Page 70 of Whispers At Dawn
Lizzie fumbled through, her nerves tingling as she talked of the beauty of the beach and the old walled city.
‘I hope the presence of theKriegsmarineat the port isn’t too much of a disruption to your family’s tranquil life,’ he said.
Lizzie searched her memory for anything she had heard about the German Navy in St. Malo. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, and she remembered a conversation around the table at Regent’s Park. He received updates in his job at the War Office and told them that the St. Malo port was being used to transport supplies to the German troops in the Channel Islands.
Lizzie could see Jack glancing at her now and then, in between talking to the commissaire and Luc. They had arranged the table so she would sit on Jack’s other side, away from their Gestapo guest. She felt more equipped to hold her own with the commissaire and could steer the conversation to their stay in Toulouse. It wouldn’t be strange if she didn’t know something because she was still new to the city. This was not how they had planned things at all, and Lizzie was worried that any second she would fall into a trap.
‘You must tell me the best places to dine,’ Von Schneider said, as though people weren’t subject to strict rationing and curfews under his country’s occupation.
Tact didn’t appear to be one of his qualities. Perhaps he had lost sight of how hard life had been in Germany since the previous world war. They suffered from severe food shortages, massive inflation and unemployment. Lizzie would have thought a person who had lived through those years would be more aware of France’s current plight, but he showed no sign of it.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t dined out much since the war began,’ she said carefully, calculating it was better to show discomfort, rather than act as though the occupation wasn’t happening.
‘Of course, but you must not let the rations overly concern you. Soon this war will be over, and as part of the Third Reich, everything will be plentiful in your beautiful country.’ He didn’t pause for a response but took a long drink of the wine he had selected for dessert and set his glass down on the table, emitting a burp. ‘Excuse me, madame.’
His callous remarks infuriated Lizzie, and she held herself in check. Most French citizens were near starvation unless they were in bed with the Nazis and enjoyed special privileges for their treachery. She thought of her cousins who would struggle to get enough to eat, and her grandparents and friends in Jersey.
The commissaire didn’t look like he had missed a meal, and she thought of the Jewish doctor’s little granddaughter who had been too sick to travel when her parents were forced to flee Toulouse and escape to Spain. The doctor’s wife told them in a hushed tone that they had to get out of France before they were arrested. It had broken her parents’ hearts to leave their daughter behind, but her grandparents promised they would take her to them as soon as she was well enough to travel.
‘Don’t tell us where they are,’ Lizzie had warned the doctor’s wife. ‘The less we know the better, just in case—’ Her voice tailedoff and the unspoken words hung in the air like a black cloud. It was safer not to share specifics in case the Vichy police captured and interrogated them.
Icy terror ran through her, and she shuddered. There was so much at stake and at moments like this, the responsibility to not put a foot wrong was a heavy load to bear.
‘Are you cold, madame?’ Von Schneider asked, seeing her shiver.
‘Yes, a little,’ Lizzie said, somehow mustering a smile as though they were the greatest of friends dining together.
‘Your delightful wife is cold, monsieur,’ the officer informed Jack, clearly used to people jumping to attention to satisfy his every command.
Jack stood and slipped his jacket around Lizzie’s shoulders, and she smiled up at him gratefully.
Von Schneider then proceeded to fire questions at them both about when they were married and how long they had known each other.
‘I am a romantic. You can’t beat a good love story,’ he said.
Prickles of fear coated Lizzie’s skin as she listened to Jack’s replies. They had practiced their fake marriage cover story and tested each other repeatedly in London but hadn’t needed to share it since their arrival. Until now, no one had questioned them about their marriage, but Von Schneider seemed very curious and wished to know all the details.
‘Were you married here in Toulouse or in St. Malo?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing like a panther’s as they flickered from Jack to Lizzie.
Had she failed his test, and he suspected them of lying? She had already told him they arrived in Toulouse recently and had been married a year. The fact he was now asking Jack the same question when she had already told him the answer, scared her.
She coughed and said with deference. ‘Remember, we discussed our arrival was only last month?’
‘Oh yes, how silly of me. Too much wine,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should take a walk to clear the head.’
Luc stood. ‘May I invite you gentlemen out to the terrace for brandy and cigars?’
Sounds of agreement echoed around Lizzie, and she had never been so grateful to be excluded from an invitation.
‘Please excuse me,’ she said. ‘I must leave you esteemed gentlemen to your discussions. It has been a great honour to meet you, Herr Von Schneider.’
Lizzie prayed this would be the last she would see of him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t of the same mind.
‘But madame, our evening is surely not over so soon?’ he glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I was about to say that after brandy, I would very much like a tour of the wine cellars and would be overjoyed if you too, would accompany us. You clearly greatly appreciate wine and besides, a little feminine company only ever improves a tour.’
Panic surged through Lizzie. This was their worst nightmare. How could they take the Gestapo officer and the city’s chief of police into the cellars where the airmen and the doctor were hiding?
Jack suggested smoothly that perhaps it would be better to take the tour by daylight another time. ‘You would see so much more of the scenery and grounds.’
