Chapter Ten
Genevieve and Craig and René stayed below at Hares request as the Lili Marlene left harbour. Sitting at the table in the tiny ward room Genevieve found herself reaching for a Gitane almost as a reflex action. Craig gave her a light.
Youre really enjoying those things now, arent you?
A bad habit. She nodded. Ive had the horrible idea that it might haunt me for the rest of my life.
She leaned back and thought of the leave-taking in the rain on the quay. Munro, strangely serious in his old cavalry coat as he shook hands, Edge in the background, watching her malevolently all the time. And then Julies quick, affectionate embrace, the final whisper.
Remember what I told you.
The movement of the E-boat was quite pronounced and a door opened as Schmidt came in from the galley balancing himself, three mugs on a tray. Tea, he said. Hot and sweet. Lots of lovely condensed milk. Genevieve made a face. No, you drink it down, sweetheart. Good for the stomach on this kind of trip. Stops you being sick.
She doubted that, but took him at his word and somehow managed to get some of the sickly brew down. After a while, he glanced in again. The guvnor says you can come up top if you want to.
Fine, Genevieve turned to Craig. Coming?
He looked up from the newspaper he was reading. Later. You go.
Which she did, leaving him with René, going up the companionway. When she opened the door the wind dashed rain into her face. The Lili seemed vibrant, full of life, the deck heaving beneath her feet as she held on to the lifeline and struggled towards the ladder going up to the bridge. She felt totally exhilarated, rain on her face, pulled herself up and got the wheelhouse door open.
Langsdorff was at the helm, Hare at the chart table. He swung to face her in the swivel chair and stood up. Sit here. Youll be more comfortable.
She did as she was told and looked around her. This is nice. Exciting.
It has its points. He said to Langsdorff in German, Ill take over for a while. Take a coffee break.
Zu befehl, Herr Kapitän, the Obersteuermann said formally and went out.
Hare increased speed, racing the heavy weather which threatened from the east. The fog was patchy so that at times they travelled in a private, dark world and at others, burst out into open water, for the moon was clear on occasion in spite of rain squalls.
The weather doesnt seem to know what to do, she said.
It never does in this part of the world. Thats what makes it so exciting.
Different from the Solomon Islands. It was a statement, not a question.
You can say that again.
It was rougher now, the Lili Marlene rolling occasionally, barrelling forward, the floor of the wheelhouse tilting so that Genevieve had to brace her feet firmly to stay in the chair. Visibility was poor again and as the waves broke, there was a touch of phosphorescence on the water.
The door opened and Schmidt lurched in, the oilskin over his pea jacket streaming. He had a Thermos jug in one hand, a tin biscuit box in the other. Coffee in the jug, love, and sandwiches in the box, he told her cheerfully. Youll find mugs in the cupboard under the chart table. Enjoy.
He retreated, banging the door and Genevieve got the mugs out. Hes quite a character, that one. Always a quip for every situation, just like a comedian.
True, Hare agreed as she handed him a mug, But have you ever noticed that he doesnt smile all that much? Sometimes humour is simply a cover for pain. Jews know more about that syndrome than any other race on earth.
I see, she said.
Schmidt, for example, had a cousin he adored. A nice Jewish girl from Hamburg who lived with his family in London for a few years. She went back on a visit just before the war because her widowed mother had died unexpectedly. They tried to persuade her not to go. She was still a German citizen, you see. She was too late for the funeral anyway, but there were family affairs to see to and then nobody in England really believed the stories they were hearing.
What happened?
Schmidt insisted on going with her. They were both picked up by the Gestapo. The British Consul in Hamburg saved him, of course, as a British citizen. He was given a two-day deportation order.
And his cousin?
He made enquiries. She was a pretty blonde girl. Seems she was allocated to the programme servicing troops brothels in spite of the fact that sexual relations with Jews are illegal. The last word he got, shed been put on a train going east to the border just before the Polish invasion.
How horrible, she said, deeply shocked.
Thats what its like over there, Genevieve. Let me tell you how the Gestapo operate.
I know, she told him. Ive seen Craigs fingernails.
You know how they break women agents down? No hot irons, no whips, no pincers. Multiple rape. They take turns, one after another, then they take turns again. Revolting, yes, but appallingly effective.
Remembering Anne-Marie, Genevieve said, Oh, yes, I can imagine only too well.
Damn my big mouth! Hare glanced at her, genuine concern on his face. I was forgetting your sister.
You know about that?
Oh, yes, Munro explained. He felt it best I should know the full background.
