The French Affair, page 26
‘And yet it did.’
‘When the British government dismissed the spying case against him to save their embarrassment, I was tasked with luring him here to assassinate him. Whatever you and the rest of the British public were led to believe, it was never the intention to let him go unpunished.’
He nodded at her words, but said nothing. The spark that had lit his eyes had gone. The pain of her betrayal had come back with all its force and it was her fault. Her confession was too much for him to take in and whatever her motivation, she’d still been unfaithful and no attempt at justifying it would change the fact that it had happened.
The sudden rustling of a bird in a nearby tree brought them back to their present danger. Iris touched Jack gently on the arm, a comrade’s goodbye. ‘I’d better go before someone sees us. Keep yourself safe.’
He made no effort to stop her as she started to leave. His mind was still working through everything she’d told him, his eyes fixed on the ground.
‘I’ll see what I can do to get you the names. I might know someone.’
‘Thank you.’ She threw a parting look over her shoulder. ‘Come to the house if you need anything.’
If you need me, she wanted to add, if there’s anything I can do to make things right, to heal the pain I’ve caused, but there was no use saying any of it because it was too late, and she had to accept there was no way back for them. The problem with loving an idealist is that sooner or later, you’re bound to let them down.
She took a winding route back into town to avoid leaving an obvious trail. Jack had been too stunned by her revelation to show any kind of reaction to her confession but finally, he knew the truth. Whatever his opinion of her, at least now it would be based on facts.
Chapter 45
Time was ticking by, but there was no one else Iris could trust to ask for help in finding out the names on the hostage list. As the head of the Resistance, Monsieur Vallery had proven too slippery for her taste. She hadn’t completely believed him when he claimed to have had no hand in the removal of Schiller from the bottom of the ravine, or in the disposal of his body, and because information about Schiller’s fate had been withheld, the Mayor’s life had been sacrificed.
In Vallery’s defence, nothing he could have said or done would have stopped the killing in the name of reprisals. It might, however, have removed the suspicion from Eva and possibly saved her life. With war, there were no boundaries to define morality. Winning was all that counted, no matter what the consequential damage. Iris and Jack were living proof of this.
And so with no one else to trust, Iris waited out the following few hours, hoping Jack could help her to get the information she needed. Despite the heartbreak she’d caused him, there was no one else she could turn to.
She was picking the last of the apricots when she heard the rattle of the gate. Jack? His name burst into her mind, hope exploding like a firework. She rushed to the bottom of the garden, while whoever was there waited to be admitted.
He must have heard her footsteps approaching on the path and risked calling out.
‘Iris, it’s me, Jack.’
Her instinct hadn’t been wrong. She slid back the bolt and opened the gate, her pleasure at seeing him quietened by the question of whether he was able to help her or not.
‘Come inside. I’ll make you something to eat.’
He glanced around the garden. ‘Are you alone?’
She nodded.
He ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing at his three days’ growth of beard. She wanted to tell him how much his rugged look suited him, but it wasn’t what he’d come for. Instead, she tossed him an apricot and led him inside, thankful for the eggs Clemence had left on her windowsill again that morning.
‘Can I tempt you to an omelette?’
He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands in the kitchen sink, as if he’d never been away, as if the war hadn’t stepped in and broken them.
‘Only if you let me cook.’ He turned his hands over to show her the palms. ‘Look. The skin has nearly healed.’
It was all she could do not to cry. She could almost hear Eva’s murmur at the sign of a small victory won as she handed him the eggs. ‘I’ll pick some herbs for garnishing.’
It was too much to hope that one day he’d forgive her, that he’d want to give their marriage another try. He’d offered to cook the eggs. It was nothing more than that.
When she returned to the kitchen, he’d already laid the table. The jug of Michaelmas daisies she’d put on the windowsill now sat between the two place settings. He washed and chopped the herbs, sprinkling them over the omelette before placing it in front of her, then sat down, his fork poised over her plate, and she realised he’d made it for them to share, just as he always used to.
He closed his eyes as the first mouthful slipped down his throat. ‘Why does the food cooked in Eva’s kitchen taste better than anything made anywhere else?’
Eva was still working her magic. She didn’t have to be there for it to be felt. ‘It’s the love. However hard I try to scrub it away, it just won’t budge.’
It was ingrained in the walls and the stone floor, in the beaten-up wood of the table and the chairs, and it would be there forever. During her darkest times, it was its endurance that kept Iris going.
She waited until he’d finished eating before she mentioned the hostage list. He hesitated, helping himself to one of the apricots she’d placed in a bowl in front of him.
‘Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?’
‘Of course.’
He seemed to have forgotten she was an assassin, that she was capable of more than he could ever consider.
‘Go to the café in the square tomorrow morning. Someone will contact you there.’
He got up from the table, nervously turning the apricot in his fingers, and she regretted bringing the war back into the room when everything had been going so well. She had to pull it back round. The old Jack had shown himself. She couldn’t let him get away again.
