Clandestine (38 page)

‘So,' she said at last, ‘here you finally are, and with Arie, but you didn't sleep late. Instead you must have come in at a forbidden hour, only to leave at all but the same, and now to return but not as if on your knees. That left hand, please. Take off the fingerless glove this boy has made for you, perfect though it is.'

She'd been reading the day's
Le Matin
but was clutching a volume of Fantômas, the title deliberately turned away until …
Ah non,
it was
La Fille de Fantômas
—Hélène, the daughter of, and volume eight in the series.

Napoléon was singing.

‘Apolline …' began Arie, only to have a silencing forefinger raised.

‘Mademoiselle, I suggested a little anisette when we first met, but as the bottle now finds itself empty, we shall have to forgo such a courtesy. A student, you told me. Arthritis, I believe.'

The book was left lying beside her, its jacket illustration shockingly lurid, the blue glass figurines above the bed as if watching.

Cold and pasty-feeling, the thumb that now probed the scars and counted the stitch marks wasn't going to go away until she had been told the necessary.

‘Barbed wire,' came the confession.

‘And where did you go this morning with such urgency?'

Only a straight answer would suffice. ‘The Gare de l'Est to warn someone that a certain place might no longer be safe.'

‘And were you able to “warn” that someone?'

‘Yes.'

Still gripping that hand, she then asked, ‘
Quel est un Diamantensonderkommando
?'

‘A special commando.'

Jeanne d'Arc would not have given any sign of fear either. ‘And the one who was executed in
place
de l'Opéra last night?'

The press had let it out, and that could only mean the
Moffen
had allowed them to release details. ‘
Un mouchard
who was working for the Occupier.'

The Fantômas should now be fingered as if searching for clues to her psyche, felt Apolline, since she notices everything. ‘You don't fool around, do you?'

‘I didn't want to do that to him. Others decided and did.'

‘Others, and you let them. Are there photos of you posted in every Commissariat de Police? Am I, and all here at 3 rue Vercingétorix, to expect a visit?'

She'd never agree. How could she, but it would have to be asked. ‘I need to stay for just a little longer, madame, but must come and go. I've a task to do, a promise made.'

And again, said just like Jeanne. ‘What task, what promise?'

‘I'm to contact someone and give them something.'

‘Anything else?'

‘There's a job I have to do for those “others.”'

A job. A sigh should be given, a distant look as well, and then the forefinger trailing itself across the book. ‘And this one and Étienne and that
mouchard
brought you all the way from Amsterdam.'

‘Did the newspapers say that?'

Ah bon
, she was worried about Arie, for she had instantly glanced at him. ‘The papers are rubbish. No one believes them and there wasn't a photo of you. Not yet, but the press are like men with virgins. They invariably get what they want.'

‘Give me a day or two, that's all I ask, then I'll leave and if they catch me in the streets, I'll run like my Henki did and tell them nothing.'

‘Her fiancé,' said Arie.

‘What's this?'

‘She was engaged.'

And just like Arie who had lost the love of his life and their little baby, but now he had reached out to take her by the hand, so things, they could well be on their way. Then, too, of course, there could possibly be diamonds. ‘Avoid the days, come only after dark.'

It couldn't be argued, but sealing the bargain might be useful, especially as it would have to be broken. ‘Here is my dissertation, madame. Please guard it closely, but if you could have a read, I'd be interested in your opinion, especially as it looks as if I will never­ be able to present it until after the Occupier has left, if then.'

After the
épuration
, which would come as surely as any dose of salts and with all of its hurrying even if bound up like concrete. ‘And you've not even tried to buy me. Arie, stuff this newspaper into the stove for its warmth. I've not seen it and know nothing of this matter—
Absolument rien!
—But will read this other anyway, just to see how good it must be.'

Fifteen hundred hours and the Jardin d'Hiver would come soon enough, felt Anna-Marie, but for now there was that promise and its delivery and she mustn't let Arie come with her.

