The Collaborators (14 page)

2

There was a queue outside the Crozier boulangerie. They looked defeated and depressed. Even their breath, made visible by the February air, was thin and grey and quickly vanishing.

Günter Mai turned up his collar and slipped round the back to enter via the bakehouse, where he found the baker removing a lightly loaded tray from the right-hand oven. The bigger oven on the left wall hadn’t been lit for almost a year now as the shortage of fuel and flour had tightened its grip. Mai did his best to see that the Croziers got their fair share and a bit more besides but even he sometimes found it hard to compete with specialists.

‘Bread ration day, is it?’ he said.

‘That’s right,’ said Crozier gloomily. ‘And there’s not much to go round. I hate to see the poor devils’ faces when we’re short. Come on through while this lot cools and we’ll have a coffee and croissant.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mai, smiling. There was a not unattractive naïvety of outlook which Crozier seemed to share with his nephew Michel.

‘How’s Janine? And your grandchildren?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ said Crozier, face brightening.

Mai sat and listened to the baker talking proudly of Pauli and Céci and let his thoughts drift to their mother. He hadn’t seen Janine since her husband’s return, but of course had been kept up-to-date by her parents on his visits to the bakery.

He would really have liked to wash his hands of Janine, but God was still pushing her into his professional path. Why the hell did she have to take her family to stay at Christian Valois’s apartment? Zeller assured him he was getting obsessed by that young man, but the more of a model citizen he became, the less Mai liked it. He’d felt the man’s resentment bordering on hatred the only time they had met and there was no way he could square this with his reported reconciliation with his Vichy father or with his unquestioning acceptance of the collaborationist line in his work at the Ministry.

The one flaw in Valois’s otherwise unblemished front was his acquaintance with Delaplanche. Even that had been explained to Zeller’s satisfaction.

‘He’s an old acquaintance of Valois père from their law-student days and Delaplanche knows the value of not making unnecessary enemies. So when he returns from a visit to Vichy, what more natural than that he should bring back a gift of bonbons from Madame Valois for her much-missed son?’

Zeller might be right. Delaplanche was certainly the wiliest political opponent the collaborationist government had. The extreme rightists would have had him locked up, or better still shot, ages ago. But too many of the rest owed him favours, or, as an insurance against future set-backs, wanted him to owe them a favour, to make him an easy target. Perhaps this was after all the simple explanation of his link with the Valois family.

But Mai didn’t think so. And now he had in Christian Valois’s flat a potential agent ready to be activated. So far he’d been able to justify his inaction on the grounds that Delaplanche was still in the South doing God knew what. But word was that he was on his way back to Paris. So what now? And what kind of agent would Janine make anyway, especially when she felt her price had already been paid?

Crozier’s rambling anecdote was interrupted by his wife’s arrival from the shop.

‘Hello, lieutenant,’ she said. ‘Crozier, isn’t that next batch ready yet? Two lots of forged tickets I’ve had today. I think it’s the Gelicot family in the Rue d’Auch. Wasn’t the son apprenticed in the printing trade?’

Mai made a mental note. Any hint of an illicit press was of interest these days. And as often before, he wondered how conscious Madame Crozier was of what she was saying.

As he rose, Crozier said in excuse, ‘We’re just chatting about the children, dear.’

‘I wish I had time to chat. They’re fine children, which is saying a lot when you consider their father. Doesn’t know his own wife half the time.’

‘He’s confused,’ said Crozier mildly. ‘He’s been through a lot.’

‘Has he?’ snorted Louise. ‘Well, I hope you’d have to go through a lot more, Crozier, before you forgot me.’

The two men’s eyes met for a moment and Mai was still smiling a few minutes later as he left through the bakehouse door. Such moments of pure humour were to be treasured in these hard times.

‘You’re looking very happy, lieutenant.’

It was Janine who’d just come into the yard. She had her daughter in her arms, but the little girl was struggling to get down. Set on the ground, she ran instantly to Mai and waved a little bunch of winter jasmine at him.

‘Are these for me?’ he asked, bending down.

‘No,’ said Céci scornfully. ‘For Gramma. I want donkey.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mai. ‘I seem to be out of donkeys.’

‘I want donkey like Uncle Chris,’ cried the little girl.

