Peach (21 page)

Lais followed Leonore through the crowd.

“It’s Peach,” whispered Leonore, standing by the door. “Ziggie got shut in the cellar and she insisted on going in to get her. Kruger spotted her with a torch and he’s demanding to inspect the cellars. I think I’ve put him off, but I’m not sure.”

“Damn the man,” cried Lais furiously, “oh damn that disgusting man. Look Leonore,
there he is!
” Kruger stood at his usual observation place by the reception desk. “At least the escapees have gone! Peach is looking for her lost kitten, that’s all. It’ll be all right, Leonore.”

Ferdi von Schönberg was very tired. The drive from Reims was a long one, but it was still better than taking the slow
train down from Paris. Lais hadn’t expected to see him for at least another two weeks and he couldn’t wait to see the look of surprise on her face. A glance at his watch showed that it was exactly ten thirty as his black Mercedes swept round the curving drive in front of the hotel. She would be in the bar, playing her game of diverting the enemy. She was brave, his love, as well as beautiful. Her eyes would widen when she saw him, the way they had that first time, and then she’d smile at him, a private smile whose message only he understood. Ferdi slammed the car door and buttoned his jacket, sniffing the clean soft Mediterranean night air appreciatively. It was good to be back.

Kruger seethed with frustration. He
knew
the girl was in the cellars and if he waited here long enough she would have to come out again. His instinct had been sound, they were hiding escapees in the cellars, the child was the go-between. He knew there’d be a radio down there. He’d show Lais and her sisters now—
and
he’d show von Steinholz and those lousy aristocratic “officers” what a beer-drinking Captain could do. He’d catch the Resistance group under their very noses while they lounged drunk and idle in the bar. Hitler’s Germany was meant for men like himself, men like Hitler! The Führer came from a simple background, he would be a man who drank beer, not wine …

Kruger paced the marble floor, his boots clicking harshly on its smooth surface. His eyes rested on Lais and Leonore, standing by the arched entrance to the bar.
He had them now! All three of them
. It was all so obvious he didn’t know why he hadn’t worked it out before. Lais’s blonde head was bent close to her sister’s. Their profiles looked like matching cameos as Lais whispered in her sister’s ear. She would be whispering about him! Lais threw back her head and laughed. The sound ricocheted around the hall, bouncing
from the marble walls, piercing his throbbing head. She was laughing at him, telling her sister how he’d shamed himself in front of her … her long smooth throat rippled with laughter like the pulse in his head … Kruger’s hand trembled on the Luger, he wanted to kill Lais, rip her beautiful laughing throat to pieces.

Peach hurried along the corridor towards the hall, the kitten tucked under her arm. “Don’t ever run away again, Ziggie,” she scolded, “I was so worried about you.”

“Halt!” screamed Kruger. His bulging eyes fixing her maniacally as he advanced, his hand on the gun at his belt. Peach’s eyes met his, glazed with terror. This was what they understood, he thought triumphantly.
Power! His power
. The Luger slid easily from the holster into his hand. The very symbol of his superiority! Not even the de Courmonts would dare to argue with him now! Peach’s shrill scream of terror cut through his thoughts as she fled past him into the hall. She had ignored him, ignored his gun … even the little one had no respect for him. “Halt!” he cried, lumbering after her, “Halt!”
She had known!
he thought bewildered, she had known he couldn’t shoot, known he was a coward just as his mother had always told him … he should have shot them all, all three of them …

“A gun,” shrieked Lais, “
Kruger has a gun!
”

He should shoot her now, kill that blonde tease who plagued his sleeping as well as his waking moments. Sweat dripped from Kruger’s purple face. His shaking hand pointed the gun at Lais as she flung herself in front of Peach. Pull the trigger, he told himself,
PULL IT
! With a groan of defeat he slumped back against the reception desk, jamming his elbow against the counter. The Luger jumped in his hand and his nerveless finger danced on the hairspring trigger. The shot echoed around the room, repeating itself, echoing over and over in his throbbing head … and the
sound of a woman’s scream, dredged from some horror deep inside her.

Ferdi von Schönberg leapt the last three steps, his gun already in his hand. Peach was huddled on the ground holding a girl whose familiar sea-green silk dress was already soaked scarlet. Lais’s long blonde hair tumbled across her face and Peach, splattered with her sister’s blood, brushed it back softly.

Here was Lais’s prince, she thought, come to awake her again with a kiss, but now he couldn’t … Peach’s eyes, dark with shock, met Ferdi’s. Somewhere she could hear men running, shouting …

“She’s dead, Ferdi,” she whispered. “Kruger shot her.”

Kruger sagged trembling against the reception counter, staring at them, the gun on the floor at his feet and Peach watched in horrified fascination as Ferdi raised his right arm, steadying his gun with the left as he took aim. She didn’t want to look, she mustn’t look … but her eyes followed Kruger as with a terrified scream he turned to run. The shot deafened her and a neat hole appeared in the centre of Kruger’s back, small and very black. Ferdi’s second shot spun Kruger around, a jet of blood spurted from his mouth as he fell to the ground. Peach caught the glitter of tears in Ferdi’s eyes as he looked once more at Lais. Then he turned and strode for the door.

