Darkest Longings (43 page)

pitied Helber, for she knew exactly what he was missing.

‘Francois,’ she said, slipping her hand out of his and

pushing it between his legs.

‘Mm?’

‘I want you to know that no matter what you do, whoever

you decide to follow - the French, the Germans, Italians,

even the British - I will support you.’

‘Will you, cherie?’ he smiled. ‘I am touched. But what

makes you feel you have to say that now?’

She chuckled. ‘To be frank, your display of affection

these past few months has unnerved me. It makes me feel as

though you don’t trust me. I doubt if I’ll get a straight

answer, but is there anything behind it?’

He laughed, then cast her a quick look as she started

Unbuttoning his fly. ‘I told you while we were in Berlin, Elise, I have come very close to falling in love with you. It is true I don’t want you as my wife, but I have no intention of losing you as my mistress.’

She was right, she hadn’t received a straight answer, but

resigning herself to the one she’d got, she lifted his penis from his trousers and said, ‘You’ll never lose me.’

He picked up his cigarettes from the dashboard and lit one while she moved her hand back and forth.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked a few minutes later as he

pulled over to the side of the road.

‘It is not what I am doing, Elise,’ he answered, turning off the engine. ‘It is what you are going to do.’

‘But I’ve still got my hat on,’ she protested, as he put a hand behind her head.

‘So you have,’ he replied, and pulled her face down to his lap.

Six months later, as Francois had predicted, German troops

marched into Prague. The following day Hitler declared

that ‘Czechoslovakia has ceased to exist’.

Elise heard the news while entertaining the contact von

Liebermann had supplied her with - Philippe Mauclair,

Now she was over the shock of discovering that he had been

the Abwehr’s spy as well as hers, they met on a regular basis,

though she had had very little to report since returning from

Germany as Francois had taken himself off to Lorvoire and

showed no signs of leaving. However, von Liebermann

didn’t seem to mind, and sticking to his side of the bargain,

he kept Elise abreast of The Bitch’s movements via

Philippe. It seemed she was still engaged in a torrid affair

with the vigneron. She saw him almost every day in a house at

the edge of the forest, where she cooked for him, swept

floors, sewed his shirts and bathed him in an old tin bath in

front of the stove.

Playing at peasants was hardly the way for a future

comtesse to be conducting herself, Elise thought spitefully,

but she could see that the rusticity might have a certain

appeal for someone who wasn’t born to it. Around two in the

afternoon, apparently, The Bitch returned to the chateau to

receive her afternoon callers, and spent two or three hours

in the nursery with her precious son before dining with her

parents-in-law. Then, at about ten o’clock, she met the

vigneron at the bridge and went back with him to their house. Until Francois returned they had often spent the whole night together, with St Jacques taking her back to the chateau at dawn, but now she stayed no later than midnight.

They made love on a bed in the corner of the kitchen, St

Jacques always rode her, and she had a mole on the

underside of her left breast. In fact Elise knew everything

about The Bitch, right down to the fact that she was using a

diaphragm. She and the vigneron seemed so much in love

that there were moments when Elise could almost feel

jealous, until she remembered that it was that snake

Halunke who was crawling about the forest watching their

every move.

Hungry as Elise was for details of Claudine’s life, when it

came to Francois she preferred to remain in ignorance. She

did not like him spending so long at Lorvoire. If he had still

been travelling about the Continent ‘selling his wine’ she

would have been much happier, but since Krystalnacht the

night when the anti-Semitic pogroms had begun in

Germany - he had made only two trips to Paris and three to

London. She wondered what Francois felt about what was

happening to the Jews, and whether he was making any

money out of them. He might be warning them of their fate

or, on the other hand, he might be supplying the Nazis with

information. Whatever he was doing, there wasn’t much

chance of finding anything out about it when he was

apparently so besotted with his wretched son.

Francois’ interest in his son at first confounded Claudine,

not least because young Louis, who had not seen his father

more than half a dozen times since he was born, responded

to him as though he saw him every day. What made the

situation feel even stranger was that she had almost

forgotten Francois was her husband — he had been away for

so long that the life she had made for herself with Armand

now felt more real than the one at the chateau. Day after day

she waited for Francois to ask her about Armand, but as the

weeks passed she realized he wasn’t going to. She knew it

was irrational, but she was annoyed by his silence. She was

burning to ask him if he was responsible for having them

watched; though neither she nor Armand had actually

caught sight of anyone, the feeling that they were being

spied on never left them.

‘Do you think Francois is waiting for something to

happen?’ she asked Armand one evening as they were

settling down to listen to a play on the wireless. ‘I mean, why

do you think he’s here?’

‘It is his home,’ Armand pointed out. ‘And Louis is his

son. Maybe he wants to get to know him better.’

‘If it was anyone else but Francois I’d say you were right,

but…’

‘But what?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She didn’t want to talk

about her fear that Francois was trying to ease her out of her

son’s life. In fact she tried not to think about Francois at all,

so she said, ‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Kiss me, then.’

He groaned. ‘But you know what’ll happen if I kiss you!’

Her eyes were dancing. ‘You’re like an old married man,

Armand St Jacques.’

‘And you, Claudine de Lorvoire, are insatiable.’

