Voices on the Wind (25 page)

‘That's who betrayed us,' she went on. ‘He's working with the Germans.'

Jean reached down and helped her up. ‘I know he is,' he said. ‘My poor Cecilie, Pierrot's been paid by the Abwehr since they occupied the coast. We know that; he's a double-agent, giving them information with London's blessing.' He shook his head at her. ‘Sweetheart, he has a crippled wife. German money keeps her in comfort. I've known all about it.'

Kate stared at him. ‘You mean you knew he was passing information to the Abwehr and was taking money? And you trusted him?'

‘Of course,' he said calmly. ‘London trusts him. He's their man; long before he made contact with us he was working for the English, moving backwards and forwards through Spain. He's a professional spy, my darling. That bookshop has been a cover for years.' He put his arm round her. ‘What a shock it was for you – of course you thought he was betraying us.'

Kate didn't move. ‘He tried to save my life,' she said. ‘He tried to get me to go to Beaulieu the very night they arrested Janot. Jean, you must listen to me! He knew the Gestapo were coming for you because Janot wouldn't be able to hold out, and he wanted to get me to safety – Oh God, you're not listening, are you?'

He said firmly, ‘No, I'm not. You're jumping to conclusions because you don't like him; you never have. But that doesn't make him a traitor. Yes, he did insist that you transmitted from a safer place than my apartment. He'd been arguing that point ever since you came to live with me. Not just that night, but many nights – every time we met. So that explains the coincidence. Darling, he was right. It was an extra risk. I was being selfish because I love you and I wanted you with me all the time.' He said quietly, ‘You are never to take things into your own hands like that again. You could have been picked up and destroyed us all. Do you understand that? Never again.'

Kate moved away from him. ‘I understand. But I'm right about Pierrot and you're wrong.'

She stayed away from Jean that day, deliberately avoiding him. She sat in the wilderness of a garden under a shady tree and went over the arguments in her mind, over and over again, playing the devil's advocate against her own suspicions. Nothing quelled her instinct that the real traitor was Phillipe, code name Pierrot, who lived behind a painted mask, enigma to friends and enemies alike.

‘It was Cabrot's wife,' Jean Dulac announced. He addressed himself specifically to Kate and explained what Julie had discovered. He had sent her to Nice to buy food and make discreet enquiries, and one of the places she visited was Louis Cabrot's house. Neighbours had told her that Madame Cabrot had gone, taking her children with her, on the same afternoon that Janot was arrested. She had said she was going to stay with her parents. They were intrigued to see a taxi come and collect the family and their luggage. It appeared they meant to stay away for some time, taking so many parcels and boxes with them. It wasn't difficult to track down the taxi; there were very few and mostly used by the military. The driver who took the Cabrots to Nice station was happy to talk about it, for a small tip. The children were whining and miserable, the woman was apprehensive; she seemed to have plenty of money when she opened her purse to pay the fare. He had helped her with the luggage and put them on the train. The train for Paris, he confirmed.

Julie said, ‘Her parents live in Saint Jean de Luz. Just to make certain I asked him how he came to fetch her. He said he was called from the rank outside the Negresco, given the address and told to go there. He didn't want to say any more than that, but he let me draw my own conclusion.'

Jean said, ‘The Gestapo sent her to safety after she'd betrayed Janot. It's the usual reward for giving information. As soon as I thought it out, I knew it must be her. It was the item in the
Nice Matin
; it was my fault, I didn't see the danger. I didn't think anyone would believe it.'

‘But it happened to be true,' Kate interrupted. ‘Cabrot was murdered. Only why did it take his wife so long to go to the Gestapo? That was printed nearly two weeks ago.'

Julie countered impatiently, ‘I don't see what you're arguing about. I know you made up your mind it's Pierrot, but this proves he had nothing to do with it. That bitch betrayed us and ran away. Plenty of money, the driver said she had – they paid her, and fixed her up in Paris so we couldn't take revenge.'

Jean said, ‘We've nothing more to fear. At least we know who did it, and now we can start to rebuild.'