Mai looked at Janine who said, ‘Her Uncle Christian gives her donkey rides on his back. Céci, don’t bother…’

‘No bother,’ said Mai. ‘I work like a horse, so I might as well look like one.’

He swung the laughing child on to his shoulders and stood upright.

‘She’s growing fast,’ he said. ‘How old is she now?’

‘Four. It was her birthday last week.’

‘They soon grow up,’ he said. ‘How are you, Janine?’

‘I’m fine.’

She was looking at him warily.

‘Lieutenant, I’d like to thank you,’ she said abruptly.

‘Oh yes?’ he said gruffly. Gratitude was salt to his still raw guilt.

‘For getting Jean-Paul home to me,’ she said. ‘I can never thank you enough. Except…I can’t do
that
again. Not now Jean-Paul’s home.’

She thinks I’m capable of forcing myself on her again he thought desperately. But does she never guess what I’m really capable of?

Reaching up, he plucked the young girl from his shoulders and swung her to the ground, ruffling her hair as she ran back to her mother.

’That
will not be required again,’ he said stiffly. ‘But I should like to meet and talk sometimes. As friends.’

He saw her expression and laughed without amusement.

‘You’ll never make the Comédie-Française,’ he said. ‘All right. As friendly enemies. Tonight for instance?’

She shook her head.

‘Sunday then?’ he pressed.

Her awareness of having no real choice shadowed her face.

‘Sunday,’ she said. ‘But not in the evening. Evenings are difficult.’

‘All right. Where? The Balzac?’

‘No!’ she exclaimed in alarm, then hastily added, ‘I take the children out for a trip on Sunday afternoons. The Jardin d’Acclimatation in the Bois. The Porte de Sablons entrance. Two, or just after. Is that all right?’

He nodded and she caught her daughter up and carried her into the bakehouse. The little girl waved her flowers and shouted, ‘Bye bye, donkey.’

Mai strolled slowly back towards the Lutétia. He’d done everything right. Every clandestine meeting she agreed to added another filament to the web she was already tangled in. But he found himself wishing he’d left earlier or she’d come later.

He realized he had reached the Lutétia without being conscious of the walk, a dangerous distraction in these days of ambush and assassination.

Corporal Vogel on duty at the door snapped to attention and said, ‘Sir!’

‘Yes, Vogel?’

‘The lieutenant has a flower on his hat. Sir!’

He removed his Homburg and studied it. Sure enough, in the hollow lay a sprig of jasmine with three or four tiny flowerlets glowing on its stem. He smiled at the memory of Céci so light and merry on his shoulders.

He thought of putting the sprig in his lapel, saw Vogel watching him, and said, ‘Corporal.’

‘Sir!’

‘Get rid of this for me, will you?’

Handing over the jasmine, he walked swiftly into the hotel.

3

Though Mai did not know it, Janine had been avoiding him just as keenly as he had been avoiding her. Whenever she visited her parents she always listened at the door first to make sure he wasn’t there and on one occasion when he turned up later, she had hidden upstairs till he had gone.

But it couldn’t go on for ever and now she was glad to have got it over. But in its place there was this new worry. He wanted to see her again. Why? His request filled her with great suspicion and not a little fear. He was not a stupid Boche as she’d thought and he was far from powerless. A mere lieutenant, yet he had managed to get Jean-Paul released. So her hope that one quick orgasm would be the price of her husband’s return was probably as vain as she’d always feared it would be.

Now more than ever she wanted advice and comfort, but where could she turn? Not to Jean-Paul, that was clear. Her father perhaps? But she shied away from the thought of bringing her pain into that good, simple man’s life. Christian? There was no one else. But not yet. It was best to find out first what the man wanted of her.

These thoughts ran through her mind as she got ready for her rendezvous on Sunday. Things had fallen well. Jean-Paul was having one of his better days and had gone to have lunch at his mother’s. The two had always been very close even after Jean-Paul’s abandonment of his religion.

Janine prayed that the time they spent together would speed up his healing.

The doorbell rang. She heard Pauli’s voice and came out of the bedroom. Standing on the threshold looking down at the boy with a puzzled expression was Maître Delaplanche. He was carrying some parcels.

She gave him a big smile and said, ‘Christian’s in the kitchen, I think. Just go through. Pauli, are you ready? I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes. See that Céci is all right, will you?’

