Voices on the Wind (34 page)

‘I don't think I know you, Madame,' she said. ‘I don't recognize your name.'

‘I married after the war,' Kate said.

Philippe's widow had aged very little except for the snow-white crown; her face was pale with the ethereal look of the sick, and her hand when Kate shook it was like a dried leaf. She moved the wheelchair with the touch of a button and it swivelled round. ‘Please sit down,' she invited. ‘Forgive me for not recognizing you. When did we meet?'

‘In May 1944,' Kate answered. ‘You and your husband sheltered me from the Gestapo.'

‘We sheltered many people,' was the reply. ‘What was your name then?'

Kate said, ‘I didn't have a name, Madame. Only a code, it wouldn't mean anything to you. I worked with your husband for a time. You know that Eilenburg is going to be tried for war crimes against the Resistance?'

‘Yes.' The voice was unemotional. ‘I've read about it and seen it on television. He looked such an old man. I wonder what good it does to bring up the past.'

‘A lot of people feel like that,' Kate said. ‘But I don't agree with them. He killed my friends, and one of them committed suicide rather than give way to torture. I think he should be punished.'

The lips turned upward in a sad smile. ‘What a vengeful person you must be,' she said. ‘Nothing can bring them back. Nothing can bring my husband back, and it wasn't the Germans who sabotaged his car. It wasn't a German who stood up in court and tried to get him hanged after the war. Why did you do it? Didn't you care that he saved your life?'

Kate said slowly, ‘Why did you pretend not to know me, Madame Derain?'

The thin shoulders lifted slightly. ‘I wondered what you wanted, coming here after what you did to Philippe, after all these years. Of course I recognized you. You haven't changed so much, and I had good reason to remember you. Philippe was in love with you, after all.'

‘There was nothing between us,' Kate protested.

Again she smiled. ‘And if there had been? Do you think I'd have grudged him a little happiness when I couldn't give it to him myself? That wasn't important to me. Why have you come here, Cecilie? I remember the name too; he used to talk about you. Even afterwards when you tried so hard to destroy him.'

‘I want to find out the truth,' Kate said. ‘Philippe betrayed the network. He worked for the Germans and for Britain. I was Jean Dulac's lover, and by chance I saved him from arrest. Why, Madame Derain? Why did your husband do it? Every word of my evidence was the truth. Who was he really working for?'

‘Why didn't you ask London?' came the answer. ‘Surely you knew the answer was with your own people – they didn't let him be convicted because they dared not. So they arranged for a car crash later on.'

‘That's impossible,' Kate said slowly. ‘Nobody would murder him years later. Why?'

‘Because he knew the truth you talk about,' she said. ‘The real facts behind the lies and deceptions and betrayals. He was approached to write his memoirs of the war, did you know that? Some friend in the book trade thought it would make a lot of money. Philippe said no, but someone must have heard and been afraid he might be tempted. So the brakes on his car failed on the Grand Corniche, and he went over the edge. I had it investigated privately. The police were not concerned. After all, he was suspected of treason during the war, in spite of being acquitted. People prefer to believe the worst, don't they? His death didn't interest anyone except me. Probably they said, “Serve him right”. So the truth died with him. Except that he had talked to me and I know what really happened.'

Kate said after some moments, ‘I saw Eilenburg yesterday. He said Philippe destroyed evidence the Germans wanted. Madame Derain, do you know what he meant? It could change everything. It could clear Philippe's name! It could put the guilt where it belongs!'

‘And where is that?' the woman asked gently. ‘Are you still pursuing vengeance?'

‘No. Not vengeance. Justice. I've lived with lies for all these years, because I was persuaded to accept them. I've been the guilty one. I want to make sense of Jean's death; I want to know why a girl I trained with was brutalized and degraded and then shot like a dog, why all those men were killed at the power station, and why an Englishman who couldn't speak a word of French was sent over here, for what? I beg you, tell me what really happened!'

‘What will you do with it, if I tell you?'

Kate said, ‘I don't know. Make it public if I can.'

Madame Derain examined her fragile hands, twisted the wedding ring round and round and then said suddenly, ‘If an accident was arranged for Philippe, they won't let you speak out.'

