‘And how is Dmitry these days?’
‘Busy,’ she said and shook her head to indicate I mustn’t say anything more in front of Michèle.
‘Go for a walk, you two,’ said our violinist. ‘I don’t want to listen!’
We moved away to sit in the shade. ‘She’s terrified, Lily. I wish we could get her out of Paris and into the Free Zone. Schiller knows she’s the weaker of us. He’s taken her to dinner twice-she couldn’t refuse-so he sits there at Maxim’s every night he can and watches her play her violin. To counter this, I’ve asked her to take the general as a lover, that this would be by far the safest thing for all of us. She’s promised to think about it. I’ve given her the weekend.’
Nini would do that, too. ‘And yourself, chérie? What about you?’
There was a grin I recognized, a lifting of the breasts with cupped hands. ‘The Folies Bergère. One of their bare-assed nudes. The feathers tickle my nose, and it’s cold up there on that big staircase with all of them ogling me, but it’s a living, so one must do it, I think.’
‘How’s Tommy?’
‘Fine-at least he was the last time we met at Marcel’s. He’s gone into the Free Zone with Nicki and Dmitry. They’ve taken the wireless set with them and two packages for Spain. Switzerland is impossible. We can’t even get the artwork out that way, so they’re hoping to set up something else.’
And sending information back to London, the ‘packages’ being downed aircrew or others on the run. ‘Did Katyana make it?’
Nini gave a nod. ‘She’s with friends, but Nicki’s afraid she’ll try to come back. With that red hair she refuses to dye, and those green eyes, they’d pick her up at once. We never knew exactly when Göring and his entourage would pay you a visit, so she had to infiltrate them. She’s got guts, Lily. I think she’d kill for Nicki, and if she does come back, you take good care of her because we may need her again.’
‘I wish we could get those things out of that cave. It’s far too dangerous having them there. Someone’s bound to find out, and if they do, it’s the end for us.’
‘You worry too much. You always were such a worrier.’
Janine kissed me on the cheek, and I can still feel the softness of her breath. ‘I’m scared, Nini. Scared all the time.’
‘Who isn’t? Hey, listen, you, we moved eighteen packages last month. Eighteen! Who would have thought it possible a year ago? Seven were escaped POWs. Now that Russia has come into the war, we’ll be getting drops by parachute from England. Weapons, Lily. Things with which to fight back!’
She was so eager, she asked me for the names of people I thought we could trust, and I nodded towards the house that was across the pond. ‘Matthieu Fayelle as well.’
‘Him?’ she asked.
‘Oui. I’m sure of it, but honestly can’t tell you why. Clateau also. His butcher shop in Barbizon has been used for meetings. Mother’s certain of it. He also has the use of his gazogène van.’
‘Then there’s hope. Where one is found, there will be others.’ She was like some sort of missionary.
‘What about Marcel? How’s he been shaping up?’
‘Jules has been to see him twice with offers of peace.’
‘Then we’re in trouble.’
‘Perhaps, but for myself, I’m more worried right now about Dmitry. I’m certain he’s really working for the Soviets, but we don’t know what they want of him. Whenever we need false papers, he gets them, but still won’t reveal his sources. The Communists are good, Lily. I’m sure they have a powerful transmitter in Paris and that the Germans, though able to detect it, can’t precisely pin it down because the security is so tight. But when I ask Dmitry, he simply shrugs and says he doesn’t know, that so far he’s been unable to make contact with them, so he tags along with us and he watches. He’s useful, yes-very, but he also worries me, and I’m the one who brought him in.’
‘Will you be sending escapees to the house?’
‘It’s too risky. The committee has decided you’re to be left out of things as much as possible.’
This was such a relief, I’m ashamed to admit that I knew nothing of such a committee. ‘Let’s go back. Michèle will be wondering where we are.’
Nini shook her head. ‘She understands it’s safest this way. Our visit’s not just for pleasure or to talk things over. Henri-Philippe really is certain about that the auction and that there’s a good chance of our stealing quite a lot. Tommy wants us to, and so does Nicki.’
‘Then take it someplace else! Don’t involve me. Bon Dieu, de bon Dieu de merde, are you people crazy? Schiller will be down on me like a flash!’
‘Look, it has to be done, so that’s all there is to it. You, me, Tommy, and Nicki are the only ones who know where that stuff is hidden. There’s lots more room. If we have to, we can use it again. In the meantime, help us organize. Find those we can trust. Build a network for us here so that we’ll have that help when needed.’
‘No self-respecting Frenchman, résistant or not, would ever work for a woman or even include her in any such meeting.’
‘Not unless she was British, and not unless she had access to a wireless and could call on London for arms drops, so there, my little friend, you have your reason and permission to tell them if necessary. About the wireless, that is. Nothing else.’
‘Thanks. Thanks a lot!’
Michèle lay in the sun, lost to the embrace of sleep and exquisitely so. ‘Telling her that she should have an affair with that general isn’t fair of you, Nini. She and Henri-Philippe should be having children and building a life for themselves.’
The sky became more hazy as the afternoon grew. We had our picnic, had our time. Lots of laughs, lots of talk about little things, too, not just about the Occupation and what we might have to do about it.
A last memory is of Michèle and Janine standing timidly knee-deep in the water just beyond the reeds. Both were naked. Both faced the opposite shore where the sun still shone and Poulin was mending a bit of fence.
They had gorgeous figures, really superb bottoms. Poulin squinted into the sun and shielded his eyes as his wife called sharply to him and my sister waved and cried out, ‘Oo-oo, Monsieur Poulin, we’re over here. C’est moi, Janine. Lily’s too modest to come in.’
We were still there at dusk, three heads bobbing in the water upon whose surface were mirrored the threads of sunset and the wings of dragonflies.
The noise of someone digging comes to me through the forest behind the orchard. I pause. I listen hard. I ask myself again, as I have so often since I killed André, is Schiller really with them, was that voice I heard his?
Everything comes at me: the shrieks, the blows, the threats. He has the power of life or death over me, and I want so much to die, but he won’t let me. Not yet. Never yet. The sound of digging stops. There are no voices, no muted curses or arguments.
Through a gap in the trees, down from me a little, Jules is burying André’s body. He stands in a shallow pit. A Browning automatic is close to hand, a 9 mm and one of those the British dropped to us later on in the war, but don’t ask me how he came by it.
There’s no one else around. Just the two of us. It’s such an opportunity, but I haven’t seen him in so long I find my emotions torn. On the one hand, there is a loathing I can’t stop; on the other, pity. He’s older, but still very handsome-distinguished. Unused to digging graves. Already there are blisters.
As he stoops, the jet-black hair falls over that brow. He never tried to intercede when we were in the Cherche-Midi, not that it would have done any good. For myself, I understand this, but how is it that he’s still around, that he wasn’t at least sent into forced labour?