The Lavender Keeper (25 page)

‘Because we know you, like us, believe the Führer’s actions to be immoral, illegal, abhorrent.’ Meister dropped his voice still further, and hid his mouth behind an open-handed drag on his cigarette.

Kilian nodded, saying nothing.

‘To arrest him is not enough; he must be assassinated for any change to occur, for any truce to be negotiated with the Allies.’

A thrill passed through Kilian but he kept his features even. ‘And?’

‘Are you with us, Colonel?’

‘You wouldn’t be having this conversation with me if you didn’t already know it.’

It was Meister’s turn to nod. ‘We know what you have given up.’

‘But with me stuck in Paris, what use am I to the generals?’

‘When it is done, we will need all loyalists to be in place. Soldiers will rally to you and we need a man who understands the language of the Wehrmacht. We need Paris secured.’ Kilian nodded, excitement turning somersaults in his chest.

‘Who else can I count on?’

‘You will find out soon enough. For now all I need is your agreement.’

‘You have it … in blood if necessary.’

‘I hope it will not come to that,’ Meister said and stood.

They shook hands like two old friends saying farewell. ‘When?’

‘Soon. Summer probably, after attempts last winter failed. Word will be sent to you. Trust only those I have mentioned. No one else.’ Meister laughed as though Kilian had said something amusing. ‘Next time perhaps, Colonel Kilian, I would be delighted to have that drink in celebration,’ he said, turning to leave.

‘Good luck, Meister,’ Kilian replied, and then walked with a far lighter step back to the Hotel Raphaël to bath and shave for his dinner appointment at the Ritz.

The car was embarrassingly large and Lisette couldn’t wait for it to be out of her neighbourhood. It was hardly inconspicuous and plenty of her fellow Montmartre villagers, including a frowning Sylvie, saw her climbing into the big black car with its ugly swastika flag flying at the front. She was grateful she wore her everyday coat in the dash to the car to cover up the beautiful dress.

This is not a date. This is a mission
, she repeated in her mind, her cheeks on fire as the car rolled down the hill to the first arrondissement in the very centre of the city. Here sat the Louvre with its gardens, the Tuileries, in a neat line that led the eye up the Champs Elysées towards the Arc de Triomphe. Lisette’s destination, the famed Ritz Hotel, was in the city’s largest, most magnificent square – the grandly historic Place Vendôme.

It was a minute past seven when the car drew up quietly outside number fifteen, and the driver stepped out of his door to open Lisette’s.

‘Here we go,’ she whispered as the door swept open and Lisette emerged, stepping out carefully in her new black heels from Walter. She pulled the sheer stole around her shoulders as she approached the hotel’s doors, the concierge already swinging them back for her.

‘Your coat,
mademoiselle
?’ the driver enquired.

She turned. ‘May I leave it in the car?’

‘Of course. It may be a different driver but the car will be the same.’

‘Thank you,’ she breathed, reminding herself not to get used to such treatment. She did her best to glide into the palatial foyer, where awaiting her was Markus Kilian, standing on a plush rug of royal blue. Furniture around him, which she took in with a glance, was heavily gilded. Lamps cast light that glittered off massive mirrors, and huge vases were filled with striking greenery in the absence of flowers. It was warm inside, but the colonel’s smile radiated a heat all of its own.

She took in a breath. If he had looked handsome in Les Deux Magots, tonight he was taller, broader somehow, with an even more determined chin, even more sparkling eyes. There was no other way to describe him than golden and dashing. In a few heartbeats she took in everything, from the soft grey-green of his dress uniform to the huge gilt clock on the mantelpiece behind him. His eyes seemed to have changed from the pale blue she remembered to be a steel grey, reflecting his outfit.

He was still smiling. Too handsome, she thought. And he looked flushed, excited. Was this because of her? No, she was convinced he was used to sweeping women off their feet. This would be second nature to him. Something else was pleasing him.

‘Lisette …’ He didn’t finish.

‘Good evening, Markus.’ His hesitation unnerved her and her bright expression faltered. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong? No, pardon me, please.’ His smile broadened. ‘You are dazzling.’

She gave him a demure half-smile and there was nothing contrived about it. Her heart was beating hard. Everything about tonight mattered. If this evening went as she hoped it might, then she had achieved arguably the most important stage of her mission.

‘I feel honoured that you wore the dress; I bought it on such a whim.’ He looked her up and down, clearly impressed.

‘I have never owned anything so beautiful. I don’t know how to thank you. How could I not wear it?’

‘You more than do it justice. Come, I hope you are hungry?’ he asked, offering her an arm.

‘Am I hungry?’ she whispered. ‘The whole of Paris, except perhaps those here, is famished.’

