Chapter 26
T he door swung open, and an imposing blond German officer in an immaculately pressed grey-green uniform filled the doorway, pausing to study the room before entering.
The atmosphere instantly changed, and the fear was palpable.
His broad shoulders and tapered waist gave him the air of an athletic warrior.
Lizzie clamped her mouth shut when she recognised the SS officer.
He stepped forward to address the room, his bearing proud and regal, his eyes taking in the group of local surveyors and other professionals they had commissioned to work on the Atlantic Wall construction.
Gradually his grey-blue eyes came to rest on Lizzie, and he raised one eyebrow, his handsome face registering surprise.
‘Mademoiselle, what a coincidence. We met in the bookshop, did we not? I understood you had come from Paris to recuperate by the sea, or am I mistaken?’
Charles fielded the question like an expert batter. ‘Mademoiselle Rousseau is a friend of the family and is staying with us. She is here today at my request to take notes because my assistant couldn’t make it.’
It was as though Lizzie’s pulse points all beat at an uncontrollable pace simultaneously. The material of her dress stuck to her back, and suddenly there was no air in the room.
So, this was Heinrich Adler, the SS officer her uncle had mentioned. The charming tyrant in charge of Civil Administration in St. Malo. Lizzie thought of poor Judith Cohen and her family, who were goodness knows where, and now her uncle was working for this monster.
A red-hot rage licked through Lizzie’s veins, and she had to physically stop herself from saying something she would regret. Her hands shook a little, and she wedged them next to her sides to steady herself.
Pasting a polite smile on her face, she said with forced deference, ‘Good morning, Herr Adler. It is an honour to see you again.’
The words tasted like bitter ash in her dry throat, and she had to fight to maintain a pleasant expression. The explanation seemed to appease the officer, and Lizzie released a ragged breath as she watched him turn his attention away from her.
The SS officer indicated they should sit on the wooden chairs, and the meeting commenced. Heinrich outlined what he needed from the group in the initial stages of what he called the coastal defence programme.
The German officer spoke excellent French.
His accent portrayed culture and confidence, and his deep voice was hypnotic.
There was a sketch of the harbour and port areas on the board that he pointed to intermittently, explaining which terrain to measure and which features were key to the construction.
Every now and then his cold eyes fell on Lizzie, and she got the uncomfortable feeling, just like in the bookshop, that he was interested in her. She hoped it was merely the casual interest a man might show in a woman who caught his eye, and not something of a more suspicious nature.
Lizzie copied the images roughly onto her pad, but drawing wasn’t a skill she possessed, and she wished she could capture it all with her mini camera.
Making notes, she tried to memorise the finer points. It wouldn’t do to jot anything down that a surveyor wouldn’t naturally need, especially when she was already under the spotlight as a newcomer from Paris.
Lizzie imagined what Jack would say if he could see her now, in a private meeting with the head of the Atlantic Wall strategy at the heart of Nazi-occupied St. Malo.
What would her commanding officer and secret lover advise her to do?
A smile crept over her lips as she imagined him taking one look at Heinrich and telling her to get what she could and then get the hell out of there back to London.
No, it would be more useful to think about what her dear friend, Hannah, would do in this situation.
The Berlin-born Jewish Resistance agent was fearless and operated on a different level than others.
When Lizzie was afraid in situations such as this, she tried to channel what she called her inner Hannah .
It was like putting on a suit of armour, and her fear dissipated.
It was just a mind game, but she had learnt in her spy training that mind games could make the difference between life and death.
If you let fear swallow you whole, the game was over no matter what actions an agent took.
It was like pinning a sign on your head, revealing your identity.
The German military could smell fear—Lord knows, they had enough experience of it since they occupied Europe.
Charles glanced at Lizzie when the meeting came to a natural end and Herr Adler bid them good day and left the room. ‘Let’s be on our way. We have lots to do.’
Just as they were packing away their equipment, most of which was not needed, a soldier came back into the room and approached Lizzie.
‘Mademoiselle Rousseau?’
Lizzie nodded, her heart lurching as she faced him. ‘Yes.’
‘Sturmbannführer Adler requests you meet with him privately,’ he said in broken French.
Lizzie felt her throat close over as panic set in. She had the small knife hidden in the lining of her coat, but it hung in the cloakroom.
‘Did he say what it concerns?’ Her voice emerged as a croak, and she cleared her throat and repeated the question.
The soldier remained expressionless and lapsed into German. ‘ Nein, Fr?ulein. ’
Lizzie glanced at her uncle, who was frowning. ‘I will escort Mademoiselle Rousseau as she is in my care.’
The soldier declined the suggestion. ‘The invitation is for Mademoiselle Rousseau only.’
Lizzie’s mind raced with potential scenarios, and she had to think fast. If she refused the Eagle’s invitation, which sounded more like an order, she risked antagonising him and would miss a chance to learn more about his plans.
