Darkest Longings (89 page)

he staggered as the cry started to echo through the valley like

the deathly chant of ravens. Voices, hundreds of voices,

resounding from the trees, from the barn, from the river,

from the chateau. They were coming from everywhere.

Below him, above him, in front of him, behind him, from

every side. Shouting his name: ‘Armand!Armand!Armand!’

At the side of the barn Francois was climbing swiftly and

quietly from the ladder into the hay loft.

‘It won’t work, de Lorvoire!’ he heard Armand scream

into the cacophony.

Armand!’

Armand!’

Armand!’

The noise rose to a deafening crescendo. Francois stole

through the hay, then lowered himself into the barn. He

could see them now, grouped in a pool of sunlight on the

waste ground.

‘Kill him, de Lorvoire!’ Armand roared to the sky. ‘Kill

your son or I’ll kill her.’

Armand!’

‘Armand! Armand!’

‘Shut up!’ he bellowed. ‘Shut up or I’ll fire.’

More voices, flat, monotonous, menacing voices. No

faces, only Lucien and Bingham and … Armand stepped

back, looking for Claudine. Then he saw her. She was on

the floor, covering her head with her arms. He raised the

gun, aimed it straight at her, then screamed as a foot crashed

into his wrist. Then he became aware of the pressure on his

spine, and he clenched his teeth as the agony tore through

his limbs. But he still had the gun, and he fired it, again and

again…

He couldn’t move his arm; the bullets were blasting

randomly into the air. Armand jerked his body forward then

screamed as Francois’ hands tightened their grip. But

now the gun was pointing right at her… A splintering pain

seared through his skull. His knees were sagging, but he

tightened his finger on the trigger. He tried to throw the

weight from his back. It shifted and he staggered, then the

gun was on her again. He fired - and in that same instant

Francois broke his neck.

Claudine stared at the bullet, buried in the ground only an

inch from her face. She couldn’t move, her whole body was

frozen in terror. She knew Francois was there, she could

feel him holding her, lifting her, but she couldn’t tear her

eyes from the bullet.

‘It’s all right,’ he soothed. ‘It’s all right, cherie, it’s over.’

‘Louis,’ she mumbled. ‘Where’s Louis?’

‘With Monique. He’s safe.’

‘Oh Francois!’ she gasped, then fell sobbing into his

arms.

Then she opened her eyes and stared down at Armand’s

limp, broken body lying at her feet. His eyes were still open,

staring back at her. She shuddered, and Francois stooped to

close them.

‘Did you know?’ she said. ‘About Jacqueline?’

‘No.’

He looked at her, and her heart twisted as she saw the

torment in his eyes. She could read his thoughts, almost as if

he were speaking them aloud. Hortense, Jacqueline and

Elise. Three women whose lives had been ruined because of

him, because he had been unable to love them. He would

never forgive himself, yet there was nothing he could have

done to prevent it. Claudine choked back her tears, and

pulled him tightly into her arms. He pushed his face into her

hair and clung to her the way Louis had clung to him.

Finally he pulled away and gazed searchingly into her

eyes. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered.

She nodded.

He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then

turned to Armand’s body.

‘What are we going to tell Liliane?’ she asked.

‘Nothing, if we can avoid it. It’s better that she thinks he

died by the firing squad.’

‘Do you think she knows? About all this.’

He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Except about Jacqueline,

she must have known about that. But she would never have

imagined him capable of doing all he’s done. What mother

would?’

‘A mother who persuaded me to have an affair with her

son?’

Francois lifted his head. ‘I asked her to.’

Claudine shook her head in dismay, then, as she started

shakily to pull herself to her feet a voice boomed into the

stillness.

‘Francois!’

Both she and Francois swung round. Then Francois flew

back as a stultifying blow crashed into his chest. Claudine

started for the barn as first one shot, then another and

another blasted through the air. Then suddenly she

staggered to the ground beside Francois as both Resistants and Germans emerged from the woods, from the barn, from the river bank and from the road, until the whole world was

alive with the sound of machine-guns, pistols, rifles, even

grenades.

Bullets tore through the air above their bodies, plunging

into the earth all around them. Black smoke curled round

the barn as canisters were thrown from the woods to

disguise the emergence of the Resistants. The air rang with

shouts, barked orders and the sound of running feet. Men in

berets and masks swooped into the field, while the German

soldiers in their tin helmets and uniforms flattened themselves

to the grass and blasted bullets into the melee.

Lucien and Beavis, crouching low with guns slung over

their shoulders, waded through the river to the bridge. Jack

Bingham, Pierre Bonet the melon farmer, and three others,

crawled through the next field’s vines towards the road. Still

more withdrew into the woods, firing and shouting and

holding cover for those gone to circle the Germans.

Francois turned his head to look at Claudine, half

expecting her to have crawled into the barn. But she was still

there, lying only an arm’s length away. He twisted himself a

little further so he could see her face. Her arms were spread

out, her hair was tangled around her mouth and her eyes

were wide, staring straight into his. His lungs turned to

pockets of ice as the whole world tilted on its axis. Then she

blinked, and he breathed again.

Almost from the moment he’d fallen, he had realized that

the hammer-blow to his chest had come from Claudine as

she’d knocked him to the ground, but he continued to lie

where he was, unmoving. Von Liebermann and Helber

must think he was dead.

‘Are you all right?’ he hissed.

‘I think so.’

‘Stay right where you are. For God’s sake let them think

you’re dead.’

