boss her around.She’d heard Grand-mère and Leonore talking. The de Courmont girls were strong, they had said. They would never be beaten.
Half-scrambling, half-sliding with her legs scratched and bleeding, she made it to the bottom of the hill. Forcing herself to put her weight evenly on both legs Peach limped very slowly along the path that led around the headland. She was there. With a final contemptuous glance she lifted the calliper by its straps and flung it over the small cliff. The setting sun flashed from the steel brace as it dropped with only the smallest splash into the sea. Raising her arms over her head Peach gave a cry of triumph. The
merde
thing was gone. And never,
never
again would she wear a calliper.
13
Enrique García lit his fourth Gauloise in a half hour, checking his watch nervously. One of Lais’s virtues was that she was always prompt. He’d give her five more minutes and then he’d make a phone call. Sipping a cup of ersatz coffee he wrinkled his nose at its acrid taste, wondering if the coffee in Barcelona still tasted as good as he remembered.
Lais slid on to the stool beside him in the small bar in Les Halles where they had first met. “I need a drink,” she said shakily.
Enrique stirred his fourth cup of coffee. “Too bad,” he replied, “it’s a dry day.”
“Damn! Oh damn!” Lais had forgotten that on three daysa week the sale of alcohol was forbidden and for some reason the petty disappointment made her want to cry.
She looked pale and shaky, he thought. Combined with the lateness it wasn’t a good sign. “You’re getting spoiled, living in the lap of luxury with the Nazi boss,” he commented, signalling the bartender.
“Enrique, it’s just that this time I’m really frightened.” The bartender placed a small coffee cup filled with brandy in front of her.
“An emergency,” he murmured with a wink.
“We are all afraid, Lais. You get used to it.” Enrique noticed her trembling hand as she lifted the cup.
“You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand.” Lais stared into her empty cup. “I’m afraid every time Karl looks at me, assessing me like a prize racehorse whose performance isn’t quite what he was led to believe it would be for its thoroughbred background and the price he had to pay. I’m afraid every time he touches me—
physically afraid
. Karl’s a sadist, he enjoys inflicting pain. Oh, so far there’s been nothing that I couldn’t bear—and maybe even enjoy,” she added bitterly. “God, you don’t know how I despise myself afterwards.”
Enrique lit another cigarette, exhaling pungent blue smoke towards the stained ceiling.
“I can cope with the rest,” said Lais as tears coursed down her face, “I can flaunt myself in my fancy couture clothes and make believe I don’t see the contempt in people’s eyes. I can drive around Paris in my chauffeur-driven car and dine on good food at the Ritz while others go without, wearing jewels that were probably looted from some charming French family to whom they had belonged for generations. I can smile when Karl puts his arm around me in public, I laugh at his witty conversation, act as his hostess and procure girls for his visiting comrades … I’ve triednot to mind when he caresses my breast in a restaurant or a theatre, making sure that everyone understands what I am—and that he owns me. I just tell myself that next time—yes the
next
time, I’ll take a knife and kill him!”
Her blonde hair was tied back in a blue silk scarf and she wore no make-up. She looked like a schoolgirl of sixteen. It shocked Enrique to see her so vulnerable. Lais had always played the role of the tough, arrogant little rich girl who didn’t give a damn what anyone thought, living for the mood of the moment. Life had always come on her terms.
He gripped her arm, steadying its shaking and signalled the bartender. “You mustn’t think like this, Lais,” he said urgently. “You
must not
do
Half-scrambling, half-sliding with her legs scratched and bleeding, she made it to the bottom of the hill. Forcing herself to put her weight evenly on both legs Peach limped very slowly along the path that led around the headland. She was there. With a final contemptuous glance she lifted the calliper by its straps and flung it over the small cliff. The setting sun flashed from the steel brace as it dropped with only the smallest splash into the sea. Raising her arms over her head Peach gave a cry of triumph. The
merde
thing was gone. And never,
never
again would she wear a calliper.
13
Enrique García lit his fourth Gauloise in a half hour, checking his watch nervously. One of Lais’s virtues was that she was always prompt. He’d give her five more minutes and then he’d make a phone call. Sipping a cup of ersatz coffee he wrinkled his nose at its acrid taste, wondering if the coffee in Barcelona still tasted as good as he remembered.
Lais slid on to the stool beside him in the small bar in Les Halles where they had first met. “I need a drink,” she said shakily.
Enrique stirred his fourth cup of coffee. “Too bad,” he replied, “it’s a dry day.”
“Damn! Oh damn!” Lais had forgotten that on three daysa week the sale of alcohol was forbidden and for some reason the petty disappointment made her want to cry.
She looked pale and shaky, he thought. Combined with the lateness it wasn’t a good sign. “You’re getting spoiled, living in the lap of luxury with the Nazi boss,” he commented, signalling the bartender.
“Enrique, it’s just that this time I’m really frightened.” The bartender placed a small coffee cup filled with brandy in front of her.
“An emergency,” he murmured with a wink.
“We are all afraid, Lais. You get used to it.” Enrique noticed her trembling hand as she lifted the cup.
“You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand.” Lais stared into her empty cup. “I’m afraid every time Karl looks at me, assessing me like a prize racehorse whose performance isn’t quite what he was led to believe it would be for its thoroughbred background and the price he had to pay. I’m afraid every time he touches me—
physically afraid
. Karl’s a sadist, he enjoys inflicting pain. Oh, so far there’s been nothing that I couldn’t bear—and maybe even enjoy,” she added bitterly. “God, you don’t know how I despise myself afterwards.”
Enrique lit another cigarette, exhaling pungent blue smoke towards the stained ceiling.
“I can cope with the rest,” said Lais as tears coursed down her face, “I can flaunt myself in my fancy couture clothes and make believe I don’t see the contempt in people’s eyes. I can drive around Paris in my chauffeur-driven car and dine on good food at the Ritz while others go without, wearing jewels that were probably looted from some charming French family to whom they had belonged for generations. I can smile when Karl puts his arm around me in public, I laugh at his witty conversation, act as his hostess and procure girls for his visiting comrades … I’ve triednot to mind when he caresses my breast in a restaurant or a theatre, making sure that everyone understands what I am—and that he owns me. I just tell myself that next time—yes the
next
time, I’ll take a knife and kill him!”
Her blonde hair was tied back in a blue silk scarf and she wore no make-up. She looked like a schoolgirl of sixteen. It shocked Enrique to see her so vulnerable. Lais had always played the role of the tough, arrogant little rich girl who didn’t give a damn what anyone thought, living for the mood of the moment. Life had always come on her terms.
He gripped her arm, steadying its shaking and signalled the bartender. “You mustn’t think like this, Lais,” he said urgently. “You
must not
do
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