The Paris Affair

42 Christoph

42

Christoph

August, 1942 – Paris

Christoph sat in his office; the maps pushed aside. Without meaning to, he’d reached a turning point, not just in his thoughts but in his actions. He could hardly believe what he was contemplating. It was too dangerous, too outrageous to work. But he didn’t know what else to do.

The Kommandant strode into the room and glanced disapprovingly at Christoph’s idle hands.

‘Everything’s going well in the kitchens,’ he said. ‘I’ve been keeping a special eye on things after that fiasco with the head chef. M. Dupont had me fooled, I’ll admit. Little did I think he was intending to murder us.’

‘Me neither, Herr Kommandant,’ Christoph said. They’d be torturing Jean for names. He couldn’t bear to think of it.

‘I hope you’re not brooding about Sylvie.’ The Kommandant glanced in the mirror and smoothed back his hair. ‘When this dinner’s over, neither Sylvie nor I will bother you any more.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m being transferred back to Berlin,’ the Kommandant said. He clasped his hands and drew back his shoulders. ‘I’ve decided to take Sylvie with me. I’ve grown fond of her cooking and will require her skills back in the Fatherland.’

Christoph stared, unable to process what the Kommandant was saying.

‘Oh yes,’ the Kommandant said, with evident delight at Christoph’s discomfort. ‘The Service Travail Obligatoire now extends to unmarried women aged twenty-one to thirty-five. Sylvie will work as my personal chef.’

‘I see,’ Christoph said, forcing the words out.

‘It’s all worked out rather well. By the time you get back from the Loire, we’ll be gone.’ The Kommandant glanced round the office, at the untidy pile of maps and papers. ‘For Christ’s sake, Herr Leutnant, get this room sorted out. General Winkler is a stickler for orderliness.’

After he’d gone, Christoph went to the window. The car he’d taken to Normandy was parked next to General Winkler’s entourage. He already had the keys in his pocket, ready for an early start the next day. He glanced at the boot. It was deep enough for several suitcases. Surely a stowaway could fit as well.

He rubbed his temples. It would only work if he got Sylvie out of the hotel first, as soon as dinner had been served. Tonight, the whole of Le Meurice would be feasting in the dining hall. By ten o’clock, everyone would be stuffed full of Sylvie’s delicious food and half gone with alcohol. He could walk her to the apartment once the main course had been served. She and Jacques could hide out there while he came back to Le Meurice. Then, as already planned, he would set off in the car to the Loire early in the morning, picking up Sylvie and Jacques on the way.

Christoph opened his desk drawer. He had a sheaf of documents verifying his authority to inspect the farm. No one would dare question a German official with all the right paperwork, nor would his car be searched.

Christoph stuffed the file into his briefcase, trying to compose himself. He needed to calm the storm in his head if this plan had even the slightest chance of working.

That evening, the dining room was resplendent. Women draped themselves on the arms of officers. Men laughed, their gold fillings glinting in the candlelight. Christoph was seated away from the Kommandant.

The Kommandant caught sight of him and waved him over. His cheeks were flushed with champagne and he’d already wolfed down his salmon starter.

‘Let me introduce you to General Winkler,’ the Kommandant said. ‘He’s going to give a speech later. You will find it most informative.’

General Winkler was rather more composed than the Kommandant. He sipped his wine delicately.

‘You’ll find Leutnant Baumann a diligent worker,’ the Kommandant said. ‘He’s researching farm production for us. Tomorrow he heads off to the Loire for two days to inspect the progress of some farms which are in the process of harvesting vast fields of sunflowers.’

‘Very good,’ General Winkler said, nodding approvingly. ‘The oil will be a valuable resource in our fight on the Eastern Front.’

The two men began discussing the situation in Russia. Now was the time to get Sylvie out of the hotel. He could take her to the apartment and be back in time for the speeches before anyone noticed.

As he turned to go, Christoph caught sight of a man sitting at the end of the table. His hair was combed to one side and he wore a red cravat. Christoph was sure he’d seen him before. His intense blue eyes and his smile, appearing now as he talked to SS-Sturmbannführer Richter, were familiar. He looked like the man that Sylvie had been with in the café, the best friend of her fiancé. But that was impossible. Why would he be here?