She found a Gitane. Ill just have to soldier on, I suppose.
Not quite the right phrase for a flight officer.
A what? Genevieve asked, the lighter flaring in her hand.
All women agents going into the field are sent as officers of one sort or another. Frenchwomen are usually commissioned into the Corps Auxiliaire Feminin. A lot of the English girls officially join the Nursing Yeomanry.
The FANY?
Thats right, but Munro likes to keep a tighter hold than that. As I understand it, you were commissioned as a flight officer in the WAAF yesterday. Actually, RAF blue will suit your colouring if you ever get a chance to put the uniform on.
He didnt say a word to me about this.
Munro? Hare shrugged. A devious old dog, but theres method in his madness. In the first place, being a commissioned officer is supposed to help you if you fall into enemy hands.
And in the second?
It gives him personal control over you. Disobey an order in wartime and you could be shot.
I sometimes think there was never any other time, she said.
I know the feeling well.
The door opened and Craig came in. Hows it going?
Fine, Hare said. Were on time. He turned to Genevieve. Id go below if I were you. Try and catch a little sleep. Use my cabin.
All right, I think I will.
She left them there, negotiated the heaving deck and went down to his tiny cabin. The bunk was so small that she could hardly stretch out on it and she lay there, knees up, staring at the ceiling. So much had happened and it was all whirling around in her head and yet, in spite of that, she drifted into sleep after a few minutes.
OFF THE COAST of Finisterre it was still foggy in patches, the moon breaking out from behind a cloud occasionally. The Lili Marlene eased in towards the shore, her silencers on. The crew were at battle stations, manning the guns fore and aft and Hare had a pistol in its holster ready on his hip.
Langsdorff had the helm and Hare and Craig surveyed the shore with nightglasses. Genevieve waited behind, René at her shoulder. There was a sudden pinpoint of light dead ahead.
There they are, Hare said. Perfect. He put a hand on Langsdorffs shoulder. Nice and easy now. Dead slow.
The pier at Grosnez loomed out of the darkness about them, a tall, skeletal structure, waves booming hollowly underneath, splashing around the great rusting iron pilings. They bumped against the lower jetty and some of the crew were instantly over the side with lines. She noticed Schmidt down there on the deck, a Schmeisser machine pistol at the ready.
There was a light at the top of the pier and a voice called in French, Is that you?
Grand Pierre, Craig said. Lets move it.
She and René went ahead, Craig followed with Hare. On the jetty, she turned to look back to the deck. Schmidt smiled up at her. Dont let the bastards grind you down, lovely one.
Craig moved close. Present for you. He gave her a Walther and a spare clip. Stick those in your pocket. No girl should be without one.
Not in these parts, Hare said and put an arm about her. You take care now.
Craig turned to René. Bring her back in one piece or Ill have your balls.
René shrugged. If anything happens to Mamselle Genevieve, it happens to me also, Major.
Craig said calmly. Okay, angel, up you go. The greatest performance of your career. As they say in show business, break a leg.
She turned quickly, almost in tears, and went up the steps to the upper level, René following. There was a truck at the end of the pier, shapes moving in the darkness and then a man stepped out to confront them. She had never seen a more villainous looking individual in her life. He wore a cloth cap, dirty old moleskin jacket and leggings and a collarless shirt. The three-day stubble on his chin didnt help, nor the scar on his right cheek.
Grand Pierre? René called.
Genevieve put a hand in her right-hand pocket to find the Walther. This cant be our man, she whispered urgently to René, so thrown that she spoke in English.
Scarface paused a yard or so away and smiled. Terribly sorry to disappoint you, old girl, he said in the most stunningly beautiful Oxford accent, but if its Grand Pierre youre looking for, then Im your man.
Behind him, a dozen or so more moved out of the darkness carrying rifles and Sten guns. They stood there, staring at her, not saying a word.
She whispered to Grand Pierre, I dont know what they do to the Germans, but they certainly frighten me.
Yes, they are rather splendid, arent they? He clapped his hands. Come on, you rat-pack, he called in very fluent French. Lets get moving and watch your language. We have a lady with us remember.
THE TRUCK WAS what was known as a gazogene, operated by gas generated by a charcoal-burning stove in the rear. Grand Pierres men had left a mile back along the road and he was driving quite fast, whistling tunelessly between his teeth.
She said, What if we run into a German patrol?
A German what? He really did smell awful at such close quarters.
Patrol, she said.
