Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
T he officer loomed over Lizzie, and she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him any longer.
‘You remember me, I hope?’ he said, his handsome face creasing into a charming grin.
She managed a tentative smile in return. ‘Ah, good afternoon, of course I remember you. How could I forget you when you were so kind to me on the train?’
The proprietor walked towards them holding a tray, and the officer nodded to him. ‘Thank you, Claude.’
‘May I join you? I come bearing gifts,’ he said, turning to Lizzie, pointing to the tray laden with fancy cakes.
She gulped. ‘Really, that’s so thoughtful, but I was just leaving. I have dinner to prepare,’ she said, pointing to her bag of meagre produce.
The officer looked disappointed. ‘Can I not tempt you with one of these cakes and some hot chocolate? Claude’s is the very best Paris has to offer.’
It might be the best Paris offered to a Nazi officer, but there were no cakes in sight for ordinary French people.
‘Forgive me, madame, I am letting my enthusiasm at seeing you again affect my manners, and that is unpardonable.’
He seemed as genuinely decent as he was on the train, and Lizzie considered how she could extract herself without being rude. There was no benefit to offending a German officer who wasn’t a threat, and he was, after all, just offering her cake.
Beware of friendly Nazis , Hannah’s ominous warning echoed in Lizzie’s thoughts.
Lizzie scrambled to her feet. ‘Please take my table,’ she said, looking from the officer to the proprietor, who was still waiting rather comically for the instruction of where to put the tray. ‘I really must go before it gets dark, especially in this awful weather.’
‘But madame, please don’t tell me you mean to walk home in this snow. I simply cannot allow it. You will catch your death.’
‘No, no, you misunderstand. I am not walking. It’s no problem at all—I have a good bicycle and am used to making the journey.’
Claude placed the tray on the table and returned to tend to his new customers.
The cakes looked so inviting, but the officer remained standing next to Lizzie, and he slapped his hand on his leg. ‘That settles it, then. Please, madame, join me for a short while. Enjoy the cake and chocolate and then I will see that you arrive home safely. You have my word. No one should travel alone in this snowstorm. It is almost dark.’
Lizzie found herself in a dilemma. A straggle of customers had entered to escape the increasing flurries of snow, and she and the officer were attracting attention by standing around like this. Rule number one when undercover was never to attract attention. This outing was quickly turning sour, and she hadn’t even met the contact she’d come to see.
The officer was genuinely bewildered that she would prefer to leave the warmth of the café and decline his offer of cake and a comfortable ride home.
What would Hannah do in this situation?
An image of the fearless Resistance operative flooded her consciousness, and Lizzie knew what to do.
‘You are very courteous, and I see it would be ungrateful of me to refuse your offer. Thank you,’ she said.
The officer looked overjoyed and reached to pull out the chair for her.
Lizzie sank back down onto the hard seat. She would indulge his wishes for a short while and then she would make an excuse and leave on her own, as if she had nothing at all to hide.
That was what Hannah would do.
The officer had ordered enough pastries and cakes for a large family, and she chose one when he insisted.
‘Which is your favourite, madame? You must try them all.’
‘Oh really, I can’t. We are not used to so much food.’
A shadow passed over his face and he looked embarrassed. ‘I am so sorry the Parisians struggle to get enough food, and that is your experience of this war. That you are going without so that my men may eat troubles me greatly. What may I do to improve the situation for you?’
The officer stared at her intently and didn’t touch his cake or drink his cup of steaming chocolate.
Lizzie said, ‘Nothing, thank you. You’ve done quite enough already. This apple cake is delicious, but I didn’t mean to imply that I want or need more. I am fine, really.’
‘Still, I insist on giving you cake to take home for your family. ’
‘It’s just me and my sister,’ Lizzie said carefully, skirting around the dangerous truth.
‘I couldn’t help but notice your wedding ring when you were on the train. Where is your husband if I may ask?’
Lizzie put the rest of the cake back on her plate, lowered her head slightly, and composed her face into a mournful expression. ‘I do not know. There has been no news of him since early in the war.’
‘I am sorry for you, madame. These times are difficult for everyone. May you hear he is well soon.’
What did one say to the enemy when they wished your imaginary husband, who had presumably been fighting for the Allies, well?
‘Thank you,’ Lizzie said, reaching for her cake again. The sponge was light and fluffy and if she wasn’t in a panic, she would devour it, but the crumbs stuck in her throat, and she coughed.
The officer was solicitous and immediately asked for water.
His eyes searched hers. ‘How rude of me! I have not yet introduced myself, and this is already our second meeting. My name is Karl, Major General Karl Schulz.’
Lizzie was relieved she was holding her cup, and he didn’t offer her his hand to shake. It was bad enough for a French woman to be seen in a café with a German officer, never mind touching each other.
