The Paris Apartment, page 7
“That is generous, truly.” She really should have moved faster. Retreated far beyond the bar and the reach of these men and into the safety of the night. “Yet I must decline.”
“Pity. But of course, I will not insist.” He patted her hand reassuringly. “But you have only to ask if you change your mind.”
She looked up at the colonel beneath her lashes. He was probably in his forties, with a pleasant face and a ready smile. A perfectly ordinary-looking man in a different time and place, but anything but ordinary in the here and now.
She wrapped her fingers around her glass and raised it to her lips, pretending to take a sip. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the bartender in his white bar coat casually mixing a drink. She was reasonably convinced that he harboured anti-Nazi sentiments, but she couldn’t be sure. She was, however, quite sure that he was listening to their conversation, so she chose her words with care.
“There is, actually, a different matter that I wished to speak to you about,” she said in a low voice.
“Oh?” Meyer removed his spectacles and then polished the lenses.
Estelle set her drink back on the gleaming bar top and undid the necklace that hung at her throat. “The Reichsmarschall might have been taken with my songs, but I believe he was taken with these emeralds more,” she said, laying the necklace on the bar. In the light, the gems pulsed with an unearthly glow.
“He does covet such treasures,” Meyer agreed.
“At the time, he expressed his desire to possess them,” she continued, ignoring the shudder that rose at the memory of his sausagelike fingers at her throat. “I confess that I declined his offer. They were a gift from my parents.” Her words were ridiculous, really, because what Hermann Göring wanted, Hermann Göring took. It was only a matter of time before the emeralds disappeared into his burgeoning collection of gems pillaged from all over Paris. Estelle figured she might as well extract an advantage while she could.
She slid the necklace toward him. “I know how hard you work to keep operations here running smoothly and the Reichsmarschall appeased. I thought that perhaps you should offer these jewels to him. I suspect such a gesture would be well regarded.”
The colonel replaced his spectacles and regarded her curiously. “Why would you do that? Why not offer them to him yourself?”
Estelle shrugged, her fur wrap sliding off her shoulder. “I was hoping you might be able to do something for me in return.”
“Such as?”
“I cannot eat emeralds.” She leaned in and dropped her voice. “And I do not wish to spend my days queuing for rations that always seem to run out.”
“That’s why you should move into the hotel,” Meyer protested. “Join Arletty and Coco. Inga and Daisy. Their every need is met, as would yours be. You’d not want for anything. I would personally see to it.”
“It’s tempting,” Estelle lied. “But I find great comfort in my own home. A failing on my part, I suppose.”
“Not a failing. One must admire a woman who takes pride in her home. Perhaps you will share it with a husband and family of your own soon?”
“That is my fondest wish.” Estelle schooled her expression into one of wistfulness. She knew exactly what role the Reich expected their women to play.
Meyer nodded his approval. “I will instruct the kitchens that you may have whatever you need. A woman such as yourself should not concern herself over such trifling matters.”
As if Paris starving was a trifling matter, Estelle thought despairingly. There were not enough emeralds in the world to keep the city from starving but at least the gems on the bar in front of her would keep those who were already depending on her from perishing.
“I am much relieved,” she said, pressing her hand to her chest. “Thank you.”
“No, it is I who should thank you.” He picked up the necklace and examined it before putting it back down. “But I, in turn, have a request for you to make our arrangement final.”
“Oh?” Estelle tried to sound interested when all she wanted to do was escape the clouds of smoke and heavy scent of too many bodies and too much perfume.
“One more song.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. “And I will escort you home myself. You do not need to worry about curfew.”
All hope of a quiet escape slipped away as she reminded herself that there was more at stake than her feelings. “Very well.”
Meyer clasped his hands together. “Wonderful. I cannot think of a better finish to such a successful day for the Luftwaffe and all of its fine people. Almost like a grand finale, as it were.”
“Oh?” Estelle gathered her wrap around her. “And what is it that I should be celebrating?”
Meyer glanced about. “I probably shouldn’t say anything but you’ll read about it in the papers in the next few days anyway, so I can’t see the harm.”
The bartender had moved away and was now pouring for a loud group of patrons.
Estelle leaned closer to the colonel as if hanging on his every word. Which, she supposed, she was. Just not for the reasons he thought.
Estelle wasn’t sure if any of the information she collected in this hotel was at all useful to the network to which she reported or what, if anything, they were able to do with such knowledge. It had been the field medic whom she had worked with for months, Jerome de Colbert, who had set up the initial meetings—his cousin Vivienne being the resistance operative Estelle met with most often. Half the time, Estelle felt ridiculous passing on details like the number and identities of the Luftwaffe officers who had taken up residence in the hotel, the names of the women who warmed their beds, or the fragments of conversations she overheard at the bars and in the salons. But all of it was absorbed with grave intensity. And solemn encouragement to keep watching and listening.
Like she was doing now.
“We’ve destroyed Britain’s air force.” Meyer clenched his fist and then opened it like he was mimicking a bomb detonating. “Utterly routed them. There is nothing left.”
