The Eden Inheritance (16 page)

Paul saw her glance at her watch again and then look around. He was close enough to be able to see her perplexed expression. She was pretty, he thought, in a typically English way that bordered on the beautiful. She also looked classy. She moved from one side of the crossroads to the other, clearly uncertain what to do, then turned as if to go back the way she had come. Paul checked the valley once more, and decided it was time to take the chance and pray she had kept the meeting to herself. He left the cover of the thicket and climbed back through the gap in the hedge.

‘Good afternoon, Madame de Savigny,' he said.

Kathryn swung round, taken by surprise.

‘I thought you weren't coming. You said three o'clock.'

He smiled briefly, apologetically.

‘Precautions. I couldn't be sure you'd be alone.'

‘Oh! Surely you didn't think I'd …'

‘I had to be certain. This is a dangerous game we're playing.'

‘What is all this about?' she asked fiercely. ‘You said something about Edwin.'

Paul Sullivan glanced up and down the road. It was making him nervous standing in the open. He touched her elbow.

‘Let's go into the woods. We're too conspicuous here.'

She hesitated.

‘It's all right, I'm not going to attack you,' he said shortly.

‘I didn't think for one moment that you were. I was worried about snagging my coat.'

‘Ah, your coat.' He said it sarcastically, thinking that he had been right first time – she was just a spoiled little rich girl with nothing more important than her expensive wardrobe on her mind.

She shot him a glance.

‘If I go home with twigs caught up in it I shall have some questions to answer,' she said curtly, and he knew she had read his thoughts. So – she might be spoiled, she was certainly one of the privileged classes, but she was not stupid. But then, he had already known that.

‘Don't worry, we'll make sure there aren't any telltale signs,' he said. ‘But I really would rather be out of sight of the road.'

‘All right,' She followed him through the hedge back into the thicket, her shoes squelching in the leaf mould. ‘Who are you?'

He turned to face her.

‘I must ask you a question first. How do you feel about the German occupation?' He saw the guarded look come into her eyes, and said in English: ‘ I must know which side you are on.'

Her mouth tightened a shade.

‘Which side do you think I'm on? Not those Nazi butchers, for sure.'

‘You'd like to see them driven out of France?'

‘I'd like to see them exterminated. Does that answer your question?'

He smiled briefly.

‘I think so. The next question is, would you be willing to help do it?'

Though she had been expecting something of the sort, his words still shocked her.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Exactly what I say. I'm here to try to organise local resistance and also an escape line for British airmen, I need to recruit people I can trust. Your name was suggested to my head of department by your brother.'

‘Edwin. Is he involved in this?'

‘I don't know,' Paul lied.

‘I'll bet he is! Where is he? Are you sure you don't know?' Kathryn was overwhelmed by a sudden rush of longing. She and Edwin had been close once, in spite of their day-to-day squabbles, and she missed him.

‘I'm sorry, I really don't know,' Paul said. The eagerness in her face had given her an air of vulnerability that was at odds with the poise and sophistication of her outward appearance and made him regret, for a moment, that he could not help her. Then he thrust his sentiment away. Emotions of that sort had no place in the job he had to do. ‘ Look, I haven't time to beat about the bush. Will you help me?'

She shook her head. ‘I couldn't.'

‘That's a very hasty refusal.'

‘I've had all night to think about it. I more or less guessed what was coming after you spoke to me in Angoulême yesterday. I'm not a fool. And I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do.'

‘I see.'

‘No, you don't. My husband's family are collaborators. I'm not proud of it, but it's a fact. General von Rheinhardt, who is in charge of the district, visits the château socially – my father-in-law invites him to dinner sometimes and he reciprocates by loaning us his official car if we need to make a journey – petrol is in terribly short supply, you know. I think von Rheinhardt actually likes coming to the château – he's certainly a frequent visitor, anyway, so it would be far too dangerous for me to be involved in any subversive activity.'