The place was filling up now and Lizzie noticed a few French women on the arms of German soldiers, and her breathing steadied.
‘And you, madame. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?’ This was what Lizzie had been trying to avoid, but there was no way out now, so she introduced herself as Jacqueline Simon and acted as naturally as she could, even though her heart raced uncontrollably .
The realisation that she was sitting in a café in the centre of Paris, sharing cake with a Nazi officer through no design of her own, troubled her.
‘Staying with your sister must be pleasant for you both.’
Lizzie agreed it was, and they were fortunate to have each other’s company. She said they lived a quiet life, hoping to discourage any more questions.
After they finished their cups of chocolate and Lizzie had eaten all the cake, she could force down her dry, nervous throat, Karl asked Claude to wrap up the remaining cakes for her to take home.
Lizzie thought she detected judgement in Claude’s eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. Who was he to judge her when he was serving the finest cakes in Paris to the occupying army?
She reached for her bag containing the all-important rationed supplies, but the officer jumped to his feet. ‘Please, this way. My driver is just around the corner, madame.’
The officer was polite and even though he knew her name, she noticed he still addressed her solely as madame.
Lizzie’s thoughts tangled with one another, and she couldn’t think straight as she desperately tried to come up with a believable excuse to refuse a lift home on this dark, freezing, snowy evening.
‘No really, I have my bicycle nearby and am perfectly fine to ride home. Please do not take yourself and your driver out of your way. I’m certain you must have much more important things to do.’
Karl moved closer, and his voice was low. ‘I understand, madame, that you must protect your reputation at all costs, and I apologise for any inconvenience I have caused you today. In all good faith, I cannot allow myself to abandon you like this when I could, with a simple act of decency, see you home safely.’
The situation was becoming untenable, and she frantically searched for a good reason to refuse his offer again, but she failed to conjure anything that didn’t sound like she had something to hide.
The officer must have seen her resigned expression. ‘You may rest assured, I will escort you with the utmost discretion and if you never wish to see me again, I will honour your wish. Now, madame, where is your bicycle to be found? You leave first and wait for us on the next street. I forget the name. Rue … ah, but of course, you are even newer to Paris than me. It’s the small street that runs next to this one. Turn right when you exit the café, turn first right again and wait by the small bookshop. We will meet you there.’
Lizzie’s mind was humming. There was no point in making a fuss. This was the quickest way to get rid of him, so she processed his instructions and said goodbye as if they were parting.
He whispered in her ear. ‘It is dark now. No one will see you. There is nothing to fear.’
Was she making a mistake to trust him? What if he didn’t have a man waiting for him at all, and he meant to force himself on her?
Memories of the previous summer surfaced, and fear clawed at her stomach.
No. Trust your gut and live by your wits. Jack’s wise words resounded in her mind. That’s what she was doing and there was a voice within her—when she allowed herself to tune into it—that told her Karl meant her no harm.
She retrieved her bag and after telling him where she had parked her bicycle, Lizzie stepped out of the warm café and into the sleet and snow that rushed into her face, making her wince.
It really was a terrible night for cycling and she wished she had got away much earlier and not bumped into the officer. As charming and well-meaning as he was, making friends with him could only spell trouble.
Lizzie waited beneath the awning of the bookshop. Guilt washed over her as she remembered how she had feasted on the cake whilst the family waited in the basement. She had intended to have a vegetable and chicken stew bubbling on the stove for them by now.
In the dim streetlights, Lizzie saw a German army truck turn the corner and pull up slowly alongside the bookshop. Her bicycle was strapped to the back at an awkward angle. The door clicked open, Karl’s face appeared through the window, and he signalled for her to get in. She realised he was honouring his promise of discretion.
Lizzie climbed into the backseat of the truck, and Karl’s driver pulled smoothly away. They wound through the snowy streets, and people hurried out of their way as they appeared. This was Paris through the eyes of the occupier, and Lizzie was riding with the enemy.
The driver asked for her address and Lizzie realised this was her last chance to avoid leading the Nazis to the Resistance safe house door. She considered giving them a fake address and getting out somewhere else, but she had made that mistake before, and it had proved fatal. She wouldn’t repeat it.
Hide in plain sight.
Sometimes that was the best way.
The snow was sticking, and she thought again of the family in hiding as she looked out of the window. How would they make it over the Pyrenees in these arctic conditions?
‘Madame, are you quite comfortable?’ Karl asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
As they turned another corner, Lizzie caught sight of a sign: “Germany Is Winning On All Fronts! ”
They bounced along the road to the outskirts of the city, the wheels of the large truck handling the snow and ice with ease. It wasn’t long before they turned off the road and rumbled down the country lane towards the farmhouse.
The farmhouse where a hunted Jewish family were at this very minute hiding in the basement. The farmhouse where the Resistance leader of the Liberty Network lived.
Lizzie had brought a Nazi officer right to their door.