The French Affair, page 9
Where had he picked up that blue shirt that suited him so well and where had the trousers come from? Had he bought them on his travels, or in London when she wasn’t with him? Had another woman helped him to choose them, the way Iris always used to, or had he managed alone, trusting the mirror and his own judgement to give an honest appraisal?
It was the strangeness the clothes gave him that hurt the most, the way they demonstrated how separate their lives had become. She must have looked different too, but she didn’t want to know. After so many years of war, this was who they were now.
At one time, they’d known every crevice of each other’s lives intimately; now, she didn’t suppose he recognised the pyjamas she was wearing or remember them as her favourites from before the war, and it mattered beyond vanity that he wouldn’t notice what she had on, that he couldn’t bring himself to consider her as the same woman she used to be.
The fighting couldn’t go on forever; if only this moment could mark the beginning of the rest of their lives. She’d never believed in the idea of soul mates until she met Jack. At eighteen, she thought long marriages were due to people simply rubbing along together, or becoming so used to one another that it was too much trouble to look for anyone else. Observing her parents’ amicable marriage had taught her that settling for someone decent who wouldn’t do you any harm was the right thing to do. But then she met Jack and instantly everything she’d ever understood or believed changed.
She’d read romantic novels, where love was described as striking like a thunderbolt, and laughed them off, but with Jack it had been more than thunder, it had been lightning too, and beneath it all, absolute stillness, and so much quietness that she heard her heart whisper to his, I know you. We are the same.
At eighteen, she’d only meant to spend a year in London, studying to improve her English, but when Jack asked her to marry him, she didn’t think twice about staying. Twenty years on, the feeling hadn’t changed; it had simply grown stronger and more assured. And even now, the power of it terrified her. France would always be her homeland, but her true home would always be with Jack.
Noticing he was shivering, she gathered up the throw Eva kept on the back of the sofa and placed it around his shoulders. The love she felt at his nearness was so intense she wanted to cry. Having him here reminded her how he’d always been her haven, the place she ran to when nowhere else would do.
‘Would you like me to make you one of Eva’s tisanes? It’ll warm you up.’
‘This isn’t a social call.’
He pushed his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. ‘I had our divorce papers drawn up before I left London. All you have to do is sign them.’
So this was why he’d come so far, why he’d taken such a risk. Not to try again with her, but to finish it, once and for all.
He refused to meet her eye as he thrust the envelope at her. This cruelty wasn’t Jack’s style. How could she make it clear without betraying Ambrose’s orders, that she was his and always would be?
‘People don’t get divorced, Jack. Not people like us, anyway.’
‘You were unfaithful. The evidence appeared on the front page of every newspaper in Britain. You can’t expect me to stay married to you and pretend everything’s all right.’
Tears were stinging her eyes, but she refused to let him see them. He couldn’t have risked his life just to do this. She held up her hands, refusing to take the envelope.
‘I won’t accept the papers and I won’t agree to a divorce.’
‘You should have considered the consequences before you took up with Mason.’ He threw the envelope at her feet, where she let it lie as an unacknowledged recrimination between them.
‘The thought of coming home to you was the thing that kept me alive during all the time I was reporting from the front line. Knowing you were waiting for me, that we had a life ahead of us, is what made me brave, but you humiliated me in the most public way possible.’ He paused to take a breath, trying to control his bitterness, his anger. ‘You can’t expect me to forgive you for it.’
Even if she hadn’t been bound by secrecy, she doubted Jack would accept that in cultivating a relationship with Mason she’d been following orders, fighting the war in the way she’d been asked, even though she’d been revolted by him and everything he stood for, even though she’d cried every time she’d allowed him to touch her, and that it was still going on today.
‘If you’d seen Albert at Eva’s funeral, crying for their lost years as he said goodbye to her, you’d understand why we’d be fools to waste our love. It won’t simply fade and die if you insist on denying it, because it never does. It will endure, and if you don’t believe me, ask Albert.’
‘You’re wrong, Iris. Nothing lasts forever. Even the strongest hearts eventually die of the cruelty inflicted on them.’
The hurt had altered every aspect of his face. She’d wounded him more than any bullet, more than any bomb blast.
‘Why are you really here? I don’t believe you’ve risked your life just to deliver the divorce papers.’
‘Mason should never have been allowed to get away with treason. After he was forced to leave the country, I decided to follow him and find out his secrets. If the British government won’t expose him for what he is, then I will. I’ve discovered his uncle owns an armaments factory in Germany. Mason has made a fortune from the manufacture of German weaponry. The British public have a right to know who he really is, what deals the government made with him behind closed doors to save their embarrassment. They’d rather allow him to leave the country and let his crimes go unpunished than admit they’d harboured a German spy in their midst. I’m not going to let him off that easily.’
He was wrong about Mason escaping his punishment, but she couldn’t tell him that she was the one ordered to administer it.