Not round here. They only move about when they have to. That means during the day and in strength. Anyone out tonight within fifteen miles of here and Id know it, believe me.
She could have laughed out loud because the whole thing was so beautifully macabre. Youve really got it organised then?
You always sounded rather delectable on the phone. Nice to be able to put a face to you, he said. Ever get up to Oxford at all?
No.
Norfolk?
Im afraid not.
They came over the brow of a hill and at the same moment, the clouds parted to reveal the moon again. In its light she could see the line of the railway track in the valley below, the cluster of houses that was St. Maurice.
Pity, he said. I used to shoot a lot up there. Near Sandringham where the King has his country estate. Lovely place.
Do you miss it?
Not really. Pretend I do, just to keep me going. I mean, what would I do without all this lot? Smell me. Beautiful, isnt it? Talk about back to nature.
What did you do before?
The war, you mean? Taught English Literature at a rather second-rate public school.
You enjoy doing this sort of thing?
Oh, yes, scouting for boys and all that. The worst sores in life are caused by crumpled rose leaves, not thorns, Miss Trevaunce, wouldnt you agree?
Im not even sure I understand.
Thats exactly what my pupils used to say. They were entering the village now and he started to slow. Goods yard coming up.
They turned in between massive gate posts, rattled across a cobbled yard to the house in the corner. The truck braked to a halt. A door opened, someone peered out. René scrambled down. Genevieve followed.
Thanks very much, she said.
We aim to please. Grand Pierre smiled down at her. Crumpled rose leaves. You think about it.
He drove away and she turned and followed René inside.
SHE SAT IN front of the mirror in the small bedroom, Anne-Maries suitcases on the bed, handbag open, her papers on the bed beside it. There was her French identity card, the German Ausweis, ration cards, a driving licence. She carefully applied mascara and the door opened as Madame Dubois entered. She was a small, dark-complexioned woman with a careworn face and wore a shabby grey dress. There were holes in her stockings and her shoes looked ready to fall to pieces.
She didnt approve, Genevieve could see that, and her lips set in a thin line as she took in the finery displayed on the bed. The navy blue suit from Paris with the pleated skirt, the silk stockings, the oyster satin blouse.
Remembering who she was supposed to be, Genevieve said sharply, Another time, knock first. What do you want?
Madame Dubois shrugged defensively. The train, Mamselle. It has just come in. My husband sent me to tell you.
Good. Tell René to fetch the car. Ill be down soon.
She withdrew. Genevieve applied a little lipstick, hesitated, then put on some more, remembering what Michael, the hairdresser, had said at Cold Harbour. She dressed quicklyunderwear, stockings, slip, blouse, skirtall Anne-Maries. As she put on each item, it was as if she removed another layer of herself.
She wasnt afraid as she pulled on her jacket and checked herself in the mirror, simply coldly excited. The truth was that she really did look rather good and she knew it. She snapped the suitcase shut, draped the caped greatcoat of blue worsted over her shoulders and went out.
She found Henri Dubois in the kitchen with his wife. He was a small, sallow-faced man, very ordinary looking, the last person one would have imagined to want to involve himself in such a business.
René is bringing the car now, Mamselle.
She took the silver and onyx lighter from her handbag and selected a Gitane. Bring down my bags.
Oui, Mamselle.
He went out. She lit the cigarette and walked to the window, aware of the womans eyes on her, hostile, disapproving, but that didnt matter. Nothing mattered now except the job in hand.
The Rolls-Royce emerged from one of the goods sheds and drove up to the door to meet her. René got out and she opened the door. He stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at her impassively, wearing chauffeurs uniform now. He opened the car door for her without a word and she got into the rear seat.
Dubois appeared with the suitcases. He placed them in the boot, then came round to the window as René got behind the wheel. You will convey my respects to the Countess, Mamselle?
Genevieve didnt reply, simply wound up the window and tapped René on the shoulder. As they drove out of the yard, she was aware of his eyes in the driving mirror, watching her, a touch of fear in them again.
And now it really does begin, she thought, leaned back filled with restless excitement, and took out another Gitane.
AS THEY DROVE on, the countryside became increasingly familiar, green fields and forest, the mountains on her left capped with snow, the river gleaming in the early morning sun in the valley below. A shepherd in sheepskin jacket moved his flock across the hillside above.
The hills of childhood, René. Nothing changes.
Or everything, Mamselle.
He was right, of course. She held her coat around her for it was rather cold. They moved down towards a small village, a place she remembered well called Pougeot.