She blinked again, not daring to move another muscle, as

the battle raged on around them. Then she watched, as Francois slid his hand carefully beneath him and pulled out his gun.

He waited until there was a drift in the smoke, then aimed

directly at the Mercedes. Again he waited, until von

Liebermann’s eyes finally came to rest on his, but before

von Liebermann had a chance even to register surprise, the

bullet ripped through his face.

And there was still one more score to settle. From the rear

door on the other side of the car, Max Helber emerged, his

face splattered with von Liebermann’s blood. As he staggered

round the car, dazed and disoriented, into full view,

Francois took aim again, pointing the gun this time between

Helber’s legs.

As Helber screamed, chaos broke loose. The Mercedes

roared off, and what seemed like an entire battalion of

Germans closed in around the woods. No one thought to

look in the direction of the barn, no one knew that the

bullets which had killed the General and his henchman had

come from Francois de Lorvoire.

Still neither he nor Claudine moved, but lay there

feigning death until finally the battle was drawn into the

depths of the wood and the gunfire started to recede into the

distance.

After a while they heard footsteps running towards them.

‘Francois!’ Lucien called in a heavy whisper.

‘It’s all right, I’m alive,’ Francois answered, recognizing

his brother’s voice.

‘I thought you must be. I saw what Claudine did. Are you

all right?’ he added turning to her. ‘Come on, let’s get you

both out of here.’

Francois was already on his feet. The smoke had all but

disappeared by now, and for the moment there was no sign of the Boches.

‘It’s all right, cherie, you can get up now,’ he said, starting

to help Lucien drag Armand’s body into the barn.

When she didn’t move, he looked up. ‘Claudine, you can

get up,’ he said, a hammer of alarm suddenly starting to

thud in his chest.

‘I can’t,’ she answered.

Dropping Armand, he threw himself down on his knees

beside her. ‘What is it?’ he said.

‘Oh Francois, I’m sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I’m so sorry.’

And then he saw the pool of blood, spreading thickly

across the ground beneath her.

It was the first real day of summer, warm and tranquil.

Francois was standing on the hillside, gazing out at the

valley of Lorvoire. It was a very different view now from the

one he had looked out on a week ago when the fire had

heaved its massive chest and roared through the vineyards,

curling great tongues of flame round every root and leaf of

the vines. The village was unharmed, so too was the

chateau, but the sloping banks of the valley were now a

blackened mass of destruction. He could still smell it, the

pungent aroma of fuel that the Germans had thrown on the

vines before setting them alight, and the acrid stench of the

ash that drifted lazily on the breeze. He raised his eyes to the

trees at the top of the hill opposite, where he could see the

coned turrets of the chateau shimmering like silver in the

sunlight. No one was inside now, it had been closed and

boarded-up just over a month ago. Jean-Paul had seen to it,

but there had been nothing Jean-Paul could do to stop the

Germans raiding it first. They had even helped themselves

to the Jews’ property stored in the cellar. Since then the

servants had dispersed, and the family, all of them, had been

living in the chapter-house at the Royal Abbey of

Fontevraud -the abbey where he and Claudine had

married.

Now the family had gone too. The night before, Beavis

had taken Solange, Celine and Louis to England in a

Lysander, which had landed in a field near Angers, bringing

in two more British agents. And Lucien had taken Jack

Bingham and Monique to Poitiers, where Bertrand Raffault

was to arrange their safe passage through France and into

Spain. Lucien himself would return in a few days, but he

wouldn’t stay long, Lorvoire was too dangerous a place for

any of them to stay now. Reprisals for the battle which had

raged on the field at RignyUsse - a battle which had

claimed the lives of five German soldiers - had been severe.

Twenty of the twenty-five Resistants captured had been shot,

and God only knew what hell the remaining five were now

having to endure. Lucien and Gustave had put it about that

he, Francois, was dead, but it was clear that the Germans

didn’t believe it. Why else had they razed the vineyards?

Why else had they pasted up reward posters all over the

district? If he had believed that the Resistants’ lives would be

spared in exchange for his surrender, he would have given

himself up long ago, but he knew the Germans only too well

- no one was going to be released from the bowels of the

Hotel Boule d’Or, and his family needed him, not only now

but in the future, when this bloody war finally came to an

end.

He sighed - and then the ghost of a smile crossed his face.

It was on this very spot that he had found Claudine, the

morning after they were married. He remembered how

young she had seemed then, how angry, hurt and confused.

Then the harshness returned to his face as he thought of all

she had suffered since. All she had suffered because of him.

Until he fell in love with her he had always held himself

aloof from the world, believing himself immune to the

vagaries of love. Nothing could touch him, he was an island

remote in an ocean of humanity, and just like waves lapped

at a shore so emotion never stole beyond the surface of his

heart. But Claudine had changed all that. She had reached

into his heart, shown him that love, the kind of love he had

for her, was not a weakness at all, but a strength. She had

tamed him, mellowed him, warmed the fires of his soul. She

had ignited his passion with love, tempered his fury with

laughter. It was as though she had brought summer to a

winter-torn land, rain to a desert. He loved her so much.

She was the reason he laughed, the reason he raged. He

lived for her. And it was the knowledge of how much she

loved him in return that would give him the strength to carry

on. To accept all that had happened and one day put it

behind him.

He closed his eyes and let the faces of his past crowd in.

There were so many, but some of them would haunt him

maybe until the end of his days. Hortense. Elise. Jacqueline.

Jacqueline who, in wanting him, had driven her husband to

madness. And that was the greatest mystery of his life. Why