Stranger at the Gates (12 page)

And if that happened beyond doubt, then even the chill compromise of living under the same roof would be impossible for her.

Savage's voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘What excellent brandy,' he said, talking to his left to the Comte. ‘I didn't know you could still get it in France.'

‘Major Minden was kind enough to give it to me for Christmas,' Jean de Bernard said.

‘And the cigars too? How very generous.' Savage made the German a little bow. ‘And are you stationed near St. Blaize?'

‘I am at the headquarters, at the Château Diane,' Minden said. ‘About half an hour's drive from here.' He looked up at Louise and his expression softened. ‘Even if it were Paris, I should prefer to live here.'

‘The Château Diane? Haven't I heard of it?'

‘It belonged to Diane de Poitiers.' Jean de Bernard answered Savage's question. ‘It was built for her by Henri II. It's only a part of the original building; much of it was destroyed after the Revolution. But it's very beautiful.'

‘Most of the original furniture is still there,' Minden said. ‘Wonderful tapestries—my General uses the State rooms.'

‘How interesting—does he like history?'

‘I don't think so,' Minden laughed. He had drunk a lot of wine and he felt suddenly bold. The presence of Louise sitting so close, and the faint drift of cologne she wore acted as a delicious goad upon his imagination. He wished she would open his scent and use it … ‘He doesn't care for history much but he's madly in love with Diane de Poitiers!'

‘Really?' Jean de Bernard said. ‘You never mentioned this before.'

‘It's quite amusing,' Minden said. He felt a moment of disloyalty but suppressed it. He wanted to interest Louise. There's a portrait of her as Diana the Huntress—you know the kind of picture, a naked allegory, very voluptuous. He had it moved into his sitting room. He sits in front of it, staring. He's read everything written about her; he even sleeps in her bedroom, in her bed!'

‘He sounds as if he's a romantic,' Savage said. ‘What's his name?'

‘General Brühl,' Minden answered. Nobody had laughed or even smiled at his account of Brühl's obsession. Perhaps he had merely sounded coarse. He looked anxiously at Louise and found her watching her cousin. He felt irritated. He felt obliged to defend his General to these people, for whose benefit he had just held him up to ridicule.

‘He's a very talented man,' he said. ‘He paints in his leisure time—very well. And apart from this little foible about Diane de Poitiers, he's very interested in antiquities.'

‘Then we have that in common,' Savage said. ‘I should love to see the Château. I suppose, Major, it wouldn't be possible?'

‘Not inside, I'm afraid,' Minden said. ‘I'd invite you as my guest, but unfortunately non-German personnel are not permitted. I'm so sorry. However, there's some very fine carving on the outside, you could see that. The gateway is remarkable; it's Diane de Poiters again, as Diana. Three times lifesize, supported by a stag.'

‘I must certainly go,' Savage said. ‘Louise, could you find time to take me tomorrow?'

‘Yes of course. We could go in the morning. But we'd have to bicycle. We have a little petrol but it has to be saved for emergencies. Would you mind that?'

‘I haven't cycled since I was a boy.' Savage smiled round at them. ‘I'm sure the exercise would do me good.'

‘Not at all,' Minden spoke to Louise. She tried not to look away, but the moist brown eyes with their message of desire disgusted her. ‘Madame, you can use my car. I'll send it back for you and you can drive over and spend as much time as you like. It will be my pleasure.'

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘You're very kind.'

‘Wasn't there a story,' Savage said, ‘that Diane de Poitiers had a skin like a young girl when she was sixty?'

‘I read that somewhere.' Régine spoke suddenly, and because she hadn't joined the conversation everybody looked at her. There was a polite little smile on Savage's mouth. ‘I read all about her; eternal youth and the rest of the nonsense. Personally I don't believe a word of it. Women like that are just myths. As for being in love—those sort of women aren't capable of it!'

‘What sort of women?' Louise asked her. ‘Kings' mistresses?'

‘Professionals,' Régine said. The sort of French woman who only exists in the minds of foreigners. A kind of national whore.'

‘Régine!' Jean de Bernard spoke sharply. ‘That's not a word for you to use. Please …'

‘There isn't another,' she said coldly. ‘I'm not a child, Jean. Please don't rebuke me as if I were.'

