Days of Winter (52 page)

By the time they arrived, Magda knew perhaps more about Christian Reichart than he about her. He was married, his wife had brought a large dowry to the marriage, his three children were his favorites. He was fond of small children, dogs, horses. His wife owned a bank, which he controlled. He had ambitions for the top intelligence job in Germany … Heinrich Himmler’s, no less. He was young, he had patience, he would wait and it would come. Paris was his showcase. …The Führer would notice.

Magda offered him a glass of kümmel, and as he sipped it in the spacious salon … a good distance from the bedrooms, and Alexis, he admired the antiques and paintings, which, if it weren’t that he was so taken with Magda, he would have had no qualms about requisitioning along with the entire place. But not for now. Later, of course, he’d have both.

Magda watched the wheels of his mind turning. Suave he might be, but hardly subtle. He sat down beside her on the sofa. “Tell me about your husband.”

Matter-of-factly she repeated the details of Alexis’ stroke, as though it were something long since adjusted to.

“But how could you cut yourself off from the world? You strike me as a very normal woman. …”

“As I told you, I felt I had an obligation, that is the way I was raised … the German way. …Surely you understand that”—(just as surely, she thought, as she understood what his questions were leading up to…). “Now, with the war, I feel I must involve myself … as I said, I’d like to be useful in some way.”

“Is that why you came to the Embassy this evening?”

“Yes, I suppose so. …”

So far he was very pleased, and even a little flattered—not common for him. This was a woman of obvious means, titled, and a genuine German sympathizer … not the sort he’d been meeting lately whose politics and bed partners were strictly a matter of who was on top … he smiled to himself at his private little joke. No, this one had, so far as he could make out, nothing at all to gain, and if he should later discover otherwise, he would know how to act … but for now, she was for the taking, and he was an experienced taker.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you still love your husband? Truthfully, now.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I married rather young, without experience. The marriage was quite appropriate … I was attracted to Alexis … I respected him enormously … he was an older man … I still respect him. …”

“But now he is a sick older man. And you are … as you are …” (Time to get to it) … “Don’t you ever want other men?”

Right on schedule, she thought. Just like a good German, damn his rottenness. … “Are you asking for confessions, Colonel? Those are for priests or very old friends. …”

“I am hardly the former, but would very much like to be the latter. …I repeat, no other men?”

“None. Never.”

“Difficult to believe.”

She looked at him. “Not at all. More than anything else, I’ve never met another man I found equal to Alexis, that I could admire, look up to as I have him.”

He immediately went up to her, pulled her close to him. “Are you so certain of that?”

“Not quite so certain as I was.”

It was, of course, all that was needed. And afterward, on the bed, feeling numb so as not to be sick, she reminded herself again that it was a role, that she was playing a character that was not herself, and that more and better lives than her own were dependent on the success of her performance. …

Three months passed. Her relationship with Reichart had fallen into a pattern. Thank God he worked all day, leaving her free to care for Alexis. …But at night … She had unquestionably become his mistress, and more than one of the colonel’s associates envied his extraordinary good fortune … she entertained beautifully, the perfect hostess, and what a pleasure she must be in bed. …

By now, in fact, Magda had learned how to handle not only her own emotions but his as well. She was his confidante, and without realizing it he gave her much valuable information in the context of their easy, familiar conversation. Familiarity, she thought, not only bred contempt (hers) but also confidence (his).

She knew how to calm him, massaging his neck and shoulders when he came to her, raging about what would happen. “If we don’t find out how those damn Jews are escaping … I’ll send the whole office to Berlin to be shot … I swear it.”

“The Jews are escaping? How?”

“If I knew the answer to that I could—”

“Listen to me, Christian … perhaps the French are buying off your men?”

He looked at her shrewdly. “I wouldn’t say this to everyone, but I think that’s precisely what’s happened … and I swear I’ll find out—”

“If anyone can, I’m sure you will. …”

He was tired. He wanted to take a bath. She led him into the bathroom and turned on the water taps. While the bath was filling, she undressed him. He especially liked that.