He broke into a gust of embarrassed laughter. ‘I’m sorry. That was a foolish remark. I thought you’d prefer to go straight to our table?’

‘As you wish.’

‘What I wish is to have you all to myself and not share you with other officers already ogling you.’ He swept a glance around the foyer. ‘The tongues will be wagging all over the city tomorrow.’

‘Then let’s give them something to wag about,’ she said, throwing him a dangerous smile.

The restaurant L’Espadon was filled with German officers, mainly Luftwaffe, and military personnel, dignitaries and
political figures, the fashionable elite of Paris and a single SOE agent, who was reassuring herself that she could hold her own in such company. Lisette could feel other women’s eyes on her but she fought the inclination to catch them in the act of staring. Instead she chatted amiably and animatedly to her companion. They had spoken of their childhoods, of their parents, of their different upbringings in different eras.

She was amazed by the lilac tree that was the focal point of the room. Its colour must be gorgeous in summer, its fragrance exquisite and potent enough to scent the whole restaurant. Booths had been built around the twisted trunk of the old tree. Opulence was the word that came to her mind.

Several people had interrupted them during their dinner and Kilian had been polite, duly introducing her as Walter Eichel’s goddaughter. Lisette realised she was being assessed in a new light. Walter’s name counted for something among these people, and she hoped her mission would never tarnish his reputation. Several women had also stopped by their table and lingered to chat to her host, to kiss him hello and then steal another kiss goodbye. Were they making a point? She didn’t care.

The one person she wasn’t introduced to had been ushered to their table by the maître d’ with soft apologies.

‘Colonel Kilian?’ the man in uniform asked, respectfully bowing his head.

‘Yes.’ He looked surprised to be interrupted.

‘Please forgive me for interrupting your dinner. I took the liberty of making a few calls to find you, sir. I have a message from General Stülpnagel.’ The man opened a small leather satchel and withdrew an envelope. ‘I am his adjutant.’

General Stülpnagel!
Lisette couldn’t imagine how the military
commander of Paris could be connected with Kilian’s office, other than in the most cursory way. But as she thought about it, she realised they were both ex-field officers who had resigned or been removed from their critical roles in Russia to be given administrative positions far from Berlin. Both men had noble Prussian backgrounds with proud military heritages. Perhaps they were family friends? She schooled her features to remain blank as the men spoke, but she tried to take in every nuance of their conversation, of Kilian’s body language.

‘Could this not have been sent to my office? I shall be there first thing in the morning.’

‘The general regrets the inconvenience, sir. I gather his communication is in connection with Church holy days. He has been very busy, but has an opening tomorrow morning that he hopes you can take advantage of; it’s why he sent me at such an hour.’

Lisette couldn’t tell whether the man was lying, although he might well be. Kilian appeared mystified by the special delivery … perhaps even suspicious.

‘I’ll read it later. Thank you,’ he said.

The adjutant nodded, closed his satchel. ‘The general will expect you in the morning, sir.’ He gave a salute and Kilian flicked a lazy one back, already turning away.

Lisette watched the man walk out of the restaurant. It seemed normal enough; this was wartime, after all, but she wasn’t experienced enough to know just how unusual it was to disturb the colonel at a social occasion. Something about Kilian’s hesitancy suggested it was odd … perhaps it was an unexpected contact?

Kilian shook his head. ‘I’m sorry about yet another disruption.’

‘Well, that one sounded important,’ she said.

‘To be honest, I have no idea. I’m sure I’ll discover soon enough.’ He slipped the note into his pocket but she sensed the lie.

‘How well do you know General Stülpnagel?’ she asked casually.

‘Why on earth should that interest you? Dear Lisette, you don’t have to feign curiosity in my work.’

‘I’m not feigning anything,’ she said smoothly. ‘Forgive me. He’s an important man in Paris. Everything you say is interesting. You have to understand, I’m not used to socialising at this level.’

He smiled. ‘Your bashfulness is charming, but I suspect, Lisette, that you would be adept at any level.’

‘I hope that’s a compliment,’ she said, sipping from her wine glass.

‘Be assured of it. You would grace anyone’s table. And to answer your question, I don’t know the general in any other capacity than to salute him at a formal occasion.’

It was clear Kilian did not want to discuss Stülpnagel and yet here was the highest authority in Paris looming into her view. ‘How does the work you do cross over into his?’

‘No doubt I shall find out tomorrow morning.’

Kilian was bored and shutting her down. Lisette smiled, took a different approach. ‘I think Walter knows him. He described him once as a man of sound morals.’

‘I hope we all are.’

‘Surely morals come into question in wartime,’ she said, interested to see what she could provoke.

His eyes widened. ‘Are we to discuss philosophy over dinner?’