‘His Bavarian cousin remains close to Hitler. The war has been a great boost for the family engineering company, which shifted all its production to making German armaments as early as 1936. As a shareholder in his cousin’s company, Mason’s cut of the profits is sitting in a Swiss bank and growing fatter by the day. Mason passed on British military secrets to ensure his cousin kept favour with Hitler to gain preferential treatment when it came to awarding lucrative contracts.’
Iris already knew all this, because she’d been the one to discover it. She tried not to let the thought show on her face.
‘It was cowardly of the British government to let him go.’
‘I’m determined to report the truth of what happened, to find out what he does next.’
Jack wasn’t only out to right the wrong served against his country, but also the wrong served against himself. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, his need for revenge against Mason was personal and went right to his heart.
‘It’s not worth putting yourself in danger over him.’
‘There you go, protecting him. Do you expect me to believe it’s a coincidence that he came straight here, straight to you?’
‘You know why I’m here, Jack, and it has nothing to do with Mason.’
‘You’ve seen him though?’
She nodded, not wanting to give too much away. ‘I don’t know how he managed to find me.’
It was unlikely that Jack would believe her, even if he wanted to. He was silent for a long time, staring at the flames dancing fiercely in the grate.
‘It’s not my concern who you see anymore.’
‘I don’t see anyone. Not in the way you mean.’
She tried to keep the rage out of her voice, knowing it would leave her only one step away from tears, and she wouldn’t let Jack see how hurt and scared she was.
‘It’s not safe for you to be here on your own, Iris. You should go back to England. There are people who could escort you across the border to Switzerland or Spain. They’re the same people who supplied me with false papers and helped me to get in.’
‘Eva left me this house and everything in it, and there’s her literary estate to consider. I can’t leave, not now.’
‘You should give it up and go home.’
‘I won’t abandon my country in its hour of need.’
For a second, she thought he was going to congratulate her on her fortitude, but the look in his eyes told her he didn’t trust himself. He was too broken, too weak to risk even the smallest kindness towards her and there could be no going back.
She put another log on the fire, making the room cosy, so he wouldn’t want to leave. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘I’m living with a group of resistance fighters in the hills, outside the town. They’ve offered me protection, and in return I cook their meals and act as their lookout.’
He got to his feet and pulled Eva’s throw from his shoulders, folding it carefully so the corners aligned before returning it to the back of the sofa. ‘I should go. They’ll be worried in case I’ve been stopped for questioning. It’s a risk, being out after curfew.’
‘Won’t you stay? You look like you could do with a bath and decent bed for the night.’ She gave him an intent look, allowing him to interpret the offer in whatever way he wished.
He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary before looking away. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
He couldn’t stand that she’d been with Mason; that was what it came down to. His heart was broken, and it could only be because he still loved her. This was the thought she had to hang on to. If there was love, then there was always hope that she could win him back.
‘There’s nothing between me and Guy Mason. I suppose it’s too much to expect you to take my word for it.’
‘It’s too much to expect from a straightforward man like me.’
She hated herself for the way she’d hurt him, for the way Mason’s presence continued to damage them both, but Ambrose was right; Mason couldn’t be allowed to get away with his treachery. It was her duty to make sure he paid for it, whatever the cost might be to her and Jack.
Chapter 14
It was still early when Mason appeared. His propensity to turn up unannounced meant Iris was constantly on her guard. She forced a smile as she opened the door to him.
‘Mason, this is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘I didn’t realise I was required to make an appointment.’ He forced a kiss on her lips, pushing her off balance and causing her to stumble backwards. ‘Not another dizzy spell?’ He laughed, mocking her. ‘I didn’t realise I had the power to make you swoon.’
‘You caught me off balance, that’s all.’
He marched into the kitchen without waiting to be invited, as if he owned the place, his German officer’s uniform giving him an even greater sense of self-importance than he’d displayed in London. ‘I’ve brought this.’
He dropped a brown paper package on the table. ‘It’s coffee. I don’t want you offering me any more strange concoctions made from whatever’s growing in your garden.’
‘Let’s make you some now. I prefer a tisane though, if you don’t mind.’
She grabbed the kettle and began to fill it from the tap, ready to boil the water for her tisane. There had to be a simpler, cleverer way to kill Mason that didn’t involve waving a knife at him. If she tried anything like that again, he’d be sure to suspect something. She glanced around the room. Domestic accidents happened all the time. The kitchen was potentially a death trap. She placed the kettle on the stove and lit a match before reaching to turn on the gas. And that was when the idea struck her.
She blew out the match without igniting the gas and dropped it on the work surface. ‘I’m popping into the garden to pick some mint for my tisane. I won’t be a minute.’ She retrieved Eva’s coffee grinder from the cupboard and handed it to him. ‘You can grind some beans while I’m gone. The coffee pot is on the dresser.’
She fled the kitchen without waiting for a reply, closing the door firmly behind her, taking deep breaths of fresh air as soon as she reached the garden.
