Was Sylviane secretly in love with her boss? Was that why she was so upset? ‘A murderess, if he’s not careful, Sylviane. Please tell him it’s hands off until the case is settled, unless he wants to deal with me.’
‘You’re angry with us?’ she said, still looking down at the street. She had cut the remnant to pieces, was clutching the scissors.
‘You should have told me about that second purse,’ said St-Cyr quietly. The girl was pale …
‘You did not ask, eh? How was Julian to know you suspected this … this chanteuse of … of murder? Of which murder?’ she asked sharply.
Ah Mon Dieu, what was the matter with her? The girl’s brother, or the two of them. Me, I’m not sure of anything yet. When you delivered the purse how did you find Yvette?’
The two men hadn’t moved. ‘Agitated. She didn’t say much, only thanked me for having brought it over so quickly. If you ask me, Monsieur Louis, I think her mistress didn’t know of the loss and the girl was trying to cover up.’
‘What did you make of the Corsicans?’
It would start to rain soon – a freezing rain – but would that help him to get away? Would it? Ah Mon Dieu … ‘Rapists with their eyes. Like most men, they undressed me with their filthy minds. In a second!’
Her chest heaved defiantly at the thought, moving him to kindness. In profile she was very pretty, very engaging but upset – yes, definitely upset and trying desperately to keep control. A puzzle to be sure. ‘Don’t be so hard on us men, my dear Sylviane. Life’s small pleasures, eh? You’re a very attractive young woman. Those two out there would be certain to look your way.’
The one with the troublesome shoe had moved along to the cafe. ‘Are they Gestapo?’ she asked, hoping that he’d say it was so.
Shoelace had now found his paper and was fighting December’s curse to read the want ads. ‘I lost them long ago, Sylviane. No, these two are something different.’
How wary he was. ‘The Resistance?’ she asked, turning to let him see the tears that had flooded into her eyes.
‘Yes … Yes, I believe it is them, Sylviane, but it is all a terrible mistake.’
‘Then you’ve seen the photographs – they’re everywhere, Monsieur Louis. Me, I have tried so hard to gather them up.’
The girl had eighteen of them in her tiny office which was just off the cutting room. Choking back the tears beneath a fatherly hand, she had broken down completely at the prospect of the Resistance executing him.
How well she had tried to hide it. Ah, Mon Dieu, the Nile, the Amazon …
In black and white, Kohler and he stood on opposite sides of the boy’s body.
‘You are being blamed for his murder, Monsieur Louis! Blamed!’ she blurted, banging the table with a fist.
St-Cyr tried to comfort her by a gentle massage of the shoulders. The seamstresses – older, married women – glanced fiercely their way. A plate glass divider. No privacy at all, well, so be it. ‘I see that I have my friends,’ he said gently. ‘That is so good at a time like this, Sylviane. Me, I will never forget it.’
‘Julian’s being a pig! He refused to see you. He … he has said I was to send you away, that he wanted nothing more to do with you.’
‘He’s forgiven. It’s only understandable he be cautious for… for all of your sakes.’ The coward!
The girl flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. ‘Me, I will slash their tyres, Monsieur Louis!’
‘No … No, you will do no such thing. You will toss me out on to that street and scream at me never to come back, eh? Then you will throw that fistful of photographs at me.’
It was so brave of him, so considerate. Ah, Mon Dieu … to think of such a thing at a time like this!
Short and just as petite as Chantal Grenier, Sylviane Valcourt stood on tiptoe and pressed her fine young body against him. All of it. A kiss of such passion, he had to think of that other young girl, that student … Liline … the girl with the shoes and the swollen jaw.
A time for love, and a time for death. Danger! Always danger! Was it this that attracted the young girls to him?
Or the lack of suitable young men? The war and the forced labour had taken so many.
She brushed an uncertain hand over his face, let her fingers linger on his moustache – still kept herself pressed against him. The smile she gave was brave. ‘So, my Monsieur Louis, the great detective, me I will do exactly as you have asked but please do not take what I am about to say down there as the truth, eh?’
At his nod, they parted but still she lingered. Not looking at him now, shy – was she being shy? – she fingered the table top, hesitated a moment, then said, a whisper, ‘I’ve learned to cook. I’m a good housekeeper, Monsieur Louis. Me, I could still work here but I… I could be so useful.’
St-Cyr chucked her under the chin and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Come and help me now, eh? Come on, let’s give them something to remember.’
The Galeries Lafayette was crowded but safe. Its magnificent cupola of wrought iron and glass rose through the layer cake of columned floors to tower above them.
Department stores were such suitable places for meetings. Jerome Noel had even used this one. July 7th to be precise. At 4.17 p.m., on the main floor. In full view of every passer-by.
Hermann was late and he wasn’t himself.
‘Louis, I’ve got an idea we should get out of town for a few days. Question the monks – give them a thorough going-over. Pry away at the countess’s armour. Try the Arcuri woman again. Her ice is bound to break for you. She’ll be sure to climb into the sack.’
‘Three days?’
‘Yes, three should do it. Von Schaumburg and Boemelburg have okayed a week. The first is insisting; the second agreeing because Berlin has reluctantly said he must. If we wrap it up in fine style we might just get off with a lecture.’
‘And Ackermann? What does he have to say about things?’ Was Hermann looking slightly green or was it simply the lighting?
Kohler took an agitated drag at his cigarette. ‘Oberg, over on the avenue Foch, wants to see us.’
The Butcher of Poland, the head of the Secret Service of the SS in France and Ackermann’s new boss.
‘We’re in the shit, Louis. I’m sorry. The best thing we can do is to take a little trip. Boemelburg isn’t exactly in total agreement. He wants the diamonds in his safe. You’ve still got them, haven’t you? You’ve not lost them? You can’t have done that!’
He was positively shaking.
‘Pharand?’ asked St-Cyr.
‘I wouldn’t want to see him if I were you. The diamonds, Louis? Don’t keep me in suspense.’
Sometimes prying things out of Hermann was difficult. Clearly Boemelburg didn’t want them leaving town. ‘And Ackermann?’ he demanded again. One had to be tough.
‘The bastard’s challenged me to a duel. It’s strictly against the law – German law, Louis. Gestapo law and SS law. Pistols at thirty paces. A match pair. God knows where he got them.’
A duel… ‘Perhaps the countess loaned them to him.’
‘Agreed?’ asked Kohler of the trip. Boemelburg could stick the diamonds. ‘I’ve been by your place to pick up your things. I even spoke to your housekeeper. Everything’s okay. The geraniums …’
‘The diamonds are still in the inside pocket of my jacket, so stop worrying so much.’
‘It’s you who ought to be worried,’ breathed Kohler, pinching out the fag.
‘Yes … yes, I know. Perhaps I should ask the Reverend Father to let me join the monks. But three days, Hermann? Is it that you’ve bartered for the release of my wife?’
Had word already got round? Gott in Himmel … ‘Steiner’s being sent to where his cock will be of only one use to him if he can get it out in the cold.’
The Russian Front at Stalingrad. ‘Then let us go to Vouvray. Marianne can choose what is best for her and hopefully she’ll be there when we return.’
Did Louis have to be so naive? With luck von Schaumburg would have got the films out of Brother Glotz’s hands by then and had the blasted things destroyed!