From the Arc de Triomphe and Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with its crowds of visiting soldier-tourists and its circling bicycles,
vélo-taxis
, handsome cabs and occasional staff cars and Wehrmacht trucks, the avenue de la Grande-Armée would take her to Neuilly-sur-Seine, the Bois de Boulogne and the boulevard Maurice Barrès. Directly along from the Jardin d'Acclimatation, the children's zoological garden, which had an entrance on that boulevard, was number seventy-two, the headquarters of Rudy de Mérode. None of his henchmen were outside giving bonbons to the children, something they often did to garner favour. No cars were parked there either. Indeed, along from it, the boulevard, apart from three women on bicycles and a few others on foot, seemed all but empty except for herself. But were they all out combing the city for her, thinking, of course, that she would have seen the newspapers and would never have come anywhere near here?

Sickened by what she had heard of the utter sadism that went on in that headquarters, she turned away, and when she got to the address Mijnheer Meyerhof had given her, the villa on the rue Victor Noir was lovely. Its gardens would run right out to the Cimetière Ancien de Neuilly where Anatole France was buried, and oh for sure it would be like living as near to silence as possible, but Monsieur Lebeznikov and that gang of Mérode's were far too close.

Anxiously pressing the gate's bell, which made no sound, she waited. Far along the street two women were approaching and as they continued speaking, they noticed her. Remaining locked, the gate left only the questions of, Go back to Arie? Head for the Jardin d'Hiver? Wait? Hope?

Stern and unyielding—instantly suspicious—the deep brown eyes of one of those two surveyed her.
‘Mademoiselle, que désirez-vous?'

Cook, housekeeper and probably far more than that, the woman looked dependable. ‘A word with your mistress.'

The hand that held the key was abruptly tossed, the words coming in a rush, ‘
Il n'est pas possible
. The perfume distillates. It's an important time and the business, it cannot be left untended.'

Not with the demand being what it was, and the implications not good, yet the shopping bag looked heavy and there was a copy of
Je Suis
protruding. ‘Please tell her Mijnheer Meyerhof sent me.'

‘Josef? That's impossible.'

Hastily the woman crossed herself, and looking quickly back along the street, found it now empty and said, ‘
Vite
. The bicycle inside. Fortunately that was Madame Horleau, who has two boys in a prisoner-of-war camp. She'll not talk to anyone about you until she has had a word with me.'

Instantly relief fled through this girl in the cocoa-brown beret, scarf, serviceable jacket and skirt, so perhaps, felt Claudette, she wouldn't have been seen by others.

Baccarat crystal and Russian silver scent bottles were mingled­ with Roman ones, noticed Anna-Marie, and on the walls of the
salle de séjour
were absolutely gorgeous paintings by Henri-Fantin­ Latour, Pierre-Joseph Redouté, Jan van Dael and others, all of which served to indicate that Léon Guillaumet must know exactly­ where to park his money.

Pausing on the staircase to study this girl, Geneviève Guillaumet let her linger over the photos on the mantelpiece, knowing only that she should have hidden them. ‘That is our daughter, Michèle, Mademoiselle Veroche. She's with my brother and sister-in-law, and at school in Taunton, Somerset. When the Blitzkrieg came, Michèle was unable to return, and now, of course, we wait for letters.'

The designer suit was perfect and of a soft, warm grey linen, the broad-collared white silk blouse, poise and looks those of a former mannequin, the diamond necklace from any of those on
place
Vendôme, for Mijnheer Meyerhof would have had to repeatedly call on them over the years, but had mention of his name caused her to wear it?

Now in her mid- to late thirties, Madame Guillaumet had the pallor of one who not only hadn't been out of doors in years but was also very afraid. Unable to resist it, the woman snatched up the copy of
Je Suis
to hurriedly scan the columns, only to close her eyes in relief and say, ‘You're not from them. You can't be, but they will do things like that. Send someone as if from a loved one. Have you news of Josef?'

‘Sadly it's not good, madame. I have to believe that he and Mevrouw Meyerhof will have been transported, but it's your daughter I've come to see, and I know, because he told me this, that she's not at school in England.'