‘I see the risks, of course. I also see that having the General at such close quarters could be a wonderful cover. He wouldn't expect anything to be going on right under his nose.'

‘But I wouldn't be able to deceive my husband and the rest of the family. We live as a very close unit. They wouldn't agree to any sort of resistance, I know. They take the view that it is safest for everyone to keep their heads down and pretend friendship, at least. And they certainly wouldn't allow Allied airmen shelter under their roof. It would be far too great a risk. The penalties for such a thing are very extreme.'

‘Certainly the château as a safe house was more than even I dared hoped for. Well, I'm sorry I dragged you out here for nothing, Madame.' He hesitated. ‘ You wouldn't know, I suppose, of anyone in the locality who might be more sympathetic to the cause?'

‘I would have said the whole neighbourhood is more or less completely united in wanting to avoid trouble.'

‘Following the example of your husband's family, no doubt.' He should not have said it, he knew, but he found the jibe irresistible all the same, and experienced a sense of satisfaction when he saw the quick colour flood her cheeks.

‘That's unfair,' she said. ‘You haven't had to live with these bastards breathing down your neck, threatening your safety and the lives of your children. If it was your son who might be torn away from you in the middle of the night, perhaps you would understand how they feel – how
I
feel.'

The blackness was there inside his head.

‘Perhaps I understand more than you think,' he said harshly. ‘But if you won't help, you won't. I can't force you to – I wouldn't want to. Resistance demands very special qualitites, not the least total commitment to the cause. Anything less is a recipe for disaster.' He turned, easing his bicycle out of the undergrowth where he had hidden it. ‘I take it I can at least count on your discretion about this meeting?'

‘Yes, of course! What do you think I am?'

‘I think,' he said, ‘that you are a woman who could be a great help to the Allies if you put your mind to it. I think you are clever and resourceful and possibly all kinds of other things as well. But if you have no will to resist then there really is no point pursuing it.'

He turned, looking down the valley again. All was quiet. Well, at least he had been right to trust her. She hadn't betrayed him.

‘Goodbye, Madame de Savigny.'

‘Wait!' He was on the point of lifting the bicycle through the hedge when that one word stopped, him. He looked round. Kathryn was standing, one hand jamming her felt hat down on to her head, the other stretched out towards him in a gesture that was half imperious, half pleading. ‘Don't go for a minute, please!'

He said nothing, just looked at her, and after a moment she said: ‘What is it you would want me to do?'

He set the bicycle down again.

‘At the moment, nothing.'

‘Nothing?'

‘At this stage I simply need to know who I can count on for help.'

‘And later?'

‘People first. As I already said I hoped you might be able to give me the names of anyone sympathetic to the cause – anyone already resisting in some way perhaps. We need men who can move about without arousing suspicion – railwaymen, for instance, with their ‘‘love bird” passes and a sound knowledge of goods movements, policemen, priests – anyone with a legitimate reason for being out and about after curfew or in out-of-the-way places. We need safe houses, for agents as well as escaping Allied airmen. We need a whole network, eventually building to an undercover army. I need a register of people brave enough to allow their premises to be used for transmitting radio messages to London. My ‘‘pianist'', when he arrives, will have to keep on the move – too many transmissions from any one place can be traced by the detector vans. It may be someone with a loft, it may be a farmer prepared to turn a blind eye to what goes on in his barn after dark. I also need the advice of someone with a detailed knowledge of the locality and the terrain – I thought you might be able to help me there.'

‘I know the district well, certainly …'

‘You would also make an ideal messenger. It's unlikely that any German would question why someone in your position should be visiting, say, retired employees of the estate.'

‘We do try to keep an eye on them, yes – especially if they are old or sick.'

‘And last but not least I would like you to help me check the validity of any Allied airmen whom we are preparing to pass down the escape line, once it's established. The Germans have been known to use plants in order to infiltrate the system. As you are English you would be able to ask the kind of questions that would establish whether an airman was genuine or not – you'd spot a foreign imposter immediately. So would I, of course, but I may be too busy with other things to be able to conduct the necessary interview myself.'

