Stranger at the Gates (24 page)

‘And you came through from Berne direct?'

‘I took the train from Berne and crossed the frontier into France on the 30th at about 9 a.m. After that I proceeded to Paris; it's a very tiring journey and the train was stopped at the station for two hours—then I came direct to St. Blaize.'

‘Your documents, please.'

Savage raised his brows. ‘I've already shown them to you but if you insist on seeing them again …'

‘Have you any objection?' Vierken's tone was sharp.

‘Only to what seems a waste of time,' Savage said. ‘You'll see everything is in order.'

Vierken glanced through the passport, studying the entry made at the frontier; the stamp was dated the 30th and initialled by the frontier official. His entry permit from the German Embassy in Berne was stamped and dated in the same way. He looked at the photograph on the passport, checking the details for the second time with the list in front of him. It contained the information on Roger Savage which the S.S. had received from Switzerland. They checked. Slowly he closed the passport and replaced the permit in its envelope. He didn't hand them back. Instead he lit a cigarette and let the silence become an awkward pause. Savage shifted his position and gave a little cough to attract his attention. Vierken looked at him.

‘You realise, Herr Savage, that you arrived in this district on the day after an alert for enemy agents?'

‘No,' Savage said. ‘How should I know a thing like that? I came here on business, and now that all this unpleasantness has happened, I am extremely anxious to go home. I must emphasise that I'm a neutral and none of the restrictions apply to me.'

‘They apply,' Vierken said coldly, ‘to whoever is in the area. Which you happen to be. Doesn't it occur to you, Herr Savage, that your arrival was an unhappy coincidence?'

‘Not at all,' Savage said stiffly. ‘I arranged the date well in advance—how could I know that there'd be an alert? If there's any doubt about my credentials, why don't you check with my firm in Berne?'

Vierken looked at him. ‘I already have,' he said. ‘That's why I'm asking you these questions here instead of at my headquarters.'

For a blind second Savage faltered. He couldn't have checked him—there hadn't been time since his arrival at the Château that afternoon … He decided to attack instead of retreating.

‘How could you check my credentials when you didn't know I was here? I don't understand this.'

‘But we did know,' Vierken said. ‘I personally knew all about you, Herr Savage. From the day you arrived. Would you like a cigarette?'

That was an old dodge to show up a shaking hand. ‘Thank you.' He took time to take it out and light it, holding the match flame for longer than he needed. His hands were rock steady. He glanced straight at the German. ‘How did you know about me? Was it reported?'

‘Not officially,' he said. ‘Mademoiselle de Bernard is a friend of mine. She mentioned your arrival to me.'

Savage didn't hide his surprise. ‘You know Régine?'

‘Very well. She is a charming girl.'

‘Very charming. She spent the weekend here.'

‘I know,' Vierken said. ‘She was very suspicious of you, Herr Savage.' Savage drew on the cigarette and placed one hand across the wrist of the other; his fingers pressed lightly against the flat surface of the cuff link. Pressure would release the metal square which concealed the L pill. So Régine de Bernard was a friend of the Standartenführer. Such a close friend that she reported on what happened among her own family. Charming. Very charming indeed.

‘Indeed?' He showed resentment, even a little colour appeared under his skin. He glared at the Standartenführer. ‘Suspicious of what, may I ask?'

‘Not of your credentials,' Vierken said. ‘It was your relationship with her sister-in-law that worried her. She seemed to think that for a cousin from Switzerland looking after money matters, you were much too intimate. Are you?'

‘If you're suggesting that there's anything improper in my relationship with the Comtesse …'

‘I am suggesting it,' Vierken said. ‘She seems to be a promiscuous woman who doesn't discriminate. Is she your mistress, Herr Savage? I know that she is sleeping with Major Minden, who lives here. Does she divide herself between you? Alternate nights?'

Savage's hands were separated; for a second his fist began to double. He had a violent impulse to leap from his chair and smash his knuckles in that sneering face. Minden. They knew what had happened with him. Now he was sweating and it was cold, chilling his skin under the clothes. Louise. They were going after Louise. That bastard would hunt her through a labyrinth of questions, probing, insulting, threatening …

‘I'll answer your question,' he said. ‘Though it seems to me to be irrelevant. I am not Madame de Bernard's lover, and I know nothing about Major Minden. I have the highest regard for her character and as her cousin, I thoroughly resent your imputations!'

‘Naturally.' Vierken smiled his sour smile. ‘When do you want to leave, Herr Savage?'

