cottage’s battered roof, almost drowning the sleepy sound of an

American band playing on the wireless. They sat side by

side at the old table, sipping their coffee.

‘Kiss me,’ Claudine said.

Armand knew it was an invitation to more than a kiss.

They often made love in the afternoons, slowly savouring

one another’s bodies in the long, languorous hours between

lunch and Claudine’s return to the chateau. But now he only

brushed his lips lightly across hers, then turned to take

another sip of coffee.

‘Is something the matter?’ she said. And then, feeling her

heart start to pound, ‘Don’t you want to make love?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we have

to talk, Claudine. We have to talk about us.’

Today, this afternoon, he was ernoons, slowly savouring

one another’s bodies in the long, languorous hours between

lunch and Claudine’s return to the chateau. But now he only

brushed his lips lightly across hers, then turned to take

another sip of coffee.

‘Is something the maey were living a lie, and now he was

going to put an end to it.

When he looked up, Claudine was staring at him with an

almost petulant expression on her face. ‘Are you trying to

tell me you don’t want to marry me? Is that what this is all

about?’

He sighed. ‘It’s not a case of whether I want to marry you,

Claudine,’ he said. ‘You know I do. But you have to face the

fact that that will never happen so long as Francois …’

‘I don’t want to talk about Francois!’

He pulled his chair closer to the table. ‘That’s not going

to be easy when we both know that he’s the reason for things

being the way they are between us.’

‘What do you mean, “the way they are”?’ she said in a

tight voice.

‘You know what I mean, but if you’d prefer me to spell it

out…’

‘Perhaps you’d better.’

‘Well, to begin with, this pretence is tearing us both apart.

I love you, Claudine, you know that, but if you care anything

at all for me you’ll understand that the time has come - no, is

long overdue - for you to let me go.’

‘No!’ she cried. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘Then ask yourself why you can’t. And please don’t say

it’s because you love me.’

‘But it is.’

‘No, Claudine! You’ve never loved me, at least not in the

way you love …’ He held up his hand as she started to

protest. ‘All this time, what we’ve had here in this cottage,

it’s all been a game. It’s a game that has meant a great deal to

you, I know, but it’s a game you would never have played if

you hadn’t been lonely, if Francois hadn’t turned his back

on you the way he did.’ He sighed, and looked away from the

pain in her eyes. ‘I’m going to end our affair,’ he said, quietly

but firmly. ‘It’s the only way I can see of saving my own