She leaned forward. When we were children, you used to stop the car here at a café in the square so that we could have ice cream. Old Danton and his daughter ran the place. Is he still there?
He was shot last year for what the Boche called terrorist activities. His daughter is in prison in Amiens. The property was confiscated then sold. Comboult bought it.
Papa Comboult? But I dont understand.
Its quite simple. Like so many, he works with them, trades with them and in the process makes his fortune. They feed on the flesh of France, people like him. As I said, Mamselle, everything changes.
There were women working in the fields and as they went through the village itself, she found the streets strangely deserted. Not many people about.
Most able-bodied men have been shipped off to labour camps in Germany. The women run the farms. Theyd have even taken an old dog like me, one eye and all, if it had not been for the Countess.
And she could not do anything for the others?
What she can, she does, Mamselle, but in France these days, most things are difficult. This you will find out for yourself very soon now.
They came round a bend in the road and became immediately aware of a black Mercedes on the grass verge. The bonnet was raised and a German soldier worked on the engine. An officer stood beside him smoking a cigarette.
God in heaven, its Reichslinger, René said as the officer turned and raised a hand. What shall I do?
Stop, of course, Genevieve said calmly.
She has nothing but contempt for this one, Mamselle, and shows it.
And he tries all the harder?
Exactly.
Good. Lets see how we get on then, shall we?
SHE OPENED HER handbag, took out the Walther Craig had given her and slipped it into her right-hand pocket. The car slid to a halt and she wound down the window as Reichslinger approached.
He was exactly like his photo. Fair hair, narrow eyes beneath the peaked cap, a generally vicious look to him, and the uniform, with the SS runes on the collar, did nothing for him at all.
He smiled, contriving to look even more unpleasant than ever. Mademoiselle Trevaunce. My luck is good, he said in French.
Is it? Genevieve enquired coldly.
He gestured towards the car. The fuel pump is giving trouble and this fool of a driver is apparently unable to do anything about it.
So? she enquired.
Under the circumstances I must beg a lift from you.
She let it hang there for a moment, made him wait, his sallow cheeks flushing slowly, then said, The master race being masterful? What can I say except yes.
She leaned back and wound up the window. He hurried round to the other side, scrambled in beside her and René drove away.
SHE TOOK OUT another cigarette and he hastily produced a lighter. I trust you had a pleasant stay in Paris? His French was good enough in its way, but his accent was terrible.
She said, Not really. Service is abominable now and one is constantly stopped and searched which is very inconvenient. Still, you soldiers do have to play at something, I suppose.
Mamselle, I can assure you it is all very necessary. My comrades of the SS in Paris have had considerable success in tracking down terrorists.
Really? Im surprised all those soldiers havent succeeded in putting down the Resistance movement entirely.
You dont understand the difficulties.
To tell you the truth, I dont want to. Not very interesting.
He was angry then, but she gave him one of the beautiful smiles for which her sister was famous and had the satisfaction of seeing him swallow hard.
How is the General? she asked. In good health, I trust?
As far as I am aware.
And Major Priem?
Standartenführer since yesterday.
Colonel? Thats nice. She laughed. He does take himself rather seriously, but he really is most efficient, you must admit that.
Reichslinger scowled. With others to do the work for him. He was unable to hold back.
Yes, it must get very boring for you. Why dont you apply for a posting? Russia would suit you very nicely, I should imagine. Lots of honour and glory there.
She was actually enjoying herself now because it was working, because he had totally accepted her as Anne-Marie Trevaunce. In a sense, she saw now that running into him had been the luckiest thing imaginable.
I am pleased to go where the Führer sends me, he said stiffly.
At that moment they came round a corner and René had to swerve violently to avoid an old woman leading a cow along the road on a halter. Genevieve was thrown into the corner, Reichslinger with her and she became aware that his hand was on her knee.
Are you all right, Mamselle?
His voice was hoarse, the grip on her knee tightened.
She said icily, Please remove your hand, Reichslinger, otherwise Ill have to ask you to get out of the car.
They were coming up towards the village of Dauvigne and René, scenting trouble, started to pull in at the side of the road. Reichslinger, who had gone too far to draw back, moved his hand a little higher.
Whats wrong? he demanded. Arent I good enough, is that it? Ill show you Im as good a man as Priem on any day of the week.
Not really, she said, Because the Colonel is a gentleman which you are very definitely not. To be perfectly honest, I find you just a little beneath me, Reichslinger.
