Jewels (30 page)

“I realize very well, and I sincerely beg your pardon.” He looked as though he meant it, but his good manners did nothing to mollify her. As far as Sarah was concerned they should never have been there.

“And she’s a young girl! How dare they do a thing like that to her!” She was suddenly shaking from head to foot and she wanted to beat him with her fists, but she had the good sense not to.

The commandant felt bad about Emanuelle, but he was most upset by what they had almost done to Sarah. “I apologize, Your Grace, from the bottom of my heart. I realize only too well what could have happened.” She was right. They might very well have killed her baby. “We will keep a tighter watch on the men. I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“Then see that it doesn’t.” She stormed at him, and then marched into the cottage, somehow managing to look both beautiful and regal in her blanket as he watched her. She was an extraordinary woman, and he had wondered more than once how she had come to be the Duchess of Whitfield. He had found photographs of her in William’s study, which was his room now, and of both of them, and they looked remarkably handsome and happy. He envied them. He had been divorced since before the war, and he scarcely ever saw his children. They were two boys, seven and twelve, and his wife had remarried and moved to the Rhineland. He knew her husband had been killed in Poznan in the first days of the war, but he hadn’t seen her again, and the truth was that he didn’t really want to. The divorce had been extremely painful. They had married when they were very young, and they had always been very different. It had taken him two years to recover from the blow, and then the war had come, and now he had his hands full. He had been pleased with the assignment to France. He had always liked it there. He had studied for a year at the Sorbonne, and he had finished his studies at Oxford. And through all of it, in all of his travels, in all his forty years, he had never met anyone like Sarah. She was so beautiful, so strong, so decent. He wished they had met in other circumstances, at another time. Perhaps then things might have been different.

The administration of his convalescent hospital kept him busy enough, but in the evenings, he liked to go for long walks. He had come to know the property well, even the far reaches of it, and he was coming back one evening at dusk from a little river he had found in the forest, when he saw her. She was walking slowly, by herself, awkwardly now, and she seemed very pensive. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he thought he should say something to her, lest his unexpected presence surprise her. She turned her face toward him then, as though she sensed someone near her. She stopped walking and looked at him, not sure if his presence was a threat, but he was quick to reassure her.

“May I assist you, Your Grace?” She was climbing bravely over logs, and little stone walls, and she could easily have fallen, but she knew the terrain well. She and William had come here often.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly, every inch the duchess. And yet she looked so young and so lovely. She seemed less angry than she usually was when she saw him. She was still upset over what had happened to Emanuelle the week before, but she had heard that the men were truly jailed to punish them for it, and she was impressed by his sense of justice.

“Are you well?” he asked, walking along with her. She looked pretty, in a white embroidered dress made by the locals.

“I’m all right,” she said, looking at him as though for the first time. He was a handsome man, tall, fair, and his face was lined, she could see that he was a little older than William. She wished he weren’t there, but she had to admit, he had always been extremely polite to her, and twice now, very helpful.

“You must get easily tired now,” he said gently, and she shrugged, looking sad for a moment, thinking of William.

“Sometimes.” Then she glaced back at Joachim. Her news of the war was limited these days, and she had had no word of William since the Occupation. There was no way his letters could reach her. And she knew he must be frantic for news of her and Phillip.

“Your husband’s name is William, isn’t it?” he asked, and she looked at him, wondering why he asked. But she only nodded.

“He’s younger than I. But I think I might have met him once when I was at Oxford. I believe he went to Cambridge.”

“That’s right,” she said hesitantly, “he did.” It was odd to think that the two men had met. Life did strange things sometimes. “Why did you go to Oxford?”

“I always wanted to. I was very fond of all things English then.” He wanted to tell her that he still was, but he couldn’t. “It was a wonderful opportunity, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

She smiled wistfully. “I think that’s the way William felt about Cambridge.”

“He was on the soccer team, and I played against him once.” He smiled. “He beat me.” She wanted to cheer, but she only smiled, suddenly wondering about this man. In any other context, she knew she would have liked him.