‘As soon as possible. Tomorrow would suit me.'

‘I'm afraid that won't be possible,' Vierken said. ‘You will need authority from me, or you won't be allowed to leave the area. And I do hope you won't be foolish and try to leave without my written permission. You'll only be arrested, if nothing worse happens to you. My men are in a resentful mood. They would just as soon shoot anyone who breaks the restriction. Here are your papers.'

‘I certainly shan't take any risks,' Savage said quickly. ‘This is nothing to do with me. I'm Swiss and strictly neutral. I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Could you please let me have the permit soon?'

‘I'll think about it. Thank you, Herr Savage. You can go now.' There was a flash of malice in his look as Savage got up. ‘I'll see the Comtesse now.'

Vierken didn't send for her at once. He shuffled his papers and drew patterns on a note pad. Captain Kramm was sitting in the corner; he had taken a record of everything Savage had said. After a moment Vierken spoke to him.

‘What's your opinion, Kramm?'

‘He seems to be genuine. He's very Swiss.' There was a note of contempt in that last comment. ‘He showed no sign of nerves, he didn't hesitate or contradict himself.'

‘His story checks exactly,' Vierken said. ‘If it weren't for that Swiss report I'd take him back to the Château Diane and let you talk to him. But he's a neutral and we can't afford to get rough with him. His firm vouched for him and gave this address. It can't be faulted.'

‘He didn't like the questions about the woman,' Kramm said. ‘You got a reaction there.'

‘No,' Vierken said, ‘he didn't like that at all. But that's not the issue. I thought he was lying when he said they weren't lovers.'

‘I'm not so sure of that,' Kramm said. ‘If you can't put pressure on him, perhaps you could use the woman against him. If you have any doubts.'

‘I wish I had,' Vierken said. ‘I wish I could find one hole in his story and I'd have them both face to face in the Château and see which one of them broke first. But there's nothing, Kramm. He came here as her lawyer and he's still here. He wouldn't be, if he was in any way connected with what happened to Brühl. Write out an exit permit and I'll sign it. The sooner he leaves here the better—I don't want any damned neutrals hanging round here, making complaints through the Red Cross.'

He looked down at his papers again. There was Minden's report. Minden's alibi. Vierken would have accepted it without more than a superficial check with the Comtesse, if she had not been Régine de Bernard's sister-in-law. Everything Régine had said about her was becoming emphasised in his mind. It was as if his presence in the Château had given the prejudice of his mistress a new substance.

His mental picture of Louise de Bernard hadn't prepared him for the attractiveness which was so evident. She wasn't the type that appealed to him. She would never submit, like Régine, or fawn in an ecstasy of excitement, when he asserted his supremacy over her. Régine had described a cold, arrogant woman, deluding an indulgent husband, a bitter anti-Nazi who had refused to cohabit with him because of his collaboration. Looking at her, and noting the mingled fear and loathing in her expression, Vierken believed every word of what Régine had told him. And this was the same woman with whom Minden said he had spent the night.

It didn't fit. It didn't fit with Louise de Bernard. Which meant that either Minden was lying or she was acting so completely out of character that it needed an explanation. He looked up; his lips were drawn tight, the pencil in his right hand tapped the desk.

‘Right,' he said to Kramm. ‘Let's have her in.'

‘Why did you go to Major Minden's room?'

‘I've told you. I wanted to make love.' He had asked her the question so many times in different forms, that she had no idea if she were repeating herself. Behind the desk he played with his pencil and narrowed his eyes at her. The light shone on the surface of his dark hair.

‘I don't believe you. I don't believe he was with you last night. Why are you lying?'

‘I'm not lying.' She thought her voice sounded calm, but she couldn't be sure. She had begun to shake after the first few minutes, and now it was part of her, sitting on the little French chair with its aubusson seat and back, wishing to God it had been made with arms. She shook and she answered; she could hear the other man moving behind her, taking notes.

‘You hate us, Madame de Bernard, don't you? Why would you sleep with a German officer when you hate all Germans?'

‘I don't hate anyone.' That sounded feeble, a hollow protest, made through fear.

‘I know that's a lie too. I know you're anti-Nazi; I know you've turned against your own husband because you don't agree with his attitude. I know all about you.'

‘That has nothing to do with it.' She glanced over her shoulder; the mild young officer with glasses was watching her, his pencil suspended. He looked like a student at a lecture.

