Chapter 19
Chapter 19
It had been a long time since Fitz had worn an evening dress and she felt mildly guilty for enjoying the indulgence. She loved flying planes, but she also loved being feminine – fixing her hair nice, wearing dresses, doing her make-up and, of course, her bright red lipstick. For a few hours she would feel like the carefree young woman she’d been before this dreadful war.
‘You look pretty,’ said Yvette, from her position sitting on the bed. She had a bowl of soup resting on her lap. It was nice to see her eating. The potato and vegetable soup would do her the world of good. ‘I like your hair.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Fitz. ‘Would you like me to do your hair now?’
Earlier that afternoon, Fitz had run a bath for Yvette and washed her hair. She had managed to get rid of the ground-in dirt under the girl’s fingernails. A long soak with a bar of soap and some hot water had transformed the child.
‘Yes, please,’ said Yvette.
Fitz had never felt she had missed out on having a younger sister to play with or to look out for, but sitting on the bed, plaiting Yvette’s now dry hair was almost therapeutic. It was rewarding in a strange way to see Yvette’s appearance transformed. Was it pride Fitz was experiencing? It must be how parents felt about their children.
A wave of sadness washed over Fitz as she had an unexpected memory of her mother doing the same to her hair when she was a child. A rather less welcome memory followed, of Camilla attempting to do Fitz’s hair. She couldn’t quite put a time on it, but she knew she’d been young and Camilla hadn’t been married that long to her father. Camilla had attempted to brush her hair one night and Fitz had made such a fuss, screaming and yelling how it was pulling and hurting. She even swiped the hairbrush away, knocking it out of Camilla’s hand. Camilla had gasped in shock and when she stooped to pick up the brush, Fitz had yelled at her again. She remembered Camilla rushing from the room.
Gosh, why hadn’t Fitz ever remembered that before? She had been utterly beastly to Camilla. Thinking back, she couldn’t recall Camilla ever attempting to do her hair again.
‘ ?a va? ’ Yvette’s voice broke Fitz’s thoughts and she looked up at Yvette’s reflection in the mirror.
She smiled at her. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I was just remembering my mother brushing my hair like this when I was your age.’ She was too embarrassed to tell her about the Camilla incident. She dropped a kiss on the top of Yvette’s head which now smelt of rose water.
‘Where is your maman now?’ asked Yvette.
Fitz hadn’t been expecting that question. How was she supposed to answer that, considering the possibility that Yvette’s mother had been killed?
She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Yvette. ‘ Alors ,’ she began, running her finger and thumb down each plait. ‘My mother died when I was a young girl.’
‘How old were you?’
‘About your age,’ said Fitz. She watched carefully as Yvette considered this.
‘Is my mummy dead?’
‘Oh, my darling, I don’t know,’ said Fitz, struck by the directness of the question. Had she been so matter-of-fact when her mother had died? If she had, she was sure she’d have wanted an honest answer. Yvette deserved honesty, too. ‘As soon as it is safe, we will look for your mother. I promise I will find out what has happened.’
‘What if she forgets about me?’ The previous matter-of-fact tone had left Yvette’s voice, replaced with genuine fear.
‘She would never do that. You will be in her thoughts every single day. And even though she’s not here right now, her love for you will always be in your heart and in your mind. Exactly like you will always love her. She will always love you. I promise you that.’
Yvette didn’t answer. She pulled her teddy bear to her and Fitz put her arms around her. She hoped her words would offer some sort of comfort to Yvette.
‘Do you still love your mummy?’ asked Yvette.
Fitz hesitated. It wasn’t a sentiment she examined too closely. She preferred to keep those sorts of feelings well and truly locked away, but it was proving almost impossible. How could she offer words of comfort without opening her own heart?
She realised Yvette was looking at her, waiting for an answer. ‘Yes, of course I do,’ she said breezily. She got up from the bed. ‘Now, I should go downstairs otherwise I will be late for dinner.’
‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Fitz. ‘I promise you that. Now, settle down in bed. You can sleep in with me if you want. And when I get back, I’ll tell you all about the evening, although to be honest, I think it will be very boring.’
She tucked Yvette into the double bed and switched off the light. ‘See you soon,’ she said at the door and blew a kiss. ‘Catch it. Put it under the pillow for later.’
As she stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her, Fitz couldn’t help smiling to herself at the warm exchange.
‘I was coming to see where you’d got to.’ Margot appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘You need to stop fussing over that child.’
‘I was just making sure Yvette was settled,’ said Fitz, noting again how irritated she was by the woman who seemed to have no care for Yvette whatsoever.
‘And is she?’
‘Yes. You don’t have to worry about her.’
‘Good.’ Margot looked Fitz up and down for the second time that day. ‘Glad to see the dress fits. Colonel Hoffmann will appreciate that.’
