Stranger at the Gates (25 page)

‘Oh please,' Louise begged, ‘please don't, he'll be so worried—he's senile and he doesn't understand …'

‘Shut your mouth,' Kramm said. He had an unexpectedly loud, harsh voice. It was the first time he had spoken. He jerked his head towards the door. ‘You heard the Standartenführer. Get out!'

Louise stumbled past them through the door, and into the salon. There was an S.S. man on duty there now. He pointed to the dining room.

‘In there. And no talking!'

As she came in, both Jean and Savage sprang up. Another S.S. man swung his carbine round and pointed it. ‘Don't move! Stay where you are!' Louise looked instinctively at Savage. He didn't draw back at the threat; instead his whole body tensed, balancing for the assault. Involuntarily, Louise cried out.

‘No—don't do anything—for God's sake! I'm all right.' For a moment Savage and the German confronted each other. Before either of them could move, Jean de Bernard had come straight to her and taken her in his arms.

‘Sit down,' he murmured to her. ‘Come over here.'

Instantly the guard was standing over them, menacing with his carbine. ‘No talking!' he shouted. ‘Go back to where you were!'

Jean de Bernard looked up at him. ‘I am staying with my wife,' he said. For a second or so the German stared at him; then he turned and went back to his position by the door. Louise found her husband's hand holding hers and his arm protectively round her shoulders. It was a sensation she suddenly remembered.

In the salon Adolph Vierken paused to pour himself a drink of wine from a decanter on one of the side tables. He had discovered nothing. Minden's alibi for the night was genuine; much as he would have liked to find a discrepancy in Roger Savage's credentials, they were faultless. There was nothing to keep him at the Château St. Blaize; he drank the wine, his attention caught by the exquisite engraving on the glass. It was a coat of arms with many quarterings. These were the people to whome Régine had not dared introduce him; the spineless French aristocrat with his armorial drinking glasses and his subservience to the conqueror, the moneyed American wife who had collapsed in frightened tears.

Vierken allowed himself a moment of congratulation. He had put them into their right perspective, these superior people. He felt a sharp regret that nothing suspect had come out in the investigation. Régine was different; she was not one of them. She belonged to his world, to him. On an impulse of spite he aimed the empty glass at the fireplace and smashed it to smithereens. He went into the hall, shouted for Kramm, who reported that there was nothing gained from the old servants or the invalid Comte. Vierken drew out a piece of paper and gave it to the Captain.

‘Give that to the Swiss. Tell him to be out of St. Blaize by tomorrow or the pass will be revoked. I don't want any neutral hanging around here. The less witnesses we have the better. Give it to him now, and make sure he understands it's only valid for twenty-four hours!' Kramm saluted and went out; when he came back Vierken was already pulling on his gloves.

‘He understands,' Kramm said. ‘I made it clear to him.'

‘Good. There's nothing more to be done here.'

‘Pity about the American woman,' Kramm said.

‘There'll be others,' Vierken said. ‘Come on.' Minutes later their cars were sweeping down the drive, their headlights scarring the darkness.

‘What happened?' Savage was beside her. ‘You've been crying—what did they do to you?' He seemed unaware of Jean de Bernard. She felt her husband's arm tighten around her. She got up, freeing herself.

‘Nothing happened,' she said. ‘Thank God. You were right,' she said to Savage. ‘If it had got bad, I wouldn't have held out. I know that now.'

‘That isn't true,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘You were born with courage.' Looking from Savage to him, she felt an impulse to escape them both, to take the shock trembling inside her to some private place.

‘I want to go to the children. I don't want them to be frightened. I'm quite all right. The main thing is, they've gone.' She went out and upstairs to the children's bedroom. Savage turned to Jean de Bernard.

‘They've gone, but I'm damned certain they'll be back. I want to talk to you alone.'

‘Yes,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘I think the time has come for that. He gave you a pass. Why?'

‘I have a nasty feeling he wants me out of St. Blaize,' Savage said. ‘Me and anyone else who might be able to carry tales.' He took a cigarette. ‘That's what I want to talk to you about. He picked out Louise tonight; I don't like it. And there's something else you should know. He's pretty friendly with your sister!'

