Giselle chewed a doubtful morsel then decided to discreetly drop it under the bench. When she found a much-thumbed, tattered notice for the restaurant La Potiniere at the Hotel Normandy in Deauville, she stared at it for the longest time.
‘Potage normand,’ she said with longing. ‘Huitres au gratin. Darnes de saumon a la creme ou tripe a la mode de Caen. Poulet a la Vallee d’Auge, salade Cauchoise, souffle surprise et … et Puits d’amour.’
One longed for the past but also for the simplest things. Far from menus like that, Giselle had spoken repeatedly of late of poached eggs and glasses of milk. ‘Don’t worry so much, cherie,’ soothed Oona. ‘You’ll be all right. I’ll see you through. I promise.’
‘You’re so good to me. If there wasn’t this Occupation, would it be the same?’ She tossed her pretty head.
The short, jet black hair, clear, rosy cheeks and stunning violet eyes were lovely. ‘You’d still need a nounou.’
A nanny. ‘I’ve no training in having babies. I’m not the mothering kind.’
‘Wait till she nurses, then you’ll know for sure where you stand. Now come on, finish your soup and bread. Dream of Deauville, eh? and of better times. Cream puffs.’
‘“Wells of Love”.’
‘Oysters au gratin. Salmon steaks in cream …’
‘“She” …? Why is it, please, that you feel it will be a girl?’
‘Ah! why would you ask me that? I hate this lousy war. My two children gone from me, my husband too!’ Oona threw her tin cup away and tore her hair in anguish.
Kohler hurried back to comfort her, saying, ‘Hey now, I’m going to take care of you both.’
Blonde, blue-eyed, tall, graceful and about forty years of age, Oona had lost her children during the blitzkrieg, her husband, a Jew, to the French Gestapo of the rue Lauriston and not so long ago …
When he found the safe, it was waiting for him and Kohler knew at once that here was trouble of a far different sort. It was huge. It was ancient. Its door was closed and locked but there was something sinister about this and when he asked the sous-chef de gare, he discovered the door had been left open by the Gypsy, but had been later closed and locked and only then had they discovered that the wheel-pack had been reset. Now no one dared to try to open the damned thing.
It was as if the Gypsy was tempting him. It was as if he shouldn’t weaken and yield to the challenge.
‘Louis, this guy’s playing with us all the time,’ he said, but Louis wasn’t here.
The vodka had remained untouched, the caviar too, but they were again writing notes to each other in the dressing-room.
The dynamite, Gabrielle. I must insist that if you know of it, you tell me how the Gypsy came by it.
She couldn’t tell him the truth. She mustn’t! Perhaps he had it xvith him – have you thought of this?
She was still being evasive. Are you suggesting he first extracted the nitro he used at the Ritz and then found he needed more?
Two boil-ups, the last at the house on the rue Poliveau … Mon Dieu, how could you possibly think I would know anything of such?
The Resistance, your little reseau?
We don’t do things like that! We’re women. We have no such experience.
Was the reseau composed only of women? he wondered. He tried to kill us, Gabrielle! He booby-trapped our car!
She was visibly shaken and stammered, ‘I … I didn’t know of this. Forgive me.’
Fine. He’d be firm now and give the next question aloud. ‘Tell me why on Monday last you did not pick up the jewellery you had ordered at Cartier’s?’
So, they were back to that again and Jean-Louis wanted the Gestapo to listen in, but why had the Gypsy tried to kill them? They hadn’t told Janwillem to do so. They had only warned him to be careful of them, that if anyone could stop him, it was them. ‘I was too busy.’
‘A moment, please. Ah! I have it here in my notebook. Laviolette, the sous-directeur, said that you wished to argue with yourself a little more. It was a great deal of money. The authorities … someone might question such an expense. It would have to be declared.’
‘That is correct.’
‘Then why, please, did you just tell me you were too busy?’ He nodded for her to speak aloud.
‘Now that you have reminded me, I do remember. He was most distressed. Certainly I promised to collect the pieces first thing on Tuesday but by then, it … well, it was too late, wasn’t it?’
‘Please don’t distress yourself.’ It doesn’t become you! he wrote. ‘Someone told the Gypsy of the contents of the safe and gave him the combination.’
Again their were tears. ‘Have you questioned everyone at Carrier’s?’ she blurted.
‘Not yet.’
‘Then perhaps, Inspector, you will find among them the accomplice if such a one exists!’
She was still not co-operating! He raised his voice. ‘There was a blanket laissez-passer in that safe and a first-class railway pass. The Gypsy can have those altered – a difficulty, yes, since he’s on the run but whoever is helping him could take care of it.’
Did the Gestapo suspect her of this too? she wondered but said softly, ‘Tshaya … the newspapers are saying a gypsy girl is with him.’
‘I’ve not had time to read them.’
‘They say she was married to a boxer but that he whipped her savagely.’
‘What else do they say?’
‘That she’s the Gypsy’s lover and that the two of them will turn the city upside down before they leave. That only then will the memory of them be left to last the centuries.’
Will they be apprehended?
Never! Of this I can guarantee.
You?
The press. I meant to say the press. Ah damn …
St-Cyr knew he had to warn her that the Germans had released the Gypsy from the Mollergaten-19 in Oslo but if she was taken in for questioning, this would be the first thing Herr Max would ask.
Look after yourself.
You also.
‘Do you have your receipt from Cartier’s for the 8,600,000 francs?’
‘Yes, it’s in my purse.’
He snapped his fingers. She smiled faintly and when she handed him the beaded silk purse, which was another of her trademarks, he looked questioningly at her.
The purse had been left at the scene of that nothing murder. ‘I thought it appropriate,’ she said, looking steadily at him.
Without a word St-Cyr put the receipt into his wallet. Then he reached for his glass, and raising it, said grimly, ‘A ta sante, Gabrielle.’
She took hers up and, though it was foolish and proud of her, gave him good health in Russian. ‘Za vashe zdorov’e, Jean-Louis.’
The door closed and he was gone from her, the caviar untouched, a waste yet she had no desire for it and, sitting down at her dressing-table, picked up the quartz crystal he had deliberately left for her.
Very thin slices of such crystals, if clear of fractures and inclusions, were used in shortwave wireless transceivers. Each thickness let in or out wavelengths of only a very narrow band. Their set had two such ‘crystals’: one for daytime use, which they never used but kept for emergencies only; and one for the small hours of the night which were best for transmitting and receiving.
Jean-Louis could not know that a British aircraft had dropped the Gypsy by parachute near Tours on the night of the thirteenth. He could not know that weeks of planning had gone into this and that they had received a message from England telling them to help this safe-cracker, nor could he know that the Gypsy had very quickly proven himself to be far too difficult to handle. They and the British had trusted Janwillem De Vries and he had broken that trust.