Voices on the Wind (29 page)

She wanted to say, ‘I'm not going to eat with you,' but didn't. Now was not the time. She was in his hands. Bought and paid for, the Gestapo murderer had said.

‘I'll kill you when the time comes,' she said silently.

‘Sit down,' Pierrot invited. ‘Eat and try to be calm. You're safe now. Afterwards I'll take you in to meet my wife. You saw her, didn't you?'

‘Yes,' Kate said. ‘She's crippled. That's why you did it.'

‘Did what?' he asked softly.

‘Took money from the Germans. Sold us out.'

‘Yes, I take money from them, I work for them. Otherwise you wouldn't be here now. But I am not what you think.'

‘Did you go on the raid with Jean?' she asked him.

He nodded. ‘Yes. Unfortunately I couldn't protect Pandora. He was killed in the first exchange with the Germans.' He looked coldly into the distance. ‘It was a disaster. Dulac was told not to expose him. He didn't listen. The poor devil died for nothing. They are all dead now.'

‘Yes,' Kate said. ‘Except for us.'

She stayed in the flat in Beaulieu for a week. She didn't go out, even for a walk. It seemed as if her will had been broken. Shock, Pierrot insisted. It takes some people like this. You'll get over it. Eat and rest while you can. And he said it again, ‘I have work to do.' His wife was very gentle; she chatted to her silent visitor, as if she knew that inconsequence was what she needed. She embroidered beautiful linen squares. She was making a tablecloth, she explained, and offered to show Kate how to do some simple background work. Kate shook her head. She enjoyed watching, she said; she didn't want to sew herself. She watched more than the skilful needlework. She watched the man who she knew had betrayed them, the survivor of the massacre at the power station who had been able to get her released from the Gestapo. She saw his tenderness to his crippled wife, and the desire in his eyes when he looked at her, thinking himself unobserved. She noticed his absences and once or twice slipped out and opened the front door, hearing him stop at the flat below and be let in by his German paymasters. Once when he was out and she had seen him go from the sitting room window, she went into their bedroom and found a gun in the chest of drawers. It was a German Luger pistol, and it was loaded. Under the bed she found what she was looking for; a portable transmitter in a standard SOE case. Working for both sides. Radioing London and selling the information to the Germans. Slowly Kate took the gun in her hands, turned it over, checking the safety catch. So many dead looking over her shoulder, asking the same question that was in her mind. ‘He killed us, can you kill him – can you face him and pull the trigger?'

‘Put that away,' he said from the doorway. Kate turned and raised both hands as she had been taught, and brought the gun level with his chest. He stood quite still for a moment, and then quietly closed the door and came towards her.

She said, ‘Stop. No nearer.'

He obeyed, but he didn't seem to be afraid. ‘You won't shoot me,' he said. ‘You wouldn't do anything so foolish. I saved your life, remember? You won't kill me, Cecilie.'

‘Just tell me something,' she spoke very softly. The gun was steady in her hands. ‘How can you sleep at night?'

The pale eyes blinked and then stared fixedly as before. ‘I don't,' he answered. ‘But not because I am a traitor. Will you listen to me?'

She shook her head. ‘No. There's nothing you can say. I followed you here, and I saw you with the Germans downstairs. I heard them talking to you. I tried to warn Jean but he wouldn't listen. You can't tell any lies to me. I know what you are and what you've done.'

He said gently, ‘Then shoot me. Pull the trigger and have done.'

‘Philippe?' The voice came from the sitting room and the woman immobilized in her chair. ‘Philippe, can you help me – I've dropped everything on the floor.…'

He looked at Kate and said, ‘My wife needs me. You can shoot me in the back if it's easier.' He turned and moved towards the door.

Kate lowered the gun and slipped the safety-catch to ‘on'. ‘After the war,' she said, ‘you'll be tried and punished. And I'll be the one that gets you hanged.'

‘Maybe.' She saw his crooked smile appear and disappear, and then he left the room.

When he told her he'd arranged her escape through to Spain, she said, ‘You're a fool, don't you realize that as soon as I get back, I'm going to report you? Don't you care?'

‘Not much,' was his answer. ‘I have one more thing to do here and then I shall be taking my wife to a safe place. I don't care what you say to those murderers in Baker Street.'