There was no time to wonder. The soup course was being served: Eintopf mit Bohnen und Kartoffeln. Soon, General Winkler would make his speech. Christoph left the dining room, taking the back route via the corridors to the kitchen. Now was the moment to act.

The kitchen was buzzing with activity. Waiters traipsed in and out carrying plates of food. Sylvie was head chef now that Jean had been arrested. She had assigned each cook from Maxim’s a dish to prepare. Christoph made his way towards her.

‘Christoph,’ she whispered as soon as he was close, ‘the Kommandant came down before dinner started. He’s taking me to Germany, I don’t know what to do …’

‘It’s all right. Come on, we need to go,’ he said, taking her hand.

‘But I can’t, I’m supposed to follow orders. I want to do my duty,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘It’s just that this is more than I’d expected.’ He’d never seen her so distressed.’

‘Forget about it, the Kommandant’s orders don’t matter, you have to save yourself, there’s no time.’ He glanced around; everyone was busy. He grabbed a pot full of Topf. ‘We’ll take some extra food. I’ve got your things. I packed them this afternoon while you were down here.’

‘But I need –’

‘I’ve got the recipe book too. We must go now, there’s no time to lose.’

Sylvie followed Christoph into the sidestreet. Stopping by the bins, Christoph retrieved her suitcase from where he’d stowed it.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘The apartment. It’s the only safe place I could think of.’

If tonight went to plan, that dinner would be the last thing Lisette ever cooked at Le Meurice.

He held her hand and they walked quickly through the streets. They passed soldiers jostling on the pavement. He didn’t have much time. Just enough to see her safely to the apartment and then hurry back for the speeches. The concierge nodded as they crossed the courtyard and went upstairs. Outside the door to the apartment, Christoph stopped. He placed her suitcase on the floor, the pot of Topf next to it. In the distance, the sound of planes. Please God, let there not be any bombing tonight.

‘I have to go back,’ he said. Sylvie tightened her grip on his hand. ‘Just for a few hours, until the dinner is over. I’ll come back first thing in the morning.’

‘They’ll wonder where I am.’

‘I’ll make up an excuse.’ He hesitated, glancing at the door. ‘There’s someone else here too: a Jewish man called Jacques. Jean was hiding him at Le Meurice, but I got him out when the SS came.’

Sylvie’s eyes widened in the half-lit landing. ‘You brought him through the kitchen yesterday, when M. Dupont was arrested. He was wearing your uniform.’

Christoph nodded. ‘Yes, there was no chance for me to explain. He was hidden in the storerooms at Le Meurice for a month, but I have a plan to get us out of occupied France.’

Sylvie clasped Christoph’s hands. ‘It’s not right that you should risk yourself like this. Not for me. Not for anyone.’

‘I had to choose a side, and I’ve chosen it,’ Christoph said. ‘I can’t help my sister now, but I can help Jacques. And I can help you. I’ll come back with the car, and we’ll escape Paris tomorrow.’

Sylvie drew back. ‘A car?’ she said. ‘We’ll be stopped. You’ll be recognized. A German soldier, a Frenchwoman and a Jewish man all travelling together. How would you explain that?’

‘You and I drove to Normandy without any problems. We’ll do the same again, but head south towards the Loire, and then to the border. Just like last time, you’ll be my companion and translator, and Jacques will be hidden in the boot of the car.’

Sylvie frowned. ‘Do you think it’ll work?’

‘Of course. You’ll be travelling with a German lieutenant who has a cast-iron reason for going to the Loire, and documents to prove it. We’ll sort out papers for Jacques once we’re over the border.’

‘You’ve got it all worked out,’ Sylvie said, biting her lip, ‘but you’re taking a massive risk.’

‘It will be worth it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I need to return to the dinner now, but when the sun rises I’ll be back.’

‘Then we’d better say goodbye,’ Sylvie said, her voice small.

In the shadow of the landing he could hardly see her, but he knew every curve and swell. He drew her close.

‘Just for now,’ he whispered.

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a kiss like no other: full of urgency and yearning. Desire stirred. He longed to take her into the apartment.

‘I love you, Sylvie,’ he murmured, inhaling her scent.

‘Oh, Christoph. I love you too.’

Her eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t bear to leave her, even for a few hours. He was so close to staying, to risking everything and remaining with her. But he had to go. It was the only way to cover up her absence. It was just for a few hours, until morning, and then he’d be with her again.

