Legacy of Hate Read online

  ‘That is what he says.’

  Franz shrugged. ‘I do not think he is lying about that, although I will agree that he is a consummate liar. But he certainly seems to have it in for the de Gruchys. Do you know, he actually claims that the famous one, Liane, survived the battle!’

  Joanna drew a quick breath. ‘That is impossible. I shot her myself.’

  ‘I know this. And he has been able to provide not a shred of evidence to support his claim. One would have supposed that, if she were alive, she would be with her brother and sister. In fact, one would have supposed that she would have carried out the assassination herself, if her reputation is anything to go by. But still, it is a worrying business. You say you shot her yourself. Are you sure she was dead?’

  ‘Of course I am sure,’ Joanna snapped.

  ‘Of course. Well, there it is. But I have high hopes of this Englishwoman, even if I regret what may have to be done to her to make her tell us where the de Gruchys can be found.’ ‘What makes you think she knows that?’

  ‘Why else would she be here, enquiring after them?’ ‘Franz, if she is enquiring after them, she can hardly know where they are.’

  ‘Well, she must have a reason for being here, which she will have to tell us. And I think she will produce results. So I would say you have had a journey for nothing, Fraulein.’ ‘And you intend to turn Fraulein Cartwright over to Roess when he gets here?’

  ‘Well, he is coming to take over the investigation. By the orders of Weber himself.’

  Joanna nodded while her brain continued to race. ‘I know this. Well, I must report to the colonel and receive his further orders. I wish the use of a telephone.’ Franz indicated the phone on his desk. ‘I’m sorry,’ Joanna said. ‘My calls to the SD are required to be confidential.’

  ‘I see. Where are you staying?’

  ‘Nowhere, yet. I came here directly from the station.’

  ‘Eva!’ He waited for her to appear. ‘Telephone the Splendide and arrange a room for Fraulein Jonsson. Then arrange a car to take her there. Also inform the hotel that she is to be allowed to make whatever calls to Germany that she requires.’

  ‘And that the calls are not to be monitored,’ Joanna said.

  ‘You heard the Fraulein.’

  ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’ Eva bustled off.

  ‘I hope that is satisfactory?’ Franz asked.

  ‘Entirely. Thank you.’

  ‘Then perhaps, when you have settled in, and before you begin your journey back to Berlin, you will dine with me. Shall we say, half past seven?’

  What to do? Joanna paced up and down her surprisingly luxurious bedroom. She had often wondered just how tough Rachel was, but she knew that they had both been warned at training school that there was no one in the world who could stand up to torture as applied by experts. In any event, the very idea was unthinkable. Rachel was a highly educated, blue-blooded intellectual. Her life was built around clean sheets and even cleaner underwear. Her sexual habits, if perhaps amoral, still demanded mutual respect and tenderness. The idea of all that refinement at the mercy of a beast like Roess was horrifying.

  Could she be saved? Joanna felt sure that she could get her out of Bordeaux. But Berlin would not be a step forward. Although she had never seen him at work, she had no doubt that Oskar could be every bit as brutal and unpleasant as Roess. Therefore, while Rachel had to be extracted from Hoeppner’s cell, she also had to escape before reaching Germany. It would have to be very convincing to fool Oskar. And having escaped, what then? Rachel would be stuck in central France. Her only chance would be to make it to Vichy territory, and thence across the Swiss border …

  And where would that leave Joanna? Even if she could hoodwink Oskar into accepting her story, she would be able to do nothing about Amalie and Pierre — and Monterre. If only she knew where Liane was, and what she was doing. And if she could be contacted. But Rachel was the most immediate problem, and one that had to be solved before Roess arrived. She picked up the phone, gave the number in Berlin, and waited.

  Franz Hoeppner looked at Johann Roess in astonishment. The Gestapo colonel was unable to wear his cap because of the bandage round his head, and he moved uncertainly, as if unsure of his balance. Coming into the office, he almost slumped into the chair Eva had hastily placed for him.

  ‘My God!’ Franz said. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I was attacked by a bitch from the pit of hell,’ Roess muttered.

