Paris: The Novel (145 page)

As Schmid considered his situation, he felt quite hopeful. On the one hand, of course, things had been going badly for the Wehrmacht. Allied bombing was increasing, so were the Resistance activities. Attacks on guard posts, factories sabotaged, trains derailed. The French, clearly, believed that an invasion was coming soon, and that France would rise up as General Patton led a huge assault across the channel.

But where? Some said the Allies might land in Normandy, or farther west. But Schmid didn’t believe that, nor did intelligence support that idea. The Allies would strike across the narrowest point of the Channel, between Dover and Calais. Why would they do anything else?

And when they did? That would be the test. No one should underestimate the genius of the führer, or of the Wehrmacht. For wherever they struck, the Allies would find the Germans ready for them. The assault would fail. The Allies would be massacred. Eisenhower would lose his command. Quite possibly the Americans would lose heart and give up, and then where would the Allies be?

Europe would belong to Germany.

That, Schmid told himself, as he waited for Luc Gascon to arrive, was how it would be.

It was destiny. It could not be otherwise.

Luc had passed three bad days. Now and then, he had felt remorse for what he had done. But his remorse was not great. Whatever relationship they had once had, Louise had scorned him. Indeed, when she’d said that even if she had an escape route, she wouldn’t tell him, it was quite clear that she’d happily leave him to his death. No, he thought, he owed her nothing at all. Nothing. He was just repaying her in kind.

What worried him was something far worse. He had just put himself in greater danger.

What if she told one of her Resistance friends about his visit and their quarrel? And that she already suspected he was a collaborator? When something happened to her, who was going to be at the top of their list of suspects? The fact that Schmid had also been there might provide a partial cover, but it wasn’t enough. He should have thought the whole thing through more carefully before he went to see the Gestapo man.

He’d let his feelings get in the way of his judgment—not something he would ever do normally. But he had this time, and he cursed his folly.

Even more than before, it seemed to Luc, he needed a place of safety. A place, at least, where he could hide for a while without being found. A place nobody knew.

He could think of only one. True, his brother, Thomas, knew of it. But nobody else. And Thomas, thank God, was the one person in the world whom he could trust.

There’d be work to do, of course. He’d have to stock it with food and water. Not an easy thing to do with rationing. But he could take canned food, smoked ham, other things that would keep, a little at a time from the restaurant. He told Édith he needed them for a customer, and she only shrugged. After all, it was his restaurant. He’d begun the process the evening after he’d seen Schmid.

And now, here he was again, back in Schmid’s office, and Schmid was smiling.

“I looked at the sketch,” the German said pleasantly, “and I agree with you. I have just given the order that she is to be watched day and night, and followed wherever she goes. With luck, she may lead us to something.” He passed a small wad of francs across the desk to Luc. “You have earned this. If our suspicion is correct, there will be more.”

“And if she doesn’t lead you to anyone?”

Schmid smiled.

“We shall set a trap.”

How peaceful it was at the château. If massive preparations were in motion, across the English Channel, for the greatest amphibious invasion in history, down in the Loire valley there was not a hint of it. Unless, perhaps,
one counted the occasional Allied bomber, driven off course after bombing the railway yards around Paris, that droned across the sky.

But Marie had plenty to occupy her mind. She had little Esmé to think about.

There was no doubt about who he was. Within two hours after Louise left, Marc had arrived at the rue Bonaparte. Five minutes of explanation and he confirmed the truth of everything.

“Take a quick look at your grandson,” she commanded. “Don’t try to see Louise. She doesn’t want it, and you must respect that. Then go.”

Roland, however, was quite another matter.

She’d never seen him so excited.

“I have a grandson? Let me look at him.
Mon Dieu
, but he’s like Charlie.”

“He’s illegitimate, of course,” she gently reminded him. She didn’t want him to get too happy, and then suffer a reaction, and take against the child. But she needn’t have worried.