Fitz couldn’t help feeling like a prize cow or some sort of livestock, the way Margot had assessed her.
They went downstairs and along the main hallway to a large and extremely luxurious sitting room where several German officers were standing near the fireplace with whisky glasses in their hands, talking and smoking. Three women were standing with them and another two were sitting on the sofa talking to Philippe.
All conversations came to a complete halt and the officers at the fireplace turned to look at her.
To Fitz’s horror, one of them was the German officer who had questioned her at the checkpoint.
‘Claudine, there you are,’ said Philippe. ‘We thought you might have fallen asleep.’
Fitz smiled at the man who she had to remember was her cousin. ‘Oh, I was just putting the finishing touches to my hair,’ she gushed.
‘Let me introduce you,’ said Philippe and proceeded to walk her around the room, informing her of the names of the guests. She really did feel like cattle being paraded in the auction ring.
‘This is Captain Engel,’ said Philippe. ‘Engel this is my cousin, Claudine Bardot
‘We have already had the pleasure of meeting,’ said Engel. ‘Had I realised that Mademoiselle Bardot was your cousin, I would most certainly have brought her here in my car earlier.’ He turned to Fitz. ‘Mademoiselle Bardot.’ He took her hand and brought it near to his lips without actually making contact. ‘My apologies.’
‘No need to apologise, Captain,’ said Fitz.
‘Please, call me Walter.’
Fitz nodded. Philippe coughed. He seemed keen to carry on with the introductions. ‘Now, Claudine, this is Colonel Hoffmann.’ He ushered Fitz towards the German. ‘Colonel, my cousin, Claudine.’
Hoffmann looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. A tall, thin man with angular features and high cheekbones. Fitz knew this was her time to play the part she had been trained for. She gave a coy smile at the German, glanced down and then back up at him again. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Colonel,’ she said, moving her black lace scarf to the side so he had an uninterrupted view of her and the rather tight-fitting dress.
‘The pleasure is all mine,’ said Hoffmann, taking Fitz’s hand and kissing it. Unlike Engel, he made contact with her skin, pausing for a fraction of a second longer than necessary as he looked up at her.
Fitz met his gaze, and this time didn’t look away. Gosh she felt sick at the pretence but reminded herself this was simply a job. All she had to do was to play her part.
‘The colonel is our guest for the next few nights,’ said Philippe.
‘How lovely,’ said Fitz. ‘Will you be here for the piano recital tomorrow evening?’
‘That is my intention,’ replied Hoffmann. ‘And you?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ll be here,’ said Fitz. She was aware from her peripheral vision that Engel was still standing there, observing her interaction with the colonel. It was unsettling. She wasn’t sure Engel was as easily drawn in by a woman as the older German officer was.
As they made their way through to the dining hall several minutes later, her concern was compounded. Engel fell into step alongside her. ‘You have made a very good impression with the colonel,’ he said.
Fitz smiled. ‘He’s a charming man.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Engel. ‘Tell me, Claudine, when you were walking to Josselin yesterday, did you see a young woman, probably about your age walking along the road?’
Fitz maintained her composure. ‘No, I don’t believe I did.’
‘Shame. I’ve been trying to find her.’
‘Is she a friend of yours?’ asked Fitz, as Engel paused to allow her through the doorway ahead of him.
‘She has some information I need,’ said Engel. ‘If you had been on your own, I might have thought it was you.’
Fitz’s throat constricted at the comment and she could barely breathe. She forced a laugh as if the idea that Engel had been looking for her was ridiculous. ‘Oh, you would have been very disappointed if you’d arrested me, Walter.’ She looked up at him from under her eyelashes.
‘I don’t know if disappointed would be the right word,’ he replied.
‘And what word is the right one?’ Fitz touched his arm and this time managed to produce a flirtatious giggle.
Engel smiled and raised his eyebrows. ‘I’d like to think satisfied would be the right word.’
His hand rested between her shoulder blades as he guided her into the dining room.
Before Fitz could offer any reply, her attention was taken by Philippe coming over to her. ‘Claudine, I’m sorry to drag you away from Engel, but let me show you to your seat.’
Engel nodded and with that Fitz was whisked over to the table and found herself, unsurprisingly, next to Colonel Hoffman.
She glanced down the table to where Engel had been seated. Did he know she was the woman he was looking for or was he simply guessing? No, surely if he knew, he would have her arrested there and then, Fitz decided. She would have to be very careful now. She needed to get on the right side of the colonel. He outranked Engel and that would mean Fitz was safe for a while.
She had to force herself to concentrate on what the man was saying. Engel’s words rattled around in her head on a constant loop as she tried to decipher them and second guess if there was a double meaning. One that put her in a very dangerous position.