“Nothing?” Estelle remarked, attempting to sound impressed. Inside she was shaking. With anger or despair, she wasn’t sure.
“We pulverized them,” he said with relish.
Estelle only nodded.
“The Reichsmarschall has now ordered the annihilation of London. Without a challenge, we will all be able to celebrate Göring’s brilliance and Churchill’s surrender right here in this beautiful city. This war will be over quickly, of this I am sure. Days, perhaps, weeks at worst.” He picked up his glass, raised it in a silent toast, drained it with gusto, and signalled the barman for another. “And I’m also sure we would all like to hear you sing to mark the occasion.”
I’d rather die, Estelle thought but, as always, she kept her smile firmly upon her lips. She managed another nod, already trying to determine if there was any logical way that she might get this information to Vivienne before tomorrow morning. Though for all Estelle knew, the Luftwaffe was already dropping explosives on London as the RAF sat in ruins and she sat sipping fine champagne at a Paris bar.
Estelle knew that Vivienne or the others in her network were in contact with London sporadically because they brought news of what was happening beyond the borders of France. Perhaps, at the very least, Estelle might be assured that Meyer’s comments were nothing more than a cog in the machine that was Nazi propaganda. Perhaps the Germans had underestimated the air force on the other side of the channel. Perhaps the RAF was merely biding its time.
Or perhaps the horrific red-and-black flags shrouding every building and monument in Paris would soon similarly hang from London’s edifices.
The barkeep had set a drink down in front of the colonel and nodded in Estelle’s direction. The lenses of his pince-nez perched on the bridge of his nose reflected the light from above and hid his eyes and his thoughts. Another reminder of things she didn’t know.
She drew her own glass across the smooth wood surface of the bar. “Shall I—”
“Colonel.” A harried officer who looked as if he’d just run a Roman mile approached Meyer, speaking in rapid German. “I was told I could find you in here.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I’ve come from Saint-Germain-en-Laye. I have a message for the Reichsmarschall.”
Meyer waved his hand in exasperation. “Then give it to him.”
“I can’t find him, sir. Do you know where he is?” He held a folded paper in his hand.
“I do not.” Meyer looked mildly annoyed. “If not in the dining room or one of the salons or one of the bars, he will most likely be in his suite. If that is the case, he will not appreciate disturbances.”
Estelle kept her face perfectly blank and put her handbag beside her drink, releasing the clasp.
The man shifted from foot to foot. “But it is imperative I speak with him.”
“Whatever the meddling field marshal wants, I’m sure it can wait.”
“But the message is from the Führer himself.”
The colonel stilled. “From the Führer?”
“Sent directly from Berlin. And the Führer demands an immediate answer from the Reichsmarschall. I’m to wait for a response and return with a reply for encryption.”
“It’s ridiculous that we are running messages back and forth across this damn country like rats scurrying about,” Meyer growled at the hapless officer. “Not only is the inefficiency of this process an affront to the entire Luftwaffe, it’s dangerous.”
“The mobile unit in Saint-Germain is well secured, Colonel. The location is changed regularly.”
“They are trucks,” Meyer snarled. “Vulnerable to anyone who can drive one.”
“I can assure you that we—”
The colonel banged his fist on the surface of the bar. “The field marshal has been promising the Luftwaffe its own communication equipment that has thus far failed to materialize. Can you explain that?”
The beleaguered officer cleared his throat. “I’m quite sure that everything possible is being done—”
“The Kriegsmarine does not seem to suffer such delays receiving their encryption devices.” The colonel still sounded furious.
“Those devices are not nearly as secure and sophisticated as the ones at Saint-Germain. The one that is being delivered here.”
Meyer didn’t seem impressed. “I have a teleprinter already installed that is sitting idle and useless, waiting to be connected, and the men who are supposed to be operating the system sitting just as idle and useless. Did von Rundstedt at least tell you when we might expect delivery of this sophisticated encryption unit?” He practically spat the word sophisticated back at the officer.
“I-I’m not sure, sir. Days, I think. They are waiting for a part of the machine from Berlin. It’s shipped in pieces, as I understand. For security purposes.”
Meyer cursed under his breath.
“Is something wrong?” Estelle looked up from her handbag with wide eyes.
“No, no,” he assured her in French. “Just a small matter.” He turned to the officer and switched back to German, visibly composing himself. “Give the message to me. I will take it to the Reichsmarschall.”
“Very good, sir.” The younger officer sounded relieved. “I will wait for a response.”
The colonel held out his hand, and the officer placed the paper in his waiting palm.
“You can also tell von Rundstedt that he is trying my patience. And that of the Reichsmarschall.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind.” Meyer waved the officer away impatiently.
“Is that important?” Estelle asked, gesturing at the paper.
“A message from Berlin,” Meyer told her. “And something I must deal with, I’m afraid.” He picked up the emeralds still lying on the polished bar and weighed them in his palm. “On second thought, perhaps you may reconsider your offer?”
“My offer?”
“To sing tonight, of course.”
“Of course.” This man had a way of twisting words.