‘You were overcome with love for the Major?'

‘If you like to call it that.' The sweat was running down between her breasts; the front of her blouse felt damp.

‘Why didn't you choose your husband? Or your cousin; he's a well set up man. Why not?'

‘I'm not on good terms with my husband.'

‘That's right,' Vierken said. ‘You hate Germans so much you won't go to bed with your husband because he's a collaborator. I find this very interesting, Madame. Don't you, Kramm?'

Louise glanced back at the young man. He was smiling at his superior. He didn't say anything.

‘Are you sleeping with M. Savage?'

‘No.' She raised one hand to her face, her fingers were trembling. ‘No, I'm not.'

‘Only with Major Minden?'

‘Yes.' She saw Vierken get up from the desk and panic leaped inside her. Calm. Stay calm. Don't let him see your hands are shaking. Sit still. Think of the children, think of Papa lying helpless upstairs, of Jean and Savage—all their lives depend on you … He's coming round the desk to face me. They haven't hurt me yet but I know they're going to; it's coming very near. There's pain and violence in the room. I sense it in that man with the notepad, right behind me. If he moves …

‘I don't believe you,' Vierken said. He put out a hand and caught Louise by the hair. She winced. He jerked her head back, pulling until the tears ran down her face. Behind them Kramm had laid down his notebook. ‘I don't believe you went to bed with Major Minden,' Vierken said. ‘Why are you lying?' He gave a vicious jerk that forced a cry of pain from her. It felt as if the hair were being torn out of her scalp.

‘I'm not,' she said, almost sobbing. ‘I'm telling the truth … Oh God, you're hurting me!'

‘Kramm—she says I'm hurting her. She hasn't felt your soothing touch yet.' Just as suddenly he released her. Louise fell forward. She kept her balance and clung to the chair. Vierken stepped away; he half turned his back and lit a cigarette. ‘Kramm,' he said. ‘Take her blouse off.'

‘No!' Louise sprang up. ‘No! Don't touch me.'

At a signal from Vierken the young officer paused.

‘Tell me the truth,' Vierken said quietly. ‘Otherwise he'll strip you naked and I shall personally put a match to your pubic hair. You didn't sleep with Major Minden, did you? You're giving him some kind of alibi, aren't you?'

‘No.' Louise collapsed back into the chair. She raised a face streaming with tears. ‘I did sleep with him. I'll tell you the truth—I'll tell you why I did it! I haven't had a man for two years—I was all right till he came here. Then he started looking at me—wanting me. He'd brush against me, try to touch me. It was driving me mad! In the end I couldn't help myself. I went to his room last night. I went in and begged him to take me! And I hate him! I hate all of you!'

She hid her face in her hands. If they don't believe me this time—if I haven't been convincing … Oh God, don't let that creature touch me …

‘Like a bitch on heat,' Vierken said. ‘But then all American women are whores. Do you feel like it now—I'm sure Kramm will oblige, won't you, Kramm? Come and put your hand up Madame's skirt, she'd like that.'

‘Please.' Louise shrank back in terror. ‘Please … I told you.'

‘I know,' Vierken said. ‘And now I believe you.' His look was full of contempt. Women of her type had always irritated him with their unconscious air of equality, even superiority. She hadn't been too difficult to break; the sight of her miserable weeping gave him satisfaction. He enjoyed seeing her humbled, degraded. And he believed her. So much for Régine's independent sister-in-law, the rich American who had bought herself a crumbling château and a useless title. She sat crying and trembling, revealed as a slut who couldn't control her own appetites. Vierken was content. Suddenly he had lost interest in her. Tormenting her now would be a waste of time. And he hadn't time to waste in letting Kramm play games. ‘Go into the cloakroom through there,' he said. ‘And wash your face. Don't try and pretend we've hurt you. Hurry up!' Inside the little room Louise held on to the basin for support, seeing her own reflection in the mirror. It was white and her mouth trembled. She cupped some water in her hands and splashed her face. The top of her head felt raw and burning. She shivered. It had been so close, so terribly close. And Savage was right. She wouldn't have held out. If that man had touched her, taken off her clothes … For a second the little room reeled. Then she steadied herself. It was over. She hadn't failed them. There was a little ivory brush and comb; she brushed her hair back and composed herself. She came back into the room and waited. Vierken was sitting on the edge of the desk. He waved his cigarette at her. ‘You can go, Madame de Bernard. Kramm, go and talk to the servants. Look in on the old man.'