The Lavender Garden (17 page)

And then, two nights ago, Colonel Falk von Wehndorf had appeared unannounced on the front doorstep. Sarah had come to find Connie, sitting with Sophia in the library.

“You have a guest, Madame Constance,” Sarah had said, only her eyes giving a warning.

Connie had nodded and, her heart rate increasing, walked into the drawing room, where Falk had been ushered in.

“Fräulein Constance! Why, I think you are looking even more beautiful than when I saw you last.” He’d walked over to her and kissed her hand.

“Thank you, Colonel, I—”

“Please, remember,” Falk had interjected, “we’re to call each other by our first names. I was simply passing on my way back to headquarters, and I thought to myself, I will visit the charming cousin of Édouard to see if Paris is suiting her. And it seems it is.”

“Yes, it’s certainly a pleasant change from my rural life in the south,” Connie had replied stiffly.

“I was wondering”—he’d paused—“whether later, after I’ve concluded an interview, I might pick you up and take you to a club for some dinner and a little dancing?”

Connie’s stomach had churned. “I—”

At that moment, obviously alerted by Sarah to the colonel’s presence, Édouard had entered the room. “Falk! What a pleasant surprise.”

The two men shook hands heartily.

“I was just suggesting to your delightful cousin that perhaps I could have the pleasure of her company later tonight.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve already been invited out for dinner near Versailles by a mutual cousin of ours.” Édouard had looked down fondly at Connie. “My dear, you’ve been away from Paris too long. It seems you’re in demand. But perhaps another time you would like to join Falk and accept his kind invitation?”

“Yes, I’m honored that you ask me, Herr Falk.” Connie had forced a smile.

“Fräulein, it is I who would have the honor. As you say, Édouard, another time.”

Falk had clicked his heels together and, in a parody of what Connie had only ever seen on grainy Pathé newsreels, stuck out his arm in front of him and uttered, “
Heil Hitler!
Now, I must leave.”

“Perhaps we will see you at the opera on Saturday night?” Édouard had said as he led Falk to the door.

“You’re taking a box?” Falk’s eyes had settled upon Connie.

“Yes, would you like to join us, Herr Falk?” Édouard had asked.

“That would be most pleasant. Until then, Fräulein Constance.” Falk had bowed and kissed her hand.

When he had left, Connie had sunk into a chair as Édouard re-entered the room.

“I’m sorry, Constance, but it seems our colonel has a penchant for my beautiful cousin.” Édouard had taken her hands in his. “I suggested he accompany us to the opera because at least we’ll be there to protect you.”

“Oh, Édouard . . .” Connie had sighed helplessly and shook her head.

He’d patted her hands comfortingly. “I know, my dear. It’s a terrible deception. And perhaps it’s a pity we did not invent a fiancé down in the south for you on the evening you met Falk. But it’s too late now. And you must cope as best you can.”

•  •  •

The Place de l’Opéra was humming with a glamorous crowd, consisting of high-ranking Germans, officials from the Vichy government, and the bourgeois population of Paris. The French Milice stood guard around the entrance.

The July evening was excruciatingly hot, and Connie, in the tight-fitting bodice of her emerald-green evening dress, felt like a trussed-up chicken put on too warm a setting in the oven. She glanced at the Opera House and saw that Nazi flags replaced the Tricolor on the flagpoles. Connie closed her eyes for a second, the lump in her throat immediate and overwhelming. Even though the scenario here tonight was life going on as normal, it was fraudulent—a grim pastiche of what it should be. Of course it wasn’t the same . . . nothing was the same.

As Édouard stopped to greet friends on the way to their box, Connie guided Sophia up the grand staircase.

“I’m greatly looking forward to this evening,” said Sophia, her beautiful face creasing into a smile as Connie sat her down in the comfortable velvet chair. “Although I wish it wasn’t a Wagner opera.” She wrinkled her nose. “But, of course, it’s what our friends who rule the country prefer. For myself, I like Puccini.”

Next to arrive in the box was Falk.

“Fräulein Constance,” he said, after the usual kiss of her hand. He surveyed her. “Your dress is exquisite. It’s true that the French ladies are the most elegant in the world. Perhaps some of the French chic can rub off on our own countrywomen.”