While he lay back in the tub, closing his eyes, and began loudly humming his favorite Wagnerian—naturally—aria …God, how she detested it … she went out to the bedroom, quickly took the briefcase off the desk, opened it and went through the contents. She’d done it a hundred times, and her memory had become so keen that she could remember dates, times, places and names without writing them down. Quickly her eyes read through the pages, making mental notes. Suddenly her heart almost stopped beating. There it was, in black and white.

The dossier read: Jeanette Hack Dupré. Jew. One son, Henri. Time of arrest, 7:00 A.M. Date, November 2. Destination, Dachau.

Meticulously she put the contents back into the briefcase, replaced it on the desk. She began to tremble, and couldn’t stop. November 2 … my God,
tomorrow
… She wanted to kill him at once. But if she killed him, would that save Jeanette and her son? No. Then what should she do? Whatever she decided, she must
not
panic. Now was the time for matching wits. …She ordered herself to remain calm … to play out her role. She had a feeling that, for better or worse, it would soon be over.

It was no problem for her to dissolve a sleeping pill in his coffee during dinner …he was already drowsy. …Afterward he got into bed and, sitting next to him, she said, “You know, my dear, you really need to relax more.” And he’d sleepily agreed, smiling and holding her hand, and then his grip relaxed and he had fallen asleep … soundly, she hoped, at least for a few hours. She personally saw to it that his cup was carefully rinsed out … not a trace could be left in the cup to arouse suspicion … then went straight to Pierre and told him the awful news. “I’d stay with Alexis until you get back. …Go to Anjou … tell him what’s happened … he’ll know what to do. Oh, God,
hurry …
”

Late that night the doorbell rang at the Dupré mansion on the Boulevard Victor Hugo. A small man wearing wire-rimmed glasses was admitted. Impeccably dressed, he took off his hat, revealing the sparse hair on his shining scalp. Nervously, he waited for Etienne to come to the library.

When he joined him Etienne was dressed in his robe and slippers. “Charles, my dear friend, what brings you here so late? Sit down. You look sick. Let me get you a brandy.”

Charles sat down in a chair facing the painting of Marshal Dupré. His forehead broke out in perspiration. He gratefully accepted a glass of brandy.

“Now, Charles, tell me what’s wrong?”

“Etienne—I don’t know how to tell you this—”

“Relax, calm yourself. After all, we’ve been friends for a very long time, since our days in school together. Now please tell me …”

Charles hesitated, cleared his throat. “Etienne, you know that for me to exist, I have to pretend to support the present regime. I have no other choice, I’ve been in the government all my life …”

“I understand, you know that … but what is so pressing tonight?”

“Etienne, I am a
Frenchman.
I may seem to work with the Germans but I am also in the underground, and it would mean my life and the lives of my children if that were known. You understand that …?”

“Of course, Charles, and I admire you for it. I wish I … but never mind … does your coming here tonight have anything to do with me?” he suddenly asked.

Charles hesitated, then answered very quietly, “Yes, I’m afraid it does … Etienne, the Gestapo is scheduled to pick up your wife and son—”

Etienne looked at him as though he hadn’t heard, and then as though what he’d heard was the outpouring of a crazy man. … “Charles, I know you mean well, but this is impossible, surely you’re mistaken …”

“I wish I were, Etienne, God knows I do. But you must believe it, there’s not much time—”

“What do you mean, not much time? What time? When …?”

“Seven, tomorrow morning—”

“My God, you’re certain?”

“Yes, Etienne, I’m certain—”

“How did you find out?”

“Don’t ask me that, Etienne.”

“But I want to know, I must know … how could the Gestapo possibly find out? All the records were changed … a priest …Who could have told them? Damn you, Charles,
tell me
…”

The man slumped down in his chair. He couldn’t find his voice. Etienne went to him where he sat and shook him.
“Tell me.”

Silence. Then … “Jean-Paul …”

Etienne stared at him again as though he were a mad man. Surely he was wrong. Jean-Paul had less than a brotherly love for him, he knew, and there had been times when it was clear that some tensions existed between him-self and Jeanette. …But to think that … no, it was monstrous, impossible … “Charles, I ask you again, are you sure … my brother …?”

