The Paris Affair

39 Christoph

39

Christoph

August, 1942 – Paris

Christoph woke with Sylvie in his arms. It was their second visit to the apartment in as many days. She smelled of parsley and cloves. Last night, he’d helped her cook mussels, opening the tiny kitchen window to let out the steam. They’d drunk half a bottle of white wine he’d brought from Le Meurice. They shouldn’t have stayed over. But after making love, it had been tempting to lie in each other’s arms and sleep, to pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

He brushed back her hair. She opened her eyes and smiled.

‘I don’t want to leave,’ Christoph said.

She stroked her hand across his arm. ‘Then let’s not.’

Out there, things were bleak. He’d had no luck convincing the Kommandant to help with Lotte. His heart cracked every time he thought of her.

‘We could steal away,’ he said. ‘Leave France and go somewhere there isn’t a war.’

Sylvie rolled on to her front to look at him. Her bare skin shone in the early-morning sunlight. ‘There’s nowhere to go. We’re on borrowed time.’

Christoph nodded. Borrowed, but precious nonetheless. He could hardly believe she was here, lying beside him.

‘Time drags when you want it to go fast and speeds up when you want it to slow down,’ he said, smoothing his thumb over Sylvie’s palm.

Sylvie’s hand suddenly closed over his own, gripping it tight. ‘I wish I could stop time right now.’

He stroked her cheek. ‘Tell me, what’s on the menu for this special dinner?’ The date of General Winkler’s arrival had been confirmed for Monday, but the Kommandant was already getting everything in order.

Sylvie rested her head on her elbow. ‘Salmon mousse choux pastries to start, followed by chicken and then Sachertorte. I’m in charge of the salmon.’

Christoph pulled a face. ‘Why did you choose salmon mousse? I told you I didn’t like it when we went to Le Tour d’Argent.’

Sylvie shrugged. ‘I’ll make a salad, just for you, with a special dressing.’

He drew her towards him. ‘I might be brave enough to try the salmon if it’s made by you.’

‘No, don’t do that,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t want you to eat anything you don’t enjoy. Promise me. Eat the salad instead.’

Christoph smiled. ‘All right, though I don’t know why it matters so much,’ He sighed. ‘After the dinner, I’ll be going to the Loire. I wish I could bring you with me, but the Kommandant has expressly forbidden it.’

‘I wish I could come too,’ Sylvie said. She gave a brief smile, restless suddenly. ‘Come on. We can’t put it off any longer. We need to head back before someone realizes we’re both gone. You go first. I’ll follow later.’

The hotel was quiet when Christoph returned. He went straight to his office, relieved that there was no sign of the Kommandant. Horns beeped outside and Christoph went to the window to investigate. A cavalcade of five black motor cars drew up in the courtyard, Nazi flags fluttering on the front of each car.

The Kommandant climbed out of one, dressed in full military regalia. He opened the door on the other side, and another man got out, General Winkler, Head of the Production and Supplies Division. Christoph recognized him from pictures in the newspapers. What was he doing here? He wasn’t due to arrive yet.

Minutes later, the Kommandant burst into Christoph’s office.

‘Where the hell were you?’ he said, tearing off his gloves.

‘It was my morning off,’ Christoph said, the words already prepared.

‘If you’d prefer to be fighting out in the east, I can arrange it,’ the Kommandant said. ‘You should be at your desk.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, Herr Kommandant. What’s going on?’

‘General Winkler has descended on us three days early,’ the Kommandant said. ‘That man delights in making my life a living hell. A flight from Berlin was available, so he took it. We’ve just got back from the airport.’

Christoph almost felt sorry for the Kommandant. General Winkler was a notorious taskmaster. He oversaw all the shipments from west to east. There were endless telegrams and instructions regarding the quota of food and supplies.

‘He’s come to investigate the train that was derailed last week,’ the Kommandant said. ‘He’s gone to his room to rest, and then this afternoon he intends to question the French police about the incident.’

He stopped pacing the room and stood by Christoph’s desk.

‘We’ll have to bring the dinner forward to tomorrow, seeing as he’s got here early. He wants to fly back to Berlin in two days. It seems that things are building up for a push eastwards.’

‘Yes, Herr Kommandant. Should I postpone my trip to the Loire?’ He didn’t want to go and leave Sylvie.

The Kommandant shook his head. ‘No, it’s business as usual, as far as I’m concerned. You can head off the morning after the dinner.’

‘Yes, Herr Kommandant.’

‘Now, General Winkler’s security team needs to conduct a thorough search of the hotel. SS-Sturmbannführer Richter is in charge of the security detail for him. You’ll ensure SS-Sturmbannführer Richter finds his way around, yes?’