‘Régine! I don't believe it …'

‘He told me,' Savage said. ‘He knows her well; and she told him about all of us; me, Louise—the whole family. You'll have to watch out for her.'

‘My God,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘With a man like that …' “I've met someone—he's a German …” He remembered Régine saying that and the expression of defiance on her face. An S.S. commander. It was unthinkable. As unthinkable as Savage's allegation that she informed upon them. He saw the American looking at him and the contempt in his eyes, for him and for his sister. He turned away. ‘Things have worked out very well for you,' he said. ‘You can leave tomorrow; with the Gestapo's blessing.'

‘I want to take Louise with me. She can't get out on this pass; that means I ask London to send a pick-up plane. I don't want to leave her here. Whatever your sister said about her, that bastard's got it in for her. She ought to go to England.'

‘I see,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘And have you asked her?'

‘Yes, and she won't go. She won't leave you and the children. I hope you'll persuade her.'

‘Then you're not going to use your pass?'

‘Not if I can take Louise with me. And I tell you, she should go. They won't pin anything on you. If they are going to take hostages, my guess is you won't be considered. You're part of the pro-German establishment here, and your sister has made herself a very influential friend. But Louise is different. She's an American and she's known to be hostile to them. They just might take her. You can manage without her here.'

‘Persuade her to leave with you …' Jean said slowly. ‘You'd like that, wouldn't you? You've wanted her from the beginning. It would suit you very well to have her in England where you could take her away from me permanently. You must think I'm an imbecile!'

Savage felt a rush of anger so intense that it was hatred. ‘You stupid bastard! You'd rather she played games with Vierken? I'll take her with me and you won't stop me!'

‘You make any attempt to touch my wife,' Jean de Bernard said, ‘and I'll kill you. I warned you before.'

‘You wouldn't kill me,' Savage jeered. ‘You wouldn't bloody dare,' he went on. ‘But you'd sneak round to your pals the Gestapo and tell them who I really was—you wouldn't mind doing that, would you? That'd be more in character.'

‘I have already thought of that,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘Do you think I'd protect you, if I could save French lives and stop them punishing this village? But you've involved Louise; if they got you, that would come out. You think you're so brave and so tough, Monsieur Savage? A big, brutish American who knows all the tricks—you'd be crying like a child after they'd had you for an hour or two. You'd betray Louise and be glad to do it.'

Savage stepped close to him. ‘Shut your mouth,' he said. ‘Or I'll shut it for you.'

‘Violence is your only answer.' Jean didn't move. ‘To break and kill. You have more in common with the Germans than you know. I shan't denounce you because of my wife. And I shall do whatever I think best to protect her. Turn out the lights when you leave.' He left Savage standing there.

Louise heard the door of her bedroom open and sat up. ‘I want to talk to you,' Jean said. ‘Can I come in?'

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her.

‘I've been talking to Savage,' he said. ‘He wants you to go to England with him. I think you should go.' Her hand was close to him, lying on the bedcover, the gold wedding ring circling one finger. He wanted to reach out and touch it.

‘I'm not going,' she said quietly. ‘I'm not leaving the children. Or you. He knows that.'

‘Would you mind leaving me?'

This was the man I loved, she remembered, this was the man I left my country and my family for, the man who conceived our children in this bed. He's older and tired, and I know he's pleading. If I cry now, I'm a damned fool.

‘Yes, Jean. I'd mind very much.'

‘I'm glad,' he said. ‘I'm glad you don't hate me. We had so much happiness till this filthy war. I love you; I shall never stop. But you're in danger and I'd rather lose you to him, than let you take a risk. Go with him.'

She shook her head. ‘No, I'm very frightened; I have a feeling that something terrible is going to happen to us all. And we must all be together. You and I and Papa and the children; here at St. Blaize.' He caught hold of her hand; his was unsteady.

‘Don't say that,' he begged her. ‘It isn't true. These feelings mean nothing—it's just a reaction from what happened tonight. I heard something, something so shameful … I don't know how to tell you about it.'