‘You're the second person who's said that,' Kate said. ‘And it's true. I came here and within a few days, I was being followed. But I got away and nobody knows where I am. If you'll give me the information I can protect myself, I promise you.'

She waited; the room was hot and silent and the woman in the wheelchair was very still. At last she spoke. ‘Philippe was the real hero,' she said. ‘They put up a statue to that foolish man you loved, while my husband's reward was suspicion and shame. You will find a bottle of wine through there, Madame. If we are going to talk about the past, we'll need something to give us courage.'

7

The receptionist said, ‘I'm sorry, Madame Alfurd, but the manager is at his house. He won't be back at the hotel until after five o'clock.'

Kate said, ‘It's very important; could you phone through and ask him to see me, please?'

The receptionist hesitated. He shrugged slightly. ‘I can try him at home,' he said. ‘One moment please.' He went into the back office and put through a call. The response amazed him. The manager never interrupted his afternoon with his family unless there was a crisis at the hotel.

He returned and said, ‘He's coming, Madame. Please wait in his office here.'

It was a pleasant, businesslike room, in complete contrast to the luxurious foyer beyond. A plain desk, an elaborate telephone system for internal use, two large framed photographs of a pretty woman and two children. She sat down and waited, but not for long. The manager came in, shook hands, smiled with his usual courtesy and took his seat behind the desk.

‘I'm sorry to disturb you like this,' she explained. ‘It's kind of you to see me.'

‘Not at all,' he disclaimed. (‘When the lady comes back, you will immediately ring this number.' The lout from SEDEC had slammed that office door till the walls shook.) She was leaning towards him expectantly. He had not made the telephone call. Yet.

‘How can I help you? Is something wrong?'

‘How much do you know about the hotel during the war? Towards the end, 1944.'

The question surprised him. ‘Nothing from personal experience. I was only a child. But its history is well-documented. It was a convalescent home for senior German officers, right up until just before the Allied Invasion down here. It was heavily mined and guarded during the war – in fact one of our gardeners was killed years later when he set off one of the mines they'd buried in the grounds.'

Kate said, ‘Was it ever attacked or damaged while they were using it?'

‘Oh yes,' he answered. ‘Soon after the Allies landed in Normandy some Resistance people broke in and blew up this part of the building. It all had to be rebuilt afterwards.'

‘Why did they do that?' she asked. ‘Was anyone killed?'

‘I don't know for sure. I think it was an attempt to get at the German records which were kept in a safe near here. If so, they failed. Everything was destroyed, and there was a fire. Luckily it was put out in time or the hotel would have been gutted. That's one act of wartime heroism I don't like very much. Think, if that fire had spread!'

‘Yes indeed,' Kate said quietly. ‘How very lucky it didn't. The people who did it were never caught?'

‘I don't believe so,' he answered. ‘The hotel was cleared of Germans after that. Madame, may I ask you how long you're staying?'

He was so polite, but the eyes were shrewd. ‘May I ask why you ask?' she countered.

He said calmly, ‘Because we have a tradition of protecting our clients' privacy. Enquiries have been made about you, and I'm afraid they're too official for me to ignore. I would prefer to report that you had checked out, if you don't mind.'

‘I don't mind at all,' she said after a moment. Inevitably they had got to the hotel. ‘But I think it would save everyone a lot of embarrassment if I made that report myself. Did they leave you a number to call?'

‘I have it here,' he said, opening a drawer in his desk. ‘First you must assure me that there will be no disturbance or scandal that could affect the hotel.'

‘It's wonderful that it means so much to you,' she said.

‘It is my whole life, Madame.'

‘Don't worry. I shall ask the person who called on you to come and see me. Then we will leave together. I'll speak to them from my room.'

She went up in the lift, smiled at a young couple passing on their way to play tennis, and let herself into the room. Fresh flowers again, a shaft of sunlight playing through the blind, coolness and peace. But not for long. She lifted the telephone and asked for the number on the paper the manager had given her.