‘You call
them
murderers?' She rounded on him in amazement.

‘Think about it,' he said. ‘Thanks to Jean Dulac they had no other choice, I suppose. But it was murder just the same.'

‘I shall tell them what you've said,' she declared, passionate with anger. ‘I'll point you out as the filthiest traitor there's ever been!'

He shrugged. ‘I'm sure you will. You are a woman of great determination. But not very clever when you fall in love. You didn't see how vain he was, and how arrogant. He destroyed himself and all the others. At least he had the decency to commit suicide.' She slapped him hard across the face. He rubbed his cheek and smiled. It was a bitter grimace.

‘My thanks for saving you from Eilenburg,' he said softly. ‘I've loved you for a long time, but I shall be glad to see you go tomorrow.'

6

As the car approached the Hôtel du Cap, Katharine leaned forward. The magnificent façade was floodlit. The building was pearl-white in the arc lamplight, roofed in grey, with the grandeur of the classic French château. On the sweep of gravel in front the most expensive cars in the world waited for their owners to go inside, and the attendants to drive them to their garages. Crimson geraniums were banked on either side of the steps leading to a huge entrance, glass-plated and combining the best of modern design with the classicism of the architecture. She turned to Roulier as the car stopped and said, ‘My God! I've never seen anything like it –' She saw him look at her and smile.

‘The most expensive hotel in the world and the most luxurious. Pretend you are a millionairess, Kate.'

The door was opened and she got out. An exceptionally handsome young man hurried to Paul Roulier. The baggage would be sent up and the car put away. Paul gently took her arm as they walked up the steps to the splendid entrance. She gazed round her while he went to reception and registered. Enormous custom-built sofas with handsome glass-topped tables, a spiral staircase in the centre, built round an old-fashioned type of cage lift that whispered up and down behind its gilded gates. Flowers everywhere, superbly arranged. A chatter of American voices, some guttural German that made her jump.

A good-looking man in a cream suit approached her, followed by Paul Roulier. He introduced himself as the manager, shook hands, and hoped she would like her suite. Roulier said, ‘I have the keys. I'll take you upstairs first, they'll bring your bags. The lift?' Her amazement was amusing him and he didn't try to hide it.

She gave him a challenging smile. ‘Why not? Millionaires don't walk.'

‘Round here they do,' he said as they glided up one flight. ‘And they play tennis. You'll see more well-preserved seventy-year-olds here than anywhere else. With occasionally a very beautiful wife.'

The room was exceptionally decorated, by any standard, and a lovely arrangement of roses and carnations was on the writing table. The page appeared with her suitcase. It looked so shabby that she laughed. Paul tipped him, and they were alone. Katharine said, ‘You're not paying for all this, are you?'

‘No,' he replied. ‘Only for myself. I have a room down the corridor. It's a very agreeable place to stay. And I want you to enjoy it. Shall I come back in twenty minutes and we can have a drink in the bar?'

Don't bother to bring many clothes, he had told her. Now she understood why. Nothing Colonel Alfurd's widow possessed would be suitable. When she opened the wardrobe door to hang up the summer dresses and casual shirts and trousers she had brought, she found half a dozen brand-new outfits with her name on a card pinned to each. The size was right. The shoes fitted perfectly. When she saw the handbags in their cellophane wrappings, she slammed the cupboard door.

When he came back as he'd arranged, he found her wearing one of her own dresses. She saw the quick glance, and the slight frown. She walked past him and towards the stairs. ‘Let's walk down, shall we?' She didn't wait but let him follow.

In the main hall she hesitated. He came beside her, and said gently, ‘The bar is through that archway to the right. I've ordered champagne.'

Beautiful, Katharine thought. More grand flower pieces, glittering glass and buttercup yellow and white. The first actual bar I've ever seen that didn't look vulgar. The carpet was a museum piece. He led her to a table in the corner. All the others were occupied. When they sat down he offered her a cigarette.

‘I'm sorry about the clothes,' he said. ‘That was a mistake. They can be sent back.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. What a waste of money otherwise.'

‘Please don't be angry.'