You arrogant bitch, Ill show you …
Nothing. Her hand came out of her pocket holding the Walther. She slid off the safety catch in one smooth movement as Craig Osbourne had taught her and pushed the muzzle into his side. Get out of this car!
They came to a halt as René braked. Reichslinger pulled away from her, eyes wild. He got the car door open and stumbled out. She closed it behind him and René drove away instantly. She looked back and saw Reichslinger standing at the side of the road looking strangely helpless.
Did I do well? she asked René.
Your sister would have been proud of you, Mamselle.
Good.
She leaned back in the seat and lit another Gitane.
THEY CAME OVER the hill and she saw it half-a-mile away, nestling at the foot of the mountains amongst the trees. Château de Voincourt, grey and still in the morning sun. House of nobility, survivor of religious wars, of revolution, of one bad time after another. As always since childhood, whenever she had returned to this place, there was the same feeling of calm. Of total happiness just at the sight of it.
It vanished for a few moments, as they followed the narrow road, pine trees crowding in and then there it was again, a couple of hundred feet above as they climbed the slope, like a fortress behind those grey walls, waiting for her as it had always done.
THE GATES STOOD open, but the way was blocked by a swing bar. There was a wooden guardhouse just inside and a sentry holding a machine pistol. He was only a boy in spite of being SS and he leaned down and said uncertainly in bad French, Papers?
But I live here, she said and he looked totally bewildered. Dont you know me?
I am sorry, Mamselle, my orders are firm. I must see your papers.
All right, she said. Ill give myself up. Im a British agent and Ive come to blow up the Château.
A quiet voice cut in, speaking in German. She didnt understand a word, but the sentry did, running to lift the barrier at once. She turned to the man who had emerged from the guardhouse, the SS Colonel in the paratroopers flying blouse of field grey, Knights Cross at his throat, the Deaths Head in his cap gleaming in the morning sun. One thing was certain. She didnt need René to tell her who this man was.
Max, how nice.
Max Priem opened the door and got in. Drive on, he told René. The boy, by the way, has only been here for three days. He kissed her hand. Ill never understand the pleasure you get from baiting my soldiers. Its bad for morale. Reichslinger gets very upset about it.
Not at the moment, she commented. He has other things on his mind.
The vivid blue eyes were suddenly very alert. Explain.
His car broke down near Pougeot. I gave him a lift.
Really? I dont see him.
I put him out again on the other side of Dauvigne. I dont know where he did his training, but it certainly didnt include how to behave in the company of a lady.
His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not. And he went quietly? Reichslinger? Is this what you are telling me?
With a gentle prod from my friend here.
She produced the Walther and he took it from her. This is German Army issue. Where did you get it?
A friendly barman in Paris. Such things are readily available on the black market and a girl needs all the protection she can get these days.
Paris, you say?
Now dont expect me to tell you the name of the bar.
He weighed the pistol in his hand for a moment, then returned it to her and she slipped it into her handbag.
So, you enjoyed your trip? he said.
Not really. Paris isnt what it was.
And the train journey?
Abominable.
Is that so?
There was, for some reason, a certain irony to his voice and she glanced at him quickly from under her lashes, out of her depth a little and not understanding why. They stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the front door. He handed her out and René went round to the boot and got her suitcases.
Ill take those, Priem said.
You really are mortifying the flesh today, she told him. An SS Colonel with a bag in each hand like a hotel porter? I should have a camera. Theyll never believe it in Paris. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way.
One of our several mottos, he said, is that to the men of SS, nothing is impossible.
He started up the steps. René said loudly, Will there be anything else, Mamselle? and whispered, The Rose Room is your bedroom, remember. The Countess next door.
It was an unnecessary point to make for they had discussed the layout of the Château thoroughly enough at Cold Harbour. He was a little afraid now, she could see that. There was sweat on his brow.
She said, Nothing, thank you, René, turned and went up the steps after Priem.
THERE WAS A sentry on each side of the door, but the hall was exactly as she remembered, right down to the ornaments, the pictures on the walls. They ascended the wide marble staircase together.
She said, How is the General?
His bad leg is a little stiff. All the rain weve been having. I saw him earlier, walking in the sunken garden.
They reached the top corridor. She paused outside the Rose Room and waited. He sighed, put down one suitcase and opened the door for her.
As a child, she had slept in this room often. It was light and airy, tall french windows opening on to a balcony. There were red velvet curtains and the furniture was completely unchanged. Polished mahogany. Bed, dressing table, wardrobe. Everything.
Priem pushed the door shut, came across and put the suitcases on the bed, then turned. There was a slight, grave smile on his mouth, a strange air of expectancy as if he was waiting for something.