“I wish you weren’t here,” she said honestly, sounding very young, and he laughed.

“So do I, Your Grace. So do I. But better here than in battle somewhere. I think they knew in Berlin that I am better suited to repairing men than destroying them. It was a great gift to be sent here.” He had a point there, but she wished that none of them had come. And then he looked at her with curiosity.

“Where is your husband?” But she wasn’t sure if she should tell him. If she told him that William was in Intelligence, it might put all of them in greater danger.

“He’s attached to the RAF.”

“Does he fly?” The commandant seemed surprised.

“Not really,” Sarah said vaguely, and he nodded.

“Most of the pilots are younger than we are.” He was right of course, but she only nodded. “It’s a terrible thing, war. No one wins. Everyone loses.”

“Your Führer doesn’t seem to think that.”

Joachim was silent for a long moment, and then answered her, but there was something in his voice that caught her attention, something that told her he hated this war as much as she did. “You’re right. Perhaps in time,” he said bravely, “he will come to his senses, before too much is lost, and too many are killed.” And then he touched her by what he said next, “I hope that your husband stays safe, Your Grace.”

“So do I,” she whispered as they reached the cottage. “So do I.” He bowed, and saluted her then, and she left him and went back to the cottage, musing at what an interesting contradiction he was. A German who hated the war, and yet, he was the commandant of the German Forces in the Loire Valley region. But when she walked back into the cottage that night, thinking of her husband, she forgot all about Joachim.

She ran into him again a few days later, in die same place, and then again, and eventually it was as though they expected to meet there. She liked to go and sit in the forest at the end of the day, by the riverbank, and think, with her feet dangling in the cool water. Her ankles got swollen sometimes, and it was so peaceful here. All she could hear were the birds and the sounds of the forest.

“Hello,” he said quietly, one afternoon, after he had followed her there. She didn’t know that he had guessed her routine, and watched for her now, from his window, as she left the cottage. “It’s hot today, isn’t it?” He wished he could give her a cool drink, or feel the long silky hair, or even touch her cheek. She was beginning to fill his dreams at night, and his thoughts in the daytime. He even kept one of William’s photographs of her locked in his desk, where he could see it whenever he wanted. “How are you feeling?”

She smiled at him; they were not yet friends, but at least they were neutral. It was something. And he was someone to talk to, other than Emanuelle and Henri and Phillip. She missed her long, intelligent conversations with William. She missed other things about him as well. She missed everything. But at least this man, with his worldly views and his gentle eyes, was someone to talk to. She never forgot who he was, or why he was there. She was the duchess, and he was the commandant. But it was a relief of sorts, talking to him, even for a few moments.

“I’m feeling fat,” she admitted to him with a small smile. “Enormous.” And then she turned to him with curiosity. She knew nothing about him. “Do you have children?”

He nodded, sitting on a large rock, just near her, and ran a hand through the cool water. “Two sons. Hans and Andi—Andreas.” But he looked sad as he said it.

“How old are they?”

“Seven and twelve. They live with their mother. We’re divorced.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. Children were a separate thing from war. And whatever nationality they were, she couldn’t bring herself to hate them.

“Divorce is a terrible thing,” he said, and she nodded.

“I know.”

“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow, wanting to ask her how, but he didn’t. It was obvious that she couldn’t know. She was clearly happy with her husband. “I scarcely saw my sons once she left. She remarried … and then the war came…. It’s all very difficult at best.”

“You’ll see them again when the war ends.”

He nodded, wondering when that would be, when the Führer would let them go home, and if his ex-wife would really let him see them, or if she would say it had been too long, and they no longer wanted to see him anyway. She had played a lot of games with him, and he was still very hurt and very angry. “And your baby?” He changed the subject again. “You said it would be here in August. That’s very soon.” He wondered how shocked everyone would be if he let her have it at the château, with their doctors’ help, or if that would cause too much talk. It might just be easier to send one of the doctors down to the cottage. “Was it easy with your son?”