Kate asked one more question. ‘Do people like the Cabrots read the
Nice Matin
?'

He showed his anger. ‘Leave it alone, Cecilie. It's finished. Now, Julie, we must get organized. I want Jacques and Gaston to meet at the factory in twelve days to hear London's message. Whatever it is.' He paused, his own excitement rising. ‘It isn't any ordinary message if we're all to hear it together. Afterwards, we go ahead and carry out the attack against the convoy!'

The news of the arrests of Resistance members was heard with a mixture of feelings: anger and sorrow; relief, secretly expressed, that the threat of deportation had been allayed, if not lifted. The Mayor, torn between patriotic loathing for the man and the need to find out whether he was satisfied, called on Eilenburg.

It was a short meeting, at which he was kept standing. The leaders of the Resistance and of the local Maquis had not been captured. The town was granted a further stay of execution for one month. If there was any act of terrorism in that time, reprisals would begin at once. If no one had come forward with information when the four weeks were up, the deportations would start. Eilenburg turned his back on the Mayor. He ordered house-to-house searches for Jean Dulac. A large reward of twenty thousand francs was offered, posters giving details and with a crude enlarged photograph of the wanted man were posted all over Nice, and as regularly defaced and torn down. Nobody came forward, and the atmosphere was heavy with apprehension. Two men were shot while caught on the streets after curfew by one of the SS patrols. Investigating them yielded nothing. They were criminals with a long record for burglary and had no Resistance connections.

Eilenburg took Antoinette out to the villa at Cap d'Antibes, to see how the work was progressing. The painting was finished; Eilenburg had used his own men to speed up the work and they were in charge of the French who laid carpets and did interior repairs.

It was becoming a luxurious retreat; he wandered round the gardens with her hand in hand, astonishing the few SS who glimpsed him through the trees. Nobody imagined the Standartenführer to have a sentimental side. The girl had only to express a wish and it was granted.

They soon learned to do exactly what she told them. She seemed oblivious of the hatred of the French people who were pressed into service. Their looks and muttered insults were ignored. She seemed to move in a world inhabited only by her lover, and to have no interest in anything or anyone outside.

Once, one of the women sewing curtains came up to her and said, ‘Mademoiselle, couldn't you use your influence to help poor Beatrice Druet?' hoping to arouse some sign of shame.

Antoinette's big eyes were innocent and clear. She shook her head and an expensive scent floated into the other woman's nostrils. ‘I know nothing about things like that, I'm sorry,' she said, and moved away.

It was a strange interlude at La Rosée. Two sets of lovers, different in all respects from each other, passing the few remaining days in isolation from the world. Julie had become suddenly withdrawn and she avoided Jean and Kate, forcing her lover into seclusion with her. It was as if that final exposure to danger when she went into Nice had drained her. They stayed aloof, whispering and holding hands, the woman sulky and suspicious as if she were anticipating yet another order to put herself at risk. It was a time of mingled happiness and misery for Kate. The man she loved was volatile, subject to swings of mood from despair to over-confidence. The danger was past, he repeated, the traitor exposed and harmless. No more arrests had taken place. And the time was precious to them, before they gathered in the disused factory three streets away to hear what London had to say of such importance. They must be happy, he insisted, and because she loved him so desperately, Kate tried. At times it was easy, when they lay together in the secluded garden under the shelter of the trees, and he talked about the future when the war was over.

He had a dreamer's love of painting word-pictures, and, lying with her hand in his, Kate listened and followed along the path of fantasy. He asked her to marry him. ‘We'd be so happy here, my darling. You love France as much as I do. We'd have a good life together, bring up our children. You will marry me, won't you?'

And she said, ‘Yes, you know I will,' and knew in her heart that it would never happen. He talked about his family, and his childhood, and she saw them all quite clearly, the mother and the father who had died just before the war. The younger sister who had gone to Canada and married there. Two little girls, he said, but not as pretty as our children will be. They kissed and made love as if they had a whole lifetime before them. He talked constantly of the message that was coming. He speculated and she listened, not offering an opinion because the last thing she wanted to think about was the reality ahead. She didn't believe that they were safe. She didn't believe that the danger had gone with Louis Cabrot's widow and children on the train to Paris. But she said nothing, because there was nobody to listen, and she couldn't bear to quarrel with him. As if, she felt sometimes, she had to make their last days happy.