‘Go on.' Her hand had gripped his; she knew its pressure well, as well as she recognised the embrace of his arm when he rushed to her that evening. They had been very close for many years.

‘Régine informed on us to the Gestapo.' He spoke slowly, not looking at her now. ‘She knows that man Vierken; he told Savage. She must know him very well. He knew all about Savage being here.'

‘I can't believe it,' Louise said. ‘An S.S. commander—how could she …'

‘I don't know,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘But I can't deny my own example. I set the pattern; she followed it. You would say it was a punishment, wouldn't you?'

‘Not now,' Louise said gently. ‘I might have said it before but not any longer. It was easy for me to take the attitude I did. I wanted you to be heroic, the brave Comte de Bernard, shouting defiance from the battlements. I didn't visualise the reality. Now I've seen it. I felt it in our little study. I saw it on their caps; the symbol of death. You tried to keep it away from St. Blaize and from us. You failed. I wouldn't judge you any more. I only hope you won't judge me.'

He kissed her fingers. ‘I admire you,' he said. ‘You're brave and you have a proud heart. You were ashamed of me, and I can understand it. One day I shall ask you to forgive me.'

‘If you can forgive me,' Louise said quietly. ‘We've been enemies, haven't we? Now we're facing God knows what. Jean, there's something I've got to tell you. I want to get things straight between us. I got the key from Minden. I gave it to Savage.'

Her hand dropped out of his.

‘Why should he give it to you?'

‘He didn't. I got it when he was asleep. I put it back before he left me.'

She watched him turn away; he fumbled in his pocket for cigarettes and lit one, cupping the flame in his hands.

‘You slept with him?'

‘Yes. It was the only way. I want you to know it was the worst thing I've ever done in my life. It was nauseating, horrible. That's why they kept me so long tonight. He'd given me as an alibi. That man didn't believe I'd been with him. He kept on and on trying to catch me out. He knew I was anti-Nazi; he kept saying—you hate Germans.'

‘I see.' Jean de Bernard examined his cigarette. ‘I understand. Régine must have told him everything about you.' He sounded calm, but he wouldn't look at her.

‘I didn't want to lie to you,' Louise said. ‘You came to me in good faith, you wanted to make things up. You won't want to now, but at least I haven't cheated you. I did it, because Savage had to get that key. I thought of the children, children like ours, dying of that gas, and it didn't seem important whether I let one man make love to me or not. I'm sorry, Jean. I know you don't look on it the same way.'

‘Savage …?' he asked her, looking at her for the first time. ‘Savage and you …'

‘No,' she said. ‘Not Savage. I promise you that.'

He blew smoke upwards, and suddenly he gave the cigarette to her. ‘It's my last,' he said. ‘We'll share it.' With the half-smoked end between her lips, Louise began to cry.

The following day was overcast; early in the morning there was a shower, brief but heavy. Paul and Sophie de Bernard left for school in Minden's car as usual, wrapped in their oilskins. He stood in the vaulted hall, ill at ease and irritable, while Louise kissed them goodbye and pretended not to notice him.

He wanted to talk to her, to make another effort to convince her that he was not responsible for the S.S. or for what had happened the night before. He had slept badly, struggling with the ache of his desire to make love to her again. He felt helpless and misjudged; he stood about in the hallway, until the children had gone.

‘Good morning.' He had placed himself in her way. ‘I hope you're feeling better.'

‘Yes, I'm quite all right now, thank you.' Louise moved to step past him, but he blocked the door.

‘Don't be angry with me. I couldn't sleep last night, I was so upset about you.'

‘That's very kind of you.' Jean de Bernard had come up beside him. He took his wife by the arm. ‘My wife is quite recovered now.' As Minden watched him, he kissed Louise on the cheek. In six months, Minden had never seen them touch each other. He saluted, his face turning red, and left the hall. Ten minutes later he was in his car, now empty of the children and on his way to the Château Diane. He couldn't get that proprietary kiss out of his mind.