Never Leave Me (18 page)

‘You're looking very serious,
liebling
,' he said, handing her the brandy.

‘I was thinking about your mother,' she said, as he settled himself down next to her, pulling her close. ‘About how unhappy she will be when she finds out that she is to have a French daughter-in-law.'

His mouth crooked in one of his rare smiles. ‘My mother has a great capacity for adjusting to surprises. And she trusts my judgement. She won't be unhappy,
liebling.
Not once she has met you. How could she be?'

A chess board and chessmen lay at the side of the bed and she leaned across, drawing it towards them, not wanting him to see the doubt in her eyes. ‘Your queen is still in danger,' she said teasingly. ‘Have you any plans for rescuing her?'

Her hair had fallen forward over her shoulders and he lifted it back, away from her face, loving the heavy, silky feel of it in his hands.

‘Yes,' he growled softly, moving a knight to protect his queen. ‘But let the chess wait,' and he slid her down beside him, his body already hard, his fingers at the buttons of her blouse.

She stretched herself out beneath him as he kissed her throat, her bared breasts. She would tell him tonight. In a little while. After they had made love.

She lay with her head in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers tracing a line down his chest, through the matt of crisply curling blond hair to the taut, hard muscles of his belly and the darker, stronger curls beyond.

‘I have something to tell you,' she said gently as the warm night air filled the room, carrying with it the fragrance of roses.

In the palm of her hand his sex stirred and she moved her hand lower, to the lean muscles of his thighs, not wanting to arouse him again so soon. Not until after she had told him.

The room was very still. A firefly danced around the flickering light of the lamp and in the distance the waves could be heard surging rhythmically up and down the deserted beach.

His arm tightened around her shoulder. ‘What is it,
liebling
?' he asked tenderly.

She raised herself up on one elbow and looked down at him, her hair shimmering like silk in the lamplight.

‘We're going to have a baby,' she said.

His eyes flashed wide. ‘A
what
?' he thundered, pushing himself up against the pillows.

‘A baby,' she said composedly.

‘Mein Gott!'
His grey, black-lashed eyes were incredulous. ‘Are you sure? How long have you known?'

She twisted herself back on to her knees, her hands clasped lightly on her lap. ‘I've only known for a couple of weeks, but I'm quite sure,' she said her pose and gravity that of a dark-haired, pagan madonna.

She saw all the emotions that she herself had first experienced chase through his eyes. Stunned disbelief, dawning comprehension, exhilaration, and then, lastly, overriding anxiety.

‘What will you do? How will you manage? We're bound to be separated. The deadline for the completion of the defences is June 18th. After that I could be sent anywhere …'

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘I'll manage like any other woman having a baby in the middle of a war. I'll manage even better if I know that you are pleased about it.'

He pulled her towards him, holding her close, an expression of such fierce love in his eyes that her heart rocked in her chest.

‘You know how pleased I am,
liebling.
And you know how concerned I am for your safety. For the baby's safety.'

She said tentatively, ‘Even if the Allies land, we will be safer here than in Paris, Dieter. The shortages there are truly terrible and I couldn't bear to see Paris abject and defeated.'

He had known all along that she did not want to go. He took hold of her shoulders, squaring her to face him, his face grave. ‘If Valmy becomes the centre of a battlefield, you cannot remain, Lisette. The coastline will be bombed with the same kind of ferocity with which they are bombing Cherbourg and Caen.'

‘My father has spoken to Marie. Her family live at Balleroy. We will go there. It is far enough inland to be safe for my mother and yet near enough for me to return within a day.'

He nodded. The Comte was right. Balleroy would be a far better place for the Comtesse and Lisette than Paris. Their eyes held, violet and grey, both thinking of the coming baby. Of the future. She clenched her hands tightly. ‘Oh God, how I wish that we both wanted the same thing!' she cried passionately. ‘I can't bear it when we talk of defeat and victory, and we both know that victory for one is defeat for the other!'

He took her hands, sliding his fingers between hers. ‘We do want the same thing,' he said gently. ‘We want peace.'