“Oh, that’s nothing.” He shrugged. “Some of the greatest generals and statesmen, the noblest families in France, descend from the illegitimate children of kings.”

“True.” Marie thought she’d better get everything out of the way, at once. “But I must tell you that his mother—though she looks and behaves like one of us—is nonetheless the madam of a brothel, and was once a courtesan herself.”

This didn’t interest Roland either.

“
Ma chérie
, many of the royal mistresses were little better. It’s the same in other countries too. At least one of the English dukes is descended from a prostitute.” He thought for a moment. “You say she’s charming?”

“Yes.”

“Voilà. That’s all that matters.” He glanced at her. “For a mistress, of course. Not for a wife.”

“So you’ll be kind to him?”

“Of course I’ll be kind to him. He’s my grandson. The only one I have—unless Charlie has others we don’t know about.”

“That also would please you.”

“One welcomes proof of the family’s vigor.”

And he could hardly be separated from the little boy, took him on his knee, even carried him on his shoulders when they went outside.

The only person needed to complete the family circle was Charlie himself. But of Charlie, so far, there was no sign.

He’d been away so long, Marie wondered if the invasion might be imminent. The first days of June passed. The weather turned poor. Farther north, up by the coast, the seas were stormy. Whenever the Allies were coming, she thought, it clearly wouldn’t be just now.

It was mid-morning on the eighth of June when Charlie took the train from the station at Montparnasse. He hadn’t wanted to go. He’d been having such an interesting time with Max Le Sourd and his boys to the east of Paris that he hadn’t even been back to the apartment for more than two weeks. But this was an emergency.

The last three days had been dramatic. Seizing a small break in the bad weather, the Allies’ massive D-day invasion of Normandy had caught the Germans completely by surprise.

But not unprepared. Despite the heavy bombings, the huge bombardment from the sea and the vast sabotage efforts of the coordinated Resistance networks, the beaches had been stoutly defended. The Allies were establishing their beachhead, but the fighting was intense. The Allied advance would be neither easy nor swift. Even assuming all went well, it might be weeks before they could reach Paris.

And the fever of Resistance activity—derailing trains carrying troops to the new front, blowing up arms depots, cutting off German fuel and power—also included one lesser but important task.

Saving Allied airmen.

The message had gotten to Charlie early that morning, brought by one of his friends in the Confrérie Notre-Dame.

“There’s a Canadian airman. One of a bomber crew. They came down in the Loire valley. The rest of them didn’t make it, but he got lucky. Our boys down there have got him, but they need help.”

“Can’t they send him south?” asked Charlie.

That was the usual procedure. The Resistance had set up quite a good escape route. Passed from group to group, airmen were being smuggled across the Pyrenees into Spain.

“We’ve just had word of several airmen being betrayed. Some of the southern groups must have been infiltrated.”

This was the trouble with the rapid enlargement of the networks, Charlie thought. Inevitable perhaps, but it still sickened him.

“What do you want me to do?”

“We may have an alternative. Couriers we think we can trust. But we need a week. And a new safe house.”

“Where is he?”

“About three hours’ walk from your family’s château.”

When Roland de Cygne heard a light tap at his bedroom door in the middle of the night and found Charlie there, he was overjoyed to see him. It took only a brief whispered conversation to discover what was up.

“We came by bicycle,” Charlie told him. “It’s lucky I know all the roads so well. We came here without using any lights.”

“Where is he now?”

“In the old stable. Where I keep the car. If he’s discovered, you and Marie can always say you didn’t know he was there.”

By now, Marie had joined them. Charlie turned to her.

“You said you wanted to help,” he told her wryly. “Now you have your wish.”

There was one other thing he had to caution them both about. Security.

“It’s best if you don’t see him. But if you do, remember that he was brought here at night. He has no idea where he is. Above all, he knows me only by my code name: Monsieur Bon Ami.”

“It sounds very cloak and dagger,” Marie remarked.

“Yes,” Charlie replied, “but if the airman gets caught, the less he knows about us the better.”