She was still worried about Pauli, but the solution seemed simple. Jean-Paul’s relative normality this morning had extended to giving his son a casual peck on the cheek as he left. This unthinking, unthought-out, everyday act of affection had lit up the boy’s face. That was all he needed. Love.

When she came out into the hallway, Pauli and Céci were standing hand in hand ready to go. She went to the living-room door to say goodbye to Christian but paused at the sound of quarrelling voices inside. Out of the confusion, the lawyer’s suddenly rose loud and clear.

‘He’s a Jew? And he was in hospital under a false name? For God’s sake, Christian, what are you thinking of? You’re risking your career,
everything,
for a self-indulgent impulse. Get rid of them!’

Janine turned away, forcing herself to smile at the children.

‘Let’s go and see the monkeys, shall we?’

Valois and Delaplanche heard the door open and shut. The lawyer went to the window and watched till they emerged on to the pavement.

‘Pretty little thing, in a skinny sort of way,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing between you, I suppose?’

‘You asked me that before.’

‘Things change,’ said Delaplanche. ‘Listen, Christian, the reason I’ve been away so long was I got a message in Vichy inviting me to visit some friends further south. It turned out de Gaulle has sent an envoy to co-ordinate resistance. Typical bit of arrogance from that big-nosed bastard. But it makes sense to pull together. We’re all being picked off too easily. So for now I’m going along with this fellow. But if de Gaulle imagines this is a step to putting him on top when the war’s over, he’s a fool. The future is ours so long as we have men like you willing to sit and wait.’

‘I’d rather stand up and fight,’ said Valois almost sullenly.

‘I know. What you’ve got to do takes a special kind of courage. That’s why you mustn’t take foolish unnecessary risks like harbouring a mentally deranged Jew!’

‘He’s not mentally deranged,’ protested Valois. ‘He’s the brightest man I know. All right, what he went through has done something to him. In particular, it has made him want to kill Boche. He’s desperate to get an active Resistance job. If someone doesn’t use him soon, I’m scared he’ll just go off by himself and kill Krauts with his bare hands.’

‘And get himself traced back here? Jesus.’

‘Couldn’t you use him? Oh, I know you don’t do these things personally. Important people like you and me have to keep our hands clean. But Theo, perhaps…’

‘Not Theo. He’s too valuable now to land with a wild man. One of the peripheral groups perhaps…but not till he’s long gone from here. Tell him anything, but get him out.’

There was the sound of a key in a lock, a door opening and shutting.

‘You tell him,’ said Valois. ‘But choose your words carefully. He’s a little on edge.’

The lounge door opened.

Delaplanche’s first impression was of a slight, almost boyish figure who stood very still in the doorway, like a child too shy to interrupt the adults. But when his eyes met the man’s unblinking gaze, the stillness seemed to grow vibrant with menace.

‘Jean-Paul, come in. How was your mother?’ said Valois.

‘Well,’ said Simonian. ‘You’re Delaplanche, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right. You know me?’

‘Only what everyone knows.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I gather you were a guest of our German friends for over a year.’

‘Oh, yes. They cared for me and healed me and sent me home,’ sneered Simonian. ‘I’m so grateful. Christian, where’s Janine and the children?’

‘They’ve gone for a walk. The Jardin d’Acclimatation, I think.’

‘I’ll see you later,’ said Simonian. He turned abruptly and left.

‘And that’s the man you want me to employ,’ said Delaplanche drily.

‘I tell you, he hates the Boche!’

‘Oh yes. I could feel the hate. I hope it’s for the Boche! Christian, I’m all the more certain now, he’s got to be moved out of here. All right, yes, I’ll see if we can use him, always supposing he passes the entrance test! But he’s not for you, my boy. Different worlds, different functions. The chances of that one surviving the war are minute, but you, Christian, you’re the whole future of France!

‘Now why don’t you give me a little cognac while I sit and watch you unwrap these belated New Year presents?’

Janine was late. It was a chilly afternoon, not actually raining but with the gusty wind damp as well as cold against any exposed flesh.

There weren’t many people about, just a few hardy souls whose Sunday promenade in the Bois wasn’t going to be interrupted by either war or weather.

He glanced at his watch. Perhaps she wasn’t coming. Then he saw her in the distance and his heart leapt as if he was a lover waiting for his lass instead of an
Abwehr
intelligence officer waiting for a woman whose body he’d already abused and whose loyalties he was planning to corrupt.