A sick feeling gripped Christoph’s stomach. A search of the hotel. What about Jacques, alone in the attic? ‘Yes, of course.’

Bile rose in Christoph’s throat. General Winkler’s security team would most likely be SS troops. Christoph might have been able to divert ordinary soldiers from the attic, or at least told Jean to get Jacques out of the building, but with the SS things would be more complicated.

The Kommandant waved his hand. ‘Don’t stand there gawping. SS-Sturmbannführer Richter’s waiting for you.’ With a brief salute, Christoph retreated.

Le Meurice prickled with nervous energy, soldiers going back and forth through the front entrance. In the lobby, a tall, thin man with three burly henchman beside him, glanced at Christoph impatiently.

‘You’re the chap showing us round? I’m SS-Sturmbannführer Richter,’ he said. ‘Everything has to be checked to ensure the hotel is secure.’

‘Of course,’ Christoph said. ‘I’ll take you to the cellars.’ As far away from Jacques as possible.

SS-Sturmbannführer Richter pointed to the stairs. ‘I always start at the top.’

Reluctantly, Christoph was obliged to lead the way upstairs. He didn’t want to be part of this. And yet, here he was, taking these men to the place where Jacques was hiding. His mind was blank with fear. He couldn’t think how to stall them or warn Jacques. He only hoped that Jean had got there first.

Eventually, they reached the door to Jacques’ hiding place. Christoph could hardly breathe. One of the soldiers took a crowbar out of his bag.

‘It’s just a storeroom,’ Christoph said.

‘We can’t be too careful,’ SS-Sturmbannführer Richter said. ‘Not when the General’s safety is at stake.’

The door broke and splintered. Dust filled the air. SS-Sturmbannführer Richter and his men switched on their torches. Christoph followed the flashlights as they swept around the attic. To his overwhelming relief, there was no sign that anyone had ever been there.

The soldiers searched every inch of the attic, lifting the waterproof lining and unhooking tiles to see if anyone was on the roof. Eventually, SS-Sturmbannführer Richter gave the order to stop.

‘Nothing,’ SS-Sturmbannführer Richter said. ‘Although you might need to let the Kommandant know there could be rats. I spotted some droppings along the skirting board.’

‘Yes, Herr SS-Sturmbannführer, of course,’ Christoph said, relieved that rats were SS-Sturmbannführer Richter’s only concern. The soldiers had been very thorough, throwing off dustsheets and overturning furniture. It was evident that Jacques was no longer up here.

SS-Sturmbannführer Richter moved on, instructing the soldiers to search the women’s quarters. They checked in wardrobes and under the beds. Room by room, the soldiers worked their way through the staff quarters until they came to Christoph’s room.

‘Here, allow me,’ Christoph said, unlocking the door. ‘This is my room.’

SS-Sturmbannführer Richter went in. He nodded at the neat bed and desk.

‘I understand you’re the Kommandant’s right-hand man,’ he said.

‘Yes, Herr SS-Sturmbannführer, his administrative assistant.’

SS-Sturmbannführer Richter opened the bedside-table drawer and smiled at the bundle of letters.

‘Someone waiting for you back in Germany?’ he said.

‘Yes, Herr SS-Sturmbannführer. My fiancée.’

‘Well, this all seems to be in order,’ SS-Sturmbannführer Richter said. ‘As the Kommandant and General Winkler are on the next floor and we do not want to disturb them, we’ll do the cellars next. The head chef can take us. Thank you for your assistance.’

SS-Sturmbannführer Richter clicked his heels and left. The door closed, leaving Christoph alone in the room.

At that moment, he heard a faint noise. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was coming from under the bed.

‘Jacques, c’est toi ?’ he whispered.

Jacques wriggled out, his body held in tension, as if he might disintegrate at will if his survival demanded it.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Christoph said. He locked the door. Christ, if the SS had found him here, they’d both be done for.

‘Jean brought me when he heard the cars arrive. It was the only place he could think of.’

‘Jean will be with SS-Sturmbannführer Richter now.’

‘Can you help me then?’ Jacques asked, his voice hoarse.

‘Of course,’ Christoph said without hesitation.

Ever since Lotte had been taken, Christoph had known he had to take a side. He could no longer ignore what was happening around him. What a fool he’d been to think he could glide through the war staying neutral. He looked at Jacques’ quivering hands. He couldn’t help Lotte, but he could help Jacques.

‘This place is swarming with SS,’ Christoph said. ‘You can’t stay here. You need a safe place, a refuge …’

There wasn’t much time. If they left now, while SS-Sturmbannführer Richter and his soldiers were in the cellars, there might be a chance. Christoph rifled through his wardrobe.

‘Here,’ he said, handing Jacques a spare uniform. ‘Put this on. I know a place where you can hide.’