He didn’t answer.
‘Later I. . I was arrested but simply because I was an American.’
‘Why didn’t you leave when you could?’
‘I had a job with the Foyer International in the boulevard St-Michel. We had exchange students from South and Central America, the States, and other countries. I. . I stayed because I felt responsible.’
‘Even after the Führer had declared war on America on 11 December, ’41?’
The Foyer’s purpose had been to bring students together to help prevent wars, but did he already know why she had stayed? ‘There weren’t many of us Americans scattered about. I did plan to go into the zone non occupée when our embassy moved from Paris to the town of Vichy after Germans declared war on us, and later I did have to check in with the local commissariat de police, but no one seemed to worry too much about me being in Paris.’
‘Then the net suddenly closed.’
Had he really believed her? ‘Oui, c’est correct.’
‘Mademoiselle, it will go no further.’
Ah, Sainte Mère, Saint Mère! ‘All right, I had a lover. A French boy.’
‘Age?’
Why did he have to know that? ‘Twenty-five.’
‘Eyesight, health? Come, come, Mademoiselle Torrence, at that age he should have been in our forces and, therefore, most probably in a prisoner of war camp in the Reich.’
She turned away but there was nowhere to look but the rows and rows of empty seats and the Deco lights. ‘As a child, he had had tuberculosis. That “Army” of yours didn’t want him. He tried and tried but they. . they wouldn’t listen.’
‘But you wanted him.’
‘Was that so wrong? He was every bit as French as you are, probably lots and lots more.’
To insist on it was one thing, to emphasize it further, another. ‘And on 29 May, 1942, mademoiselle?’
‘Why must you ask me a thing like that?’
‘Because I must if Hermann and I are to help you and get to the bottom of this.’
Salaud, she wanted to shout at him, but would have to tell him. ‘I made Antoine give me his jacket, damn you. I unstitched that thing you people had forced him to wear, then I told him to go south into the zone libre, that I would follow as soon as I could, but. . but one thing led to another and I had to wait because the Kommandantur in the avenue de l’Opéra wouldn’t let me have the necessary laissez-passer and sauf-conduit. I was being kept in Paris.’
‘And the star, mademoiselle?’
‘I’m not a thief. I wouldn’t have stolen a thing like that from myself. I’d have left it in my sewing basket, where it had been hidden away tucked under the lining for months and months.’
She’ll hate you now, Louis, Hermann would have said, but weren’t sewing baskets often borrowed by others? ‘Did this boy ever send you a postcard?’
Her lower lip was bitten, the eyes clamped shut to hide her tears but then she turned away, resting her forehead on the back of the seat in front of her, which she gripped with both hands as if he were laying into her with a rawhide Schlag.
‘The postcards, mademoiselle?’
‘Two. They were also stolen. Each was so blacked out I could hardly make sense of them. Am well. Blank, blank, blank. No news of my family. Blank, blank, blank. Am going to work. Blank, blank, but where, please. Where?’
The urge to be compassionate would have to be resisted. ‘And then nothing?’ he asked.
She nodded, then blurted, ‘He didn’t even have a Jewish name! His great-grandfather had changed it but now. . now Herr Weber must know. He must, but he never says. He just smiles and tells me my papers need looking at when I know they don’t!’
At a glance, Kohler could see that Louis had broken Becky Torrence but Weber, having heard of what had been going on behind his back, had drawn his pistol and had had Bamba Duclos brought to the office by two strongarms. That one, his future having flashed before him, had politely dropped his gaze to summon what courage he could. ‘Mam’selle,’ he said, ‘I didn’t tell him you had come to me to read your fortune. Someone else must have.’
‘SILENCE!’ shrieked Weber in Deutsch.
Leaping to his feet, he smashed Duclos in the mouth with that pistol. Gott sei Dank, a shot hadn’t gone off.
‘YOUR PAPERS, FRÄULEIN. PAPERS!’
Everything was going crazy. Terrified, Becky tore at pullover, blouse, and undershirt, but the uncovered waist-pouch just wouldn’t open.
‘HURRY, WHORE!’
‘THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH MY PAPERS. NOTHING!’ she cried in French.
Pouch ripped open, papers and passport were flung onto the desk. Backhanded, knocked all but senseless, she reeled and held her left cheek in shock. ‘You. . you. . ’ she began.
‘Schiesse, Untersturmführer, leave it.’
‘What was that you said to me, Kohler?’
‘Knocking her senseless isn’t going to help.’
‘HELP, IS IT?’
The papers were snatched up. Turning swiftly away, Weber crouched to spin the dial of the safe that sat on the floor behind and to the left of that desk of his, and below the board on which hung the keys to every other lock in the camp: two for each, by the look, and labelled underneath, and if one were missing, would its absence be noticed?
Abruptly the most valuable things anyone could own these days were pitched into the safe, the door slammed and dial spun.
‘There, now we shall see,’ said Weber, noting that St-Cyr had stepped in front of the slut. ‘Very well, mein Lieber. Very well.’
Upending the hessian sack that had been brought with the black, tins spilled across the desk. ‘Cans of Klim and Borden’s Sweetened Condensed Milk, Kohler? Others of Maple Leaf Creamery Butter?’
‘Bovril, too. Ach, I can see that, Untersturmführer.’
‘Zigaretten? Camels, Chesterfields, Players, Woodbines?’
‘Those tins of Kam are probably similar to the American ones of SPAM. Ground ham and pork.’ ***
‘And half-kilo bars of Neilson’s Chocolate, with those of Hershey’s, Kohler?’
‘Atlas and Del Bey raisins, too, Hermann,’ said Louis, still perched on the balls of his feet and ready to deal with this obnoxious little desk tyrant who was damned dangerous since he still had backup Schmeissers standing guard over Bamba Duclos.
These Schweinebullen, these two from Paris, thought Weber. They were known to cause trouble. The American was fingering her cheek and lower jaw. Gingerly the Schlampe explored her lips for possible splits, the hatred in her gaze all too clear. Naked, what would she do if she had six of the blacks at her? Scream? Go crazy? Fight certainly.
Two cans of Libby’s pork and beans were selected by him and set aside, two packets of Lucky Strikes, one packet of Oxo cubes, one of raisins, two bars of chocolate, and some chewing gum. ‘You paid this one, Fräulein. Now you will tell me why.’
‘I. . I have nothing more to say to you.’
‘Don’t!’ said Louis in Deutsch, grabbing Weber by the wrist as the gun was swung at her. ‘Listen instead, Untersturmführer, and I’ll tell you why this young woman, a prisoner in your care and therefore under the rules of the Geneva Convention, met with this one.’
‘Louis. . ’