Darkest Longings (82 page)

‘Good,’ von Liebermann said, eyeing his reflection

critically in the mirror. Satisfied, he removed his cap,

smoothed down his hair and turned back to his desk. ‘Did

you manage to discover who was behind the killing in the

forest?’

‘It was Halunke, as we suspected.’

‘Do we need to concern ourselves with it?’

‘I think not.’

Von Liebermann nodded, then looked down at the

document lying on his desk. It was an order he had received

from Herr Himmler, dated 9th April 1941. The instruction

was brief and to the point: Francois de Lorvoire was to be

shot.

It was now March 23rd 1942, almost a year later, and still

von Liebermann had not carried out the order. Of course,

Herr Himmler knew he hadn’t; when von Liebermann

pleaded for execution to be delayed, Himmler had been

pleased to indulge the General in his whim. Von Liebermann

badly wanted to see the game with Halunke played

out to the end. It amused him. It intrigued him. It also gave

him a feeling of inordinate power to be in control of two men

whose intellect, cunning and physical strength were

superior even to his own.

However, things had not gone well for von Liebermann

in Russia, and now Himmler had seen fit to withdraw his

indulgence and had reinstigated the order of execution on

de Lorvoire. It was to be carried out in any way von

Liebermann desired - but it was to be carried out.

‘So,’ he sighed, turning his pale eyes back to Helber who

had quietly taken a seat in front of his desk, ‘things have

gone well for Halunke these past few days. He deserves it.

Thanks to him, our colleagues in Touraine have not only

closed down an escape-line but have made over forty

arrests. And now they have made twelve more, including de

Lorvoire’s vigneron, de Lorvoire’s brother and de Lorvoire’s

wife.’ He chuckled. ‘Quite a coup. When will the shooting

take place?’

‘Within the week.’

Von Liebermann grunted. Then shifting his bulk a little

more comfortably in the chair, he said, ‘I am of the opinion

that things are a little unevenly balanced. I think it is time we

gave de Lorvoire his share of our help. We know, from the

treasures stored beneath his chateau, that the orders we

have given him during this visit to Vichy will be utterly

abhorrent to him, but he has agreed to carry them out. I

wonder if he will. I also wonder if he will find a way round

them. He has a brilliant mind, most enviable, but most

dangerous. But I would never have put him down for a

Jew-lover. You must warn your brother-in-law to keep a

very close eye on him. As Monsieur Laval said at our

meeting yesterday, it is high time this nation was cleansed of

the Jews, and we don’t want any of them escaping, do we?

‘Now, back to Halunke. You may inform him that he now

has a free hand to do as he wishes. But at the same time I am

going to give you, Max, the pleasure of revealing his identity

to de Lorvoire. You may do it in any way you wish,’ he

continued as Helber’s cheeks turned pink with pleasure,

‘but be on your guard at all times. I’m sure you won’t have

forgotten what de Lorvoire has threatened to do to you …

But you must tell him soon. He leaves for Lorvoire in three

days, tell him before he goes. Then take yourself off to the

Hotel Boule d’Or in Chinon. I will join you there as soon as I

am able. I have no intention of missing the final confrontation.’

The throbbing in Claudine’s head had not let up since she’d

arrived. Added to it now was the appalling ache in her limbs

brought on by the fact that she still wore the same clothes

she had been captured in. She was filthier than a street

urchin. Her hair was caked with mud, her face and hands

smeared with blood from the wound on her temple, and her

left eye was badly bruised and swollen.

She had been incarcerated in this cell for two days now

though with its rough stone walls and stench of decay it was

more like a dungeon. Through its single barred window, so

high that she couldn’t reach it even by standing on the bed,

she occasionally heard the sound of marching jackboots.

She had spent most of the time lying on the iron bed, her

arms clasped about her body in an effort to keep warm,;

trying to summon all her resources for the interrogation to

come. During the night, howls of agony had reverberated

through the cells. When she realized that they were

Lucien’s, her terror, and her blinding hatred of Armand,

had made her vomit again and again until there was nothing

left in her body.

What an actor he was, she thought now. He had even

gone as far as faking cowardice the night they were arrested,

when he had orchestrated the arrest himself! He had

revealed his true self only once, with that look of raw hatred,

of pure savagery, that had come over his face that day in the

forest. Then, she had known beyond doubt that he was

Halunke; her hackles had risen like a cat’s in the presence of

evil. But great actor that he was, he had never given himself

away until that day. And perhaps his best performance of all

had been at dawn this morning, when he cried out as if

Raider an extremity of torture. Even so, his cries had not had

the same chillingly authentic ring as Lucien’s. Lucien’s

screams could even now, hours after they had ceased, send a

shiver of terror down her spine.

After that, it had been quiet. Then, an hour or more ago,

there had been some kind of commotion at the other end of

the passage - footsteps up and down the stone steps, heavy

whispers and the clanging of doors. She wondered where

Yves and Thomas were being held, and her heart filled with

pity for the two old men who had been drawn into this

horrifying web of revenge.

She still had no idea what motivated Armand. Certainly

he hated her for the way he felt she had treated him, but

there was something else, something darker and deeper.

She had been nothing more than an instrument of his

revenge - but how he must have enjoyed it that Francois de

Lorvoire’s wife had given herself to him so willingly! And

her usefulness as a means of inflicting pain on Francois was

certainly not exhausted yet. She would be tortured, and

Francois, when he heard of it, would find that even more

insupportable than his own sufferings at the hands of the

Abwehr.