  Franz looked above him at Eva, who was waggling her eyebrows. ‘Would you care to explain?’ he asked.

  ‘I was travelling with this treacherous female, and without warning she attacked me.’

  Franz put up his hand as if he would have scratched his head, but decided against it, and stuck to essentials. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘Of course I have seen a doctor. He bandaged me up and gave me some pills. My head hurts abominably. I have double vision.’

  ‘You should be in bed.’

  ‘I will go to bed when I have watched that woman hanged.’ ‘May I ask where this incident took place?’

  ‘In Limoges railway station.’

  ‘That is in Vichy.’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that?’

  ‘Then how are you hoping to find her in Bordeaux?’ ‘Because I naturally began the search for her as soon as I recovered consciousness and had my wound attended to, and I was informed that a woman answering her description had been seen crossing the border and travelling south. That means she is passing through the territory under your command.’

  ‘I would have supposed she would stay in Vichy.’

  ‘Well, she has not. With good reason. The Vichy police are quite as outraged as I am, and are conducting house-to-house searches. I wish that done here.’

  Franz sighed. ‘What time did this attack take place?’

  ‘Just after dawn this morning. We had travelled overnight from Paris.’

  ‘And it is now five in the afternoon. She has a considerable head start. On the other hand, I assume that she is on foot.’

  ‘I do not know. The fact is … well … ’ Roess flushed. ‘She is in possession of a travel document.’

  ‘You mean a railway pass. But surely she left the train after attacking you.’

  ‘The pass gives her the right to travel freely by any means of transport she wishes, for an indefinite period, throughout occupied France.’

  ‘Would you repeat that? No, don’t bother. But I think you should explain it. Just who is this woman?’

  Roess glanced at the open door. ‘This needs to be confidential.’ Franz got up and closed the door. ‘She is … an acquaintance of mine,’ Roess explained. ‘With whom … Well, of whom I am — was — rather fond.’

  ‘You mean she was your mistress.’

  ‘Well … we were in the middle of a liaison, yes.’

  ‘I assume that she is French?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She comes from Limoges.’

  ‘So you were taking her home. And having got to her home, she attacked you. There must be a reason for this. What had you done to her?’

  ‘I did nothing to her that she did not appreciate. She just went berserk. Her first blow laid me out. I think she must have a history of insanity in her family.’

  ‘You know her family?’

  ‘I know her sister. She has always appeared a very sensible woman.’

  ‘And the rest of the family?’

  ‘I do not know. I never met them. I have some of my people looking for them now. They are not in the telephone book.’ ‘Their name?’

  ‘Clement. The woman we are looking for is Jeanne Clement.’

  Franz wrote it down. ‘Description?’

  ‘Well, she is quite beautiful.’ Franz raised his head. ‘I mean it. I have never seen anyone to match her. Her features could have been carved by Michelangelo.’

  ‘I do not think Michelangelo sculpted women.’

  ‘Well, by somebody like that. Her figure is superb. Her ha
ir is like silk. But it is not just the looks. It is the aura. The way she moves, sheer grace. The way she smells, heavenly. The way she makes love … And as for her voice. It is the voice of a goddess.’

  ‘Are you sure you want this woman hanged?’ But Franz was frowning. The eulogy was how he would have described Liane de Gruchy. It could not be possible. ‘You say her hair was like silk. What colour was it?’

  ‘Deep red.’

  ‘That cannot be a natural colour.’

  ‘Oh, well, of course not. You know what these women are like.’

  ‘What women?’

  ‘Well … she is a prostitute. No, no, a courtesan. A reincarnation of Nana, or the Lady of the Camelias. Actually, she looks a little like Greta Garbo.’

  My God! Franz thought. Monterre was telling the truth. But he had to be sure. ‘Assuming her hair is dyed, what is its natural colour?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  And this man is a policeman, Franz thought. ‘My dear Roess, you have described this woman as your mistress, with whom I assume you have had sex on a regular basis. Does she come to bed with her clothes on?’

  ‘Well, of course she does not.’

