The Lavender Keeper (34 page)

He was surprised that Lisette had not questioned him about the sudden change in plans, but then she had shown no interest in his daily work other than her translation duties. However, her outburst in the car was certainly curious, and he was angry with himself for revealing what he had. This information was dangerous enough to send him and others before the firing squad. A loose mouth could incriminate dozens of men and trace a line all the way up the hierarchy to Berlin.

He closed his eyes outside the Hotel Raphaël and took a steadying breath as he watched the staff car depart. He trusted Lisette, and was convinced he could rely on her to keep her own counsel, but he didn’t have time to ponder it further. He quickly changed and put through a call to Stülpnagel’s department, leaving a message that he was back in Paris. Within minutes his call was returned.

‘Welcome back, Kilian.’

‘Thank you, General. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.’

‘It certainly has. How about we meet to discuss those plans for the blessings?’

‘Yes, sir. Where and when?’

‘How about now? I’ll meet you outside the Louvre.’

‘Very good, sir. I’m on my way.’

Kilian arrived first with time to admire the grand surrounds
of the Palais du Louvre, imagining all the people from history that had walked these flagstones. He recalled that Napoleon had once renamed the museum after himself and smiled ruefully. Hitler would do the same if he could. Stülpnagel didn’t keep him waiting long.

‘
Heil Hitler
,’ Stülpnagel said half-heartedly. ‘Shall we go in?’

‘Why not?’ Kilian replied. ‘I’m ashamed to say that I have only visited here once since I arrived in Paris last year.’

‘Nothing much to see anyway,’ the general grumbled. ‘Just a few sculptures. The curators have carried everything to châteaus around central France. I hear
La Joconde
is gracing someone’s bedroom at the moment. Can you credit it?’

Kilian smiled wryly. He could believe it. The curators had transported countless artworks, including the
Mona Lisa
, out of the famous museum and its galleries for safekeeping. He wondered what it might be like to turn around in bed and see the Italian damsel’s famous pensive smile upon him.

Their boots echoed through empty halls as they made their way to a deserted gallery of sculptures.

Stülpnagel paused to admire a sculpture of a Greek god, whose perfectly formed muscles were outlined expertly in the grey marble. He spoke without taking his eyes from the statue. ‘We are close now. A few more weeks at most for everything to be in order. It will take place at the Wolfsschanze, I believe.’

‘What makes anyone think they can succeed in the Wolf’s Lair? I’ve been there. I’m sure you have too. It’s too well fortified; security is a nightmare.’

‘Have faith, Colonel.’

Kilian began to pace. ‘Four failed attempts already. We must be mad, all of us. This man can’t die,’ he said, giving a mirthless laugh, thinking of von Gersdorff’s desperate attempt
to kill the Führer in Berlin with delayed-fuse explosives in his pockets while he was guiding Hitler through an exhibition.

The general stared at him stony-faced. ‘But at least brave men with conscience continue to try,’ he countered.

‘When, sir?’ Kilian asked.

‘It could happen at any time.’

‘But surely there’s a firmer date?’

‘Not yet. July is our best option. The Wolfsschanze is now our only option as Hitler barely appears in public, almost never visits Berlin any more.’ He sighed. ‘I will give you perhaps a few days’ warning. Three at most, possibly only one.’

Kilian looked stunned. ‘A few days?’

‘You’ve won entire battles in less,’ Stülpnagel replied.

‘How will it be done?’

‘I cannot divulge,’ he said, then raised a hand gently. ‘No, Kilian, this is not about trust; it’s simply about protection. The less you know, the less you can be harmed. I told you before, if we fail, we need to leave behind people loyal to the cause … the next tier of resistance, you could say. You are integral to that tier. The Gestapo is closing in on all of us who conspire against the Führer. We’re going to keep trying until we succeed, or until the last man dies trying. But if we do fail, your name will be unblemished. And you will have to regroup, find new loyal men and try again. Our army is in full retreat on the Eastern Front; we’re fighting losing battles in Italy, and you know Calais is next. Time is running out for those of us who want to make peace.’

