Never Leave Me (9 page)

Dr Auge scuttled from the room with gratitude. He didn't trust what he didn't understand and he didn't understand the interrelationships of the four people he had left in the bedroom behind him.

Lisette lay back against the pillows, deep circles carved beneath her eyes. The moment she had regained consciousness she had been aware of Dieter's continuing nearness and had been filled with terror at the comfort that it gave her. She dare not look at him. To look at him would be to surrender.

‘You need to rest now,
chérie
,' her mother was saying solicitiously, straightening her bedcovers.

Her father cleared his throat. ‘I'd better carry Lisette into her own room first, my dear,' he said gently.

The Comtesse looked up at him startled and then a faint flush heightened her cheekbones. In her anxiety she had forgotten that the room was no longer theirs.

‘Of course, how foolish of me…'

‘Lisette stays here,' Dieter said smoothly, ‘it would be dangerous to move her and risk opening the wound again. I will see to it that my clothes and personal possessions are removed until she is recovered.'

‘Thank you, Major Meyer,' Henri de Valmy said with gratitude. ‘We appreciate all that you have done. Your prompt action probably saved Lisette's life. If she had been left where she fell, bleeding so profusely …' He shuddered at the image his words conjured up and his wife said, ‘Marie will move your things for you, Major. Elise has prepared a light lunch. Perhaps you would like to share it with us before resuming your duties?'

‘Thank you,' Dieter said, aware how hard it must have been for her to issue such an invitation.

The Comtesse turned once more to Lisette. ‘I'll send Elise up with a tray. You must have something,
chérie.
A sandwich and a hot drink at the very least.'

They were leaving the room. In another minute he would be gone.

‘The room that used to be my mother's would be, I think, the most suitable for you,' her father was saying to him. ‘It isn't as large of course, but it overlooks the Channel.'

She had only to keep her eyes averted from him for another second and her personal battle would have been won.

‘Thank you,' Dieter was saying to her father. ‘That sounds most suitable.'

His shadow fell across the bed. She could smell the faint aroma of his cologne. He was looking down at her. Waiting.

‘Lisette?' The tenderness in the deep dark voice ripped wide her best intentions and sent them scattering. Slowly, inevitably, she raised her eyes to his and the whole pattern of her life shifted and changed.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, numb with shock. Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him for such a moment. He had made love to countless women. He had enjoyed them and forgotten them. Now, too late, he knew that Lisette de Valmy would never join their ranks. Her combination of wilfulness and vulnerability had awakened in him an emotion he had not suspected he possessed. He felt protective towards her. Responsible. He wanted her not only for now but for as far into the future as he could see. It was as if a fist had been smashed hard into his breastbone.

Unwillingly he released her hand, following Henri de Valmy from the room. There was only one way that such an ambition could be achieved. His mouth quirked at the corner. He wondered just how Henri de Valmy would react to the news that the enemy of his country, the invader of his home, wished to marry his daughter.

The door closed behind them and Lisette lay weakly back against the pillows. She loved him. It was as simple and fundamental as that. No matter how hard she tried to apply logic to what had happened between them, she would fail. Logic and reason had played no part at all in their personal drama.

A shaft of pain seared through her thigh and she braced herself against it, wondering how long it would be before the wound healed and the future had to be faced. A future of loving a German but not collaborating with him against her country. A future of such divided loyalties that her brain reeled at the mere thought of them. Her hands tightened into fists. There would be a way. There had to be. And together they would find it.

Within ten minutes Elise had entered the room with a tray. She was younger than Lisette had anticipated, with pale, fair hair tied in a band in the nape of her neck, and a pretty, intelligent face.

‘I've brought you soup and sandwiches and a hot drink,' she said with a friendly smile, setting down the tray on the bedside table. ‘Though you look to me as if a glass of brandy would be more beneficial.'

Lisette managed a grin. ‘I certainly don't want the soup and sandwiches. Do you think you could discreetly get rid of them?'

‘I don't see why not, if it means the Comtesse having one less worry. She looks like a ghost having to endure Meyer's presence at the lunch table.'

