Paris: The Novel (144 page)

She had gone too far. He’d made her what she was, yet she dared to treat him with contempt. Very well. She was going to find out how dangerous that was. This time he would punish her. He would teach her a final lesson, the last she would ever learn.

“If this is how you treat your friends,” he said, in a voice so quiet it was little more than a whisper, “I shall leave you, Louise.”

One hour later, Schmid was surprised to receive a visit from Luc. And still more so when, as soon as he was seated, the Frenchman calmly announced: “I have news that may interest you. I think I’ve found Corinne.”

It did not take the Frenchman long to tell his story. After he had finished, Schmid nodded slowly.

“It is possible you are right. I know this woman and her place.”

“She has some good pictures.”

“Yes.”

“You said you would pay well.”

“Oh yes, I will pay.”

“Can you go there and look for yourself? It would preserve my cover.”

“Come back in three days,” said Schmid.

Louise was irritated, two evenings later, that the Gestapo man Schmid had announced that he would pay one of his rare visits. The girls didn’t like him. But for all her connections with senior Germans, Louise knew it would be highly unwise to annoy a Gestapo officer.

She had one satisfactory memory of him, however. And that had been his second visit.

She had not forgotten his attempt to see the Babylon room when little Laïla was hiding there. And she had racked her brains for a satisfactory theme for the redecoration of the room that had been forced upon her.

Just as she’d expected, when he had come again, he had insisted on seeing the room, and she had watched his face as he had done so.

For she had turned it into her Nazi room.

She had been subtle. There was nothing for him to complain of. Nothing crude, no hints of viciousness. The carpet was black, the big bed spotless white, with a swastika in the middle of the cover and on the corners of the pillowcases. Everything was simple, geometric, the furniture in a simplified Bauhaus style. On the walls, a painting of Austrian woods and mountains, a portrait of the führer, two prints derived from Leni Riefenstahl’s film of the Nuremberg rally and one of a happy group of blond and athletic Aryan women at a holiday camp, showing a tantalizing amount of flesh.

Schmid had stared at it, half-admiring, half-disappointed not to have caught her out.

“Very good, madame,” he’d said.

But this evening, when he’d come, he’d been surprisingly charming. Quite meek, and friendly with the girls. She might have guessed something was up. Sure enough, before going up with the blond girl he’d selected, he asked very politely if he might have a word with her in her office.

He came straight to the point.

“Madame, your establishment has no equal in Paris. That is why so many senior officers come here. And although a promotion has come my way, I am sure you know that a junior officer like myself can scarcely
afford to come here.” He made a sad gesture. “The trouble is, once he has been here, no man could wish to come anywhere else.”

She gracefully inclined her head at the compliment. What else could she do?

“How can I help you?” she asked.

“I am embarrassed to have to ask, but I confess, madame, that if you could offer me a discount, it would make my life easier.”

She tensed and eyed him coldly. He was going to try to rob her.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“I could manage two thirds of the normal rate.” He paused. “I think you know that this is true.”

She’d been expecting something much steeper. He’d still find it expensive. She didn’t like it, but thought it wisest to yield.

“I should be glad to accommodate you,” she said. “But this is for yourself alone.”

“Of course. I thank you, madame.” He stood up, then looked around the room. “You have wonderful taste. The pictures here are very fine. Can this be one of yourself?”

“No, but people often say it’s like me.”

He nodded appreciatively, glanced at a small landscape on another wall intently, and then retired.

The visit could have been worse, she supposed.

Marie always liked to spend the month of May in Paris. She loved to see the tree blossoms on the boulevards and avenues.

She was almost at the end of her stay at the rue Bonaparte when, one morning, she was told that a lady and her son had called to see her. The name on the lady’s card was not familiar, but Marie had them shown in all the same.

The lady who entered was about forty, very elegantly dressed, and accompanied by a boy of five. Marie had an idea that she had met the woman before somewhere, but she had met so many people when she was running Joséphine that she couldn’t possibly remember them all.