Kilian regarded the general gravely. He trusted this man, who had been in the army for forty years. He nodded.

‘I haven’t told another living soul in Paris what I just told you.’

‘Then why me?’

‘Because your job is to mobilise the army. I want them under your command so tightly that not a single officer answers to anyone but you. Do you understand?’ he said in such a low voice that Kilian had to lean in close to hear.

‘Yes, General.’

Stülpnagel moved to the next sculpture. ‘I know you’re admired. I know the men will follow you. You will secure Paris first and then France in readiness for a truce with the Allies.’

‘I understand. But what about Karl Boemelberg? He’s not going to let the SS and Gestapo stand by and do nothing. We can’t just—’

‘The head of the Gestapo here is someone else’s responsibility. You do not need to concern yourself with the secret police or the paramilitary. Every one of them will be arrested once we know the target is dead and Valkyrie has been actioned from Berlin. Everything will happen in concert, but each has our individual roles to play. You know yours. Don’t let anything get in the way.’

‘I won’t, Colonel.’

‘Clear your diary. There are to be no distractions this month.’

‘I’ll be by my telephone day and night if necessary.’

‘What about that French girl you were seeing?’

‘She’s half German, General.’

‘I hear you took her away this last month to work alongside you.’

‘She was my interpreter.’

Stülpnagel gave a wry laugh. ‘Is that what they call it now? You’re sure about her, Kilian?’

‘She’s given me no reason to think otherwise.’

The general began to walk towards the exit, smiling.

Kilian frowned. ‘Am I missing something, General?’

‘No, but I may send something over soon. It’s of no consequence but it may help you see your life in a clearer light.’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ Kilian replied.

The general grinned. ‘No, I don’t think you do. But it’s not important. Stay focused. Keep her out of your life for now. I’m sure you’ve checked up on her – as have we. Await my call,’ he said over his shoulder, striding out of the gallery and leaving Kilian standing alone and mystified.

The following night the first of the assault groups left British waters bound for the Normandy coast, and the morning after that – on 6th June – the Germans realised they had been duped when Allied airforces began bombing coastal batteries around Le Havre, nearly 320 kilometres from the anticipated invasion in Calais. Warships began arriving by mid-afternoon and within a couple of hours shelling started on the German fortifications. The first American landings on the beaches were underway by early evening, with British and Canadian landings an hour later.

Lisette was crowded with others in Montmartre around a radio broadcast from the BBC.

‘D-day has come … under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied naval forces supported by strong airforces began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France.’

Some people cheered, others looked concerned, still others looked bemused, unsure of what it meant for France. It looked like their country would now be the final battlefield to destroy the Nazi stranglehold over Europe.

Markus had made no contact with Lisette for almost a month. She was still trying to contrive a way to meet with him, for surely whatever his clandestine activities were, they were now advancing. She had informed London that Kilian was involved in a plot to remove Hitler and she named the present military commander in Paris as a co-conspirator.

There was no sign of Luc. Lisette had left a message for Playboy asking whether he knew where the resister called Faucille might be. She’d heard nothing back, and the man in the café who changed his tea towels on their behalf was no longer behind the counter. Life was changing rapidly. Sylvie’s apartment was vacant. There was no choice for Lisette but to break her own rules and go back to the safe house where she had first met Spiritualist, in the hope of finding out anything about Luc’s safety.

She walked from Montmartre. The days were hot and sunny now and the journey was a pleasure, although there
was no denying that a fresh tension had overtaken Paris. It wasn’t fear, it certainly wasn’t joy yet either, but there was a throbbing pulse of anticipation roaring around the streets as the latest news of the landings on the northern beaches filtered through radios and spread like a grassfire.

There had been plenty of private celebration when General de Gaulle installed a provisional French government at Bayeux after the landings, and just today Lisette had heard his victory speech broadcast from the town hall in Cherbourg.