Louise pushed back her chair. ‘I think we'll go into the salon.' Before she could leave the table, Minden was beside her, pulling the chair away.

‘A wonderful dinner,' he murmured.

Louise brushed past him. ‘Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.' Régine followed her; she looked pale and there were dark pits under her eyes. For a moment Louise was tempted to ask her if she were feeling ill. But the eyes looked at her and through her, opaque and hostile, the sullen mouth set in a stubborn line.

‘I'm very tired,' Régine said. ‘Would you mind if I went to bed now?'

‘No, of course not. You look tired.'

‘Say good night to Jean and the Major and your cousin for me. How long is he going to stay?'

‘I don't know,' Louise said. ‘A few days. He's come on business over my family trust.'

Régine looked at her for a moment and then away. It was a way she had of being rude. ‘He doesn't look at all like you,' she said. ‘If he's a cousin he can't be very close.' She walked out of the room before Louise could answer.

They settled in a little group close to the fire; Louise had a frame of embroidery which she worked on in the evenings; both Minden and Savage looked at her. The fire was alight; the light flickered over her as she sewed, casting soft shadows over her face. Both men examined her, but in different ways. The German's eyes ranged over the line of her neck, down to the outline of her breasts and the curve of one leg crossed at the knee. Before his imagination the yellow dress disappeared and the hair caught up behind her head was loose and flowing over bare shoulders. He shifted in his chair and forced his thoughts away from her. To Savage she was more complicated. Sexually attractive, remote and independent, vulnerable and yet brave. There was no need for mental stripping, for the laboured erotic imaginings of the other man. He looked at her and he was stirred.

She had done well that evening. She had kept the balance between them, hiding the fear which he alone had seen. Her hands were steady as she used the needle; the fingers were long and graceful, the nails unpolished. She looked serene in the firelight, removed from them all, as her husband and the Major talked together, excluding him. Once she looked up and caught him watching her. He left his chair and came over to her.

‘What are you making, Louise? Show me …'

‘It's a stool cover—for Papa's room.' He bent over her.

‘That's very nice. It must take a long time.'

‘About three months, if I do some every night.'

‘I want to talk to you,' he said quietly. ‘I'll come to your room later.' He went back to his chair, stretched out his feet and gave a little grunt.

‘This is so pleasant,' he said. ‘I never imagined life was so peaceful in France.'

‘It is peaceful,' the Comte de Bernard said. ‘And that is how we want to keep it.'

Louise went upstairs first; she paid a visit to her father-in-law and found him sleeping deeply, his bedside light still on. She arranged the bedclothes round him and switched it off, leaving the door a little open. Jean-Pierre and Marie-Anne slept on the same floor within his call. Then she went downstairs to her room to wait for Savage. She heard Jean and the Major come up; she heard Savage saying good night. The minutes went by until an hour had passed, and then a knock sounded on her door. She opened it and he came in.

‘I thought you weren't coming.'

‘I gave them time to get to sleep; do you have a cigarette?'

‘Over there on my dressing table, help yourself.'

Savage sat on the bed. He lit two cigarettes and passed one to her. Again their fingers touched. She wore a dressing-gown, and he noticed how much younger she looked with her hair down.

‘I learned a lot tonight,' he said. ‘You were terrific. Come and sit down here.'

‘You took so many risks,' Louise said. ‘I haven't stopped shaking yet. All that business about enemy agents—I nearly died!'

‘It was quite natural to talk about it,' he said. ‘A real Swiss would have been indignant as hell, being stopped and questioned. I wanted to be convincing.'

‘You were certainly that,' she said.

‘That Kraut can't take his eyes off you,' Savage said suddenly. ‘Why didn't you tell me it was like that?'

‘Why should I?' She was surprised and then angry. ‘It's bad enough for me having him here, seeing him looking at me like that. I hate him; I hate myself for even speaking to him!'

‘And your husband—how about him? How does he like having that goon licking his lips over you?'

‘He ignores it,' Louise said. ‘Minden will never try anything and Jean knows it. It's part of the price he's willing to pay. For St. Blaize, for being safe.'