The light in Lisette's eyes died. This was how Dieter would be talked about and she would have to accustom herself to it. ‘Have you been to Sainte-Marie before?' she asked, changing the subject.

Elise shook her head, removing the cup from the tray. ‘No, I'm a city girl.'

And now she was a member of the Resistance. The things that could not be spoken of hung between them for a long moment and then Elise said with sudden fierceness, ‘I heard what happened to you. They do it for fun. The little Savary boy was run down by a staff car a week ago. He died yesterday.'

Lisette remembered the little Savary boy. He had been under-sized for his age, but had more than made up for his stature in energy. An ebullient, irrepressible child who had been Paul's despair in the classroom. She turned her head away, feeling sick.

Elise crossed the room, looking out of the high, deeply draped windows to the courtyard below. ‘They'll pay for what they've done to us,' she said with steely determination. ‘It won't be long now. A few more weeks; a few more months; and then there won't be a German alive on French soil.'

It was a statement that, only hours ago, Lisette would have fervently endorsed. Now she wanted to say
‘Not all Germans. Not Dieter.'
Instead she said, ‘What happened to me was an accident.'

Elise turned from the window, looking at her with incredulity. ‘You don't really believe that, do you? It was merely Meyer's little piece of sport for the day.'

Lisette held Elise's eyes steadily. ‘It was Major Meyer who gave me immediate first aid and ensured that the doctor arrived so swiftly.'

Elise shrugged. ‘Perhaps that also amused him,' she said equably. ‘Don't be fooled into thinking he is any different to the others. He isn't. He would have left you to die with the same ease with which he brought you home.'

She knew Elise was wrong – and that it was in vain to tell her so. Her head ached and she felt unbearably tired.

‘Meyer is going to Vierville to inspect the new defences,' Elise said recrossing the room and picking up the unwanted tray. ‘With a bit of luck he'll stumble over one of his own trip wires and blow himself to eternity.' She flashed Lisette a conspiratorial smile. ‘And if he doesn't kill himself today, perhaps we can arrange that he does so tomorrow.'

She left the room and Lisette closed her eyes against the pain building up behind them. She felt as if she were being torn apart. Nothing that had happened had changed her fervent patriotism. She desperately wanted the Allies to invade and she knew that she would do anything, take any risk, to ensure that the invasion, when it came, was a success. She wanted Germany defeated and France free. And she wanted Dieter Meyer alive. Defeated, maybe bloody, but above all alive. She stared out of the window, her eyes bleak, her heart heavy, hating the war with passionate ferocity.

Dr Auge came the next morning and confirmed that the little Savary boy had died. He was still in her room when the motorcycle escort screamed down Valmy's drive. From the courtyard below came the sound of running feet. Voices were raised and doors slammed.

‘What on earth …' the doctor began, his rheumy eyes apprehensive.

‘Go to the window,' Lisette said urgently. ‘See what is happening.'

He did so hurriedly, squinting down into the courtyard where motorcycles and staff cars were parked ready for use. ‘The Germans are running around like crazed ants,' he said bewilderedly. ‘Anyone would think that Hitler himself had just arrived.'

‘Not Hitler,' Lisette said, her eyes bright. ‘Rommel!' She tried to swing her legs from the bed and join him at the window, but Dr Auge hastily left his vantage point in order to stop her. ‘Oh no you don't,' he said firmly, ‘no walking or even standing on that leg for at least another day.'

High heels could be heard approaching and a second later the Comtesse entered the room, calm and elegant despite the disruption caused by the unexpected visitor.

‘Is it Rommel, Maman?' Lisette asked swiftly, her thoughts flying to the locked grand dining-room and the maps and plans that would be laid on the table.

‘Yes.' Her mother was dismissive. The Germans could throw themselves into a frenzy because of their General's arrival, but she was certainly not going to do so. ‘Are you happy with the way the wound is healing?' she asked Dr Auge, crossing to the bed.

Dr Auge was gazing at her wide-eyed. Rommel! Perhaps-only rooms away! He loosened the collar of his shirt with his fingers.