Checkpoints were overly stringent in some areas and lax at others. She couldn’t pick which it would be – it seemed all the usual protocols were being ignored. Lisette suspected that plain-clothes Gestapo were everywhere – she made sure to carry every relevant piece of ID she could, as well as stationery from the bank, and even the envelope addressed to her from Kilian, with the Nazi emblem embossed on the corner. Every little detail helped.

She was stopped twice en route, and both times was permitted to pass without many questions. As she approached the Avenue de Wagram she was especially careful. She knew that many of the buildings around this area had been requisitioned by the Germans, and it was forbidden to walk alongside one of them. She took the extra precaution of crossing the wide boulevards to keep clear of the white palisades and Nazi insignia. Two pedestrians nearby were being chased and manhandled, papers demanded.

She looked away and kept walking confidently until she entered Avenue de Wagram near the Arc de Triomphe. Her destination was number 87, a several-storeyed, grand Parisian building in the pale grey stone originally favoured in the late 1700s. Tall, gracious French windows opened onto tiny
balconies of wrought iron above her as she knocked on the concierge’s door. It was answered by a woman whom she thought she recognised.

‘
Bonjour, mademoiselle
,’ the woman said politely. ‘What a beautiful morning.’

‘It is.’

‘How can I help you?’

‘I come on behalf of Alexander,’ Lisette said the password in French, evenly.

The woman didn’t hesitate and replied with the corresponding phrase. Lisette smiled. ‘
Merci, madame
.’

The woman let her in as though welcoming an expected guest. Once the door was closed, they both sighed.

‘We can’t be too careful,’ the woman explained. ‘Everyone is more watchful than usual.’

‘You can sense that on the streets. Forgive me for coming without warning. I need to see Armand.’ Armand was the codename for the leader of the Spiritualist network in Paris. ‘Is he here?’

The woman nodded. ‘You are fortunate. He’s not around for long, though. You can imagine how things are escalating. Come. I will let him know you are here. What’s your name?’

‘Angeline.’

‘Follow me. Coffee?’

‘Only if it’s no trouble.’

‘Armand will have one too. He never pauses long enough, so I’ll insist.’ She showed Lisette into a courtyard where the sun had already crept in. Lisette sat and waited in the warm and reassuring sunshine. She wondered about Kilian – who he was meeting, what plans were being made – but once again caught herself moving from Kilian to Luc.

Choose!
a voice in the back of her mind demanded. She frowned. No matter what her mission demanded, she had to know herself where her heart lay.

She imagined them both standing before her now, similar in appearance, Luc perhaps broader, Markus slightly finer of feature, certainly better groomed. She imagined Markus with his sardonic expression and pale eyes regarding her, saying little, looking confident, proud. Luc, meanwhile, had that haunted look. But the set of his jaw was firm, determined, and the bright blue of his gaze penetrated her defences, reaching her; knowing how to get deep inside her when she’d spent a lifetime building walls to keep people out.

‘Angeline?’ a man said and she jumped. ‘Pardon,’ said the unshaven, slightly dishevelled man before her, who she guessed was in his mid-thirties but looked older for his weariness. Nevertheless, he smiled openly and his voice was kind. ‘I did not mean to startle you.’

‘Hello, Armand. I’m sorry to call in like this.’ She stood from the small bench where she’d been sitting against a
sun-warmed
wall and entered the cooler shadows of the courtyard.

‘You are always welcome. It’s been a long time.’

‘It has. You didn’t have tomatoes growing in those tubs last time … or parsley. How lovely it smells.’

‘You look well. You are safe, I hope?’

‘I am. I don’t have to take as many risks as some others,’ Lisette said.

‘I won’t pry. What brings you here?’

The assistant arrived with two mugs of chicory coffee, then left quietly.

Lisette blew on the steaming liquid. ‘I’m looking for Faucille.’

‘Ah. He is not here. I mean, not in Paris. To my knowledge he left the city last month. We haven’t heard anything of him since.’

‘Last month,’ she repeated, her spirits plummeting. ‘How long has he been gone?’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know. Manon saw him briefly in mid-May, and he told her then that he was leaving Paris the next day.’