Throughout the meal, Fitz made more flirtatious conversation with the colonel. At one point, he brushed her thigh with his hand as he smoothed out the napkin on his lap. The first time, Fitz thought it was a genuine accident but after the third time, she knew otherwise.
The wine flowed as they ate their way through three courses of the most delicious food – lobster bisque, steak and then a chocolate gateau. Fitz couldn’t deny how delectable it was but the experience was tarnished when she thought of how the people of France were being rationed for their food. This meal was extravagant and left a bitter taste in her mouth.
‘Is there something wrong with your food?’ asked the colonel as she pushed away a barely touched dessert.
‘No, nothing, at all. In fact, it’s the most delicious food I’ve tasted in a long time,’ said Fitz. ‘But I couldn’t possibly eat any more. I’ll burst out of this dress if I’m not careful.’
The colonel shifted in his seat and made some sort of noise in the back of his throat. ‘I don’t know if that will be a bad thing.’ He reached his arm out and rested it on the back of her chair, his thumb caressing her shoulder.
Fitz pretended to look embarrassed. In reality she wanted to vomit at the feel of him touching her bare skin. ‘So, Colonel,’ she said, looking to move the subject. ‘Tell me, what do you think of Josselin? It’s a very beautiful town, don’t you think?’
The colonel shrugged. ‘The chateau is impressive but I have seen just as beautiful, if not more so back in Germany.’ His eyes lingered on Fitz. ‘But, of course, nothing can match the beauty in front of me now.’
‘That’s very kind of you to say,’ said Fitz, feigning embarrassment. She felt confident she had the colonel where she needed him. Tonight was purely a teaser – an appetiser. Tomorrow would be the main course.
The rest of the evening passed in very much the same vein. Fitz flirting with the colonel and reeling him in little by little with each giggle, each eyelash flutter, and each swell of her bust. She had made sure she didn’t drink more than one glass of wine, despite the colonel’s efforts to try to get her to indulge more.
‘I need to keep a clear head,’ she said, placing her hand over her glass as he lifted the wine bottle. ‘I’m saving myself for tomorrow evening.’
By the end of the evening, Fitz felt exhausted with all the role playing and was relieved when the men retired to another room, and she was able to say her goodnights.
Margot accompanied her up to her room, stopping outside the bedroom door. ‘Tomorrow, be ready at ten o’clock,’ said the Frenchwoman. ‘Just you. Not the child. She’ll be looked after by the cook.’
Fitz knew better than to ask questions. ‘All right. See you then. Goodnight, Margot.’
‘You did well,’ she said. ‘Hoffmann is enchanted by you.’ With that, she headed back down the hallway.
Fitz crept into the room, not wanting to wake Yvette. She turned the key in the lock and then went into the bathroom where, despite the cold water, she washed and scrubbed every inch of her body to rid herself of any trace of Hoffmann’s touch. He had indeed been very charming all evening, but she knew what he was really like. A callous, cold-hearted barbarian who was known for exercising the most vengeful acts of torture on the Bretons. He was undoubtedly behind the order to raze the village of Saint Pierre to the ground and to execute the villagers. She wondered what had prompted such action. She might be able to ask Margot tomorrow when they went off to wherever it was they were going. She suspected it was a meeting with the resistance to discuss the plans for tomorrow evening and the kidnap. She would very much enjoy luring the colonel into a trap.
Once she was washed and dried, she slipped into the blue flannel pyjamas she had brought with her. Yvette was breathing steadily. The moonlight cast a white glow across the room and Fitz slid carefully into bed not wanting to disturb the child.
‘You came back,’ whispered Yvette as she snuggled into Fitz.
‘Of course I came back,’ said Fitz softly. ‘You should be asleep by now.’
‘I will now.’
‘Goodnight, Yvette.’
‘Goodnight, Claudine.’
Fitz felt a little pang of guilt at not being able to tell Yvette her real name. Deceiving the colonel was one thing, but it felt wrong to lie to Yvette. They had formed some kind of bond or connection which was a new experience to Fitz. But also one she felt at ease with. What an odd friendship they had established, she thought with a smile.
Soon Yvette was fully asleep, and her gentle rhythmic breathing was the only sound in the room. It wasn’t quite so easy for Fitz to fall asleep. She went over the evening’s events, Engel’s comment and Hoffmann’s greedy eyes and eagerness to see her the following evening. She was relieved he had been enchanted as Margot had put it. Margot’s praise had been somewhat begrudging, but Fitz felt an inexplicable amount of pride that she had finally done something worthy of Margot’s approval. All Fitz had to do was to be just as enticing tomorrow and then she would be winging her way to England to enjoy her Christmas dinner, as Wilding had promised. She stopped short of savouring the idea. She still needed to make some sort of arrangements for Yvette. It unexpectedly tugged at her heart to think that after tomorrow, they probably wouldn’t see each other again.