Abruptly the woman sat down, and bursting into tears, hugged herself only to finally gain a measure of control and say, ‘Forgive me, please. Every night has its nightmares. Our papers aren't stamped
Juive
. We don't have to wear that star. Léon, he takes care of everything by paying the
préfet de police de Neuilly-sur-Seine
and others to keep us off the lists, but for how long, since they constantly ask for more?'

Even Mijnheer Meyerhof hadn't thought of such a thing ever happening in France, but to leave the diamonds with her, wouldn't be sensible. ‘And Michèle, madame, where is she?'

Must this girl persist? ‘We're both Catholics. We both wear one of these.'

A silver cross, but every district would have its alphabetical list of those to be hunted down. ‘Please, madame, I need to know. It's what he wanted.'

Trust was everything, but now especially, even that could and often was broken. ‘I can't tell you. I'm sorry, but I mustn't.'

‘Both of my parents were taken, madame, because my mother refused to let my father go alone. I'm a
métisse
.'

A half-and-half. ‘Michèle is with Monsieur Laurence Rousel, Josef's Paris notary, and my husband's, though with what's happened to so many of his clients, he decided in protest to retire. She's in Barbizon, at the former home of his mother. The house, it has no name, but is directly across the rue de la Grande from the little museum of the Barbizon School. From time to time Laurence comes to Paris, and if Michèle needs anything, I send it with him. Books that Josef, the “uncle” she has always loved, gave her. Other things, too, and yes, I can see that you consider the arrangement far too fragile, yet what else could we have done? Laurence is a very dear friend. He despises what Vichy and the Germans have done and are continuing to do, but has to remain silent, of course. However, in her day, his mother was midwife to the village. Aloof, oh for sure, but known and both feared and respected since she knew the first moments of so many and could judge them by those, and of course Laurence as a boy grew up amongst them.'

Madame Besnard, the housekeeper, brought
le thé de France
, the china paper-thin and magnificent, thought Anna-Marie, remember­ing the Nieumarkt's Sunday antique fairs and the searches­ she would make to find something that really, really would surprise her mother.

‘Josef gave that china to her,' said Geneviève. ‘Always when in Paris, he would take her out and they would find things—concerts, art galleries, museums, so many, many places, and always there would be a little something special for her, the daughter he loves as much as does my husband. That piano. Each of these paintings. If Michèle kept returning to gaze at one of a gallery's paintings as if she couldn't leave it, he would, without her knowing, have it sent to her, to the daughter I had with and for him, Mademoiselle Veroche, on 9 June 1928.'

‘My father was one of his diamond cutters, myself a trainee borderline sorter.'

‘If you've brought diamonds for my daughter, please take them away. We've far too much to contend with and those who would destroy us need no such encouragement. The weekend before Poland was invaded, Josef pleaded with us to send Michèle to England. Just before the Blitzkrieg we had a last visit, a Sunday, 5 May 1940. Michèle and I were at Mass and when we came out, he was waiting. I hadn't seen him like that since Kristallnacht.
*
Everything told him there would be war and that, though neutral, the Netherlands and Belgium would also be invaded. We simply weren't prepared. The German military, of which he knew a great deal because he had had to sell to the Krupps and other industrialists, was just too modern, well equipped, and far too keen. He also begged Léon to leave France and take us to America, but my husband, though he respected the advice, had faith in our generals.'

Like so many others. ‘Did Mijnheer Meyerhof ever speak of diamonds?'

‘Constantly.
Ah mon Dieu
, he
was
of diamonds and certainly he told us of what some of the Amsterdam and Antwerp traders were doing or planning to do. But his position as director of the Amsterdam protection committee made things difficult. On the one hand he couldn't be seen to be running from the threat lest their be a stampede, on the other, prudence demanded that he consider it.'

‘Did he ever ask your husband to hold diamonds for his firm?'

‘The so-called “black” ones? Much as he admired and valued my husband's friendship and business acumen, Josef would never have put us in such a difficult position. Whatever stocks are hidden, if any, will be found in America just like the paintings, pieces of sculpture and other such things of the lucky.'