  ‘So what colour is her pubic hair?’

  ‘Well, it is very fair. Almost blonde.’

  Franz stared at him. The thought of this unutterable little rat having sex whenever he chose with Liane de Gruchy, who was certainly the most beautiful and the most desirable woman he had ever known, made him feel physically sick. But at the same time, the knowledge that the legend, supposed by everyone to be dead, was actually alive and kicking in every possible sense gave him a most powerful weapon, to be used as and when he thought fit. ‘Eva!’ he called.

  The door opened. ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’

  Franz handed her the paper on which he had written the description. ‘Have that typed up. I want twenty duplicates to be circulated to all border posts and control centres. You will also arrange somewhere for Colonel Roess to stay.’

  ‘The Splendide?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘Ah, no. 1 don’t think he would enjoy the Splendide in his condition. It is very noisy. Somewhere quiet.’

  Eva bustled off. ‘Someone said something about a British agent you have captured,’ Roess said.

  ‘Time enough for that tomorrow, when you have had a good night’s sleep. You look completely done in. And by tomorrow, who knows, we may have captured your beautiful madwoman.’

  ‘Did you manage to get through to Weber?’ Franz asked Joanna at dinner. She was, as always, beautifully dressed and groomed, voluptuous, and utterly feminine. He wondered if she would be as good in bed. He wondered if he dared do anything about that — she was clearly Weber’s woman, in every way. But he might hold her very life in the palm of his hand.

  ‘We had a long chat,’ she said. ‘I put him in the picture.’ ‘I hope he is pleased with our progress.’

  ‘He is very pleased.’ Delicately Joanna scattered grated cheese over the bouillabaisse. ‘He wishes to see this English agent for himself.’

  Lifting a glass of Pouilly Fuisse, Franz asked, ‘He is coming here?’

  ‘No, no. He wishes the woman taken to Berlin.’

  Franz considered. ‘I will need written confirmation of that.’ ‘There is a letter in the post. But he says you are to telephone him if you have any reservations. However, I am to take tomorrow’s train.’

  ‘Why is she so important?’

  ‘I have no idea. He obviously has some information we do not.’

  ‘And Roess?’

  ‘You told me that Roess is coming here to take over the search for Amalie de Gruchy. He will not be interested in a British agent.’

  ‘He will be, if this British agent has information regarding the de Gruchys.’

  ‘Well, if she has, we will find it out and inform you. In any event, as we will be gone long before Roess gets here, you don’t even have to tell him about her.’

  ‘Roess is already here. He arrived at five o’clock this afternoon.’ Joanna spilled some soup, fortunately from her spoon back into the plate rather than on her dress. ‘He was delayed,’ Franz explained. ‘Because of a most remarkable occurrence.’

  He told her the story. Having recovered from her dismay, she listened without obvious emotion. ‘I can’t say I’m going to weep,’ she commented when he was finished. ‘It’s a pity the lady didn’t hit him a little harder. Do you think you will find her?’

  ‘I do not see any reason why not. He has given us a very detailed description. Would you like to hear it? You never know, it might be someone you have met.’

  ‘A French prostitute? Not my scene, Franz.’

  ‘This sounds like something special. He describes her as the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, a sort of reincarnation of Greta Garbo, only better.’

  Joanna finished her soup. ‘Greta Garbo isn’t dead.’ is that important?’

  ‘Certainly. If she isn’t dead, she can’t be reincarnated. Right?’

  Franz subjected her to one of his long stares. ‘Very droll. Very American. But I would like you to envisage Greta Garbo, superb figure, beautiful movement. Her hair is apparently a deep crimson at present, but it seems fairly certain that its natural colour is blonde. She wears it straight and shoulder length. He says she is unparalleled in bed.’

  ‘And she is a whore? She should be on the stage.’

  ‘Yes,’ Franz said. They gazed at each other. ‘But do you know what he says is the most memorable thing about her? Her voice. He describes it as being like velvet. Are you sure you won’t have another course?’

  ‘Thank you, no. That soup is very filling.’

