29 Christoph
29
Christoph
August, 1942 – Normandy
Morning came. Christoph had been waiting for the sun for hours. He’d kissed her. That’s all he could think about. The memory of it wove a tight band around his heart. He longed for her to wake, for the chance to show her that his foolish mistake hadn’t ruined things between them. But that was a lie. The kiss had changed everything inside of him.
Light seeped through the curtains. He heard voices in the farmyard, fists hammering on the farmhouse door. He got up and peered out of the window.
‘ Aufmachen! Lass uns rein! ’
Two soldiers stood in the yard, guns over their shoulder.
The door opened. The soldiers wrenched the farmer outside.
‘Show us where they’re hiding!’ one of the soldiers yelled.
The farmer shook his head. ‘ Je ne sais pas .’
The farmer’s wife came to the door, her children clinging to her skirts. One of the soldiers seized the youngest child, a girl with tangled brown hair, and held a gun to her head.
Until now, Christoph had simply watched the scene unfold. It was all happening so quickly. But the gun aimed at the child flicked a switch inside him.
‘What’s going on?’ Sylvie said, coming to the window.
‘Stay here.’
Christoph went outside, heart pounding. He wanted to pull the girl free, but he avoided looking at her. He strolled over, as if at ease.
‘Who are you?’ one of the soldiers asked.
‘Leutnant Baumann, Administration Assistant to Kommandant Schaumberg. I’m here on a production research project for the Kommandant,’ he said. The soldier lowered his gun a little. ‘Has something happened?’
‘There was a drop in the woods. One of the traitors escaped. Last seen running towards this place.’ The soldier nodded to the farmer’s family. ‘We need to question them.’
‘I’ve been here all night. There’s been no disturbance,’ Christoph said. ‘I’d have heard something.’
‘Even so,’ the other soldier said, waving his pistol at the farmer and his wife, ‘they must know something.’
‘They don’t speak German,’ Christoph said. ‘Let me talk to them in French.’
He turned to the farmer. ‘ Avez-vous vu quelqu’un ici hier soir?’
‘ Non ,’ the farmer replied. ‘Everybody knew the Kommandant’s man was coming to stay. Even our neighbours have avoided us.’ He glanced at his daughter. The little girl’s face was frozen with fear. ‘Don’t let them kill her.’
‘They don’t know anything,’ Christoph said to the soldier. ‘Who’d hide here, where a German official is staying?’
The soldiers looked at each other, weighing up his words.
‘Now, unless you want me to take your names and report you to the Kommandant for wasting time,’ Christoph continued, ‘I suggest you get going. Sofort. ’
The soldiers left, muttering to each other, casting a backward glance at the farmyard.
‘ Merci ,’ the farmer’s wife said, clutching Christoph’s hand. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘We’re having pancakes,’ the little girl said, tugging at his sleeve. ‘Come and have some.’
Christoph glanced at the cottage and saw the faint outline of Sylvie’s head at the window. The farmer’s wife followed his gaze. ‘Bring her too,’ she said.
Christoph walked back to fetch Sylvie. His legs were empty, as if all his power was spent. Only now did he realize how dangerous his intervention could have been for all of them.
Sylvie stood by the table.
‘You saved her,’ she said.
The shadow of the eaves made it hard to see the expression on her face. But her voice was warm like a blessing. She seemed to hesitate, then she ran towards him.
The full length of her pressed against him, her thighs, the soft swell of her breasts, her mouth touching his lips and setting them alight. He clasped her close, his body still smouldering from the night before, ignited once again by her touch. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, savouring the thickness. Her scent engulfed him, the kiss deepening, the warmth spreading. Her hands slid under his shirt, her nails grazing his skin. He groaned.
‘Sylvie,’ he said huskily. ‘We can’t, not now. They want to give us breakfast. To say thank you.’
Sylvie’s chest heaved as she caught her breath. God, he wanted to take her to bed and explore every inch of her. He kissed her swollen lips, desire breaking over him again.
She pulled away and smoothed down her nightdress. ‘We’d better not get carried away then,’ she said.
At the sight of her smile, playful and teasing, Christoph nearly lost control. He clenched his fists and swallowed. ‘We’d better not,’ he said.
He stepped away and waited while she got dressed, longing to slip behind the curtain that divided the room. Today, they’d be returning to Paris, to the constrictions of Le Meurice. This taste of freedom, of being simply himself, would be impossible to forget. He had no idea if it could continue back in Paris. But, for Sylvie, he was determined to try.