Days of Winter (51 page)

“Exactly.”

“I must say, you make it sound like some sort of farfetched play in which, I presume, I am to play the
femme fatale
—”

“That’s just about it, Countess … and you are perfect for the part … you have the beauty … the prestige… the elegance. …But most important of all, you have the intelligence and dedication. Pierre has made that’ clear, but it was fairly obvious even on first meeting you.”

“This is, I suppose, all very flattering, but did it also occur to you that I also have a … husband to whom I’m completely devoted … who needs me … who would certainly not approve of such conduct … And did it occur to you how much, how deeply, I
despise
these Nazi bastards?”

“Yes … we know that …”

“And yet you want me to have a liaison with one of them? Really, Anjou, I’m afraid this time you’re asking too much—”

“Are we …? Do you know how many Jews we’ve saved because we had access to your tunnel? With the Germans at our heels, it wasn’t always easy, but we saved the lives of hundreds of children who would otherwise have been slaughtered.”

Magda was pacing back and forth. …Her mind kept whispering to her … children … children … Jeanette, my daughter … Henri, my grandchild. …I
am
a mother, and a grandmother even if it isn’t acknowledged … my children … children must be saved. …She sat down, lit a cigarette. “
If
I agree, do you have a plan?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

The man you would make contact with is Christian Reichart.” Apparently Anjou was too caught up to see the absurd, indeed, disgusting, irony in the name for a Gestapo chief, but she couldn’t overlook it, and winced when she heard it… But Anjou was going on: “He’s chief of the Gestapo in Paris. He’s handsome, blond, very Aryan, of course. Also calculating and ruthless. …His fondness for extraordinarily attractive women is almost a joke, but I assure you he is not a joke. He is not easily fooled or taken in. One would need to be very clever.”

“And you think that I—”

“Yes. I believe, Madame, that you have all the credentials, including that of being a good listener.” (She had to smile briefly at that. A good listener, yes, she’d learned that as the mistress of a fine salon, but she also was a good talker. She’d surely have to work on that if …)

“And what if they discovered that I am a Jew?”

“I don’t think that’s at all, even remotely, likely—”

“But I’ve lived in Paris many years, you know.”

“Yes, we know. Your old friend Pierre has known you from your earliest days, and at that time you had no friends except Pierre. And your husband—for reasons that we understand and you needn’t worry will ever be revealed by us … they are, frankly, of no interest to us—has done a brilliant job in creating a new identity for you and demolishing the old. Your papers show that you come from a Polish family of royal connections. I think you know the rest. …I’m sorry”—and it was clear he meant this personally—“but it does seem that you’re the most likely of all people to undertake this.” (She took it he was also being delicate in not mentioning Alexis’ condition, which, practically at least gave her a “freedom” she would not otherwise have.) “You are an actress, and as I understand it, what is known as a ‘natural.’ Perhaps you can think of this—although I offended you when I first mentioned it as such—as a role in a play, a very important role in a not very pleasant, but nonetheless, as I’m sure you’d agree, very important play.”

She sat looking at him for several moments. Well, Magda Charascu, welcome back … not that you really ever left … but now the countess needs you, and so do your children. …What the hell are you waiting for …?

“How … how would I meet this Reichart?”

Anjou nodded emphatically, as though to seal the deal. “Next Thursday at the German Embassy, at a gala there. You will be invited, we will see to it. After that … the rest is up to you. May I assume we have your commitment?”

“…You already know that the answer is yes.” He nodded again. “Pierre will be your contact. We will communicate only through him.”

No thank yous, no good-byes. No time.

There was also no sleep for her that night. Alexis stood in the shadows of her memory, along with her promise of fidelity to him. There had been no conditions set then. It had been unqualified.

Grateful for the morning, finally, she dressed and went downstairs to him. “Good morning, my love. …I see you’ve already been shaved, you look very handsome, I must say.” His eyes followed as she straightened the covers. As usual, coffee and croissants were served. She talked of unimportant things, and gave answers to her own questions as though they were his. By now she understood the nuance of every look. … “You want to see out, of course, darling,” and she cranked the handle at the foot of the bed so that his back was in a slight sitting position. Later she would need help from Pierre to put him in the chair.