He took a glass of champagne from the proffered tray, and as he did so, the door opened again to reveal Édouard and . . . Connie stared in confusion, a facsimile of Falk standing behind him.

Falk smirked at Connie’s surprise. “Fräulein, you think you’re seeing double? I assure you, you have not yet drunk too much champagne. May I present my twin brother, Frederik.”

“Madame, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.” Frederik moved forward to take Connie’s hand and shook it politely.

Standing next to his brother, Connie noticed that, although they were identical in build and bone structure, Frederik’s eyes were warm as he smiled at her.

“And this,” interrupted Édouard, “is my sister, Sophia.”

Frederik turned to greet Sophia. He stared at her and opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged. He stood as if hypnotized, gazing at her in wonder.

In the long pause, Sophia held out her hand toward him and spoke first. “Colonel von Wehndorf, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Connie watched as their fingers touched for the first time. Frederik had still not spoken, but he held her tiny hand gently in his for what became an embarrassingly long time. Eventually, Frederik managed an, “Enchanted, mademoiselle.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, and Connie saw Sophia offer a radiant smile, as though something wonderful had just happened. Luckily, Édouard’s attention was taken with another two guests’ arrival and Falk’s eyes were simply on Connie.

“So, who is the oldest of you twins?” she asked, trying to break the tension.

“Sadly, I’m the youngest,” answered Falk, “appearing an hour after my big brother. I nearly didn’t make it into the world; perhaps he had stolen all my mother’s energy for himself!” Falk threw Frederik a look that told Connie no love was lost between the brothers. “Would you not agree, Frederik?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said, Brother.” Frederik managed to drag his eyes away from Sophia to look at Falk questioningly.

“Nothing important. I was merely saying that you arrived in the world first. As you have done many times since.” Falk laughed at his own barbed joke, but his eyes were hard.

“And you will never forgive me for it, will you?” Frederik smiled easily and patted his brother affectionately on the shoulder.

“When did you arrive in Paris, Frederik?” asked Sophia. “It’s a surprise we have not met before.”

“My big brother has had larger fish to fry than looking after one city,” Falk interjected. “He’s been working directly for the Führer as part of his think tank. Frederik is an intellectual, not a soldier, and far above us mere mortals in the Gestapo.”

“I’ve been sent to visit Paris as an emissary, yes,” answered Frederik. “The Führer is concerned at the successful amount of sabotage organized by the Resistance recently.”

“In short, Frederik is here because he doesn’t think we Gestapo are doing our work well enough.”

“Of course it’s not that, Falk,” interrupted Frederik, embarrassed. “It’s simply that these people are clever and well organized. And they outwit us once too often.”

“Brother, we have just had our most successful roundup of Resistance members and SOE agents,” said Falk. “The Scientist network is in chaos. It can do no more damage for the present.”

“And you’re to be congratulated on that,” Frederik agreed. “I’m here simply to take an overview of the intelligence and see how we can continue to net the troublemakers.”

Connie watched the tension between the two brothers, trying to remain impervious to their words. Thankfully, the lights dimmed and
the assembled company took their seats, Frederik hastily taking the chair directly beside Sophia. Connie found herself sandwiched between the two brothers.

“You like Wagner, Fräulein Chapelle?” asked Falk as he drained his champagne glass and placed it back on the tray.

“He’s not a composer I know particularly well, but I look forward to familiarizing myself with him,” answered Connie diplomatically.

“I’m hoping that you, Fräulein Sophia, and Édouard will join us for supper afterward,” Falk added. “I feel duty-bound to show my brother the best of Paris while he’s here.”

Connie had no need to reply as Falk’s words were drowned out by the dramatic opening chorus of
Die Walküre
.

Having always disliked Wagner, finding his music and his stories too heavy, Connie spent much of her time discreetly glancing around the auditorium at the audience. She felt dreadfully uncomfortable being seen in public with the enemy, but what could she do? If, as Édouard had impressed upon her, her actions were for a higher cause, then she must swallow her revulsion as Falk reached a hand toward her silk-covered knee and somehow bear it.

Connie surreptitiously moved her eyes to the left and saw Frederik’s expression of bliss. Then she saw that his gaze was not on the stage below, but on Sophia.