General Winkler’s speech had finished by the time Christoph returned. He heard the thunder of hands clapping and feet stamping and slipped back into his seat. The desserts had been cleared away and everyone was drinking coffee and liqueurs. The bombing was over in the west of Paris and, fortified by alcohol and bravado, General Winkler had decided the dinner would continue.

‘Where have you been?’ the Kommandant said. He leaned over Christoph, unsteady on his feet.

‘Sylvie wasn’t feeling well, so I helped her upstairs. I hope you don’t mind. I think she’s just exhausted,’ Christoph said. ‘She’s excited about leaving for Germany. You’ve managed to win her over, Herr Kommandant.’

The Kommandant slapped Christoph on the back. With his belly full of alcohol and food, he was in a jovial mood.

‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘She’ll do well with me in Berlin. Good that Sylvie’s getting some rest. She’ll need all her strength for what I’ve got planned.’ A smirk played on his lips.

Christoph clenched his fist, smarting at the Kommandant’s words, but he didn’t dare display his anger, not when he was only hours from escaping it all.

The Kommandant wound his way around the tables, chatting to guests, introducing General Winkler to others. After coffee, Christoph slipped away and went up to his room to pack.

He didn’t sleep well. After the bombing had stopped, he was disturbed by vivid nightmares. When he woke up, his forehead was bathed in sweat. He checked his wristwatch. Five o’clock. He’d overslept. Sylvie would be wondering where he was. He got dressed and went downstairs. The hotel was empty except for the staff preparing breakfast.

In the courtyard, the soldier on guard asked him why he needed the car.

‘I’m inspecting a farm outside Paris today,’ Christoph said. ‘The Kommandant’s orders.’ He dangled the keys in the morning sunshine.

The soldier stood aside. Christoph climbed in and started the engine. The car glided out of the courtyard and on to the rue de Rivoli. He took a circuitous route in case he was being followed. The roads were quiet. Checking his rear-view mirror to make sure the coast was clear, Christoph parked outside the apartment block.

He bounded up the stairs two at a time, his heart light with the success of the first part of his plan. He just needed to get Sylvie and Jacques in the car while the streets were deserted. Then they could be on their way.

‘Sylvie,’ he whispered, hurrying down the hallway of the apartment, ‘Jacques, are you ready?’

His voice echoed in the silence. There was no sound, no rustle of footsteps, no one coming to greet him.

‘Sylvie,’ he called, louder now.

He wrenched open the door to the bedroom, then the bathroom, the kitchen. No one was there. His heart thundered in his chest.

‘Where are you?’

He looked out of the window, but there was no sign of them. There was no sign of anyone. Sylvie’s suitcase and recipe book had gone. Only the uniform, the one he’d lent to Jacques, lay folded on the table, and the empty pot that had contained the Topf.

Christoph sat down, his legs weak. What had happened? They’d vanished into thin air.

The front door clicked open. For a moment, his heart leapt with relief.

But it wasn’t Sylvie. It was the man he’d seen at the dinner. The man who looked like Sylvie’s fiancé’s best friend, his eyes a stormy blue.

‘So, she’s deserted you too, has she?’ he said in French. ‘Well, perhaps it’s for the best. Germany with the Kommandant would never have suited her. And sadly, a relationship with you would never have worked either.’

‘Who are you? Where is she?’

‘Me? I’m nobody,’ the man said. ‘And I’ve no idea where she’s gone. It’s out of my hands now. But I do know you’re leaving Paris today.’

‘What do you mean?’ Christoph said. He looked over the man’s shoulder. Two German soldiers stood behind him.

‘The Kommandant wants you gone. Count yourself lucky it’s not the death penalty for desertion,’ he said. ‘You’ve been deployed to the Eastern Front. You leave today.’

‘But where’s Sylvie?’ Christoph said. He grabbed the man by his lapels and pushed him up against the wall. ‘What’s happened to her?’

The soldiers pulled Christoph away and held him in an armlock.

The man shrugged. ‘She’s sans c?ur , you know. Always has been. But if I ever see her again, don’t worry. I’ll tell her you perished at Stalingrad.’

The soldiers shoved Christoph towards the door and dragged him down the stairs. He didn’t have the will to resist. All his strength had vanished. Russia meant certain death. But, knowing that Sylvie had abandoned him without a word, Christoph didn’t care.