Page 34 of Whispers At Dawn
Abraham asked him one day, ‘Have I done something to offend you, Armand?’
Armand declined to reply. Everyone knew the Jews were wily. He had watched Abraham closely, and saw he was popular in the regiment. His loyal French citizen act was all a pretence, and Armand would not be duped like the others.
Towards the end of the war, Abraham was awarded aCroix de Guerrefor bravery, and Armand was overlooked even though he too took part in the Third Battle of the Aisne, and his damaged leg was a result of his own feats of bravery. He told himself it was too much for any proud Frenchman to bear. How could these Jews act as though they belonged in his country? How could the government award a medal to this Jew scum, and not recognise him?
It was shameful enough he’d gone unnoticed in his younger years because he was from a poor family. The French Republic pretended to be for the working man, but it was obvious they favoured the elite.
Armand had never received any commendation for his WW1 service and resentment fuelled his yearning to be recognised for his patriotism.
He stubbed out his cigarette as his eyes scanned the square until they rested on a glamourous looking young couple. The man was tall, well-built and classically handsome. A truly beautiful specimen and a familiar ache tortured Armand’s loins as he gazed at him. Armand could tell he was a native Frenchman by the way he carried himself and wore his clothes. The woman at his side was beautiful too, but held no interest for Armand, so his eyes flickered back to the man striding across the square.
His stomach rarely growled these days, because of his comfortable position, but a different hunger clawed at him. He forced his errant thoughts aside, chastising himself for the weakness he knew they showed. Even so, he couldn’t stop his eyes from straying back to the man continuously and he watched him display impeccable French manners as he helped the woman be seated at the table. His thoughts turned to whether they were a married couple or just dating.
Impatiently, he shook himself and lit another cigarette. Indulging his feverish thoughts was a sin—one he daren’t confess even to his priest. Abraham had also been good looking for a Jew. His face dominated Armand’s mind again, drawing his attention away from the beautiful couple across the square. The thrill of satisfaction always cheered him when he relived the incident he had so cleverly engineered.
Armand settled his bill and thought about the little game of cat and mouse he loved to play. Every day when he sat alone at the café, eating his lunch, he would watch people and decide who was a person of interest. It was the perfect spot for fishing out traitors of every description. The Nazis had sent them intelligence that Resistance groups were spiralling out of controlin occupied France, and they were showing signs of gaining traction in Vichy France too.
The Gestapo issued specific orders to the Legion that they must not allow the Resistance in any shape or form to embed itself here in any meaningful way. They were causing chaos in Northern France, and they would not stand for a similar situation in the South.
Armand was doing all he could to ingratiate himself with the Nazis. Any fool could see they would win the war and rule the world. The veteran fantasised about securing a place at the top table. Hitler’s table. He admired Hitler enormously, despite the Germans’ role in the First War, which had wounded his leg and his delicate self-esteem. Armand could see the Führer’svision of the future clearly, and he was determined not to be overlooked this time.
The game sometimes ended there, but at other times led him to trigger a secret investigation. He didn’t share his suspicions and suspect details with fellow members of the organisation and preferred to keep the potential glory for himself. Monitoring the suspected traitors was a pleasure, and he often worked late into the night, after his official duties at the bureau were long finished.
He would run through various scenarios of what a person, couple or group might be doing in the Place du Capitole, and then decide whether they warranted further surveillance. It was a time intensive endeavour, because the administration’s records were poor. With so many refugees and displaced French citizens fleeing to Toulouse, they didn’t have the systems in place to register them all.
Armand relished the thought of bringing traitors to justice and gaining recognition from Marshal Pétain, even though he also harboured some resentment towards him, and ultimately aimed to work closely with the Germans. The Nazis understoodwhat needed to be done to cleanse Europe of the nasty virus that had poisoned it.
Armand had every confidence that his day would come, so for now he was committed to rising through the ranks of the Vichy regime and he would be perfectly positioned when the Third Reich ruled the world.
He rose with a sigh. He would have liked to stay a while longer, but his formal duties called, and his passion would have to wait.
Armand neared the table where the beautiful couple sat, and it pleased him to see the man was even more impressive up close. He limped across the square back towards his office and was careful not to look at them.
They didn’t seem suspicious, but he hoped he would see the man again soon. His loins still burned, and he decided he would pay a visit to his mistress later that afternoon. It wasn’t healthy for a full-bloodied male not to relieve himself and satisfy his appetites.
He entered the Legion and sat down at his desk in his private office. A report lay on his desk about Resistance cells springing up in the South, and Armand reviewed it thoroughly. Many of these traitors were dirty Jews and Communists, and it would be his greatest pleasure to rid his country of them once and for all.
CHAPTER 16
Lizzie indulged in a rare lie-in after Jack kissed her at dawn and slipped out of the bedroom to meet Luc and his vineyard crew. By the time she awoke and stretched like a lazy cat, comatose in the rising heat, the sun was already beating on the shutters and the city below was a hive of activity.
Lizzie wandered over to the window wearing just her slip and threw open the shutters to reveal the breathtaking view. The morning breeze blew in and caressed her warm skin, and she just stood there for a moment appreciating the allure of the South of France.
The river curved through the lush valley like a glittering snake sliding through the countryside and into the city. Terracotta brick roofs topped the pretty houses dotted in clusters like a picture-perfect jigsaw puzzle.
For the briefest of moments, she forgot they were at war and, according to SOE intelligence, were now surrounded by committed Nazi collaborators. Fortunately, intelligence reports had also informed them Toulouse served as a base for thousands of refugees who didn’t sympathise with or applaud Nazi ideology. Lizzie and Jack’s mission was to find and train a leaderwho would risk their life to develop a new Resistance cell that would cooperate with the SOE after they returned to London.
The previous evening, they had received a message from Val saying she’d had word that there was a growing number of downed airmen in hiding, desperate to get back to Britain. She used just two words as a code to explain what she wished them to do:Stern Family.
Lizzie and Jack, who decoded the message after they returned from their evening meeting in the city, were in the turret room Jack and Henry had used as a lookout den when they were boys. By the time they reached the small room up in the sky, after climbing the steep stone staircase, the light was fading fast. The air in the turret was stifling and Jack threw open the tiny window and only the chirping sounds of crickets preparing for a long night echoed around them.
‘I feel like a princess in a fairytale, surveying her kingdom,’ Lizzie said.
‘And I’m your medieval knight, watching for the approaching enemy and defending his lady,’ Jack said, wrapping his arms around her waist as he stood behind her and they gazed out the window across the sweeping vineyards as dusk thickened like a smoky sheet and night descended.
‘It’s so much more peaceful here than in London,’ Lizzie said, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘I’m used to hearing the constant hum of aircraft back home and bracing to run to the shelter.’
‘Yes, it’s a welcome respite from all that,’ Jack murmured, kissing the delicate skin of her neck and setting her senses alight. She swivelled in his arms, and they kissed, losing track of time until the radio shuddered and screeched to life. Jack hurriedly closed the small window. ‘It won’t do for any of the staff to overhear us listening to English radio.’