‘Yes, Madame,' he said, trying not to show his consternation. ‘There is no sign of infection. There will be a scar, of course, that is to be expected, but I foresee no complications. Young flesh heals easily.'

‘A fact for which we may be very thankful,' the Comtesse said, and at the tremor of relief in her voice Dr Auge wondered if she was as cool and unemotional as he had previously believed.

‘I will call again tomorrow, Madame.' he said, picking up his bag and jacket, bidding them goodbye, determined to leave by the side door, as inconspicuously as possible. The Comtesse might be dismissive of Rommel's presence in her home but he did not share her composure. The thought of running the gauntlet of the General's aides made him feel sick with fear.

‘Is he in the grand dining-room with Major Meyer?' Lisette asked as her mother sat at the side of the bed.

The Comtesse nodded. She had no desire to talk of Rommel. She wanted to forget the presence of Germans in her home, not be reminded of them. ‘Marie's niece is very pleasant,' she said, steering the conversation determinedly on to the minutiae of domesticity. ‘I wonder why Marie never mentioned her before, or suggested that she might come to Valmy? Heaven knows, we could have done with an extra pair of hands this last three years.'

Lisette's heart began to slam in short, thick strokes. Her mother was so innocent; so unsuspecting. Yet if Elise were caught trying to gain entry to the grand dining-room she, too, would suffer the consequences. Horror at the prospect of what those consequences would be nearly paralysed her. She thrust the images away, striving for normality as she said, ‘Has Papa retrieved my bicycle yet?'

‘Major Meyer sent one of his men for it yesterday,' her mother said, her voice carefully controlled, revealing none of the confusion that the Major's recent actions had aroused. It had been impossible not to be grateful to him for the immediate aid that he had given Lisette. Yet she did not want to be grateful to him. Asking him to join her and her husband for lunch had been a mistake. She had seen him not as a German, but as a person. It had been profoundly unsettling.

‘Is it still usable?'

‘I doubt it,' her mother said, suppressing a shudder at the memory of the mangled front wheel and the dried blood caked on the lethally unprotected handlebars.

Lisette frowned in concern. Without a bicycle she could do nothing. ‘Perhaps Papa can mend it… or Paul?'

‘Perhaps,' her mother said unencouragingly. She had no desire to see the bicycle mended. She wanted Lisette at Valmy, not cycling around the countryside for hours on end, becoming over-friendly with schoolmasters and café proprietors. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her aching temples. Dear Lord, what a mess it all was. If it hadn't been for the war, Lisette's eighteenth year would have been spent in Paris. There would have been parties, balls, suitable young men.

‘Elise told me that Francois Savary was knocked down and killed,' Lisette said, her thoat suddenly dry. ‘Do they know who was responsible?'

Her mother set aside all futile thoughts of Paris, and the Champs Elysee, and couture designed clothes. ‘It was a German staff car from Vierville,' she said, picking up her embroidery, her voice hard with bitterness. ‘The driver didn't even stop.'

Vierville. Lisette felt a relief that she would not admit to.
‘Salauds,'
she said, her eyes dark, thinking of the unknown driver and the body of the small child in the country lane.

Her mother did not remonstrate with her for her language; it was an epithet she would have liked to have had the release of using herself.

She stayed in the room until lunchtime. Until the sound of fevered activity once more filtered up from the courtyard and the slamming of doors reverberated throughout the chateau. Seconds later there came the sound of motorcycles being revved into life, and though they could not see, they both knew that Rommel's short, stocky figure was marching out of Valmy, towards his car. The Comtesse held her embroidery motionless in her lap. Lisette could almost hear Dieter's voice bidding his farewells. What had they talked of? What plans had they made for the repelling of an Allied invasion force? Did they know when the invasion would come? Where? Car and motorcycle surged away, spitting gravel – and then silence hung heavy in the high-ceilinged room.

The Comtesse stood up and walked across to the windows, looking down into the now quiet courtyard. ‘I had almost forgotten that Major Meyer was a German and an enemy,' she said, her voice oddly flat. ‘Rommel has reminded me. I shall make quite sure that in future I do not forget again.'