‘Would you like a tisane? I’ve finally mastered the recipe Eva used to make for you.’ Iris didn’t care how desperate she sounded. She didn’t want the magic to disappear.
He bit into the apricot and settled in his favourite chair beside the fire. The return of the hollowed-out expression behind his eyes told her it was the only answer she was going to get, and yet it was enough. The fact that he was here with her now was enough.
She fought her instinct to make conversation as she tore the mint leaves and put the water on to boil, forcing herself to leave the silence unbroken until he was ready to begin.
‘You didn’t tell me you’d been arrested by the Gestapo, that they’d questioned you.’
‘I wasn’t formally arrested, but they did question me.’
He stared at the drink as she handed it to him. The smell of the tisane filled the room, the mint heady in the air between them ‘You’ve taken such risks. What were you thinking, leaving London and entering occupied territory?’
‘The British government banished Mason from Britain to save their embarrassment. If he was to be punished, it had to take place on foreign soil. There was no longer anything to keep me in London. Mason didn’t take much convincing to follow me to France.’
He took a sip of the tisane, the sweetness of the honey she’d added softening his expression. She took the opportunity to take another risk.
‘Would you like a bath? You can stay if you want to. A good night’s sleep will make you feel better.’
For a moment, she thought he was tempted. He finished the rest of his tisane, running his tongue over his lips, savouring the last of the honey. ‘I can’t stay. I’m on lookout duty tonight. After the Germans set fire to the previous camp, we can’t be too careful.’
‘You came here to investigate Mason. Now he’s dead, will you go back to England?’
‘Mason’s no longer the reason I’m here.’
‘Then what’s keeping you?’
She wanted him to say it was her, but of course, he never would. The days when he was committed to her, when he hated to be apart from her were gone.
‘The maquis have welcomed me like a brother. They’re the bravest men I’ve ever met, risking their lives, fighting for the freedom of their country. I can’t abandon them now, not when there’s still so much to fight for.’
‘When all this is over, you’ll be able to tell their story to the world. Make sure their bravery is recognised.’
He smiled at her optimism, at her assurance that they’d survive to tell the tale. ‘Perhaps.’
He leaned into her as he stood up to leave, kissing her lightly on the forehead. ‘Don’t forget your appointment at the café tomorrow. And remember, these are dangerous times. Don’t take any more risks than you have to.’
‘I can’t promise you that.’
Iris’s world had taken her beyond the point of needing to stay safe. It was others she needed to protect now. The people on the hostage list couldn’t die because she’d killed Mason. She had to stop this terrible thing happening and it meant everything that Jack was the one helping her to do it.
Chapter 46
Adele was still working in the café when Iris arrived the following morning. Her blank expression, as she went through the motions of clearing the tables, was a testament to the barrier she’d put up as protection against her acceptance of Georges’s death. While she didn’t have to acknowledge it, it didn’t have to be real. She’d been wearing the same dress for days and she looked as if she hadn’t slept. The shawl she’d once used to secure Georges to her chest was tied loosely around her shoulders.
She presented Iris with a drink before she could place her order, dropping it on the table without acknowledging her. She wasn’t in the mood to talk, and so for now, people would get whatever she chose to serve them.
The sun was shining and most of the tables outside the café were busy. Iris scanned the faces of the customers, wondering if one of them might be her contact. Most were regulars. Others were women she recognised from around the town, each one there to offer her unspoken support to Adele and trying to behave as if nothing was wrong.
The absence of men was still something Iris couldn’t get used to. It was impossible to accept that a whole generation of husbands, sons and fathers had been swept away by the war, and there was no knowing how many would come back, or what state the survivors would be in when they eventually returned. She only had to look at Christophe and Paul and Jack to see the toll it was taking. The people left to suffer at home weren’t doing any better. Adele’s grief was enough to show that tragedy was taking place on all fronts.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of activity in one corner, as three separate tables emptied at the same time, the customers simultaneously paying their bills and straightening their hats in their hurry to leave.
‘Iris, may I join you?’
It was the Grey Mouse, her tall figure standing over her and blocking out the sun. It explained why the other tables had emptied so suddenly. The presence of a German uniform was too awful to stand after what had happened to Georges, and while the threat of reprisals hung over everyone.
How could this woman be so insensitive? Did she not understand how much distress her presence caused?
‘I wasn’t planning to stay long.’
The Grey Mouse ignored the hint and assumed the seat anyway. ‘Then we’ll enjoy the little time we have to spend together.’
Adele must have seen the Grey Mouse arrive because she appeared from inside the café and placed a drink in front of her. Iris braced herself to intervene the moment Adele turned on her, but she barely gave her a look. Whatever was going on in Adele’s heart and mind, she was broken. The shift in her behaviour was monumental, but if the Grey Mouse noticed the change, she didn’t show it.
Iris stared at her drink, quietly seething at the interruption. Her contact couldn’t risk handing over the names on the hostage list while she was sitting with the enemy. She could only trust that whoever it was would have the patience to wait. The Grey Mouse couldn’t have made things more difficult if she’d tried.