Her ploy hadn’t worked. He was clearly not about to give anything away.

‘Later perhaps. I agree it’s very dull. Now I think we should discuss your immense popularity. That was the sixth visitor to your table already … and four were women.’

He laughed delightedly. ‘You counted?’ He shook his head. ‘I suspect they’re all just curious. The men want to know who you are and the women are insanely jealous of you.’

‘For being in your company?’

‘You miss my point. And I think that’s because you have absolutely no idea of the effect you have.’ He covered her hand with his. She had to stop herself from snatching it away. Not because she didn’t want it there; to the contrary, she found herself drawn to him far too strongly. On paper he’d sounded old and cold; a prized and heartless colonel on his way up the ranks. It was a surprise that she found his company so easy.

‘How many romantic liaisons have you enjoyed, Lisette?’ he said, while they waited for their main course, clinking together their wine glasses.

‘That’s a rather personal question. How would you feel if I asked you the same?’ she teased.

‘You already know of the few that mattered.’

‘What about the ones that didn’t matter?’

‘Dozens, scores,’ he said mischievously.

‘I can’t match that,’ she said, hungrily watching her food arrive and admiring it with equal measure of awe and guilt. She didn’t think anything could top the rabbit of the first course, but this was an exquisite pale-fleshed fish, cooked in butter. It smelt divine.

‘Well, I’d be shocked if you did.’

‘Because only men are allowed to be with many lovers?’

‘No, because you’re nearly half my age.’

She laughed prettily.

‘So answer me,’ he said, resetting his napkin and picking up his fork and fish knife. ‘How many?’

‘That mattered, or in general?’

‘That mattered,’ he replied. ‘
Bon appétit
.’

‘Then my answer is only one.’

‘Ah, the lost love.’

‘Yes, you could say that.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He was a farmer.’

Kilian looked surprised. ‘You seem too refined, altogether too French, to be interested in a farmer.’

‘Mother taught me never to be predictable. I have lots of surprises.’

He grinned. ‘I can believe that. Tell me about your farmer.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m jealous of him. You loved him?’

She shook her head. This was dangerous and surprisingly painful. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Why not?’

‘We didn’t have enough time.’

‘If he walked in here now, right this moment, how would you feel?’

‘Markus …’ She gave him an admonishing look.

‘Come, Lisette, life is too short for the mundane. I want provocative conversation. I want to know what ticks behind that controlled façade you present.’

She admired his energy. ‘I don’t know what I’d say to him but yes, I’d probably feel in love,’ she admitted truthfully. She needed to stay focused on her mission, but Kilian was
far too charming. Luc, whom she thought about daily, whose memory was as vivid and painful as the day she’d left him, had never felt further away.

‘And what would you then say to me, sitting here watching you?’

She laughed. ‘All right. Now you’re just teasing me.’

‘I am. What did he farm?’

She hesitated. Glide near the truth, SOE taught her. ‘Lavender … er, amongst other crops.’

‘Lavender? In Strasbourg?’

Her first mistake. ‘No, of course not. It was a summer romance before the war. I was sixteen, in Provence with my parents. I met him briefly and then had to leave.’

‘How long were you together?’

She was about to say the summer but something inside forced her to be honest. ‘Just a day or two.’

Kilian looked surprised. ‘That was fast.’

‘I believe that if you fall in love with someone, it happens from the outset.’

He swallowed his mouthful. ‘Eat. Don’t let this fish go cold. So you don’t believe love can develop between two people?’

‘I do believe love can grow, and I’m sure it does in many marriages. But the sort of love I want has bells jangling and fireworks in my mind, and that’s how it felt the first time he kissed me.’ She pushed food around her plate, suddenly self-conscious. ‘I felt lost in his kiss … I felt …’

‘What?’ he pushed, staring intently.

‘Lost and yet found,’ she replied, emerging from the memory.

‘I hate him,’ Kilian said. ‘Actually, I envy him.’ Then he took on a more devilish tone. ‘He’s French, of course?’

‘Of course. They make the very best lovers, don’t you know?’

‘Give me his name. I shall have him hunted down and shot!’

She laughed nervously. ‘I must protect his name to my dying breath, then.’

‘Is that why you went back to the south?’

Lisette looked puzzled.

‘You said you’d come to Paris from the south after a sabbatical.’

‘Oh, yes, but I didn’t go back to look for him. That was a long time ago.’

‘But perhaps why you were drawn there, no?’

Let him think that if it made him jealous. ‘You’re probably right.’ It was time to change the subject. She put her fork and knife together carefully in the French way and sat back. ‘I am not used to this rich food, Markus.’
Markus
. The familiarity rolled so effortlessly off her tongue.