After they had finished eating they walked back to Lorenz’s hotel where they drank champagne and made love. Their mutual culmination was poignant, and they both cried out, gripping each other tightly. A line of hazy street light showed where the curtains almost touched. He was dimly aware of Faustine smoking cigarettes; the sound of matches being struck, one after another, becoming increasingly distant.
When he awakened she had gone, but not without having written an affectionate note that he discovered on the bedside table. Her fragrances still clung to the pillow. He breathed in the smell of her perfume and the musk of her body and acknowledged that he was, in all probability, falling in love.
As he luxuriated in the moment, his thoughts were interrupted by unwelcome, intrusive recollections: the hardness of his mattress on U-330, the stink of the crew, burned faces, and a sea of bodies. Returning to that hellish world was always a formidable challenge, but now the hardship and horrors of war were compounded by less tangible threats. Foreboding made his stomach churn. Lorenz turned his face into the soft whiteness of the pillow and groaned.
The Scheherazade Club was a high-class bar mostly frequented by submarine officers. Even Vice Admiral Dönitz was known to drink there when he was in Paris. A small band of musicians were playing arrangements of popular German songs, and ice buckets were beginning to appear in significant numbers. Lorenz was waiting for Faustine at a corner table when he noticed a young girl approaching. As she advanced he remembered her from a previous visit. ‘Siegfried?’ Her voice was hesitant. She touched her neck self-consciously and the skin flushed. ‘It is you — isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, standing up; somewhat embarrassed because he couldn’t remember her name. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t quite…’
‘Audrey,’ she said, making a forgiving gesture to indicate that she was not offended. ‘I was wondering… have you heard anything from Richard?’ Lorenz suddenly remembered who she was: Richard Heppe’s girlfriend. ‘It’s been such a long time,’ she added.
‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back here soon enough,’ Lorenz said encouragingly. In fact, Heppe’s boat hadn’t responded to signals from headquarters in over a month. There was always a slim hope that his name would show up on the roster of survivors that the British released occasionally, but this was very unlikely.
‘Have you seen him?’ Audrey rested a hand on the tablecloth.
‘No.’ Lorenz sighed. ‘But that doesn’t mean anything.’ Audrey’s brittle smile vanished and her eyes became moist. ‘Look,’ he continued, affecting cheery optimism, ‘there’s no need to worry. Not yet, anyway. Why don’t you sit down? Let me buy you a drink?’
The girl shook her head and said, ‘You’re very kind, but…’ Without finishing her sentence she took a few steps backward, turned, and marched off in the direction of the bathrooms. A handkerchief appeared in her right hand as her pace quickened.
The band began to play the introduction to ‘Lili Marleen,’ and the audience responded with appreciative applause. Lorenz was joined by two watch officers up from the U-boat base in Lorient. They were in high spirits and accompanied by a pair of sisters who tittered melodiously at every conceivable opportunity. Faustine arrived shortly after, and the last vacant seats at Lorenz’s table were taken by Karl Altmann, a fellow commander, and Altmann’s fiancée, Catherine Varon, a French actress who had appeared in a Hollywood musical. Varon’s stories about life in America and the excesses of famous film stars were quite amusing at first, but her tendency to dominate the conversation eventually became rather tiresome.
Lorenz’s attention had started to wander and he found himself staring at a group on the other side of the room. One of the faces was familiar. Doubt was gradually replaced by increasing levels of certainty. The face Lorenz was studying belonged to Hans Freidrich, the SS officer who had supervised the transfer of prisoners from the cargo ship to U-330. ‘I’m sorry.’ Varon displayed mild irritation as Lorenz stood: she was in the middle of another anecdote. ‘I’ve just spotted someone I really must talk to.’ As he crossed the floor his pulse added syncopations to the steady beat of the music. Friedrich was sitting with an older man and two well-dressed female companions, one of whom had a white fur stole wrapped around her shoulders. When Lorenz arrived at their table the company fell silent. ‘Obersturmbannführer Friedrich?’ The SS man looked up. ‘Kapitänleutnant Siegfried Lorenz.’
‘Lorenz…’ Friedrich repeated the name without confidence. Recognition, when it came, made him flinch. ‘Lorenz!’ He smiled nervously at his companions and rose from his chair. ‘May I introduce Kapitänleutnant Siegfried Lorenz.’ He then swept his arm over a floral centerpiece—‘Herr Ehrlichmann’—and extended the movement to include the two women, ‘Mademoiselles Descoteaux and Lévesque.’ Lorenz bowed. ‘Well, well,’ Friedrich continued. ‘How unexpected — so, you are in Paris.’
‘Could we talk?’
‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
‘As you can see,’ Friedrich indicated his group, ‘that isn’t possible.’
‘I’ll be brief.’
‘Kapitänleutnant…’
‘Very brief.’
Friedrich considered his options for a few moments and then nodded. The two men walked away from the table and stood by the bar area. Lorenz noticed that Friedrich was unsteady. He had obviously imbibed a large quantity of champagne.
‘You know what happened?’ said Lorenz.
‘Yes,’ Friedrich replied. ‘Of course I know what happened.’
‘You allowed an armed man to board my boat.’
‘I can assure you it wasn’t intentional.’
‘Were you personally responsible?’
Friedrich frowned and raised an admonitory finger. His death’s-head ring was clearly visible. ‘I don’t know what you hope to achieve by importuning me in this discourteous manner, but I would strongly advise—’
‘I demand an explanation!’ Lorenz cut in. He was not going to be intimidated.
‘May I remind you,’ said Friedrich, his speech slurring, ‘that we were involved in a special operation.’
‘I could have lost men.’
A glimmer of sympathy softened Friedrich’s eyes. ‘I understand. I understand that you care about your crew. I respect that.’
‘Who was Sutherland? What happened to his boat?’
‘You know very well I am not at liberty to disclose more than you already know.’
‘Grimstad was carrying a notebook. It was full of runes.’
‘He was an archaeologist.’
‘You said he was in possession of extremely sensitive intelligence.’
Friedrich swayed a little. ‘Knowledge — he knew things — valuable things…’ The SS man reached for the edge of the bar. He hadn’t intended to say anything — the words had just slipped out. Anger made him stand up straight and speak with greater precision. ‘Kapitänleutnant: your failure to return the prisoners to France was, I believe, allowed to pass. You have been fortunate — so far. Do not abuse our forebearance!’ He turned to leave, and Lorenz grabbed Friedrich’s arm, preventing him from stepping away. The SS man glanced down at Lorenz’s hand and then slowly raised his eyes. Something passed between them, a tacit acceptance that it was not in their interests to escalate hostilities beyond this point. Lorenz released his grip, and Friedrich said, ‘Enjoy the rest of your furlough, Kapitänleutnant.’ He sashayed back to his companions, and as he sat down Ehrlichmann asked a question. Friedrich dismissed the inquiry with a gesture before lifting a magnum bottle of champagne from an ice bucket. The woman wearing the white fur stole leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.