21 Lisette
July, 1942 – Paris
It was four in the morning and it was Lisette’s turn to make bread for the day. She pummelled the dough with her fist. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of seducing Leutnant Baumann, but he wasn’t like the other men, the ones who wanted a woman for the night and an audience for their bravado and swagger. She remembered how he’d slipped the lavender into his pocket; he seemed to crave a connection on a deeper level.
She sprinkled some more flour on to the marble board. The disconcerting thing was that she had started to value Christoph and see beyond his uniform to the man inside.
A noise by the door startled her and the Kommandant appeared. ‘Ah, Mlle Sylvie, I saw the light was on and thought perhaps M. Dupont was here.’
‘No, I’m sorry, Herr Kommandant, it’s only me.’
‘So I see.’ He walked over to the table. His boots clicked against the tiles. He loomed above her, hands clasped behind his back. He was renowned for needing little sleep, going to bed late and rising early, which meant the staff never knew when he might appear.
‘Can I help you with anything, Herr Kommandant?’ she said. Perhaps he was hungry, or Otto needed a drink.
‘Yes, I believe you can,’ he said, a smile playing on his lips. ‘I’ve never seen your hair properly. It’s always hidden under your chef’s hat or tied up. Please, take it down.’
Lisette held her breath. Was he serious? He stared at her, waiting. She reached up and took off her hat. Then, with unsteady hands, she unfastened her French plait.
‘Ah.’ The Kommandant reached out and held a strand between his fingers and twisted it tightly. ‘Just as I thought. Beautiful hair. Such a shame you hide it away.’
Lisette swallowed, her mouth dry. His power pulsed towards her. No one would hear her if she cried out. He was the Kommandant. Whatever he wanted, he could take.
‘ Bonjour, Sylvie .’ One of the assistant chefs, Guillaume, bustled in. Then he caught sight of the Kommandant. ‘Oh, pardon , Herr Kommandant.’
The Kommandant let go of her hair. His expression turned cold. ‘Tell M. Dupont to come and see me when he arrives,’ he said.
The head chef was often with the Kommandant. There were whispers among the kitchen staff that M. Dupont was a collaborator, creaming off the spoils of black-market deals and keeping his ear out for the Germans.
‘Yes, Herr Kommandant,’ Lisette said.
Her legs were weak. The Kommandant frightened and repulsed her. He embodied everything she despised about the Germans. The contrast between the Kommandant and Leutnant Baumann was stark. And yet, in some ways, the lieutenant’s humanity, his genuine warmth, made him seem more unnerving.
A few days went by and there was no sign of Leutnant Baumann. Lisette worried that her flirtation with him had been too subtle. In the lull between breakfast and lunch, she made coffee and pain au chocolat and crept upstairs to his office.
She found him sitting at his desk, surrounded by papers. He brushed back his fringe and smiled, his eyes seeming to light up at the sight of her.
‘I thought I’d bring the coffee to you this time.’ She placed the tray on his desk.
‘Thank you,’ he said, leaning back in the chair. ‘This is a very pleasant surprise.’
Sunlight came in through the window, illuminating the gold-embossed spines of books on the shelves. She glanced at the titles. They were all in German. Agricultural texts on farming and animal husbandry.
‘So, this is where you work?’ she said.
‘Yes. Not as nice as your kitchens, but at least it’s quiet.’
She glanced at his desk. ‘It looks like you’re busy. Is that why you haven’t been to see me?’
The edge in her voice was deliberate. She needed to notch things up a little, or Seraphin would grow impatient. It worked. Leutnant Baumann fixed his eyes on her, his cheeks reddening.
‘I’ve been thinking about you,’ he said. Then, after a heartbeat, ‘In fact, I’ve been thinking about you a lot.’
The intensity of his gaze was disconcerting. Lisette went to the window. Military lorries and cars stood parked in rows in the courtyard, a reminder of where she was.
‘There’s never much time to talk, is there?’ she said. ‘Even now, M. Dupont will be wondering where I am.’ She took a deep breath and glanced at him. ‘I’ve been thinking about you too, but …’
‘It’s all right, I know what you’re going to say. I’d like to get to know you better, but I suppose it’s out of the question.’ He smiled sadly.
Now was the moment to make things clear to him. She wasn’t sure if she had the guts to do it. But the thought of the opportunity to gain intelligence and how important it could be to the war effort made her continue.
‘I never said it’s out of the question. In fact, I’d like that very much.’
Christoph stared at her. She swallowed, her mouth dry. Had he understood the meaning of her words?
She didn’t dare stay around to find out.
‘Enjoy the coffee,’ she said quickly, and fled into the corridor, her heart racing.
The next day, Lisette was the last one in the kitchen. M. Dupont had retired for the night, claiming a headache, and left her to do the dishes.
Usually, she didn’t mind being alone. But recently, being alone had become troublesome. She replayed the scene in Leutnant Baumann’s office. Pretending to flirt with him was one thing. But there remained a guilty sensation that she’d enjoyed it too.
Lisette dried a saucepan. In the silence, she heard a rustle by the back door. She went over to look. A slip of paper had been pushed under it. Lisette picked it up. It was a receipt of some kind, but the miscellaneous items didn’t make sense: bar of soap, loaf of bread, one tin of sardines, pyjamas. Under ‘supplier’, it read: Jacques M . She put the receipt in her pocket, then drew back the bolt and opened the door. The narrow side street was dark and empty.
‘What are you doing?’
Lisette swung round. Leutnant Baumann stood by the stove. She could tell he meant nothing by the question, but her stomach tightened as she answered.