But when she saw the little boy, she started.

Louise had hesitated for so long. Strangely enough, though she had little respect for him, it was Luc who had decided her to come.

If the Germans were driven from Paris, she had no fear of being tried as a collaborator. The Resistance leaders knew Corinne, and what she was doing for them. I’m more likely to get a medal, she thought.

But the final conflict might be quite a different matter. There might be a siege, and bombardment. There could be extensive fighting in the streets. Not a good place for little Esmé to be. And then, assuming that the Germans were driven out, a period of confusion. That, she now realized, was the greatest danger of all. Luc was right. Ordinary people, if they were in a lynching mood, would see the favorite brothel of the German High Command and its madame as a natural target. They might drag her out into the street, stone her … There was no knowing.

She knew very well that the time of invasion was approaching. She couldn’t put off the decision about Esmé forever. And perhaps the obvious panic that lay behind Luc’s visit affected her too.

She would have liked to talk to Charlie, but he had disappeared at the moment, and when he was away on a Resistance mission, there was no way of knowing when he would surface again.

So she had decided it was time to take Esmé to his grandparents. She knew already from Charlie that they would be in Paris for the month of May. Better do it straightaway, therefore, before they went back to the valley of the Loire.

And she’d thought carefully about exactly what she must say.

At her request now, Esmé was taken out of the room to spend a little time with the housekeeper, and she began.

“I see that you noticed something about my son, madame,” she began quietly. “He looks just like Charlie. That is because Charlie is his father.” She paused. “You did not know of his existence?”

“No.”

“That was at my request. I had my reasons, though I can assure you that I had no objections to Charlie’s father, nor to you, madame. Quite the contrary, in fact. But Charlie is very anxious that Esmé should be taken to a place of safety, and I can no longer deny that he is right. Charlie is engaged in dangerous activities himself, as we both know. And I too run certain risks.”

“Ah.” Marie looked at her. A woman in the Resistance. She had no doubt that Louise was telling her the truth.

“I have brought you documents.” Louise handed across the registration of Esmé’s birth. “As you will see, Charlie is named as the father. As soon as he reappears, he will be able to confirm all this.”

“Why did you avoid us? Because the child is illegitimate?”

“You would have insisted that Charlie take my son away from me. And he is all I have.”

“Why would we have done that?”

“Because I run the best brothel in Paris.”

Marie nodded. “You are right.”

Louise paused for a few moments.

“There is something else, madame. A secret that even Charlie does not know.” Louise paused for a few moments. “If anything were to happen to me, I should like to be sure that Esmé has all the love and care that is possible. I have no doubt of your kindness, madame, but there is a particular circumstance that may cause you to take an interest in my son.” She handed Marie a sealed envelope. “These papers concern my mother. Her name was Corinne Petit. My father, I finally discovered, was Marc. Your brother, madame. He knows nothing about me, and it’s better that way. But I wish you to know that Esmé is your nephew.”

Marie stared at her.

“Why did you not tell Marc?”

“I was too embarrassed.” She shrugged. “I met him once. In professional circumstances.”

“He came to your establishment?”

“No. I went to his house.”

Marie frowned, then understood.

“Oh my God.”

“It could have been worse. For that’s where I discovered. I saw the photographs of your wedding, and I recognized your husband. He was my English parents’ lawyer. He’d arranged my adoption.”

She and Marie gazed at each other.

“Do you mean that you and Marc …”

“No,” said Louise. “Thank God. I was able to leave, before …”

“And after that, you felt you couldn’t tell him.”

“I was always proud of my independence, madame, if not of the way I achieved it.” She smiled. “By the way, I admired the way you ran Joséphine. I tried to model my establishment on it, in a slightly different way, of course.”

“My husband is out, but he will be back in an hour or two. I wonder what he will say.”

“Esmé is his grandson. I think he will take care of him. It should be quite possible for you to check the truth of everything I have told you.”

“I do not disbelieve you.”

“If it were not true, madame, I would hardly be giving you the only treasure I possess.”