It wasn’t uncommon for people to die from carbon monoxide poisoning due to gas leaking from an unlit stove. The gas was odourless and impossible to detect. Once it was in the bloodstream, it only took a few minutes to saturate the blood and starve the brain and the nervous system of oxygen. Mason would be dead before he’d finished grinding the coffee beans. There was a reason the gas stove was known as the execution chamber in everyone’s kitchen.
Iris took her time picking the mint for her tisane, checking for overgrown herbs that needed trimming, and any other produce that might be ready for collecting along the way. This harvest, hastily gathered in Eva’s trug, would be her alibi if she later had to explain why she’d been away from the kitchen for so long, why she hadn’t been there to succumb to the same poisoning as Mason, and why she hadn’t noticed in time that the gas had failed to light. After all, there was a spent match beside it, which proved it was thought to have been lit.
She’d report the incident to the authorities as a tragic accident, admitting that Mason must have failed to ignite the gas when he turned it on. It was an old stove and he hadn’t used it before. It was a simple mistake that anyone could have made. He’d have been distracted, grinding the coffee beans. At the time, she’d been in the garden, picking the mint, trimming back the overgrown chamomile and harvesting the best of the tomatoes.
Given these circumstances, she’d have no trouble disposing of Mason’s body, because they’d take it away for her, while offering sympathy for her loss. What a terrible tragedy it would seem.
She pulled up a clump of chamomile and held it to her nose, absorbing its scent. Five minutes had already passed. Was it safe to rush back in and turn off the gas, holding her breath as she opened the windows to let in the fresh air?
In her statement to the police, she could say she returned to the kitchen and found Mason slumped over the coffee grinder, unconscious. Remembering his intention to boil the kettle for her tisane, she checked the stove and realised in a second what had happened. She turned off the gas and opened the windows straight away, but when she checked on Mason, it was too late. He’d already breathed in too much of the gas.
It was the perfect plan. Not murder, but a bloodless accidental death. How had she not thought of it before?
She picked up the trug, bracing herself to venture into the house to make the horrifying discovery. She hadn’t gone far when she heard a familiar footfall, an irritable voice calling from the back doorstep.
‘Iris. Are you still out there? What are you up to?’
It was Mason, in all his living glory, his arms folded across his chest as he hollered at her to come inside.
‘You forgot to light the gas. You could have killed me.’
She gripped the trug as it threatened to fall from her trembling hands. Her attempt to assassinate him had failed again. She thought fast, desperate to recover the situation without incriminating herself.
‘Of course I lit the gas. You saw me with the match. There must have been a problem with the supply or the valve. Is it all right now?’ She tried to sound calm, as if the problem were not of her making, masking her frustration that Mason was still alive.
‘I happened to look up at the stove after you left and noticed there wasn’t a flame.’ He turned to go back inside. Despite his bravado, she could see he was shaken. ‘I made the coffee. Do you want a tisane or not?’
He’d flung open the doors and the windows. The new locks she’d attached hadn’t prevented him from doing this quickly or delayed the influx of fresh air long enough to kill him. The scent of the coffee, bubbling in the pot, was drifting out through the open windows, leaving her vulnerable to the accusation that she shopped on the black market if anyone happened to smell it.
She placed the trug on the table and sank into a chair, trying to hide her disappointment. Killing Mason had been almost in reach. For a moment, she’d allowed herself to believe she was capable of committing the perfect murder and that she’d planned it cleverly enough not to arouse suspicion.
It was important to act normally, so he didn’t guess what she’d tried to do. ‘Would you like something to eat while you’re here?’ It was a half-hearted offer, but at least he couldn’t accuse her of not making the gesture.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and gulped it down. ‘I can’t stay. You shouldn’t have wasted so much time in the garden if you wanted my company.’
He dropped a rough kiss on her forehead on his way out, the force of it destabilising her once again. As soon as he’d gone, she emptied the remaining contents of the coffee pot down the sink and rinsed away the grounds, as if she were destroying the evidence of attempted murder. It was the second time she’d failed to complete her mission. It was vital she succeeded next time. There wouldn’t be many more chances before he guessed what she was up to.
Chapter 15
It was a couple of hours into the curfew; the moon was hidden behind the clouds, adding an extra layer of density to the blackout. Iris was in the kitchen when she heard a crash at the bottom of the garden, as if someone had tripped over a watering can. She ran out of the house, not thinking about the danger when she called out, demanding to know who was there, her eyes narrowing on the dark shapes of the shrubs and the overhanging trees as she made her way along the brick path that twisted around the vegetable beds towards the shed.
Whoever it was she’d caught in the garden before must have returned. The bolt she’d put on the gate couldn’t have been strong enough to keep them out. How many times had they been back since, or had they been there all along?
‘Who’s there?’
The gate slammed as the intruder fled from the property. Iris went after them, darting along the narrow alleyway that ran parallel to the back of the garden. And there he was, in the near distance, his body no more than a thin shadow, a spade waving like a paddle in his hand as he ran at full speed, swerving to turn the corner, before disappearing out of sight.