‘But if he was an impostor he'd know from the very fact that I was interviewing him that I was working for the Resistance!'

‘True. But we would ensure he was dealt with before he could do any real harm. There is a risk, of course. I won't pretend there is not. But I promise I would do everything in my power to minimise it.'

‘Can I think about it?'

‘Of course, but don't think too long.'

‘Where can I contact you?'

He smiled. ‘Oh no, I'm afraid I can't tell you that yet. Maybe I never will. The smaller and tighter and more self-contained each cell, the safer it is. What people don't know they can't be persuaded to tell. Will you be going to Angoulême again next week?'

‘Yes. It's a regular thing with me.'

‘I'll see you then.'

‘When? Where?'

‘Leave that to me. Just do as you always do. Don't look for me or do anything different from usual. But don't be surprised if I'm not in my French peasant's gear. It is a little difficult for such a rough fellow to talk to a beautiful and aristocratic lady without attracting attention. Now – you'd better be getting home before they send out a search party for you.'

They scrambled back on to the road, Paul holding the branches aside for Kathryn to squeeze through.

‘I'm sorry to be so indecisive,' she said. ‘It's not just me I'm worried about – I have my little boy to think of too.'

‘I know. Well, at least you came …'

He broke off as the sound of an engine cut through the stillness of me winter afternoon. A car was coming up the hill – Vichy police!

‘Get down!' he hissed at Kathryn.

He saw the startled look on her face and realised she had frozen. He tossed his bicycle back over the hedge, grabbed Kathryn and threw her back into the thicket, hurling himself after her. They landed in an untidy heap and as Kathryn tried to rise he caught her shoulders, pushing her down into the soft leaf mould.

‘Stay down!' he ordered.

Frightened, Kathryn did as he said. She could not in any case have moved. The weight of his body prevented it. The sound of the engine grew louder as the car came closer up the hill. She could scarcely breathe and her heart was pounding like a hammer. The car approached, passed, turned right at the crossroads. As the engine note grew fainter, dying away into the distance, Paul relaxed his hold on her and sat up, and Kathryn did the same. She realised she was shaking all over.

‘I'm sorry,' Paul said roughly.

‘Why did you do that?' she gasped, though of course she knew why. ‘I'm filthy – look at me!'

She was brushing the leaf mould off her hands, reaching for her hat which had come off and rolled into the brambles. Her hair, released, tumbled untidily around her face. He felt a jolt of some primal, half-forgotten emotion, and then, as quickly, it was gone.

‘It wouldn't do for us to be seen together. That's the price you pay, I'm afraid, for getting mixed up with someone like me.' He got up, gave her his hand and pulled her up too. ‘Perhaps that will make up your mind for you.'

‘Well, I'm certainly not used to being thrown through hedges!' Fright, and another emotion she did not bother to identify, made her tone sharp.

‘I know. I said I'm sorry. But I had no choice.' He retrieved his bicycle. ‘I'm going now, before that patrol comes back. You had better do the same. Is next week still on?'

She looked at him, at that very ordinary face grown almost dangerous suddenly, at the lithe athletic body beneath the scruffy peasant clothes which had, a few minutes ago, been pinning her to the ground, and experienced a moment's total recklessness.

‘Yes. It's still on.'

‘Good.'

He mounted his bicycle, lifted his hand to her in a mock salute, and was gone, speeding away down the hill.

‘Mummy! You're bleeding!'

Guy caught at Kathryn's hand as she absently splashed him with bubbles in his favourite bathtime game, turning it over to expose the network of scratches on her palm.

Kathryn winced and tore her hand away.

‘It's nothing,' she said, but she was uncomfortably aware of Bridget standing beside her, holding the big white bath towel ready to dry Guy. ‘I slipped when I was out on my walk this afternoon and skagged myself, that's all.'