By now he had recovered to the extent of being able to make sounds that only vaguely resembled articulate speech but which she had learned to translate with considerable accuracy and intuition. And when they made no sense at all, she answered casually, vaguely, as though they did and as though she understood completely. She was very good at it. Just now he was mumbling something. She listened carefully. … “Oh, so you think I look tired?” Immensely frustrated by his attempts to communicate with his garbled speech, Alexis fell back, as he usually did, on answering “Yes” with his blinking signal. … “Well I’m not really tired, darling … it’s more than that. Alexis, something extraordinary has happened. I want to do something. I mean, I don’t want to but I feel I have to. …Oh dear, I don’t seem to be getting to the point, forgive me. Alexis, this may sound like something out of a bad melodrama, and indeed it would be at any other time, except as you know this is not any other time, this is wartime and the damned Nazis are all over Paris and I have a daughter who is Jewish and I have a grandson who’s Jewish too. He has Jewish blood, never mind how they raise him as a good little Catholic. He is a Jew, one drop is all the Nazis need, you know that …” She looked at him, shook her head and smiled. “I really do go on, don’t I, darling? Well, the
point
is, Magda Charascu, alias Margot Maximov, has come back for her premiere performance, to be a … a spy for the underground. I know, I know, I’ll have to learn to keep my mouth shut, which won’t be easy, but I do have big ears and they have usually been wide open, so I’ve had good training there. …” She rushed on, wanting to get it all out at once and not sure she could in a way that wouldn’t be ruinous to both of them. … “Pierre—he’s one of them—brought his friends here and we talked and they seem to feel I can be of help … going to parties, giving parties, which I already do, of course, being friendly with some of the right people … that sort of thing. …”

She couldn’t bring herself to be more specific, to actually mention Reichart and her assigned “role.” All the time she’d been speaking he hadn’t taken his eyes from her, but now they looked out to the river, the Seine. The Nazi patrol boats plied up and down the water … in place of the once pleasure-filled
bateaux mouches …
their swastika-adorned flags, obscene pennants, flapping in the gentle breeze. He had understood every word that Magda had said, as well as those that she had not said … the words behind the words “the right people, that sort of thing.” He knew very well what they meant, and they chilled and terrified him. …

He turned back to look at her, and as he did so he saw in her face the face of a very little girl, a little five-year-old girl named Jeanette … damn his mind, so clear in a helpless body, and with its clarity memories now came flooding back, memories too precise, too well remembered. … “Oh, Uncle Alexis, I love you so much. …” The voice of Magda’s daughter, now finally found by her mother. Years ago he had told Magda he would kill her if she ever deceived him, but she never had, she’d been a marvelous wife and woman to him, and now he was a cadaver that she’d dedicated herself to keeping alive. …Well, she would need no terrible sickness to kill her if he denied her this chance to live for her daughter, because that was what it was to her. He would simply be signing
her
death warrant, as the Nazis had signed them for so many other Jews, if he were to discourage her now and anything should happen to her child, and grandchild. …He would play the game with her, pretend with her that he knew less than he did. It was, after all, the least—and the most—that he could do. …

She was watching him very closely, hardly daring to breathe. He had been looking at her but not seeing her. Now his attention had clearly come back. And slowly, emphatically, he blinked, giving the signal. Giving his assent …

Just the anticipation of Thursday, and meeting Christian Reichart, made her ill. But Thursday arrived, and she forced herself to be calm as she prepared for the evening, for her most important role. The stage had been set, the play was about to begin, curtain going up.

