Chapter 24
Chapter 24
The knock at Hoffmann’s bedroom door came earlier than Fitz had expected. It was still dark outside, and the dawn was yet to break. How wrong Wilding had been when he said she’d be home for Christmas dinner.
Fitz had ruffled the sheets on both sides of the bed and dented the pillows, so it looked as if two people had spent the night there. She’d messed up her hair somewhat, smudged her lipstick and flung her stockings onto the floor, along with her shoes. She’d also used the towel in the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat. She wasn’t sure it would fool Engel, but she had to at least try. If anything, it would buy some time and Hoffmann would be on a plane to England before anyone realised he was missing.
She waited for the second knock before going over to the door.
‘Who is it?’ she asked without opening it.
‘Captain Engel. I need to speak to the colonel.’
‘He’s not here,’ called Fitz through the door.
‘Open the door before I shoot the lock,’ commanded Engel.
Fitz turned the key, and the door was immediately barged open. She jumped back out of the way as Engel strode into the room, his pistol in his hand. Two soldiers followed him in. One of them trained his gun on Fitz.
‘He’s not here,’ repeated Fitz as she watched Engel take in the room, before striding over to the bathroom and then the dressing room.
He marched back out and stood in front of her. ‘Where is the colonel?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Fitz. ‘He was here earlier. But when I woke up, he was gone.’
‘Liar,’ snapped Engel. Without warning, he raised his hand and struck Fitz hard across the face, almost sending her off her feet.
She let out a small cry. It stung, rather than hurt. Engel grabbed her jaw, squeezing her face between his finger and thumb. ‘I will ask once again. Where is the colonel?’
‘I don’t know where he is,’ she repeated.
This earned her another slap on the other side of her face.
Fitz could hear the sound of feet and voices. It sounded like Margot and Philippe.
‘What is going on here?’ Philippe strode into the room. ‘It’s Christmas morning, for goodness, sake, Captain. My cousin is a guest of mine.’
‘Stay where you are,’ ordered Engel. ‘Mademoiselle Bardot is under arrest. Guest or not. I’m the one who gives the orders.’ He nodded at the soldiers who stepped forward and at gunpoint grabbed Fitz by the arms.
‘At least have the decency to allow her to get dressed into suitable clothing,’ said Margot.
‘The colonel will not be happy to learn you’ve treated Claudine in this way,’ said Philippe.
Engel narrowed his eyes. ‘That is the problem, though. We do not know where the colonel is and I have reason to believe Mademoiselle Bardot does and she is withholding the information with the intention of delaying locating the colonel.’
‘Even so,’ said Philippe. ‘You might be wrong. He might have been called away for some reason.’
‘And you think I wouldn’t know about that?’ Engel gave a snort. He looked at Fitz’s clothing and then turned to Margot. ‘Get her something else to wear.’
Margot hurried off and returned shortly with Fitz’s clothes. ‘Get changed,’ ordered Engel as Margot handed her the garments. ‘No, not in the dressing room. Here.’
There was a glint in Engel’s eye and Fitz knew he was enjoying the thought of humiliating her in front of everyone. Well, he had underestimated her if he thought that.
Very slowly, she slid the thin straps off her dress from her shoulders and slipped her arms out. Philippe turned away and Margot looked down at the ground. Fitz looked at each of the soldiers in turn, but neither batted an eyelid. Her gaze moved to Engel and she locked eyes with him.
She lifted her chin and then reached around and undid the side zip and stepped out of the dress. Then she put on her own clothes, taking her time to fasten the buttons on her cardigan and smoothing down her hair.
‘Very nice,’ said Engel. ‘Take her away.’
The guards grabbed her by the arms and marched her out of the room, down the stairs and out to the front of the chateau where Engel’s black Citro?n was waiting.
Philippe had protested at Fitz’s arrest and had been so convincing in his disbelief and the injustice, that Fitz had almost believed him herself. Unsurprisingly, it had been to no avail and Fitz had been whisked off in Engel’s car to Saint Martin’s Clinic – a property in the north of the town, now taken over by the Gestapo as a place of interrogation.
Engel didn’t speak on the short drive to the clinic as he sat beside her in the car. The car was accompanied by two motorcycle outriders who then stood at the entrance to the property as Engel and Fitz climbed out.
There was no point even thinking about trying to flee, Fitz knew she wouldn’t get very far and, if anything, it would only signal her guilt.
She followed Engel up the steps to the entrance of the building, and the two soldiers walked closely behind her. At the front door, Fitz paused briefly, looking upwards, squinting at the cool wintery sun. Would this be the last time she’d see a crisp clear sky? Would she ever get to experience flying up above the clouds again?