“Yes, absolutely sure. We have our people working all over Paris. I was informed, and told to come to you at once. …Etienne, you must believe it. I swear it … on my children, I swear it. …Etienne, you aren’t the first, I’m afraid you won’t be the last …And now you’ve got to put aside your disbelief and listen carefully to what I tell you. You must go to Switzerland. Take the route to Basel … that’s
very
important, because that road has no strategical importance to the Germans, there are only a few border guards at that check point. For God’s sake; Etienne, go now and give your family a chance. In a few hours it will be too late. …”

Etienne nodded, finally accepting. “Charles, dear friend, I’ve no idea how I can thank you, I know the risk you’ve taken coming here to say this to me … you must go now.”

As Etienne entered the room, Jeanette sat up in bed, startled. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You look so pale.”

He sat on the bed and held her close to him. “I’ve something to tell you …”

From the sound of his voice, she knew it was urgent “What’s wrong, Etienne?”

“Darling, I want you to listen to me. … I want you to pack a bag with only the basic necessities. Then go to Henri’s room and do the same. When you’ve finished, bring him back here, put him to bed and let him sleep. Get dressed in your warmest clothing. Take only the coat you will wear. Just before we leave we’ll dress Henri—”

“
Leave?
Oh, my God, I understand, it’s because of me. No, Etienne. You and Henri stay. There are places I can go but you and Henri can’t leave—”

He took her face in his hands. “Sshh, we’ve no time for such nonsense. We’re a family. We’re driving to Switzerland together. I’ve had the passports for a long time, we’ll have no problems—”

“No, Etienne, I can’t let you do this for me—”

“I’m doing it for you
and
me, and our son. …Now, please, darling, do as I ask. …I’ve something to do before we leave, so dry your tears, there’s no need for them. Just thank God we still have time.” He kissed her quickly and went to dress. She followed him.

“Where are you going, Etienne?”

“I’ll be back shortly. Just do as I ask. Tell
no one
we’re leaving.”

“Not even Madeleine?”

“No one. Not even
maman
… I’ll tell her just before we leave.”

Somehow, Jeanette managed to pull herself together, but as she did what Etienne had asked, she knew that it was she and she alone who had brought this terror down on their home. She felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding as she packed, then went down the hall to get her son. Quietly, so as not to awaken Madeleine asleep in the adjacent bedroom, she picked up her sleeping child. …

It was two A.M. when the door of Jean-Paul’s house was opened by his butler. “
Bonsoir,
monsieur. Your brother is asleep. Shall I—”

Etienne pushed him aside with his cane and made his way loudly up the stairs to Jean-Paul’s room.

Switching on the bedside lamp, Jean-Paul saw Etienne coming toward him, his breathing labored, his eyes clearly showing his rage and hatred. He knew immediately why Etienne was here. He felt sick to his stomach. How … how had he found out? Who …?

Etienne stood over the bed now. He lifted his cane and struck his brother across the chest.

“You’re crazy … you damn cripple, get out of my house.”

Etienne’s answer was to drag him out of the bed. Jean-Paul broke away and staggered against the wall, Etienne following.

“You unbelievable, depraved bastard … I knew how you felt about me, but why Jeanette? My wife, the mother of your child—”

“
My
child? You
are
insane.”

“I’m not insane, or blind—”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean, I know. I’ve known from the beginning, as soon as Jeanette told me she was pregnant—”

“And you’ve put up with that? You’ve lived with her knowing
that
?”

“Yes. You wouldn’t understand it, but I lived with that. Do you really think I don’t know about you, how you’ve behaved with women, what you’ve done to your own wife? Do you imagine I don’t know that you married her for her inheritance, would have refused to divorce her for Jeanette? No, my Casanova brother, you did me a favor. You swept her off her feet, a young girl, a young and innocent girl. I could never have done that, but I could recognize a gift, and that is what she gave me, and I was grateful for the opportunity to take it.”

“Were you also grateful that she was my mistress …? You didn’t know
that,
did you? All those years, she was coming to me—”

Etienne went even paler, and for a moment felt a stabbing sensation … and then there was no more time for such indulgence, only for getting out the last of his fury against the cringing—yes, by God, cringing—figure in front of him. …Except now, of course, he understood Jean-Paul’s special hatred for Jeanette. She had left him, humiliated him, and for his cripple of a brother. And now he was taking his revenge, but what kind of man would …?