‘Have you given any thought to Eva’s new recipe book?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Have you decided whether to finish writing it?’
Once again, the Grey Mouse had picked up the conversation where they’d previously left off. ‘It’s still too soon to think about it.’
‘Of course. The future is hard to consider when everything is so uncertain. I feel that too.’
‘Will you be going back to Germany soon?’
‘I have to go where I’m sent. But I hope not. I like it here very much. Before the war I taught French in a school in Berlin. I have a great love of the culture.’
And yet you’ve come to destroy it. Iris bit back the words. She couldn’t risk making an enemy of the enemy. Instead, she talked about the weather, before attempting to close down the conversation, hoping the Grey Mouse would leave, but rather than taking the hint, she opened it up again, indulging in a lengthy description of the novel she was reading.
Forty-five minutes passed and still the Grey Mouse made no effort to leave. Adele stayed inside the café, as one by one, the other customers finished their drinks and departed. Iris was beginning to think the Grey Mouse would never go. Her contact couldn’t be expected to wait this long, and Iris was getting restless.
The last customers had just gone when they heard a loud crash coming from the café. Iris rushed inside to find Adele on her knees, surrounded by broken glass, her face buried in her hands as she made herself small.
Iris helped her to her feet and guided her to the nearest chair. ‘It’s only a few smashed glasses. It’s nothing to worry about.’
Adele remained silent, seemingly unaware of the tiny cuts on her legs where she’d knelt on the splinters, all the while staring at the broken glass, its sharp edges glinting in the morning light as Iris began to clear it up.
‘Can I help?’
A dark shadow clouded the doorway as the Grey Mouse appeared. Iris shot her a nervous glance, worried how Adele might react.
‘We don’t need you here, everything’s fine.’
Pain sliced through the skin on Iris’s finger as she caught it on a piece of broken glass. She flinched, pressing the wound against her lips. The Grey Mouse stepped forward and pushed a handkerchief into Iris’s hand.
‘Take this to stem the blood.’
Iris recoiled from the enemy’s touch, trying to refuse the handkerchief, but the gesture had been so quick, it was in her grasp before she could pull away. She gave a grudging nod of thanks, risking a glance at Adele, who seemed oblivious to the whole scene.
‘It’s probably best if you leave now.’
It was the first time the Grey Mouse had looked contrite. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you for your company this morning. I hope I haven’t detained you too long.’
The moment she’d gone, Madame Blanchet appeared from the kitchen, her manner almost as stiff as Adele’s, as if the shock of Georges’s death had spread between them, the grief doubling in its intensity rather than halving as they shared it.
‘Thank you, Iris. You can go now. I’ll take care of Adele and clear up the mess.’
‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?’
‘Please turn the sign to Closed on your way out. My daughter has done enough for today.’
With the café closed, Iris had no choice but to leave. Thanks to the Grey Mouse, she’d missed her contact and the opportunity to receive the names on the hostage list had been lost. Frustrated, she pressed the handkerchief against the wound as she crossed the square on her way back to Eva’s house. Despite the sharp pain, it was little more than a scratch and the bleeding had already stopped. The shock of it had been worse than the injury itself.
Once home, she stood at the sink to wash the cut, putting the handkerchief aside until something familiar about it caught her attention. His name faltered on her lips as she read it. Jack. The handkerchief belonged to Jack. It was one of a dozen she’d given him for Christmas before the war. The woman in the shop where she’d bought them had arranged for his name to be embroidered in one corner. And there it was, quite visible where the square had begun to unfold at the edge.
There was only one reason the Grey Mouse would have one of Jack’s handkerchiefs. Iris went rigid at the thought of his betrayal, but it was none of her business what Jack got up to these days. After what she’d done with Mason, she had no right to feel hurt if he’d found someone else. She’d return the handkerchief to him the next time she saw him. He might be glad to have it back. It was only when she shook it out, preparing to rinse the blood from it that she saw the names written in tiny letters in the centre of the linen. The hostage list.
The truth slowly dawned on her. The Grey Mouse had been her contact. She’d taken the risk to secure the names and pass them on. All this time, she’d been helping the cause while Iris could barely bring herself to be civil.
Passing on the information via Jack’s handkerchief proved he’d had a hand in it. It was his way of making sure Iris knew she could trust her. She checked the names, her heart in her mouth as she read each one.
At the top of the list was Christophe. What did the Gestapo hope to achieve by murdering a young man who’d already been invalided in both body and mind by the war, and what would his widowed mother do without him?
The second name was Albert’s. Poor tender-hearted Albert, who’d wanted nothing more than to spend his final years living quietly with Eva. How could they be so cruel when he’d already suffered so much?
Paul was next on the list. Iris’s legs were shaking so much she had to sit down. She was beginning to see a pattern. They’d picked all the people closest to her. If they wanted to punish her for Mason’s death, then they knew how to go about it. What had Paul ever done to them? They’d already broken him during the years he’d worked as forced labour in a German factory. Now all he was trying to do was keep the family vineyard going against all their efforts to bleed it dry.