‘I'm not angry. I'm sure you meant well, or whoever is footing the bill, but I prefer my own clothes. If they're not up to standard for a hotel like this, you shouldn't have brought me.' She tapped the cigarette end and knocked ash into the ashtray. ‘I can't offer to pay my own bill, but I don't want to feel any more beholden than I have to. That made me very uncomfortable indeed.'

He bowed his head a little in apology. ‘Will you forgive me? A Frenchwoman wouldn't have minded. She'd have looked at the labels first.'

‘Maybe I've lived too long in England. What are the labels, by the way?'

‘I thought Lanvin would suit you,' he answered. ‘Here's our champagne. Tell me something, Kate?'

‘What? Thank you,' she said to the waiter, ‘that's lovely.'

‘Why do you trust me?' She sipped the drink. It was perfect. A middle-aged woman at the table called the waiter. She gave her order in German. The head barman answered in the same language. She was smart and very handsome, with a burly husband, burnt cork-brown by the sun. ‘I didn't expect they'd come here,' Kate said. ‘It's a very odd feeling, hearing them talk, and seeing how natural everyone is. So friendly. She's just looked over and smiled at me and I've smiled back. It's the same hotel in the same place, but they've done more than gut it and bring everything up to date. They've wiped out the past.' She held the chilled glass in both hands. ‘You wouldn't understand what I mean. You're too young.'

‘I understand very well,' Paul Roulier answered quietly. ‘I'm glad you've noticed it. I think it's very important. When you're ready, we can go down to the restaurant and have dinner. And you haven't answered my question.'

‘No,' Katharine admitted, ‘I haven't. Because I don't know the answer yet. I just followed my instinct when I met you. I trusted you then and I trust you now. I can't give you any reasons.' He got up and held his hand out to help her up.

‘I don't want any reasons,' he said. ‘Just reassurance. You can be very formidable when you're angry. For a moment I was afraid I'd lost your confidence.'

‘I was afraid I'd lost my independence,' she retorted. ‘So we're quits. I'm hungry, aren't you?' They went down a wide flight of steps into the moonlit garden, along a gravelled pathway to the restaurant built overlooking the sea.

They didn't talk about the war. They discussed the menu, the other diners; they relaxed very quickly and conversation was surprisingly easy. She wasn't smartly dressed, but somehow it didn't matter. People looked at her anyway. She was a fascinating woman, Roulier admitted, with a vivacious personality that commanded attention. In the soft lighting of one of the most flattering settings in the world for any woman, she looked deceptively young. Beautiful wasn't too strong a word, even at her age. The fine features were as clear-cut as ever, and she had eyes that sparkled.… He stopped himself thinking any further because there were twenty-odd years between them, and in the morning it would all be different. The new wardrobe hadn't been his idea. No more mistakes like that; he'd make that very plain. He'd agreed against his own judgement, treating an exceptional woman like an ordinary vain and greedy one.

They walked back up the long slope, with its discreet lighting all along the route, and the majestic hotel blazing like a palace ahead of them. This time he didn't take her arm. It was very odd, the desire to go to bed with a woman so much older. He'd never experienced it before. By the morning, he told himself again, it would be different. Katharine stopped outside her bedroom door.

‘What a wonderful dinner,' she said. ‘I haven't enjoyed myself so much for many years. Thank you, Paul.'

‘Thank you,' he said, and left her quickly. She sat by the window looking out over the gardens towards the distant sea. A soft breeze carried the familiar scents of pine trees and thyme and the faint tang of salt in the air. So very different from the last time she had come to the coast. 1947, when the scars of war were still bleeding in so many parts of France. But the beautiful coast had escaped. The thrust of the Allied armies hadn't penetrated there. The retreating Germans had left it as they came, with minimum destruction. But the bitterness and the denunciations were as lethal as bombs and battles were fought from street to street. The prisons were full; men and women accused of collaborating were being tried and punished, and each village held its own court martial and condemned the guilty. Those who had supported the Nazis were driven out; women who consorted with them weren't shaved and publicly exhibited any more. At least that horror had stopped, but the denunciations flowed into the police. Old spites were settled, and many suffered who were innocent. Katharine had come back to give evidence at the trial of one of the worst traitors in the war.