‘For where? Please, I have to know.’

‘Angeline, you know how it is. We protect each other by giving out as little information as possible.’

‘Armand, you know he’s been watching over me, surely?’

He looked down and nodded. ‘I’d heard.’

‘He and I, we’re …’

‘What?’

Lisette wasn’t sure what to say. It was a good question – what were she and Luc to each other? ‘We’re together,’ she breathed, not knowing how else to describe their relationship, given her last few weeks.

He looked sad for her, and blew his cheeks out. ‘Manon hinted that he was probably heading south.’

‘What?’ She hadn’t expected that.

He put up a hand defensively. ‘I can’t say that’s the truth. Nothing’s certain.’

She put down her coffee untouched. ‘Back to Provence?’ Lisette couldn’t imagine Luc would risk it, but maybe he would.

Armand shook his head. ‘Central France, I suspect. That’s where a lot of the action has been occurring. We’re supporting the
réseaux
where we believe a lot of the German reinforcements can be delayed. I won’t lie to you, Angeline.
There’s going to be some fierce fighting down there and a lot of the French resisters feel drawn to help.’

Lisette hadn’t registered much of what he’d said. She was thinking about Luc, flinging himself into battle.

Armand touched her shoulder sympathetically. ‘You’ll hear from him soon.’

She gave a low sigh. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I just didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.’

‘On the occasions I did meet Faucille, I found him calm, utterly fearless – certainly dangerous – but far from reckless. His decisions are solid, and he takes precaution for others. You know that yourself, I’m sure. Faucille was determined to protect you.’

Lisette knew this, but to hear it from another person, to fully grasp the dedication Luc had shown her, caused her deep pain. Especially when she remembered how she’d turned on him, thrown his help back in his face, accused him of first abandoning her and then spying on her.

Looking at her behaviour now made her realise how self-absorbed she’d become.

‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to upset you,’ Armand added. ‘I thought you would want to hear this.’

She dug her fingernails into her palm to ensure her misting eyes did not betray her any further. ‘No, no, I’m fine. And thank you. I did need to know this.’

‘Angeline, Playboy did make me aware of the recent instructions that came through for you from London. It’s my job to know. It’s obvious your mission still has a high priority. Is there anything we can do to help?’

She shook her head. ‘Stop the war?’ she offered.

‘We’re doing our best,’ he said, and they both smiled as
the tension broke. ‘You need to stay close to the radio every day. And while I don’t know how long this house will stay safe, your dead-letter drop is untarnished. The café owner has also headed south to fight but he’s left a sympathetic cousin in charge – you can feel safe there, and we know to contact you there.’

‘Armand, my, er … role may go quiet for a while. Perhaps indefinitely.’

‘I see.’ He frowned.

‘How can I help? Let me do my bit.’

He considered her offer. ‘Well, all of us are involved in disrupting communications. We’ve got about fifty
réseaux
now covering every department of France. Paris is not so important. It’s in places like Gascony and Auverge where the hard work will be done. How are you with battery acid?’

‘What?’

He smiled. ‘One of our best methods of sabotage for burning out cables.’

‘Just tell me what to do,’ she said.

‘Visit the café daily. You’ll receive a message. But Angeline, we have to be careful with you.’

‘I understand. But even if you use me as a lookout, let me help.’

‘All right. There may be something shortly.’

‘I hear the telephone exchanges have been hit,’ she said, remembering gossip she’d overheard. ‘Sylvie?’

He grinned and stood, stretching in the thin sunlight. ‘She single-handedly destroyed one exchange north of Paris that forced the Germans to switch to radio. It means Bletchley Park can listen in on their communications.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘I have no reason to believe otherwise.’

Lisette stood and kissed both of his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Armand – not just for today but for … well, you know, being my rearguard. I didn’t mean to take up so many precious hours of other people’s time.’

‘You’ve got Faucille to thank for that. I hope he comes back to you safely.’

‘So do I,’ she said, suddenly frantic to see Luc again. ‘So do I.’