She let him seduce her for the sake of appearances. He fumbled and went to work on her as clumsily as most men. She gave in, with a sigh, as soon as she decently could. He didn't last long, and she was glad of that.
'Do you always entice ladies into such expensive beds?' she teased him.
'We're not allowed to entertain ladies at HQ.'
'Even during the day?'
'We could meet at a hotel in the day.'
She drew a line with her finger from his breastbone to his navel. 'What can you be thinking of?' she cooed. 'That's not why I asked. I mentioned that I've been sent to Paris to find a suitable building for our Women's Association, didn't I? I'm an architect, so I'm interested in historical buildings. I know the Palais de Verny, I've studied the building plans and countless illustrations. I'd just love to get a close look at the way they built their foundations five hundred years ago. The architects of the past were ahead of us in many ways.'
'Our safety precautions have been stepped up since we caught a burglar in the Grand Salon a few days ago.'
'Please, Achim.' She blew into the curly hair on his chest and then went down lower. Her lips aroused him again. She rode him, her pelvis circling, and this time she could be said to have earned her dinner.
'Come to my office on Tuesday,' he said as they parted. 'I'll see what can be done.'
Tuesday was cold and wet. Marlene wore her new raincoat and elegant rubber galoshes, both from the Galeries Lafayette, for the first time. She slung her bag over her right shoulder as usual. Bertrand took her to the commandant's HQ by bicycle taxi. He said he would wait — 'Just in case'and lit himself a Caporal.
An NCO took her to Achim Wachter, who was on the phone. 'What nonsense. Of course the man's not a British intelligence agent, just an ordinary burglar after the table silver. It's a bad mark for our Military Police that he got as far as the Grand Salon. The general's given orders for him to be handed over to the French police. No. of course we're not sending him over to the Gestapo. If you absolutely insist on interrogating the prisoner you'll have to come here, and make it nippy, if I may say so. The French are coming for him this afternoon. Your big boss in person, you say? You can send Himmler himself for all I care. Over and out.'
He slammed the receiver down angrily. 'Forgive me. Our friends in the Gestapo want everything handed to them on a plate.' He kissed his visitor's hand. 'Frau Neumann, how kind of you to come. I told the city commandant what you wanted to see, as a qualified architect, and he gave permission. Corporal Lehmann, take the lady to Gaston.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Gaston is the caretaker here: he knows every nook and cranny. Please excuse me. I have business to deal with.' He stood to attention and clicked his heels. 'When shall we see each other?' he asked quietly, so that the NCO couldn't hear.
'Soon.' She gave him a promising smile.
Gaston was a bent little man with silver hair and a big nose. 'Bonjour, madame. Je suis entierement a votre disposition.' He greeted Marlene with an old-fashioned bow. He had obviously been given his instructions, for he hurried assiduously ahead of her up the curve of the marble stairway.
It was a severe test of her patience. They had to go down the mile-long gallery of ancestors from portrait to portrait, and tour over forty rooms. Only after two hours was Gaston's repertory exhausted. 'Et maintenant j'aimerais voir le sous-sol. Les fondations m'interessent.' The oldest part of the foundation walls was beneath the south wing, she was told. They were Roman catacombs which later became part of the medieval fortifications.
In the south wing, an officer from the Military Police met them. 'Frau Neumann the architect? Major Wachter said you'd be coming. I'm Captain Grosse. Down here, please.' Worn stone steps led down into the depths, where a brick vault opened up with passages running into it from right and left. An iron grating had been let into the mouth of the right-hand passage. The cells for prisoners are in there,' the captain told her. 'There's an interrogation going on in one of them at the moment, but don't let it bother you.' The guard by the grating saluted. 'Stand at ease, lance-corporal. The lady's an architect, she's going to look around down here a little.'
'Yes, captain.'
'It's a real labyrinth. Don't lose yourself, ma'am.'
'I hope my tourist guide knows his way around. Thank you, Herr Grosse.' The captain disappeared up the steps. The young lance-corporal opened the grating for her. All going swimmingly, she thought.
'The Frenchman can't come in here,' the guard said.
'Monsieur Gaston, attendez.'
The passage went round a bend that took her out of sight of the guard. Three steel doors, as recently installed as the grating. The detention cells! She memorized their location. The door of the middle cell was halfopen.
A chair. A man sitting on it, his hands tied with a cord behind the back of the chair. A camp bed, and lying on it, carelessly tossed down, a dovegrey uniform coat, a peaked cap with the death's-head badge, and a belt with a pistol holster. Their owner was standing in front of the prisoner.
'We can handle this in a civilized manner. So once more — who are you? Secret Service? British Military Intelligence?'
'Je ne comprends pas, monsieur.'
The interrogator swung his arm back, ready to strike. It froze in midmovement, Marlene too stood as if paralysed.
Fredie was the first to recover. 'Hello, darling, what a surprise. Who'd have expected to meet you here? Well, never mind. Some things sort themselves out.' Marlene looked at the cell door. 'Don't bother. You'd get no further than the foot of the steps. You just stay here and listen. I could send you to Auschwitz on the next transport. Or much nicer, arrange a date for you with the executioner. I must tell you that Monsieur de Paris, as they call him, works fast and with precision. Of course if you like he can strap you to the board slowly and elaborately. That'll pass a few chilly minutes until the blade finally falls.' Fredie was relishing every word.
She had got control of herself. There was total contempt in her voice. 'Still the same old bastard, Fredie.'
'Brigadefiihrer Neubert, if you please. That is to say major-general. Blumenau is a thing of the past. They've appointed me head of the Gestapo here in Paris. Now and then I conduct interrogations personally.' He gave a nasty grin. 'So as not to get out of practice.' Her glance fell on his belt and holster. 'No, darling. You're not quick enough for that.' With one stride he was beside the camp bed.
The couple of seconds were enough. She got her hand on the Beretta in her shoulder bag. Armand had practised the movement with her. She shot right through the leather. The bag and its contents muted the sound of the shot. Fredie fell on his knees. He looked up at her imploringly, about to say something. Her second shot hit him in the middle of the forehead.
She acted fast and with circumspection. She undid the cord, and the prisoner rubbed his wrists. In her excitement she spoke in German. 'Quick, put this on.' She threw him Fredie's coat.
The man understood. He buttoned the coat up to his chin, buckled the belt round it and put on the cap with the death's head. Luckily he was wearing grey trousers and black shoes. 'You keep quiet, I'll do the talking.' He seemed to understand that too.
They approached the grating. 'I'll see the rest down here another time. Come along, Herr Brigadefuhrer. We must celebrate meeting again like this.' Marlene kept up an uninterrupted flow of talk. 'How's your wife? It seems for ever since I last saw Nina. Monsieur Gaston, allez.' The little caretaker trotted after them. And your sheepdog Harro?' Up the steps, not too hastily. Marlene forced herself to keep calm. 'Such a nice creature.' One step at a time, over the black and white stone flags of the ground floor and so to the open double door. Another guard. 'What do you say to a glass of champagne in the Ritz, Herr Brigadefiihrer? It's not far on foot, and we can have your car follow us.' Out in the street at last. Stroll calmly on. Then a dive round the corner. A sigh of relief.