  ‘Well, then, coffee and cognac.’ He signalled the waiter.

  ‘You know, of course, that I once spent some time in the company of Liane de Gruchy.’

  ‘I have heard of it. As I understand it, throughout that time you didn’t know whether, or when, she was going to shoot you. I can understand that this would have had a powerful effect on your senses. Especially as within twenty-four hours she was dead.’

  Franz stirred his coffee. ‘You were at school together.’ ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have heard it said that you were lovers.’

  ‘We were at school together.’

  ‘And now you claim to have shot her.’

  ‘Liane de Gruchy is dead.’

  ‘An old school friend, an old lover, an old family friend — are you a monster?’

  ‘Anyone can become a monster, in certain circumstances. I loved Liane, yes. But she took another lover, and told me she did not wish to see me again. When we broke into that cave, I was at Oskar’s side. She was there. I did not intend to harm her. But when she shot Oskar, in front of my eyes, I suppose something snapped.’

  Franz studied her as he drank his coffee. ‘If we liken Liane to Greta Garbo, to what actress would you liken yourself?’

  ‘I have never considered it.’

  ‘I think you should. I would say Veronica Lake.’

  ‘You joke.’

  ‘Oh, I know she is only five feet tall, and you are nearly six. But the face, the hair, and the way you wear it, drooping over your eye, and of course, the figure, somewhat enlarged but the more compelling for that … ’

  ‘Are you trying to seduce me, Colonel Hoeppner?’

  ‘Would you object to that?’

  She considered him. ‘I might not, personally. But I can think of some others who might.’

  ‘You mean Weber? How is he to know, unless you tell him?’ He leaned across the table to hold her hand. ‘And you will never tell him, Fraulein Joanna, because we share a secret, you and I. Do we not?’

  Chapter Five

  The Gestapo

  Roess opened his eyes, stared into blackness. For several moments he had no idea where he was. He only knew that his head hurt, that wherever he was seemed to be revolving about him. He put out his hand, scrabbled at the bedside table, and located the light switch. Then he remembered. That unutt
erable bitch! The most desirable woman he had ever known! She had to have been mad. Not just because only a mad woman would attack a Gestapo officer, much less the most senior Gestapo officer in France, but because to attack a man whose life she had saved only two days previously — and to whom, throughout those two days, she had been the most loving of companions — surely signalled some form of insanity.

  But what had aroused her mania? Try as he might, he could think of nothing he had said or done on the train to trigger such an explosion. He intended to find out. Oh, indeed he did. When she was apprehended, and brought before him, he would wring it out of her, as he intended to wring every last scream from her body before she died. As for ever trusting a woman — any woman — again, well, he would have more sense. And more anger. He wished he could have the entire female sex lined up before him, so that he could walk up and down their ranks, sword in hand, lopping off a breast here, an arm there, a head there, listening to the bitches scream in agony and terror.

  He looked at his watch. One o’clock. Only one o’clock. He knew he was not going to sleep again; his head hurt too much. The quack in Limoges had foreseen this situation and given him pills to be taken as necessary, but as they put him in a daze he decided not to try them again.

  One o’clock! At least seven hours before anything could start happening. He frowned. Why should that be so? He was Johann Roess. Except possibly for the governor-general, he was the most powerful man in France. He could operate, do what he liked, at any hour of the day or night. As for Hoeppner, he was a mere colonel in the Wehrmacht.

  He swung his legs out of bed and got dressed, with some difficulty as he kept losing his balance, then peered at himself in the mirror. The bandage was pink in some areas; he would have to see a doctor again in the morning. As he felt naked without his cap, he tucked it under his arm and went downstairs. The clerk at the reception desk regarded him with some apprehension; he knew who he was.

  ‘Is my car outside?’ Roess demanded.

  ‘Ah … you do not have a car, Herr Colonel.’

  Roess glared at him. ‘Then how did I get here, cretin?’ ‘You came in a car from Wehrmacht headquarters, sir.’ Roess continued to glare at him, but he could not remember. ‘Then get me a car. Now.’