She waited for him in the bar. It was odd, Kate thought, how calm she felt, how self-confident. A quiet dinner alone in the restaurant, the food delicious, no sense of awkwardness at being without a man. She ordered a brandy, chatted to the head barman for a few minutes, and settled back to wait. She saw him pause in the doorway, and look quickly round for her. Then the glance of recognition and the quickened step as he approached.

For a moment he paused, looking at her. ‘Mrs Alfurd? Kate?'

‘Hello,' she said. ‘Hello, Captain Michaelson. Sit down, won't you.' He had changed, but not so completely that she couldn't recognize him. With an effort. Her memories of him from all those years ago had grown dim. Not as tall as she thought, heavier of course, and with thin fair hair that was mostly white. Well-dressed; French casual clothes, expensive shoes, a very good wrist-watch.

‘You haven't changed,' he said. ‘It's amazing. When they showed me the photographs of you, I knew at once. Can I order a drink for you?'

‘I haven't finished this,' she said. ‘Pierre's coming over. Do you like brandy? It used to be gin and tonic, at Lossiemouth.'

He glanced at her. ‘Fancy you remembering that,' he said.

‘That's my trouble,' Kate answered. ‘I've got such a damned good memory. It seems it's finally got me into trouble.'

‘I don't see why you say that,' Michaelson said. ‘You've been foolish, but there's no real harm done. Luckily they got in touch with me when this business blew up. So I came down from Paris. I've been waiting till you were found. It's good to see you after all this time.'

‘It's good to see you too,' she agreed. ‘I was expecting some strong-arm goon to turn up. Hardly my old instructor from forty years ago. Before we say anything, I'd like to know where you fit in.'

He smiled; she remembered that rare smile, always wintry even when it did appear.

‘You're still as direct as ever, I see. Very well, I'll put myself in the picture for you. I work for my adopted country on a part-time basis now. It used to be full-time, but I'm rather old now, as you appreciate. So I help out, sit in on specialized problems like your appearance out here in connection with Eilenburg's defence lawyer. That upset a lot of people, in England and France. So they asked my advice on how to deal with it. I told them to find you but not to do you any harm.'

She said coldly, ‘Were they intending to?'

He shrugged. He'd become very French. Adopted country, he'd said. ‘Not any more.' He avoided the question neatly. ‘I said they had nothing to fear from you and they believed me. I assured them that you would never lend yourself to anything that would discredit our efforts during the war, or harm Anglo-French relations.'

She actually laughed. ‘How very presumptuous of you! Supposing I meant to blow the whole dirty business that happened here sky high, what would you say to that?'

He said, studying his hands and not looking at her, ‘I'd be very disappointed that the girl I trained and got to know would stoop so low. Have you any idea how low it would be, Kate? And what real purpose it could serve? I don't think you have.'

‘Why don't you tell me?' she suggested. ‘Perhaps I know already, perhaps I don't. You were always a good lecturer. Explain it to me.'

‘Only if you'll have an open mind. I know how you felt about Jean Dulac. I know how you moved heaven and earth to get Philippe Derain convicted as a traitor. Only someone very strongly motivated would have gone as far as you did. But you were wrong. Derain worked for us from the beginning. Everything he did was with London's knowledge and on their orders.'

‘Including betraying his friends in the Resistance? Setting the Gestapo on us?'

He nodded. ‘Including that. He had no choice. Jean Dulac brought it on himself, and on the others. He had to be stopped, Kate.'

‘Because of the German General who was travelling in that convoy?' she interrupted. ‘Because the life of an anti-Nazi German was more valuable than the lives of people who were fighting on our side and risking themselves every day? What was in the safe here, that was worth killing off the Maquis and the Dulac network? And you didn't get it after all, whatever it was, because Derain didn't know how to blow a safe properly, and he wrecked everything!'

‘You have a lot of information,' he remarked. ‘You've been very active. But it's not quite accurate. Derain didn't try to open the safe. He couldn't. The man sent out specifically from England had been killed, because Dulac disobeyed orders once again and took him on that raid. Poor chap, I remember him very well. A convicted burglar and expert safe-breaker. Killed for nothing. So Derain had to do the best he could, and if we couldn't get the information, he made sure the Gestapo didn't either. You don't know what it was, do you?'