•  •  •

After the interminably long performance, Édouard accepted Falk and Frederik’s invitation to join them at a club for supper. A black Gestapo limousine waited outside for them.

As Édouard followed the girls into the back of the car, something struck him on the back of his neck.

“Traître! Traître!”
screamed a voice from somewhere in the crowd.

The chauffeur hurriedly closed the doors as the car was pelted with rotten eggs. As they drew away from the pavement, Connie heard shots ring out behind them. Édouard sighed, took out his handkerchief, and did his best to wipe the stinking egg off the shoulder of his black dinner jacket.

Sophia clung to Édouard’s other shoulder, her face frozen in fear.

“Pigs!”
spat Falk from the seat in front of them. “Rest assured, the perpetrators will be caught, and I will interrogate them personally tomorrow.”

“Really, Falk, it’s not a problem,” said Édouard hastily. “It was only a few eggs, not guns. Just a bitter patriot who has yet to see the light.”

“The sooner they do, the better for us all,” Falk retorted.

Inside the supper club, as Édouard excused himself to go immediately to the washroom to clean himself up, Frederik guided Sophia carefully down the steps. “Your poor hand is shaking,” he said gently.

“I don’t like violence of any kind.” Sophia shuddered.

“And neither do many of us,” he replied, squeezing her hand tightly and leading her through the crowd to their table. As he sat her down, he put his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear, ‘Do not worry, Mademoiselle Sophia. You will always be safe with me.”

•  •  •

Falk’s hands ran up and down Connie’s back as they danced. Every time his fingers touched the bare skin between her shoulders and her neck, Connie felt a shudder of distaste and terror. Those fingers, she knew from Édouard, thought nothing of wrapping themselves around the cold metal of a trigger and shooting a human dead at point-blank range. She smelled Falk’s rancid, alcohol-infused breath on her cheek as he tried to maneuver her lips toward his.

“Constance, you must know how much I want you, please say I can have you,” he moaned as he nuzzled into her neck.

Filled with disgust, Connie steeled herself not to follow her instincts and break free of his grasp. She realized that, whatever this man’s nationality might have been, she would still have flinched at his touch. She glanced around at the other Frenchwomen dancing with Germans in the club, none of them dressed in the expensive way she was herself. By the look of them, some of them were little more than common prostitutes. But how much better was she . . .?

She saw Sophia across the floor, partnering Frederik. They were not dancing—they were hardly moving at all. Instead, Frederik was holding her hands in his and talking to her quietly. Sophia smiled, nodded, and moved closer into his arms. Connie noticed how he held her tenderly to him, as her head rested naturally against his chest. There
was a—Connie searched for the right phrase—an
intimacy
about their body language, a togetherness that belied they had only just met.

“Perhaps next week we’ll escape the clutches of your protective cousin,” Falk said to Connie with a glance at Édouard, who was watching their every move from the table. “And we can be alone.”

“Perhaps,” said Connie, wondering for how much longer it would be possible to evade this man, who was used to choosing what he wanted and getting it. “Excuse me, but I must go and powder my nose,” she said as the band played the final notes of the song.

Falk gave her a curt nod and followed her off the dance floor.

When Connie arrived back at the table from the powder room, she listened to Falk and Édouard talking.

“My friend would prefer a Renoir, but if that’s not possible, he’s also fond of Monet.”

“As always, Falk, I’ll see what I can do. Ah, Constance, you seem fatigued,” sympathized Édouard as she sat down at the table with them.

“I am a little, yes,” she answered truthfully.

“We’ll leave as soon as we have managed to drag Sophia and Frederik from the dance floor,” Édouard said.

“Yes”—Falk grinned, taking a further large slug of his brandy—“it seems the men of my family are partial to the women of yours.”

•  •  •

A Gestapo car took the three of them home and deposited them outside the house on the Rue de Varenne. Connie was silent on the journey, as was Sophia. Édouard’s attempts at conversation fell on deaf female ears. As Sarah opened the front door, Connie said an abrupt “Good night” to brother and sister and made for the stairs.

“Constance,” said Édouard, stopping her as she began to mount them. “Come and join me in the library for a brandy.”