She went down the stairs, looking, she hoped, positively radiant, feeling ready to throw up. She was dressed in layers upon layers of delicate pink chiffon. The top was bare, except for thin shoulder straps, exposing her porcelain skin. Silver pumps showed slightly below the dress as she walked. Her diamond necklace was dazzling. She found herself repeating Solange’s words to Rubin so long ago … “She will do, Rubin … indeed, she will do.” God, she hoped so. …

It was in a gold and blue baroque ballroom of the German Embassy. A Viennese waltz—naturally—was playing. Appraising the guests, she was shocked to see so many acquaintances present. Tonight they were not only fraternizing with the enemy, they were paying court to their oppressors … and, of course, imagining that she was here doing the same. …

Above the din of voices she heard someone calling her name. Jean-Paul Dupré. Taking her hand in his, he kissed it This man, her daughter’s brother-in-law, was also the enemy. …And now, suddenly, he seemed dangerous, menacing. She must push the thought aside … he was Etienne Dupré’s brother, after all. Perhaps he was doing the same thing she had been asked to do … and, hardly professional yet in her new role, she found herself hoping that Jean-Paul’s assumptions about her being here would be the same.

“Countess, I’m delighted to see you.”

“Thank you, Jean-Paul.”

“You’ve been missed about town. How is Alexis?”

“Much improved …”

“That’s good news. But you’re alone this evening?” She must have joined our side, he thought. How sensible … after all, she’s a sensual woman, with a dying husband on her hands … and a lover …? There must be … and probably more than one. …

“May I introduce a friend?” He led her over to his latest mistress …a tall slender blonde in a black satin gown, bejeweled with pearls and emeralds. She was a German model turned actress. …Paris, she said, was not Berlin, but it had its compensations … Jean-Paul among them, she thought—he was so generous, the jewels and furs were fabulous, sometimes she almost forgot he was a Frenchman, supposedly a sympathizer but still a Frenchman and so had to be watched … that was the word from Christian Reichart, and one paid attention to Christian. …

She stood laughing, with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other, as Jean-Paul waited for the joke being told by a baldheaded General to conclude, then made the introductions.

“How long have you and Jean-Paul been … friends?” she said.

Smiling at Jean-Paul, Magda said, “I believe he was just beginning to shave the fuzz from his chin. …What were you, Jean-Paul, seventeen?”

“Eighteen.” He gave her back his irresistible smile.

“Eighteen?” Her name was Fredericke Von Brenner. “Were you really ever eighteen, Jean-Paul?”

“I believe so,” he said with mannered roguishness, “though, as I recall, fairly precocious—oh, Colonel Reichart, how very good to see you again. May I present Countess Maximov. …”

He kissed her hand, and as he did Magda felt, along with her revulsion, that now the play had, indeed, begun. No question, he was quite a specimen. He gave off charm on charm. He knew how to make a woman believe that she was the only person in the room. …Well, he was the only man in the room for her. This was the enemy, and now that they were face to face she was almost relieved. She understood her job. He was a man, she could handle it. This would be one conquest he would regret making.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance, Countess?” he was saying.

“If you like,” she said, her voice faintly arch and not especially impressed. Well, that didn’t offend him. In fact, he found it refreshing … besides, along with her title, this one also was a
woman
… that was clear. He wondered how it was that he hadn’t met her before. …

After the dance he summoned a circulating waiter for champagne. “To your health, Countess.”

“And to victory …”

He looked at her closely. “You find the German occupation acceptable? For a French woman … by the way, you are French?”

“No … my husband was born in Russia, but we’ve lived in many places. His allegiance is to whatever government serves us well.”

“And yours … Countess?”

“My allegiance is more specific; my mother and grandmother were German—”

“You were born in Germany?”

“No, in Poland … where my father was born.”

“I see … I take it they met on a holiday, fell in love and got married?”

“You must be clairvoyant …That’s almost precisely the way it happened. My mother, though, was never anything but German, as were our servants, and my governess. Yes, I’m quite German.”

“Even having spent your childhood in Poland?”

“Geography has nothing to do with feeling. You are in France at the moment.”

He smiled slightly. “Countess … you seem to be a rare combination of beauty and intelligence. Why haven’t we met before?”

“My husband suffered a very serious stroke and I’ve been … out of things for some time. But now the doctors say he no longer needs my constant attention, so I felt I should do what I can for my people. …”

After three more dances she decided the time had come for a strategic withdrawal, and when he asked to see her home, she kept a careful balance between being coy and eager—managing a faintly interested coolness.