In fact Claudine had found to her dismay that Francois’

presence at the chateau made her climax more elusive than

ever. She had finally confessed the failure to Armand,

suggesting that it might be because they were being

watched. He said he understood, admitting that knowing

someone was watching sometimes made it more difficult for

him too.

‘We will overcome it, you know,’ he told her later that

evening.

She looked down at him, lying on the bed, so handsome

and relaxed in his nudity that her heart turned over.

‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘And it’s not because I don’t love

you, you know that, don’t you?’

He smiled, then got up and started to pull on his trousers.

It was approaching midnight by the time Claudine

crossed the bridge into the chateau. Armand waited until

the door had closed firmly behind her before he turned back

into the forest.

Halunke stole quietly through the night. The moon was

covered by cloud, but the gurgle and hiss of the waterfall

guided him through the trees. As he slithered down the

bank into the moonlit glade, the distant sound of thunder

rumbled through the heavens. He pulled his collar higher,

and hunching his shoulders against the chill night air,

moved silently on through the long grass.

He was on the point of making the descent into the

vineyards when he suddenly stopped. He waited, then

edged towards a tree, sinking into the darkness and pressing

his slender body against the rough bark. He listened, his

eyes and ears alert to the eerie sounds of shifting night

shadows - an animal feeding? His white teeth gleamed in

the darkness as his tension suddenly eased - the only person

out that night was the vigneron, returning home after his

rendezvous with de Lorvoire’s wife.

He felt a momentary stab of irritation. De Lorvoire had

been at the chateau for months now, and still he had done

nothing about his wife’s affair. The man’s indifference was (proving tiresome; if it continued, there would be little satisfaction to be gained from killing her. But then he

reminded himself that much could change before he got as

far as de Lorvoire’s wife.

He moved on, his thoughts turning from de Lorvoire to

von Liebermann and he swore viciously under his breath. If

it wasn’t for the German he’d have struck at de Lorvoire’s

family long ago, but von Liebermann had threatened to

reveal his identity if he acted again without authorization,

and Halunke could not risk de Lorvoire finding out who he

was. If he did find out, Halunke knew beyond doubt that he

would not live long enough to achieve his revenge.

Dimly he wondered why von Liebermann was so

interested in de Lorvoire, but he had never asked, and he

didn’t really care. What mattered was that von Liebermann

had discovered his burning hatred for de Lorvoire and was

now putting it to his own use. For now, all von Liebermann

required was information on the comings and goings at the

chateau. Halunke grimaced. He had no taste for espionage,

but he was trapped in the Abwehr net, and his only hope

now was that there would be a war between France and

Germany. Then, with other things to occupy von

Liebermann, he might regain his autonomy. And once he

did, how easy it would be to make de Lorvoire suffer!

Again Halunke broke into a smile: Francois de Lorvoire

had made a grave mistake fathering a son on a woman as

beautiful and hungry for love as Claudine.

Reaching up and removing the clip from her hair, Claudine

shook out her curls and stared dispassionately at her

reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She looked older,

she thought. Perhaps it was the strain of leading a double

life these past few months. It did not suit her, and what she wanted more than anything else, she realized, confronting

her own pale face in the glass, was that Francois should

leave. His presence confused and infuriated her. He could

have no doubts about the nature of her relationship with

Armand, but he continued to say nothing. Nothing! And she

was so consumed with rage at his indifference that she was

quite unable to concentrate on what really mattered: how to

find a way for her and Armand to be together -always. And

when she did manage to focus on the problem, it seemed

insuperable. How could she even contemplate leaving

Francois when she knew how hurt Solange and Louis would

be. It would break their hearts to lose their grandson … But

of course, if she took little Louis away Francois would

pursue her to the ends of the earth to get him back.

She sighed wearily. Every time she tried to think any

further than that about herself and Armand, it was as though

her mind threw up a barrier, blinding her to a solution that

she was sure was staring her right in the face …

Still looking in the mirror, she put her head on one side

and forced a wide smile. Perhaps it was all this talk of war

that was making her feel so gloomy this morning - or

perhaps it was Francois’ behaviour towards her at dinner

the night before.

Ever since his return to the chateau, each week had seen

the arrival of someone new - politicians, generals, diplomats;

Poles, Belgians, even one or two Germans. Like

Solange, she enjoyed visitors, but Francois’ attitude towards

her when he had guests was nothing short of humiliating,

and his behaviour last night had been frankly outrageous.

When for the second time he casually dismissed a contribution she had made to the general conversation, she had been so incensed that she had waited in their sitting-room until

the early hours of the morning for the express purpose of

hurling a book at him.

She grinned; it hadn’t hurt him a bit, and his response

had been maddening. He’d simply picked up the book,

replaced it on the shelf and walked into his bedroom. Not

even a goodnight.

She put down her hairbrush, and was on the point of

opening a drawer when she suddenly sensed that someone

was standing at the door. That was one of the things she

detested most about Francois, the way he could make her so

acutely aware of his presence without even having to speak.

‘Do you want something?’ she said coldly, not bothering

to turn round.

He smiled at her hostility. ‘Yes. I’d like your company for

breakfast. I’ve asked for it to be served here, in the

apartment.’

‘Why?’ she said testily.

‘There’s something I want to show you.’ And before she

could protest any further, he walked out.

When she joined him five minutes later, he was already at

the table, still wearing his dressing-gown over a pair of black