She greeted him as if it were a chance meeting, presumably for Pauli’s benefit. After they’d entered the Jardin d’Acclimatation Janine wanted to turn immediately into the shelter of the Palais du Jardin d’Hiver, but Pauli said firmly, ‘I’ve promised to show Céci the monkey-house, maman.’

‘All right,’ said Janine. ‘But come straight back to the parrot house.’

‘Yes, maman,’ said Pauli and the children set off hand in hand.

‘Will they be all right?’ asked Mai anxiously.

‘I thought you’d be pleased to be rid of them for a while.’

‘Yes, but…they’re so young.’

‘I sometimes think Pauli’s older than me,’ said Janine moodily. Then she smiled and added, ‘But thanks for being concerned. Honestly they’ll be all right.’

‘Will they mention me?’

‘What if they do? An acquaintance met by chance. Anyway, Jean-Paul doesn’t spend much time talking to the children. Nor to me either.’

‘To Monsieur Valois then?’

She seemed to take this as an implied reproach.

‘Christian’s his oldest friend. Jean-Paul’s memory’s been affected, you know that. He remembers the fighting and what happened after that. And the further back he goes the more he recalls. It’s just the bit between…’

‘The bit with you and the children in it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You must be very grateful to Monsieur Valois. For letting you share his apartment, I mean. Do you plan to stay there long?’

All Mai wanted was to establish some kind of timetable for his campaign, but her reply intrigued him.

‘I knew we couldn’t rely on staying for ever but I thought we would see the winter out. Now, I don’t know.’

‘Oh. Why’s that?’

‘Why do you think?’ she said indignantly. ‘It’s you people of course.’

Taken aback by the accusation, Mai protested, ‘But, my dear Janine, what have I done? Except bring your husband home to you?’

It wouldn’t do her any harm to be reminded of her obligation.

‘I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you personally. But Christian’s a civil servant. And of course it’s the Boche that really run the Government. So if they found out he had someone like Jean-Paul staying in his flat, it could mean trouble for him.’

There was no denying this was true, but it had been true from the start. What had made it an issue now?

He asked, ‘Did Monsieur Valois say this?’

‘No. He’s far too generous to say anything like that. I overheard one of his friends spelling it out to him today.’

‘One of his colleagues, you mean?’ he said casually. But suddenly she was alert. The hunted animal too has its sensors, as finely tuned as the hunter’s. To this point she had been saying nothing which she believed was new to him. It was his interest in what should not have been interesting that alerted her.

She said, ‘I expect so. I didn’t know the man.’

He smiled. Alert she might be, liar she wasn’t. It didn’t matter. All he had to do was check with the man he had watching Valois’s apartment. If it turned out that Maître Delaplanche, just back from Vichy, had dropped in…

He felt impatient to be off, but a sudden departure would confirm any suspicions she might have. Besides it was more important than ever to keep the line on which he was playing this woman taut. It was good to feel himself in such a purely professional relationship with her.

They were in the parrot house now. It was crowded with visitors, both French and German, looking at the bright-feathered, beady-eyed birds. He turned to whisper to her that here was not a good place to continue their conversation but before he could speak, Pauli’s voice called excitedly, ‘Maman, maman, papa’s here!’

Without looking round, Mai moved slowly away and exchanged a few joking words with a couple who were trying to get a big yellow-headed bird to talk to them. After a few moments, he pulled out his pipe, and under cover of lighting it he looked towards the doorway.

Standing there was a slim dark man. The resemblance between him and Pauli would have marked him out even if he hadn’t been carrying Céci in his arms. Janine and the boy joined him now. Even at a distance it was possible to see Janine’s joy at meeting him. Mai felt a crazy urge to go across and introduce himself.

‘Hey, no smoking,’ said an attendant pointing at a sign.

‘Sorry,’ said Mai. Instantly he realized he had spoken in German. It didn’t matter. The attendant had moved away and no one else paid any attention. But Mai turned back to the parrots and concentrated his mind on the source of this slip and that even less comprehensible urge to blow his cover.

It wasn’t hard to find, but finding it brought little comfort.

It had been the sight of Janine going with such obvious joy to that man.

It had been jealousy.