But if she accepted, there was a real possibility she could blow her cover with one slip of the tongue.
Now Hannah’s face loomed in her mind, and she knew that in her shoes she wouldn’t hesitate to accept the offer. She would say that accessing the inner sanctum of the head of the Atlantic Wall construction project was an opportunity too great to miss.
Lizzie squared her shoulders. ‘Of course. Please take me to him.’ As Lizzie turned to follow the soldier, she whispered in her uncle’s ear, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see you back at the house.’
She could feel him looking at her as she left the room but didn’t dare turn again so he wouldn’t glimpse the terror in her eyes. Lizzie composed herself, ready to face the SS officer. What did he want with her?
The soldier led the way down a wide corridor of the palatial building and raised his hand to knock. The officer’s voice told them to enter, and the soldier opened the door, ushered her in and then she stood alone in front of Herr Adler.
He rose from behind his desk as she entered. ‘Welcome. Thank you for accepting my invitation,’ he said, as though she had any choice, his voice as smooth as molasses. ‘Please take a seat, mademoiselle.’
Lizzie did as he instructed, sitting in the upholstered chair facing him on the opposite side of the huge desk near the window that offered glorious views of the Emerald Coast.
‘You may wonder why I invited you to meet with me privately,’ he said after a pause, narrowing his eyes as he steepled his fingers.
Lizzie fixed him with a stare, trying to hit the right balance between polite and confident. In her experience, these high-ranking German officers were bullies. They were used to issuing commands and getting exactly what they wanted, and showing weakness with bullies was a fatal error.
He said in his silken voice, ‘Rose, may I call you Rose?’
Lizzie nodded, and he continued.
‘It occurred to me that a beautiful young woman such as yourself might like some company and entertainment whilst you are staying in St. Malo.’
She was playing with fire, but it was too late to back out now. Acting as though it were all quite normal would be the best thing she could do.
‘That’s kind of you, Herr Adler.’
One of his big hands sliced through the air. ‘Please … let us not be so formal. Call me, Heinrich.’
Adrenaline rushed through Lizzie as she returned his gaze.
Heinrich pushed back his sleeve to reveal his leather-strapped gold watch. ‘It is the perfect time to break for lunch. I know just the place. Please join me,’ he said, striding around the desk and reaching for Lizzie’s hand.
His uninvited touch made her flinch like a nervous filly, and she withdrew her hand before she could stop herself.
‘There, there, I won’t bite, Rose,’ he said, taking her hand more firmly this time and guiding her to her feet.
His skin was smooth, and the scent of his citrus cologne tickled her nose.
Lizzie stiffened.
‘What is it? You are single, are you not?’
Lizzie regretted not taking the cover of a married woman, but when they talked it through in London, it seemed simpler not to have to pretend she had left a husband behind.
And it was no guarantee it would fend off an ardent high-ranking suitor, anyway.
It was one rule for the Nazis, and another for everyone else.
‘I am,’ she said.
‘Then what’s the problem?’
Lizzie swallowed as panic engulfed her. She must calm herself and talk sense.
‘It’s just that my being seen with you socially is frowned upon. People talk, you know.’ Her words petered out as she threw herself on his mercy and into the role of a distressed young French woman living in occupied France.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘How uncouth of me not to think of it. I quite understand. Join me for lunch at my officer’s club just a few minutes’ walk from here. It has wonderful views of the sea, and entrance is by special invitation only.’
Heinrich was keen to please her, she realised.
He paused and asked if she had a coat. When she said she did, he summoned the soldier and sent him in search of the red coat.
This was getting too much to bear. What if he checked her coat and found the knife? Thank God she had hidden the spare radio crystals at the house.
The soldier entered with her coat, and Heinrich held it out for her like a perfect gentleman as she slipped into it.
Lizzie surrendered to the inevitable. She had run out of feasible excuses as the soldier opened the door and the SS officer gestured for her to walk through first, and he followed closely behind.
She felt his breath on her neck.
Lizzie caught the German command he gave the soldier, but she pretended not to. They exited the mansion, and within one minute a car rolled up and whisked them away.
‘This way it is a certainty that no one will see you, and your reputation will not be compromised, mademoiselle. We will be discreet.’
Lizzie tried to smile equally charmingly, but she was sure he must sense her fear.
She told herself it was understandable because any French woman would be uneasy in similar circumstances.
It would be stranger if she were blasé about the unexpected turn of events and his insisting on taking her to a private German club.
Within a few minutes, the car turned sharply, and they came to a stop in front of a magnificent hotel. The driver hurried to open the door, and they both stepped out.
Heinrich’s eyes lit up as he gazed at her and offered her his arm. ‘Welcome to the Grand H?tel des Thermes.’