“Come with me to the Reichsmarschall’s suite. If I must disturb him, he will take such an inconvenience more gracefully if it is accompanied by a welcome distraction such as yourself. He would enjoy a private audience with his favourite songbird, I think, and even more so should she come bearing gifts.”
Estelle stilled. “I don’t think that would—”
“We are exchanging favours here, are we not, Mademoiselle Allard?” Meyer put the emeralds on the table in front of her.
Estelle took another tiny sip of champagne that now tasted like poison. She set her glass back down and picked up the necklace. “It would be my honour,” she lied.
“Excellent.” Meyer gestured toward the entrance to the bar. “Shall we?”
Estelle followed the colonel from the bar, through the grand salons, and up to the étage noble. In all of her pampered, monied life, she had never actually been inside the Imperial Suite. There was a guard standing outside the suite’s door, and he stepped smartly aside as the colonel approached. Estelle could feel the guard’s eyes on her, and she turned to meet his stare boldly. He dropped his gaze.
Meyer knocked twice, loudly, and almost immediately the door was opened by another man within. An aide, Estelle guessed, taking in the crisp creases of his uniform, the polished black leather of his boots, and the haughty, smug expression he wore above it all. She’d seen that sort of expression her entire life on the faces of people who believed themselves superior because they were part of an elite inner circle.
“Colonel Meyer to see the Reichsmarschall,” Meyer said loudly, though for whose benefit Estelle wasn’t sure.
“All due respect, it’s rather late, don’t you think, Colonel?” the aide grunted before his eyes slipped to Estelle. “And he certainly did not request a whore this evening, no matter how beautiful she might be.” He was speaking in German.
Estelle adopted a bright, pleasing smile, looking back and forth between the men in uncomprehending question.
“Mademoiselle Allard is favoured for her voice,” Meyer emphasized with biting condescension, “and for the treasures she brings him. You would be wise to remember that in the future, Hesse.”
The aide called Hesse didn’t look convinced. Or cowed. “Hmph.”
“Further, I have a message from the Führer that demands immediate response. But by all means, continue to make imprudent comments about matters you know little about.”
Hesse’s features tightened. “Göring is currently resting, but I will advise him that you are here.” He led them into a grand salon. “Wait in this room,” he said before disappearing through two tall, narrow doors.
Here, in the salon, the ceilings soared overhead, crystal chandeliers spaced throughout. Windows taller than two men reached up and away, framed by elegant draperies caught neatly on each side. Antique chairs and chaises and tables were arranged in intimate groupings, as if waiting for their occupants to return to resume intimate discussions.
Except Estelle only registered all of this distantly. Because filling the space in between, propped up against walls, and resting on chairs and tabletops, was a collection of paintings, drawings, sculptures, and tapestries that would dwarf those of some museums.
“Quite an assortment, isn’t it?” Meyer murmured. “He’s got more at the Jeu de Paume. I don’t understand art much myself but the Reichsmarschall is making great efforts to assemble the finest pieces in all of Europe. Everything you see here will all be moved shortly.”
“To where?” Estelle asked, trying to sound merely curious and not horrified.
“As I understand, the collection is officially destined for the grand Führermuseum that will be a cultural showcase for the Reich. Unofficially, of course, I think the Reichsmarschall may have taken a more personal interest in some of the pieces. He has a weakness for beautiful things.” The colonel winked at Estelle. “You’re a bit of a collector yourself, are you not?”
“I am.” The words seemed to stick in her throat.
“Then you’ll appreciate all this more so than I.”
Slowly, Estelle turned in a circle, trying to control and conceal the emotion that was bubbling up. Fury, hatred, helplessness, horror. This wasn’t a collection, she thought clearly. This was a desecration. The theft and pillaging of history and culture, and, standing in this room, she couldn’t begin to imagine how any of it might be saved. She thought of the art hidden behind her walls at the Wylers’ request, because they had all heard the rumours of Nazis seizing personal collections. But she hadn’t truly appreciated the scope of the devastation and exploitation until this moment.
“Colonel Meyer.”
Estelle’s head snapped around to find the aide standing before them once again.
“The Reichsmarschall will see you now. But only you, Colonel. The mademoiselle is to wait here.”
The colonel grunted and strode toward the doors, yanking them open with little fanfare. Through them, Estelle glimpsed a massive bed, framed and draped like something out of Marie Antoinette’s boudoir. On the bed, a man lay reposing, clad in what looked like a burgundy silk robe, trimmed in fur and belted around his substantial girth. Two lavender-clad legs stuck out from beneath the hem.
The aide turned his attention to Estelle. “The Reichsmarschall is not in the mood to be…entertained this evening.” His French was heavily accented but precise. “He will not grant an audience but he is curious what you have brought him.”
“Of course.” Estelle handed him the emeralds.
The aide took them without comment and followed Meyer into the bedroom. The doors snapped shut behind him.
Estelle stood motionless in the center of the room before she forced herself to move. She circled the art, tipping a few paintings to look for anything that might tell her where they had come from or where they might be going. There were Flemish, French, Italian, and English paintings, some, she was sure, from the years marking the Renaissance. Pieces that were irreplaceable and priceless. She had nothing with which to make a list but maybe she could—