‘He'd better make the most of it,' Savage said. ‘It may not last long. I'm going to need a lot of help from you. How frightened are you? Maybe I should put it differently. How brave?'

‘Not brave at all.' Louise shook her head. ‘Thinking about this kind of thing is not the same as doing it. I'm scared to death. But I'll still help all I can. You may think this is funny, but I'm grateful to you for the opportunity.'

‘To risk your life? It's a hell of a thing to be grateful for.'

‘I've been living this life since 1940; living with capitulation, with people thinking of nothing but their own skins. I came here full of pride in being married to a Frenchman—a fine old family, you know the kind of thing. I thought St. Blaize and the Château were marvellous and I was just so lucky to be part of it. Well, I don't feel that any more. I despise them. I despise my own husband. And I was getting like them, taking that man's food and drink, letting him lend his car tomorrow. At last I've got a chance to do something to help. And whatever happens I can keep my self-respect. I mean it. I'm very glad you came.'

‘If things go wrong,' he said, ‘you will be sorry. I hope you realise that.'

‘I do. That's why I'm scared.'

‘It's a good way to be,' Savage said. ‘It makes you careful. Do you have any books on local houses here? I want something on the Château Diane.'

‘I'm sure we have—there's a huge library. But why there? Surely you're not thinking of getting in there! It's Brühl's headquarters—it's guarded like Fort Knox!'

‘That figures,' Savage said. ‘What do you know about Brühl?'

‘Nothing. He doesn't mix socially; nobody's ever met him.'

‘No,' Savage said. ‘I don't suppose they have. Can you look out some books for me tomorrow?'

‘I wish you'd tell me what you're going to do. I could do so much more if I knew. Why can't you trust me?'

‘If you're arrested,' Savage said calmly, ‘you can't tell them what you don't know. I do trust you. I believe you'd be brave and hold out as long as you could. I trust any woman to keep her mouth shut except when someone is using an electric probe inside her.'

‘And what about you? Are you so sure you'll hold out?'

‘Damned sure,' Savage said. ‘Because they'll never take me. Within two seconds I'll be dead. That means if I fail to do the job, somebody else can try.'

‘Is it so important? Is it really vital, this thing you've come to do?' She shivered; it was past one o'clock and the room was cold.

‘Here,' Savage said. ‘You're freezing.' He dragged the quilt off the bed and wrapped it round her. ‘Keep this on. Okay, I'll answer that question. It is important. It's more important than you or me or anything that may happen to us. It's the difference between winning and losing the war.'

‘I won't ask you any more,' she said quietly. ‘You know I'll do anything I can.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘I only hope you don't regret it. But at least I've warned you. You'd better get to bed now.'

He got up and stretched himself. ‘Put your light out before I open the door.'

Louise sat in the darkness for some moments after he had gone. He hadn't touched her or said anything, but she knew that there was a moment when he wanted to stay. She got into bed, pulling the quilt into position. There had been something in his face when he wrapped it round her. Some current of communication, sharp and shocking in its implication. Moments before he had talked about her being tortured as coolly as if he were discussing someone far away. Then there was that sudden blaze inside him, which was as quickly dampened down. Something had answered him; sparks had struck between them without words, without touch. If he had stayed she would have let him. The moment of self-knowledge showed her that she had reached a time of total crisis in her life.

4

‘You look tired, Régine. Didn't you sleep well?' Jean de Bernard got up and kissed his sister; he was sitting on the terrace in the brief morning sunshine. She took the chair beside him.

‘I'm all right. It's this weather, it's so unpredictable …' She shaded her eyes.

‘Are you working too hard?' he asked her. ‘You haven't looked yourself for some weeks. There's nothing wrong, is there?'

She didn't answer immediately. She was tempted to tell him. She had reached the stage with Vierken when she wanted to stabilise the relationship. She wanted to bring him down to St. Blaize and present him to her family. Her motives were not clear; she had plunged into what seemed to be an exciting affair, and found it becoming more and more important to her. Vierken had shown her to herself; she knew now what she wanted and that nothing else would ever satisfy her. It was a discovery which had changed her life.