She tensed suddenly. In the distance she heard a door

open and close, a heavy, echoing tread in the stone passage

outside. She knew, even before the bolts were scraped back on her door, that they were coming for her.

The door creaked open, and only then did she hear the

other, lighter footsteps. The uniformed guard snapped at

her to get up, and obediently she forced her aching legs to

move. She could smell the foul odour of her clothes as she

unwound her arms and dragged her head from the pillow,

and once again her stomach was gripped with nausea.

‘You may remain seated,’ a voice barked as she started to

pull herself to her feet, and looking up, she saw her

interrogators standing at the door. There was no mistaking

the Gestapo, she thought grimly, in their black Homburg

hats and leather overcoats.

Now that fear was starting to pump adrenalin through her

body, she was feeling stronger. She watched as the man who

had spoken to her clicked his fingers at his companion, and

pointed to a spot beside the bed. Immediately a chair was

produced, and the guard bolted the door.

Claudine studied the face of the man who sat down

beside her. His skin was pale and slightly pockmarked, his

eyes a translucent blue and his mouth a narrow band of

concentration. There was no hint of the brutishness she

had expected to see, but there was no trace of compassion

either.

He smiled, revealing an ugly gap in his front teeth. ‘So,’

he said, ‘you are the Comtesse de Lorvoire. I have heard a

great deal about you, madame’

She said nothing, and he smiled again. Then they both

turned as the grid in the door scraped open and the guard’s

face appeared.

‘Everything is ready, Herr Schmidt.’

The grid remained open and Schmidt’s companion went

to stand beside it. Schmidt folded his arms, crossed one leg

casually over the other and said, ‘Leopard.’

Claudine stared at him.

‘AH you have to tell us, madame, is Leopard’s identity and

the location of his camp. Then you may go home.’

Claudine was astonished. Surely Armand had already

told them all about Lucien? And as for going home, the

circumstances of her arrest proved she was a Resistante, and Resistants were never released - unless of course they turned collaborator.

‘I should tell you, madame,’ Schmidt continued, ‘that you

will make it much easier on your vigneron if you cooperate.’

Her eyes narrowed for an instant, then she smiled. They

were simply trying to throw her off the scent. Well, let them

go ahead with their macabre pantomime. Unless she saw

Armand suffer with her own eyes, she wasn’t buying it.

‘I repeat, madame,’ Schmidt said affably, ‘Leopard’s identity and the location of his camp, if you please.’

Claudine’s face was expressionless as she gazed back at

him.

Schmidt cast a look at his accomplice, who nodded to the

guard. A few moments later she heard Armand scream.

She flinched, and waited for the echo to die away before

turning back to Schmidt. She was on the point of telling him

that she was not convinced, when she stopped. If she let

them know that she knew who Armand really was, they

would undoubtedly abandon this farce and subject her to a

much more personal method of torture.

‘We know, madame,’ Schmidt said, ‘that you are in

regular contact with Leopard. So please, think of your vigneron and tell us where we can find him.’

Her silence brought another scream of pain from the

adjacent cell. Schmidt looked at her expectantly, but when

she still remained silent he scratched his nose and said,

‘Perhaps I should tell you exactly what my colleagues are

doing to your vigneron.’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly,

and she did the same. ‘They are removing his

teeth,’ he said bluntly.

Claudine suppressed a shudder and reminded herself

that this was all a sham.

‘All right,’ Schmidt sighed, uncrossing his legs. ‘Let’s

talk about the destination of the British agents who landed

outside Brossay the other night. Where were you intending

to take them?’

‘Home,’ Claudine answered.

‘Ah, a joke. Very amusing. Shall we see if your vigneron, your ex-lover, is entertained by your misguided sense of humour?’

Armand’s cry howled through the cells. Claudine visibly

blanched as she heard him cough and splutter, as though

choking on his own blood.

‘Where were you taking them!’ Schmidt barked.

‘Nowhere!’ she shouted back.

‘Where were you taking them?’

‘Nowhere!’

Armand screamed again.

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Where?

‘I don’t know?

Armand’s agony bounced from the walls. The noise was

unbearable, Claudine covered her ears.

‘Names and addresses!’

‘I don’t know!’

It went on like that, a steady crescendo of interrogation,

denial, agony. The screams became inhuman. Scream after

scream after scream, a never-ending explosion of noise.

At last Schmidt stood up. ‘You have until five o’clock this

afternoon to tell us what we want to know,’ he said, looking

down at Claudine’s bowed head. ‘If you do not tell us, the vigneron will be shot.’

The door swung open and he left. The other man stayed,

no doubt to await her confession. But shaken as she was, her

resolve was as firm now as it had been when they began. She

hadn’t been taken in, not even for a moment. It was all a

farce! Why else were they torturing him in another cell? And

nothing short of seeing Armand drop before the firing

squad would convince her now that he wasn’t Halunke.

Helber was standing just inside the door of Francois’ hotel

room. Francois himself was seated in a winged armchair

near the window, his head almost imperceptibly bowed.

Helber was watching de Lorvoire’s face very closely. It gave

nothing away, but Helber knew he was on extremely

dangerous ground now, for he had just informed de

Lorvoire of his wife’s arrest.

If he had been able to look inside Francois’ mind he

would have seen the final pieces of an almost complete

jigsaw being fitted into the unholy pattern that made up

Halunke’s revenge - until the only piece missing was the

one that gave Halunke his motive. Only that piece would tell

Francois for certain whether his suspicion was correct. It

was a suspicion that had taken root in his mind some time

ago now; a suspicion so abhorrent, so devastating, that he

had refused to give it the nourishment of thought.