She drew in a deep breath, savouring the moment, envisaging herself in the cockpit of a Spitfire, dashing through the sky, looking down at the greens and browns of the land below her.
Then she was being jostled into the building where it was just as cold, if not colder, than outside and the shutters kept out the light. It wasn’t only the dip in temperature within the building that made Fitz shiver – there was something else, a chilling, malevolent sensation that wrapped itself around her, squeezing her ribcage, tightening her windpipe, and making her heart thud.
A clinic before the war, Fitz didn’t allow her imagination to conjure up all the instruments available to the Gestapo to persuade a person to talk. Instead, she thought of all the people she’d loved in life, her mother, her father, little Michael, darling Sam, and dear sweet Yvette. She wouldn’t let them down. She’d be brave and face whatever was coming to her. She could and would endure her fate.
To her surprise, Fitz was taken into a room that appeared to be an office. Engel indicated for her to sit at a chair on one side of a large walnut desk, while he opened the shutters and flooded the room with light. One side of the wall was lined with bookshelves and opposite were three filing cabinets. Fitz assumed she was in what would normally be a consulting room.
Engel took the seat opposite and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Fitz, but she declined.
‘So, Claudine Bardot,’ began Engel. ‘Do you want to start by telling me your real name?’
‘Claudine Bardot is my real name,’ replied Fitz. She was sure Engel was just taking a shot in the dark on this. It was one of the first questions she had been coached in replying to at SOE training.
Engel waved his hand as if shooing a fly away. ‘Very well, we don’t have to waste time on the little game of your name. I will find out soon enough.’ He smiled but not in the way that conveyed any kind of sympathy. Quite the opposite. ‘So, as I’m sure you are aware, Colonel Hoffmann is missing.’ Engel paused.
‘I wasn’t entirely aware,’ replied Fitz. ‘I did think it was strange he wasn’t in his room this morning but assumed he had been called away and hadn’t wanted to disturb me.’
‘He was last seen with you,’ said Engel. ‘Going up to his room.’
Fitz nodded. ‘Yes. We decided to retire from the party a little early. Rolf … I mean, Colonel Hoffmann, was keen to get back to his room and requested I accompany him.’
Engel gave a chuckle. ‘You make it sound very civilised.’
Fitz offered a slightly confused expression. ‘It was exactly that. Colonel Hoffmann is a very charming man.’
‘And when you arrived in Hoffmann’s room, what happened?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I don’t mean that,’ said Engel. ‘I mean, what happened? How did you lure Hoffmann away from his room? Who helped you?’
‘I didn’t lure him with anything,’ said Fitz. ‘We went to sleep quite soon after getting back to his room.’
Engel jumped to his feet and slammed his hand down on the desk, causing Fitz to flinch. ‘Stop playing games,’ he shouted. ‘Either you tell me or I will make you tell me. What happened to Colonel Hoffmann last night?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ replied Fitz. She didn’t have to inject a nervous wobble into her voice, it came naturally.
‘You can make this as pleasant or as unpleasant as you like,’ replied Engel. ‘It doesn’t matter to me.’
‘I don’t know any more than you do, Herr Engel,’ said Fitz. ‘If I did, I would of course tell you. I’m very concerned about Colonel Hoffmann if he is missing.’ She wondered if she’d overplayed it with the last sentence.
‘You are very fond of the child, aren’t you?’ said Engel, catching Fitz off guard at the turn in conversation.
‘Yes, of course I am.’ Fitz tried to remain relaxed. She hadn’t expected Engel to bring Yvette into this quite so soon. She could only hope that someone had taken Yvette to safety already. Maybe the family who Margot mentioned before.
‘We are currently looking into her identity and exactly how she is related to Monsieur Philippe Tebow. I’m concerned that she might have been travelling with you under false pretences.’
Fitz shrugged. ‘I can assure you, Herr Engel, that you will be wasting your time. Everything will be in order just as I said before.’
Engel gave a small smile. ‘Let’s hope so.’ He sat down at his desk again, his anger appeared to have been replaced by a more settled countenance. ‘A few days ago we picked up two members of the resistance, Bernard Gareau and André Dacier. They came into the country with a woman who, thus far, we haven’t found, but I suspect we are very close.’
Fitz maintained her impassive expression. Inwardly, her heart was racing. ‘You did mention that at dinner the other night,’ she said.
