“His grandmother.” A smile crossed his lips. “You are either very naïve or a very good liar, Lady Margaret. His grandmother has been dead for five years.”
“Then I’m obviously very naïve,” she replied. “Our nanny washed out our mouths with soap if we ever told a lie. The threat of the soap has stuck.”
“Did it not cross your mind that your lover might be working for the Resistance?”
“Yes, it did cross my mind,” she said defiantly, “but Gaston would tell me nothing. He said it was better that way. Then, if I was ever questioned, I could truthfully say that I knew nothing.”
“And you have not seen him since Christmas?”
“No.”
“Would it surprise you then to know that he has been in Paris several times since then?”
Margot fought to keep her expression neutral. “Yes, it would surprise me. Perhaps he did not wish to put me at risk. He is a very considerate man.”
“Or perhaps he had found a new love?” The slightest of smirks crossed Dinkslager’s lips.
“Perhaps he has. He is also a very attractive man.”
“And if he has found a new love?”
“Then I suppose I’d have to get on with my life, go back to my fashion design, and learn to live without him.”
He chuckled now. “I admire the British, Lady Margaret. A French girl who loses her lover would weep and beat her breast.”
“Then we should be glad I’m not French. So much easier to deal with.”
He was still smiling. “I like you, Lady Margaret. I like your spirit. I am also from a noble family. We understand each other well.”
“Then you will understand that I’m speaking the truth when I say I have nothing to tell you. I lead a simple life in Paris. I go to the workshop. I do what Madame Armande tells me. I go back to my small apartment in the Ninth. I eat a simple supper and go to bed.”
“You would no doubt like to go home to England now, given the chance.”
She hesitated. Of course I’d like to go home, you idiot, she wanted to shout. But instead she said, “I understand life in England is no more pleasant than life in Paris at present, what with constant bombings and the threat of an imminent invasion.”
He uncrossed his legs, tilting the wooden chair backward as he looked at her. “You have not heard from Gaston de Varennes for months. That is correct?”
“It is.”
“So it would surprise you to learn that we have him in our custody at this moment?”
This really did jar her composure. He saw it in her eyes, the sudden flicker of apprehension before she said, “Yes. It does surprise me.”
“And alarm you?”
“Of course it alarms me.” Her voice took on a sudden sharp edge. “Herr Baron, I love Gaston de Varennes, whether he still loves me or not.”
“And you approve of his work with the Resistance?”
“As I told you, I had no idea he was with the Resistance until now. But he is a Frenchman. I can understand his desire to drive out invaders of his country. If the Germans invaded Britain, I’d expect my family to do the same.”
He let the chair legs fall with a sudden clatter as he leaned closer to her. “Gaston de Varennes is proving to be very stubborn, Lady Margaret. You can understand that his life is not worth that”—he snapped his fingers, and the sound echoed, surprisingly loud in the confined space—“unless he tells us what he knows.”
“You want me to persuade him to talk? That is ridiculous, Baron. I am flattered that you think I have that great a hold over him, but I can assure you I don’t.”
“You do realise, my lady, that if I snap my fingers right now, you will be dragged down the stairs to a room much less pleasant than this one, and down there you would be made to tell us every single little detail of your life.”
Again, she forced her face to remain composed. “I have heard about such things, but I really do assure you, Baron von Dinkslager, that I have nothing to tell that you would find remotely interesting.”
“Trust me, Lady Margaret, if you are taken to such a room, you would wish you had something to tell. You would invent things to tell us. You would betray your lover, your mother, anything to get out of there alive.”
Margot stared at him coldly. “If you are going to kill me, then please, do it now and get it over with. I see you wear a revolver. Shoot me now.”
“I have no wish to shoot you. You are much more valuable to me alive than dead. But I am surprised. Would you let your lover go to his death without fighting for him? Truly the British are so cold.”
“I assure you I am not cold, and I don’t want Gaston to die. But I rather suspect that nothing I can say will make you change your minds.” Then suddenly it dawned on her. “I understand now. You don’t think I can tell you anything important. I’m the bait, aren’t I? You are going to use me to make him talk.”
“I suppose it depends on how precious you are to him, and whether he puts you before his country. We shall have to wait and see, shan’t we?” He broke off and looked up in surprise. Outside the door came raised voices, one of them female. Dinkslager had just stood up when the door burst open and Gigi Armande stormed in. She wore a black fur draped carelessly around her shoulders, and her face was perfectly made up. Even if Margot hadn’t known her, there would be no mistaking who she was.
“What is this?” the German officer demanded in French. “Who let you in here?”
“My poor petite,” she said, completely ignoring him and going over to give Margot a kiss on both cheeks. “What were they thinking, bringing you to a place like this? You should be ashamed of yourself, Baron, for intimidating an innocent child like this. A young British aristocrat, no less, who leads a perfectly blameless life, slaving away for me making dresses. I am Madame Armande, in case you are the one person in Paris who does not recognise me. I assure you that the highest-ranking officers in your German army know me well and allow me to live at the Ritz.”
“Madame Armande,” he said, “I am well aware who you are. This innocent young lady is the mistress of a leader in the Resistance. We have taken him prisoner, but he refuses to cooperate. We are hoping this young lady can make him see sense.”
“I can see her point of view,” Armande said, putting a protective arm around Margot’s shoulder. “If he talks, you’ll kill him anyway, will you not? And if he talks and you don’t kill him, his fellows in the Resistance will kill him for you.”
“We could come to some sort of agreement, Madame. You see, this young lady might prove more valuable to us than a captured Resistance fighter.”
“In what way?”
He turned back to Margot. “She moves in the highest circles in England. Your family knows the Churchills, I think? And the Duke of Westminster? And any number of members of the House of Lords.”
“Yes, my family does. But I don’t see . . .”
“I’m going to make you a proposition. I’ll free the Count de Varennes if you agree to do us a small favour.”
She stared at him suspiciously. “What kind of favour? And what guarantee do I have that he’ll be released? That he’s not already dead?”
“You have no guarantee”—he paused, spreading his hands in a gesture of futility, then added—“but you have a chance to save him. Better than knowing one hundred percent that he will die a painful death and that you might follow suit.”
“Don’t speak to her in that way,” Madame Armande said. “I am taking her with me right now. She shall stay at the Ritz with me, under my protection, and I will go straight to your top-ranking generals to protest the way she has been treated.”
Dinkslager shrugged. “You are a pragmatist, Madame. Of this we have heard. Take her with you, then. I hold you responsible for her. But make her see sense. If she agrees to do a small favour for us, I will personally guarantee that she gets home to England.” He turned to Margot. “You may go, for the moment, but we will have another little chat in a day or so. Think about what I have proposed. But don’t think for too long. I cannot keep Varennes alive indefinitely. Nor can I keep you at liberty. Please do not think of doing anything foolish like trying to leave Paris. You will be watched. And thank Madame for intervening on your behalf.”