“Where is your husband?” But she wasn’t sure if she should tell him. If she told him that William was in Intelligence, it might put all of them in greater danger.
“He’s attached to the RAF.”
“Does he fly?” The commandant seemed surprised.
“Not really,” Sarah said vaguely, and he nodded.
“Most of the pilots are younger than we are.” He was right of course, but she only nodded. “It’s a terrible thing, war. No one wins. Everyone loses.”
“Your Führer doesn’t seem to think that.”
Joachim was silent for a long moment, and then answered her, but there was something in his voice that caught her attention, something that told her he hated this war as much as she did. “You’re right. Perhaps in time,” he said bravely, “he will come to his senses, before too much is lost, and too many are killed.” And then he touched her by what he said next, “I hope that your husband stays safe, Your Grace.”
“So do I,” she whispered as they reached the cottage. “So do I.” He bowed, and saluted her then, and she left him and went back to the cottage, musing at what an interesting contradiction he was. A German who hated the war, and yet, he was the commandant of the German Forces in the Loire Valley region. But when she walked back into the cottage that night, thinking of her husband, she forgot all about Joachim.
She ran into him again a few days later, in die same place, and then again, and eventually it was as though they expected to meet there. She liked to go and sit in the forest at the end of the day, by the riverbank, and think, with her feet dangling in the cool water. Her ankles got swollen sometimes, and it was so peaceful here. All she could hear were the birds and the sounds of the forest.
“Hello,” he said quietly, one afternoon, after he had followed her there. She didn’t know that he had guessed her routine, and watched for her now, from his window, as she left the cottage. “It’s hot today, isn’t it?” He wished he could give her a cool drink, or feel the long silky hair, or even touch her cheek. She was beginning to fill his dreams at night, and his thoughts in the daytime. He even kept one of William’s photographs of her locked in his desk, where he could see it whenever he wanted. “How are you feeling?”
She smiled at him; they were not yet friends, but at least they were neutral. It was something. And he was someone to talk to, other than Emanuelle and Henri and Phillip. She missed her long, intelligent conversations with William. She missed other things about him as well. She missed everything. But at least this man, with his worldly views and his gentle eyes, was someone to talk to. She never forgot who he was, or why he was there. She was the duchess, and he was the commandant. But it was a relief of sorts, talking to him, even for a few moments.
“I’m feeling fat,” she admitted to him with a small smile. “Enormous.” And then she turned to him with curiosity. She knew nothing about him. “Do you have children?”
He nodded, sitting on a large rock, just near her, and ran a hand through the cool water. “Two sons. Hans and Andi—Andreas.” But he looked sad as he said it.
“How old are they?”
“Seven and twelve. They live with their mother. We’re divorced.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. Children were a separate thing from war. And whatever nationality they were, she couldn’t bring herself to hate them.
“Divorce is a terrible thing,” he said, and she nodded.
“I know.”
“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow, wanting to ask her how, but he didn’t. It was obvious that she couldn’t know. She was clearly happy with her husband. “I scarcely saw my sons once she left. She remarried … and then the war came…. It’s all very difficult at best.”
“You’ll see them again when the war ends.”
He nodded, wondering when that would be, when the Führer would let them go home, and if his ex-wife would really let him see them, or if she would say it had been too long, and they no longer wanted to see him anyway. She had played a lot of games with him, and he was still very hurt and very angry. “And your baby?” He changed the subject again. “You said it would be here in August. That’s very soon.” He wondered how shocked everyone would be if he let her have it at the château, with their doctors’ help, or if that would cause too much talk. It might just be easier to send one of the doctors down to the cottage. “Was it easy with your son?”
It was odd to be discussing this with him, and yet here they were in the woods, alone, captor and prisoner, and what difference did it make what she told him? Who would ever know? Who would even know if they became friends, as long as no one was hurt, and nothing was damaged? “No, it wasn’t easy,” she admitted to him. “Phillip weighed ten pounds. It was very hard. My husband saved us both.”
“There was no doctor?” He looked shocked. Surely the duchess had had her baby in a private clinic in Paris, but she surprised him.
“I wanted to have him here. He was born on the day war was declared. The doctor had gone to Warsaw, and there was no one else. Just William… my husband. I think it frightened him even more than it did me. I didn’t really know what was happening after a certain point. It took a long time, and …” She spared him the details, but she smiled shyly at him. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a lovely boy.” He was touched by her, by her innocence and her honesty, and her beauty.
“You’re not afraid this time?”
She hesitated, for some reason wanting to be honest with him, though she didn’t know why. But she knew she liked him, in spite of who he was, and where he lived, and how they had met. He had only been kind to her, and decent. And he had intervened to protect her twice now.
“A little,” she admitted. “But not very.” She hoped it would be quicker and that this baby would be smaller.
“Women always seem so brave to me. My wife had both of our boys at home. It was beautiful, but for her it was very easy.”
“She’s lucky.” Sarah smiled.
“Perhaps we can help you this time with some German expertise.” He laughed gently and she looked serious.
“They wanted to do a cesarean last time, but I didn’t want one.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to have more children.”
“Admirable of you. And brave … just as I said, women are so much more courageous. If men had to have babies, there would be no more children.” She laughed, and they talked about England then, and he asked her about Whitfield. She was intentionally vague with him. She didn’t want to give away any secrets, but it was the spirit of it that interested him, the stories, the traditions. He really did seem to love all things English.
“I should have gone back,” she said wistfully. “William wanted me to, but I thought we’d be safe here. I never thought France would surrender to the Germans.”
“No one did. I think it even surprised us how quickly it went,” he confessed to her, and then he told her something he knew he shouldn’t. But he trusted her, and there was no way she could betray him. “I think you did the right thing staying here. You, and your children, will be safer.”
“Than at Whitfield?” She looked surprised and it seemed an odd thing to say to her, as she looked at him with a puzzled frown, wondering what he meant.
“Not necessarily Whitfield, but England. Sooner or later, the Luftwaffe will turn its full force on Britain. It will be better for you to be here then.” She wondered if he was right, and as they walked back to the cottage afterwards she wondered if he had told her anything he shouldn’t. She assumed that the British knew all about the Luftwaffe’s plans, and maybe he was right, maybe it was safer here. But whether or not it was, she had no choice now. She was his prisoner.
She didn’t see him again for a few days, and at the very end of July, she ran into him again in the forest. He seemed distracted and tired, but he cheered up when she thanked him for the food that had begun appearing outside the cottage. First, berries for the child, and then a basket of fruit for all of them, loaves of fresh bread that their bakers were making at the château, and carefully wrapped in newspaper and well hidden from prying eyes, a kilo of real coffee.