As if released from a spell, men surged from the bar, shocked from their drunkenness. Crouched on the floor Leonore searched desperately for Lais’s pulse, tears streaming down her face, blinding her. In a strange petrified calm, Peach cradled Lais’s head in her lap, wiping the splattered blood from her face with her sleeve, stroking her sister’s hair. She felt miles away, locked out of this awful reality … it was a dream too terrible ever to speak of …

Coming up the steps with Amelie, Leonie called out to
Ferdi but he didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to see her. He just kept on walking. And wasn’t there a glimmer of tears in his eyes?

“Who is he?” Amelie asked, nervous now that she was finally to be reunited with the children.

“He’s your future son-in-law,” answered Leonie, puzzled. And then she heard the shouting and the commotion.

The crowd parted before them and they stared, unbelieving, at the three girls on the bloodstained pink marble floor. The bag that Amelie had clutched protectively all the way from Lisbon fell to the ground and the innocent child’s rag doll lay there, unnoticed.

“Maman,” whispered Peach, her shocked eyes meeting Amelie’s. “Oh Maman. Kruger has shot Lais.”

“I can do nothing with him,” Mr Hill stormed, thrusting Noel through the door of Mrs Grenfell’s office. Still gripping Noel by the neck he shook him violently, incensed by his apathy. Noel had just
walked
the five mile cross-country run, taking his time about it and arriving back at base more than two hours after everyone else.

“It’s not just that,” Hill thundered, “he stands around on the basketball court like a bump on a log, he refuses to run on the football field and as for baseball! Ahh!” He thrust Noel towards her desk.

Noel’s vacant gaze settled on a point somewhere above Mrs Grenfell’s head. Sitting back with a sigh, she patted her tight, grey-speckled, permanent wave and stared at Noel from over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses. Elvira Grenfell was plump bordering on obese with deep cushions of fat across her shoulders that gave her a hunchbacked appearance and enormous thighs that, when she was seated, offered a lap wide enough for any child to cuddle in. But Elvira was not a cuddly woman, there was a steely edge to her glance, a sharpness to her voice and a cut of sarcasm to her words that wilted the children into self-doubt and insecurity. Still, Elvira considered herself a good woman, she had given her life to these children, she saw that they were brought up to be good Christians, ready to take their place in the workforce of society. It was boys like Noel who let her down. The non-conformers, the non-doers of the world. And the child was ugly too. Hastily she thrust the thought away as unworthy—but
really, the boy looked so white and pinched, his eyes were so deepset she couldn’t read them and his nose jutted in a most unchildlike way. And he was so thin, visitors would think she starved him!

“Well?” she asked sharply, “what have you to say for yourself? Why are you causing Mr Hill all this trouble?”

Noel’s gaze remained in the air. “I’m not good at sports, ma’am,” he muttered.

“He doesn’t even try,” stormed Hill, “he makes a laughing-stock of himself—and of
me
. The other boys snigger when they see him ignore my instructions—and they pick on him because he’s such a runt. He needs to toughen up, make a man of himself.”

Noel blocked out their voices. He had almost perfected the art of not being there. The person in the world he would have most liked to be was the Invisible Man—then he could have wandered the world, aloof and alone, looking at things, watching people like insects under a microscope …

“Well?”

Mrs Grenfell’s voice had risen an octave.

“Answer me!” she demanded. “What things are you good at? What do you do, Noel Maddox, to contribute to our society here?”

Noel shrugged and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Mrs Grenfell and Mr Hill looked exasperatedly at each other over the top of his head. Really the boy was hardly worth bothering about.

“Very well then, when the others are enjoying their sport you, Noel, will help with the work around here. You can clean out the garage. I want the shelves cleared and washed and everything replaced neatly. All the tools will be cleaned and stacked in their proper places. My car will be washed and polished. Then you can do the staff cars … that should keep you busy. Maybe then you’ll discover that
sports are a better way of improving both your social communication and your physique—and I must say you could use it.” Her glance expressed her distaste for his appearance. “You can start this afternoon. Mr Hill will inspect your work and report to me later. Now be off with you.” Pushing up her spectacles she turned her attention to the coffee tray carried in by her secretary. It smelled good and rich and there was cook’s special cake today—it really was childish of her to like angel cake so much but she just couldn’t resist it. Her hand hovered greedily over the plate.

Noel walked quickly from the office, his face set and grim. They could think up any punishment for him, give him as much work as they liked, he didn’t care. Maybe they’d send him away, get rid of him—he was uncooperative, a nuisance, he embarrassed them. The older boys ignored him, the younger ones laughed at him. And the girls never even acknowledged his existence. He wished he was dead.

Alone in the garage Noel cleared shelves reluctantly, dawdling over the job, but the car drew his attention like a magnet. It was a prim, solid, high-bodied automobile—not new, but in good shape. Noel’s trips in motor vehicles had been limited to the hired bus on the few occasions the children had been taken to the county fair—the treat of a local civic group—or on the annual picnic.
He had never ridden in a private automobile
. The bucket of water and the brushes were forgotten. In a flash he was behind the wheel. The car smelled of leather and a faint whiff of mothballs and cologne—Mrs Grenfell. He gripped the wheel, joggling the gearshift, peering at dials that told you how powerful the car was and how fast it could go. He was filled with a sudden surging excitement.
God, he loved it
. He wished more than anything that the car were his. He had cut emotion from his life when Luke departed, but he wanted this car so badly he could cry.

Tears dripped suddenly on to the leather seat between his bony knees as though somebody had turned the tap on Niagara. He couldn’t stop. He sat there with the tears streaming down his face for at least half an hour. Then he wiped the leather seat with the cleaning cloth and blew his nose on it and felt better. Better than he had in years.