Her eyes were bright with tears of frustration. ‘There can never be peace under Hitler! Never! The Allies
have
to be victorious, Dieter. Surely you can see that?'

His face was sombre. Slowly he released his hold of her and rose from the bed, crossing to the marble-topped cabinet and pouring himself a drink. She hugged her knees tight against her chest, knowing that now she had started there was no way of stopping. She had to carry on inexorably to the end, no matter what the price.

‘We have to want the same thing for the future,' she said fiercely. ‘We have to want the same thing for our child. And I would rather he was never born than he should live his life under a monster like Hitler!'

The abyss was out in the open, yawning between them. His face was closed, shuttered. The powerful lines of his naked body tense.

Fear caught and clutched at her heart. Only a short while ago anything had seemed possible. Now she felt as if at any moment she might be plunged into a ravine that was bottomless. He swirled his brandy around in his glass and then, extinguishing the lamp, he pulled back the heavy drapes and stared silently out over the headland and the sea.

He trusted her completely. Her loyalty was now utterly to him. As his was to her. He loved her. She was carrying his child. She was going to be his wife. ‘Our child will not live under Hitler, Lisette,' he said quietly, not looking at her, staring out into the darkness. ‘Within a few months Hitler will be dead.'

He heard her swift intake of breath and turned towards her, his handsome, hard-boned face tense. ‘Germany cannot afford Hitler any longer, Lisette. He is destroying her.'

‘I don't understand …' she whispered, her eyes wide. ‘How can you know that he is going to die?'

He moved towards her swiftly, taking her hands in his, his voice quick and urgent. ‘Responsible army officers and leading civilian leaders are going to overthrow him. He will be seized, tried and executed. Then Germany will make peace with the United States and Great Britain.'

She let out a long, shuddering breath. ‘Are you one of those officers?' she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded, feeling overwhelming relief at the admittance of it. ‘Yes. When the government of a nation is leading it to its doom, rebellion is not only a right but a duty. Hitler and his SS thugs aren't fit to lead Germany. Bad decision after bad decision has been made. Attacking the Soviet Union was madness. We need a man of honour to bring us out of the nightmare we have been plunged into.'

‘Who?' Lisette asked dazedly. ‘There is no one …'

‘Rommel,' Dieter said, his eyes bright, his corn-gold hair silver in the moonlight. ‘Rommel will replace Hitler. He's strong enough to prevent civil war breaking out between the army and the SS. There
will
be peace, Lisette! The minute Hitler is seized, Rommel will contact General Eisenhower and all further bloodshed will be forestalled. A peace treaty will be signed and then they will join with us in throwing back the Russians. There will be peace all over Europe before the year is out.'

Her heart was slamming against her chest. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘What if anything goes wrong?' she asked, her lips dry.

The skin across his cheekbones tightened. If anything went wrong, then he and von Stauffenburg and every other member of Black Orchestra, the group pledged to free the Fatherland of Hitler and Nazism, would die slowly and agonizingly in a Gestapo torture chamber dangling from a noose of piano wire.

‘Nothing will go wrong,' he said tightly, drawing her to her feet and holding her close against him. ‘Germany will be free of the brownshirts she has had to live with for all these years. There will be no more Goebbels, no more Himmler. No more men who have never set foot on a battlefield sending hundreds of thousands to die futilely on the Russian front. The Gestapo will be crushed and the army will be able to operate freely under men like von Runstedt and Rommel. Germany will emerge bruised and bleeding but with honour.' He cupped her face with his thumb and forefinger and tilted it upwards so that her eyes met his. ‘We will be able to live with ourselves and with each other, Lisette. In order to do that, no risk is too great.'

Her arms tightened around him. The ground was solid beneath her feet. There was no abyss. There never would be again.

‘I love you,' she said fiercely, as he lowered his head to hers, bending her in towards him.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘That's good,' he growled, kissing her, ‘because I'm going to take you to bed again,' and he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her with ease across to the rumpled, inviting, brass-headed bed.