‘It’s a beautiful night,’ she said. ‘I went out to see the stars. I’m tired of being in this place all the time.’
‘In that case, come out to dinner with me on Friday night,’ Leutnant Baumann said. The words came out in a rush. ‘I mean, why not? It would make a change.’
‘The Kommandant won’t let me.’
‘All taken care of,’ Leutnant Baumann said. ‘The Kommandant agrees that your behaviour has been exemplary. He said we should start treating you like an employee rather than a prisoner.’
‘There was no need to speak to him,’ she said, ‘but thank you.’
Since that morning when she’d been making bread, the Kommandant had been a few times to the kitchens to speak with M. Dupont. He had made a point of lingering near where Lisette worked. He had watched her, and she couldn’t help but worry that he suspected her too. At least now, from what Leutnant Baumann had said, she’d gained his confidence.
‘The Kommandant can’t make his dinner reservation,’ Christoph said, ‘so he gave it to me. Would you like to come?’
Her efforts at flirtation had worked. He’d asked her out to dinner. The agent side of her knew this was an opportunity. More familiarity with Leutnant Baumann would give her the chance to extract more information from him. But the woman in her was afraid. Here in the hotel, she knew her role: but out there, in a more intimate setting, the lines might blur.
‘Don’t worry if not,’ he said, reading her hesitancy. ‘I just thought, after what you said the other day …’
Lisette touched the lapel on his jacket. ‘I meant what I said. I’d love to come.’
This was like jumping from the aeroplane again. She was stepping into unknown territory: accepting an invitation for him to take her out. She was determined to do anything to save her country. But deep down, she knew that this was more than just a new venture for her as a spy. She was entering uncharted waters as a woman too.
The next day, M. Dupont was in a temper. The meat supplier hadn’t turned up.
‘The Kommandant has guests for lunch tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Guillaume, you’ll have to visit rue Clément.’
Guillaume had a tray of burnt pastries in his hand. ‘The oven’s playing up. Someone else will have to go.’
M. Dupont cast his eye around the busy kitchen. Knowing she was now permitted to leave the hotel alone, Lisette came forward.
‘I can go. I’ve prepared the sauce. The vegetables are peeled and ready,’ she said.
She wanted to show the receipt she’d found last night to Seraphin.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Hand this list to the butcher. No time-wasting.’
‘Understood.’ Lisette tucked the list into her recipe book and stashed it in her bag.
The soldiers on the door of Le Meurice asked her where she was going. For a moment, she thought the Kommandant’s new instruction about her being free to go out had not been passed on. But when she explained her errand, they moved aside.
Outside, she inhaled deeply. She’d go and find Seraphin first, and then deal with the supplier at rue Clément. She crossed the road and felt the sunshine on her skin. It struck her how empty and quiet the city was. Women passed by with haggard faces. German road signs had replaced French ones. Soldiers and checkpoints littered the streets. She pulled her coat more tightly around her. Having witnessed the Kommandant’s arrogance, she knew the city had every reason to be fearful.
Café Lille looked out on to the street. Here on the Left Bank, the tension of occupation existed, but it was not so intense. Perhaps it was because of the students who rushed around with books and bicycles, still studying for a future they hoped would return.
Lisette sat at a table by the window. The coffee was bitter and grazed her throat. Seraphin leaned his bike up against the wall and crossed the road, a camera case slung over his shoulder.
‘Nice to see you,’ he said, coming over to her table. ‘I hope work is going well.’
She knew he wasn’t referring to her cooking.
‘He’s asked me to go out to dinner with him.’
‘Marvellous.’ He sat down and ordered a coffee. ‘Extract all the information you can. But be careful: don’t let your feelings get involved.’
‘I know my duty. I see the cracks in his heart, but I don’t climb inside.’ At least, she was trying not to.
Seraphin smiled. ‘Very good. See, already you’ve overcome your weakness. But being sans c?ur has its advantages in a situation like this. There’s no better person for the job. You will not easily give your heart away, n’est-ce pas ?’
Lisette shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I have one to give.’ She passed him the receipt. ‘Do you know what this means?’
Seraphin unfolded it beneath the tablecloth and frowned. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘Someone pushed it under the kitchen door. I didn’t see who delivered it.’
Seraphin scrunched the receipt up and shoved it in his jacket pocket.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Jean Dupont is using the black market to stock Le Meurice, that’s all. He must be taking a payment off every transaction. That man is a menace, getting involved in things he doesn’t understand. Be careful of him.’
‘He’s always consulting with the Kommandant. I think the Kommandant likes having a talented Frenchman in his pocket.’
Seraphin took a sip of coffee and glanced round the café.
‘They’re all using the black market – the French and the Germans,’ he said, his voice bitter. ‘We pay the Germans reparations, and they use our money to buy French food and keep it to themselves. At least, that’s what I suspect.’
‘But the people are starving.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Leutnant Baumann has something to do with the Agriculture and Food Supply Department. He must know about this.’
Seraphin leaned forward. ‘That’s why your role is so important. If we had proof of what the Germans are doing, and could sabotage their efforts, it might make people act.’
Lisette leaned closer. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I’ve heard they’re planning a large shipment of produce out of Paris. Find out when and where.’
Lisette nodded and drained her coffee.
Whatever strange affinity she’d felt towards Leutnant Baumann, it wouldn’t stop her from achieving her mission. There were more serious things at stake. Paris was being strangled. Ensconced in Le Meurice, with endless supplies of black-market ingredients, she’d been in danger of forgetting that until she’d walked through the streets and seen it again for herself. Beguiling Christoph was simply a means to an end. Christoph was the enemy; nothing could change that.