Well? she said.
Well yourself. He smiled. Poor Anne-Marie. Was Paris really that bad?
Im afraid so.
Then well have to try and make it up to you. He clicked his heels formally. But duty calls. Ill catch up with you later.
She was aware of an overwhelming surge of relief as the door closed behind him. She tossed her coat on the bed, opened the french windows and went out on the balcony. It overlooked part of the garden only. The main entrance was to the right, her aunts balcony around the corner.
There was an old rocking chair in hand-carved beech that she remembered well. She sat down in it, gently rocking, the sun warm on her face. How often had Anne-Marie done this?
PRIEM WALKED ALONG the landing and paused at the top of the marble staircase, aware of the boots of the SS sentries slamming in salute outside. A moment later, Reichslinger entered.
Reichslinger! Priem called.
Colonel? Reichslinger looked up.
My office. Now.
Reichslinger looked hunted, walked across the hall and disappeared into the corridor. Priem went down the steps slowly, paused at the bottom to light a cigarette, then crossed the hall. When he entered his office the young Hauptsturmführer was standing at his desk. Priem closed the door.
I hear youve been playing naughty boys again?
Reichslinger looked sullen. I dont know what you mean.
Mademoiselle Trevaunce. I get the impression you didnt try hard enough to be the gentleman.
She had a pistol, Standartenführer, a Walther.
Which you provoked her into using?
The penalty for a civilian found in possession of a weapon is death, as the Standartenführer well knows.
Reichslinger, Priem said patiently. There are wheels within wheels here. Things you know nothing about. In other words, mind your own business.
And Reichslinger, unable to hold his anger, said viciously, That the Trevaunce girl is your business, I understand only too well, Standartenführer.
Priem seemed to go very still, his face calm and yet suddenly, Reichslinger was afraid. The Colonel moved close and, very gently, fastened a button which was undone in the other mans tunic.
Careless, Reichslinger. Wont do. I cant have one of my officers setting such a bad example to the men. He went round his desk and took a document from his in-tray. A signal from Berlin. Rather depressing. SS battalions in Russia are desperately short of officers. They enquire if we can spare anyone.
Reichslingers throat went dry. Standartenführer? he whispered.
An indifferent posting, especially as the Army is in total retreat there.
Reichslinger said, Im sorry, sir, I didnt mean …
I know exactly what you meant. Suddenly, Priem looked like the Devil himself. If you ever speak to me like that again, if you step out of line just once. He held up the signal.
Reichslingers face was ashen. Yes, sir.
Now get out. The young man hurried to the door and got it open. Priem added, And Reichslinger.
Standartenführer?
Interfere with Mademoiselle Trevaunce again in such a way and I will most certainly have you shot.
SITTING IN THE rocking chair on the balcony of the Rose Room, Genevieve, for no accountable reason, remembered an incident when she was fourteen, crouched on the landing in the dark, watching the guests at one of Hortenses balls when she and her sister should have been in bed. Anne-Marie had discovered that the best-looking young man there was also one of the richest in France.
I shall marry him if I find I havent enough money when Im older. Wed make a perfect couple. Hes so fair and Im so dark.
Genevieve had believed her totally. The voice echoed down the years and then she realised suddenly that Anne-Marie must have changed to some degree because everything in life did. The girl she remembered from childhood who, excepting Hampstead, she had last seen four years ago, must be different. Had to be. In a way, the whole thing needed rethinking.
Shed always had a fear of being swallowed up by Anne-Marie, just as she always had the feeling that in some strange way she should never have been born. Sitting there, thinking about it all, she saw that there had always been some kind of bond between them. A kind of mutual resentment of the fact of each others existence.
Strange how this quiet place could cause such thoughts and then she became aware of movement in the room. She stood up and went in. Black dress, white apron, dark stockings and shoes, the perfect ladys maid. Maresa was leaning over her suitcases.
Leave them! Genevieve ordered.
Her voice was angry, for inside, she was a little scared. Here was another to convince, someone else who knew her intimately.
I want to sleep, she said. The train was awful. You can unpack later.
For a moment, she thought she saw hatred in the dark eyes and wondered what Anne-Marie could have done to earn that.
Maresa said, Perhaps I could run Mamselle a hot bath?
Later, girl.
She closed the door behind Maresa and leaned against it, hands shaking. Another hurdle passed. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was just after noon. Time she braved the lioness in her den. She smoothed her skirt, opened the door and went out.