‘We’ve interviewed both men at length. Here, actually,’ he said. ‘They’ve been very forthcoming with the information they’ve shared.’ He took a fob watch from the pocket of his jacket. ‘In fact, they’d like to meet you.’
Fitz’s mouth dried at the words. Engel certainly liked to play games with people and this is all it was to him, a game. The German got to his feet. ‘Would you come this way, please?’
Fitz rose from the chair and reluctantly followed Engel out of the room and into the entrance hall. Engel nodded and a soldier opened a door at the back of the space.
Fitz couldn’t help the gasp that escaped as the two men she’d last seen at the farmyard were dragged into the hallway. They had been beaten so badly, their faces were swollen and bruised. One of André’s eyes was completely closed up and dried blood coated his face. He couldn’t stand and was supported by a soldier on each side. They let him go and he crashed to the floor with a groan.
The other man, who she now knew was called Bernard, hadn’t fared any better, but he was standing of his own accord. He was barefoot and Fitz could see both big toenails were missing, the flesh fresh, pink and bloodied.
Fitz made eye-contact with the man. She realised too late what Engel’s game was. He wanted the men to believe Fitz had collaborated with him, divulged their secrets. How could she convey to the Frenchman that so far she hadn’t said a word? And how could Bernard let her know exactly what he had told the Germans?
‘Your friends or your foe?’ asked Engel. ‘Who has said what?’ Another sadistic smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Fitz wasn’t about to be beaten in a battle of the minds. She made a big show of recoiling from the man, before she turned to Engel. ‘I would say foe. I’ve never seen these men before in my life.’ She hoped by saying this loud enough, Bernard would understand. If they had betrayed her, then she was certain Engel would already be interrogating her, presumably by the same methods used on Bernard and André. She couldn’t let her mind go there and think what might happen to her. Now, she was purely surviving minute by minute.
‘Is that so?’ mused Engel. He nodded at the soldiers who had dumped André on the floor. They had obviously been given instructions on how this was going to play out, and without question they hoisted André to his feet and dragged him back down the hallway and through the rear door. ‘Please follow,’ ordered Engel.
With the Frenchman ahead of her, Fitz followed the party through the room at the back of the house and into a courtyard. She watched in horror as the two prisoners were forced to kneel, facing her. André could barely keep upright and swayed to one side but was swiftly booted back into a central position by one of the guards.
Both Frenchmen had their hands tied behind their backs, which Fitz thought was ridiculous. It was clear neither of them was in any position to put up a fight.
Engel walked behind the prisoners and held his pistol at the back of André’s head, just as he had done with Yvette.
‘Mademoiselle Bardot,’ said Engel. ‘I will ask you again, where is Colonel Hoffmann?’
Fitz shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied.
The words had barely left her lips when a shot rang out and André thudded to the ground, blood seeping out from the fatal gunshot wound. Fitz flinched but refused to turn away.
Engel looked in utter disdain at the motionless body of the young Frenchman who, only a few days ago, had sat in the mess room with Fitz, waiting to board the flight to France. The fragility of life especially at the hands of someone like Engel was not lost on Fitz.
‘I hope his mother can forgive you for not saving his life,’ said Engel.
Fitz had to force herself not to respond. She wanted to race across the courtyard, grab Engel by his lapels and shout in his face that she was not responsible. It was him. He was the murderer.
Engel now had his pistol pointing at the back of Bernard’s head. ‘I will ask the same question and if you give the same answer, then my action will be the same,’ he said simply. ‘Are you happy to have more blood on your hands?’
Fitz looked at Bernard. They both knew that no matter what she replied, Engel was going to murder him. If Fitz confessed now, then their deaths really would be in vain. If she could hold out for as long as possible, it would give Yvette a chance to survive. She couldn’t do anything for the Frenchman now and they both knew it.
Bernard closed his eyes slowly and opened them again. He had accepted his fate and was in effect forgiving Fitz for what was about to happen.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, before switching it to Engel. ‘As I said before, I do not know this man and I have no idea what happened to Colonel Hoffmann.’
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a look of satisfaction on the Frenchman’s face before he too was shot at point-blank range and met death instantly.
Engel let out a sigh and, holstering his pistol, walked over to Fitz. ‘Maybe we should continue our conversation inside.’
This time, Fitz wasn’t taken to the comfort of Engel’s office, but to a room at the back of the house. Inside was a table and two chairs in the centre of the room. Fitz gulped at the sight of various tools and medical instruments laid out on the table. The tiled floor was wet and although smelt of disinfectant, the metallic odour of blood was undeniable.
She didn’t need telling this was where André and Bernard had been interrogated and she was about to get the same treatment.