It was odd to be discussing this with him, and yet here they were in the woods, alone, captor and prisoner, and what difference did it make what she told him? Who would ever know? Who would even know if they became friends, as long as no one was hurt, and nothing was damaged? “No, it wasn’t easy,” she admitted to him. “Phillip weighed ten pounds. It was very hard. My husband saved us both.”

“There was no doctor?” He looked shocked. Surely the duchess had had her baby in a private clinic in Paris, but she surprised him.

“I wanted to have him here. He was born on the day war was declared. The doctor had gone to Warsaw, and there was no one else. Just William… my husband. I think it frightened him even more than it did me. I didn’t really know what was happening after a certain point. It took a long time, and …” She spared him the details, but she smiled shyly at him. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a lovely boy.” He was touched by her, by her innocence and her honesty, and her beauty.

“You’re not afraid this time?”

She hesitated, for some reason wanting to be honest with him, though she didn’t know why. But she knew she liked him, in spite of who he was, and where he lived, and how they had met. He had only been kind to her, and decent. And he had intervened to protect her twice now.

“A little,” she admitted. “But not very.” She hoped it would be quicker and that this baby would be smaller.

“Women always seem so brave to me. My wife had both of our boys at home. It was beautiful, but for her it was very easy.”

“She’s lucky.” Sarah smiled.

“Perhaps we can help you this time with some German expertise.” He laughed gently and she looked serious.

“They wanted to do a cesarean last time, but I didn’t want one.”

“Why not?”

“I wanted to have more children.”

“Admirable of you. And brave … just as I said, women are so much more courageous. If men had to have babies, there would be no more children.” She laughed, and they talked about England then, and he asked her about Whitfield. She was intentionally vague with him. She didn’t want to give away any secrets, but it was the spirit of it that interested him, the stories, the traditions. He really did seem to love all things English.

“I should have gone back,” she said wistfully. “William wanted me to, but I thought we’d be safe here. I never thought France would surrender to the Germans.”

“No one did. I think it even surprised us how quickly it went,” he confessed to her, and then he told her something he knew he shouldn’t. But he trusted her, and there was no way she could betray him. “I think you did the right thing staying here. You, and your children, will be safer.”

“Than at Whitfield?” She looked surprised and it seemed an odd thing to say to her, as she looked at him with a puzzled frown, wondering what he meant.

“Not necessarily Whitfield, but England. Sooner or later, the Luftwaffe will turn its full force on Britain. It will be better for you to be here then.” She wondered if he was right, and as they walked back to the cottage afterwards she wondered if he had told her anything he shouldn’t. She assumed that the British knew all about the Luftwaffe’s plans, and maybe he was right, maybe it was safer here. But whether or not it was, she had no choice now. She was his prisoner.

She didn’t see him again for a few days, and at the very end of July, she ran into him again in the forest. He seemed distracted and tired, but he cheered up when she thanked him for the food that had begun appearing outside the cottage. First, berries for the child, and then a basket of fruit for all of them, loaves of fresh bread that their bakers were making at the château, and carefully wrapped in newspaper and well hidden from prying eyes, a kilo of real coffee.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously. “You don’t have to do that.” He didn’t owe them anything. They were the forces of the Occupation.

“I’m not going to eat, while you starve.” His cook had made a wonderful Sacher torte for him the night before, and he was planning to take the rest of it to her himself that night, but he didn’t mention it as they walked slowly back to the cottage. She seemed to be slowing down, and he noticed that in the past week, she had gotten considerably larger. “Is there anything else you need, Your Grace?”

She smiled at him. He always addressed her by her title. “You know, I suppose you really could call me Sarah.” He already knew that was her name. He had seen it when he had taken her passport. And he knew that she was about to turn twenty-four years old in a few more weeks. He knew her parents’ names, and their addresses in New York, and how she felt about some things, but he knew very little else about her. And his curiosity about her knew no bounds. He thought about her more than he would have admitted. But she sensed none of that, as she walked with him. She sensed only that he was a caring man, and as best he could, given his position here, he wanted to help her.