And then it was their last day, and at six o'clock that evening they would leave the safety of La Rosée and gather in the empty factory to hear what London had to tell them. It was 13 May. A Thursday. A bright, hot early summer's day, and the four of them came together in anticipation.

‘Thank God it isn't Friday,' Julie remarked. ‘That'd be a nice omen for whatever it is!'

‘For Christ's sake,' Pandora erupted suddenly, ‘take a hold on yourself –' She glared at him, knocked her chair over and rushed out.

Kate found her in the garden after the brief quarrel. She was sitting under a tree, both arms round her knees like a very young girl, and she was crying. Kate sat beside her. ‘What's the matter, Julie? Come on, don't cry, it wasn't a big thing, you know.'

‘I know it wasn't,' she said. ‘It's amazing, but it's the first cross word we've had! Cooped up day and night for weeks with nothing for the poor pet to do but sit and worry about me.… I'm not crying because he told me off, Cecilie. You know it isn't that.'

Kate said gently, ‘What is it then?' Julie swallowed; she had lost a lot of weight, Kate noticed suddenly, seeing the Adam's apple move in her throat.

‘I'm scared,' she said in a low voice. ‘I'm scared to death, and I'd like to go home now and take Fred with me. I've been scared for ages, if you want to know. I wake up at nights thinking I hear them breaking down the door. I'm terrified every time I have to go out into the bloody streets and carry some damned message.'

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It was trembling. ‘Fred knows,' she said. ‘I was all right to start with, I'd done it before and got back, but this time – I've lost my nerve, that's the truth. I can't stop thinking about what happened to that girl Beatrice, wondering what they did to her.…'

Kate put her arm round her. Not only her hands but her whole body was shivering.

‘Julie, I'm so sorry. It must be hell for you. Look here, let me talk to Jean, let me suggest you and Pandora stay right out of anything and just lie quiet here till we can arrange a pick-up for both of you. Why don't I do that?'

Julie turned to her. ‘Would you, Cecilie? I don't mind what anybody thinks of me, but I'm not going to be any use to anyone if I stay much longer.… I just can't stand up to it any more.'

‘I'll speak to him today,' Kate promised. ‘Don't worry about it. You've been very brave to face it.' Julie blinked and swallowed hard again.

‘I've been such a bitch lately,' she said. ‘Snapping at you and at Freddie. I didn't mean it. I've felt so awful.' The tears came again. ‘Will he send us back, Kate?' she asked. ‘I've got to get out – I can't bear the not sleeping, and jumping at every sound.'

‘Of course you'll go home, and remember to call me Cecilie. We don't want to make Jean angry and he would be if you let that slip.'

‘I won't,' Julie promised. ‘But it's all part of the silly charade, isn't it? Code names for people you've known for months on end by their real names. Every time he calls Freddie Pandora I could scream! When will you talk to him?'

‘Today,' said Kate. ‘I promise. Come on, let's go back and find Fred. Kiss and make up, eh?'

The other girl managed a smile. ‘He's so sweet,' she said. ‘I've never met anyone like him. So funny too, and so gentle. Thanks.'

She gave Kate a quick embrace, looked embarrassed and then hurried back into the house.

They were gathered on the top floor of the factory an hour before the time for London's message. Dulac, Julie and Pandora, who refused to be left behind, Kate and Jacques, with Gaston muttering as usual. They didn't smoke and talked in whispers. Jacques produced a bottle of wine, and they drank from it, Julie excepted. She gave a little grimace of disgust at the idea of sharing the bottle with the two men. As they made their way in couples to the factory she had asked Kate, ‘Did you say anything to him?'

‘Yes,' Kate said. ‘He understands. But after today, you're not operational unless there's an emergency. I'm to ask London to recall you as soon as possible.'

‘And Pandora too?' The pretty face was strained and eager.