Page 59 of Tides of Resistance
Then, she and Fabian talked of their grandparents in whispers and in the shade of the ancient tall trees, their feet padding softly on the forest bed, they devised a plan for Lizzie to infiltrate Jersey.
CHAPTER 34
The day passed in a blur as Heinrich worked through the growing pile of reports and studied the various recommendations and assessments made by the most prestigious surveyors in Brittany.
He enjoyed his work, and the new challenge of overseeing the ambitious coastal fortification invigorated him so that he was rising even earlier and staying up later poring over plans. This was his chance to make his mark, and he would not miss it.
There was a tap on the door, and his secretary entered at his command. He continued reading and, in silken tones with menace in their depths, said, ‘I asked not to be disturbed, didn’t I?’
The secretary cleared her throat and fidgeted with her sleeve. ‘Herr Sturmbannführer, excuse me for interrupting, but the Führer himself is asking for the latest Jersey fortification plans to be sent to Berlin. His secretary was most insistent.’
Heinrich’s head shot up. Now she had his attention. Hitler’s obsession with the Channel Islands was notorious, and Heinrich’s stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He would report to Hitler directly, and it was a dream come true, but he hadn’t completed the review of theJersey reports yet. His mind raced through potential ways to handle this thrilling demand from Berlin.
‘Tell his secretary you will send them by the end of the day, so the Führer receives the very latest assessments by courier.’
In recent orders from Berlin, he had been told that the Channel Islands would have unlimited funding authorisation and to do whatever he needed to transform the island into an impregnable fortress.
The secretary turned to leave, but he stopped her. ‘Were the flowers delivered to Mademoiselle Rousseau?’
‘Yes, Herr Sturmbannführer. The florist confirmed they were received early this morning.’
The secretary’s face didn’t display the disgust she felt at her boss’s wooing of the young French woman. During the Aryanisation project, she had witnessed him signing orders that turned her blood to ice, but she had learnt not to show any emotion, only deference in his presence.
Some days she arrived home and broke down in tears as soon as the front door closed behind her. How could this tragedy have happened to her belle France, once such a proud nation?
As private secretary to the senior SS officer in St. Malo, she was in a unique position as the eyes and ears of this evil man to see the sycophants lining up to pander to him.
After the Allies won the war, there would be a great reckoning, and she meant to be there to witness the collaborators get their comeuppance. Despicable women like Mademoiselle Rousseau would be sorry. They would be very sorry indeed.
When the door closed and Heinrich was alone again, he stood in his favourite position at the window, contemplating the waterand the city walls. Today, the emerald sea sparkled, the waves lapped gently across the wet sand at low tide, and the golden sun nestled high in the azure sky.
It was an idyllic scene, and was almost impossible to believe waves could hit spectacular heights of twenty feet and pound relentlessly against the ancient ramparts and granite cliffs during fierce storms. The tidal patterns fascinated him, and he had spent hours gazing out this window, thinking through his plans, always aware that the enemy coast lay just across the Channel. Sometimes he allowed himself to get carried away with a visualisation of the glory of the 1000-year Reich when he saw himself ruling England from Churchill’s office in central London.
The vision excited him, but he reminded himself he must take it one step at a time. Their ultimate victory would be secured through thousands of small successful steps they must take to close the gap between where they were now and what it would take to render the enemy helpless. Their plans to invade England early in the war had been an abysmal failure, but he was not discouraged. Grand prizes were worthy of great fights.
The St. Malo coastline offered a stark contrast to the landlocked Alpine mountains of Bavaria, where he had grown up on his family’s estate. The thought reminded him he hadn’t arranged a trip home yet, but his work increasingly consumed him, and he had no desire to leave now.
And then there was Rose. The alluring French woman was never far from his mind since he’d met her, and now, he imagined her face when she saw the massive bouquet of scented white and pink roses. He had specified exactly the flowers he wanted and had handwritten the card. Whilst the timing of Rose coming into his life was not the best—his increasing workload demanded so much of his time—she had captivated him in a wayno woman had. There was something about her reticence and understated elegance that only made him want her more.
Heinrich paused to admire his reflection in the mirror and ran one large hand over his shock of blond hair before sitting back down at his desk and continuing the work. He was blessed with good looks and a physique most men dreamt of, and as such he had only ever had to snap his fingers to get any woman he wanted. Throughout the years, more than his fair share of eager young females from the League of German Girls and the Faith and Beauty Finishing School had sought his company, but with the advent of war he’d managed to elude any significant commitment and sidestep marriage.
Rose Rousseau presented a unique challenge. Whilst her manners were impeccable and her responses polite, he sensed she was holding back from getting involved with a German officer. He understood and even respected her reticence, but the lure of forbidden fruit fired his arousal, and he was certain the day would come when her barriers would melt under his persistent wooing. If there was one thing Heinrich was good at, it was deciding what he wanted and making sure he got it.
Yes, Rose would give herself to him, not under duress, but out of desire.
It was only a matter of time.
CHAPTER 35
Lizzie had fallen into a comfortable rhythm with the family, despite the unusual circumstances, and that morning she helped her aunt prepare toast and they enjoyed a rare treat of freshly laid eggs.
In the middle of breakfast, there was a knock at the front door, and they all froze, ever wary of someone discovering Lizzie’s identity. Giselle went to the door and returned smiling with relief, clutching an enormous bunch of roses that she presented to Lizzie.
‘Well, don’t keep us in suspense,’ Sophie said. ‘What does the card say?’
Lizzie removed the card from the envelope and read the note aloud, her cheeks hot.
Beautiful roses for the most beautiful Rose.