He had known, the minute she had told him about the baby, that he would have to speak to her father. He could be withdrawn from Normandy at any moment. He had to make sure that she would be taken care of, that the Comte knew his intentions were honourable.

The next morning, before he left the chateau for his day's duties, he sent a request to Rommel for a personal interview. The Field Marshal would not be pleased, but he would be sympathetic. Their mutual commitment to Black Orchestra bound them in a loyalty of the highest kind.

As he stepped from the chateau into the brilliant May sunshine, he saw two figures, arms linked, walking across the terrace and towards the rose gardens. His eyes darkened with concern. It was Lisette and her father and he knew, instinctively, what it was she was telling him. For the first time in his life he was uncertain of what to do. He had envisaged telling the Comte himself; making sure that Lisette met with no parental abuse. They began to walk down the wide, shallow steps that led to the gardens and he was torn with indecision. Logic told him that his place was at her side. Emotion made him hesitate.

There was something about the closeness of the two figures, father and daughter, that excluded him. He wondered how he would feel in another twenty years if he were having such a conversation with
his
daughter. His fists clenched. He was damn sure he wouldn't want the bastard who had made her pregnant intruding on their private conversation. The very thought made the muscles in his neck clench.
Mein Gott!
Any man who laid a finger on his daughter would find himself with a broken neck! He allowed himself a grim smile, knowing how his reaction to the hypothetical situation would have amused Lisette, and then turned sharply on his heel, walking towards his car. He would talk to the Comte later that evening. Alone.

‘I don't think that I want to hear what it is you have to tell me,' Henri said as they walked down the moss covered steps.

‘I'm sorry, Papa, but it has to be said.'

He halted at the foot of the steps, turning to face her. ‘Has it?' he asked gently.

She nodded. There were blue shadows under her eyes. She had slept very little, lying awake and wondering how best she could break the news to him. How least she could hurt him. ‘There isn't an easy way of telling you,' she said, as they began to walk down a gravelled path that led between lush-budded Ophelias and Glorie de Dijon.

‘No, I don't suppose there is,' he said, pausing to take a pair of secateurs from his pocket and clipping an early flowering, milk-white bloom for his buttonhole. ‘It's Major Meyer, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' she said quietly. ‘I'm in love with him, Papa.'

His hand shook, pain flaring across his face and she said urgently, ‘It isn't as bad as you think. Please listen to me. Let me explain.'

He walked away from her, towards a wooden seat that in another week would be half-hidden by roses. ‘How can you explain?' he asked, sitting down heavily, his lips bloodless. ‘He's a German. He shot Paul and André. What possible explanation can you have for consorting with a man like that?'

She sat down beside him, taking one of his hands. ‘He shot Paul and André because of me, Papa,' she said unsteadily. ‘The burden of their deaths is mine. I will carry it all my life.' Her face was a mask of pain. ‘I would do anything, given anything, for it not to have happened. But at least I understand
why
it happened, Papa! The responsibility was mine as well as Dieter's.'

‘How could it possibly have been yours?' he asked in stunned disbelief.

‘Dieter … Major Meyer … knew that I was a courier for the Resistance. And he knew that was why Elise had come to Valmy. What her mission was. When Paul and André were arrested, there was no way that he could release them, Gestapo headquarters at Caen already knew of their existence. And Major Meyer knew what sort of interrogation they would face when they were taken there.' She paused, her face white. ‘He was terrified that Paul and André would give my name under questioning. That I, too, would be arrested. It was because of
me
that he allowed them to escape in order that he could shoot them without the Gestapo becoming suspicious of his motives! It was
my
fault! If he hadn't fallen in love with me, it would never have happened.' Her face was ravaged by grief and guilt.

‘Are you sure that he knew Elise was a member of the Resistance?' he whispered, horrified.

She nodded, wiping her tears away with her hands. ‘Yes. He knew what she was trying to do. He knew all along that she had come to Valmy in order to gain entrance to the grand dining-room, and copy or photograph the maps and papers in there.'