anything foolish.”
“My, my,” Lais sipped the fresh cup of brandy and stared at him with tear-swollen eyes. “Anyone might think you cared.”
“This is not a personal matter,” Enrique replied coldly. “You have a job to do. You knew what you were taking on when you started. Now you are important to the organisation. We
need
you, Lais.”
“Well, at least that’s something,” she said, finishing the brandy at a gulp, “at least I’m needed.”
“How dare you feel sorry for yourself,” said Enrique angrily, keeping his voice low, “there are hundreds of women in far worse situations than you.
You
are living in luxury. Others are hiding in the slums of Ménilmontant or Belleville, keeping just one step ahead of the Gestapo. They’ve lost husbands and sons. They
know
why they are working for the Resistance and
they can never forget
.”
Lais stared at Enrique’s dark, impassive face. He was right. She
had
known what she was getting into; at first she’d been excited by the game and the thrill had been exhilarating. Flirting with danger had offered an excitement thatwas better even than a dangerous sexual flirtation with a man because with
that
, she always knew how it would end.
But Karl was clever, his sharp eyes missed none of her changes in mood. When he made love to her he searched her face looking for clues to her true emotions. Every time he made her beg him he would lift her face to his, watching her with that icy smile. And one night she knew he would go too far, past the point of enjoyment into cruelty. Lais felt the rush of fear up her spine.
It was herself she was afraid of
. She didn’t know what she might do—or what she was capable of. “If I could just leave him,” her eyes begged Enrique, “I could work somewhere else. I’d do
anything
, Enrique, anything!”
“It’s too late,” Enrique pulled the pack of Gauloises from his pocket. “You’ll just have to put up with him until he tires of you, Lais. Meanwhile, you’ve got work to do.” Lighting up the cigarette from the stub of the previous one he tossed the butt into the brimming blue ashtray. “So, who are these important visitors, Lais?”
She stared at the meagre display of bottles behind the bar. “General Guderian—the man who occupied and practically destroyed Reims, and Otto Klebbich, the man he appointed to control the champagne industry.”
“Not such big fish,” shrugged Enrique.
“There’s to be a party tonight at the house. Goebbels is coming with his wife Magda, and Reichsführer SS Heinrich Himmler and someone called Speer, who is Hitler’s Minister of Armaments and War Production. Along with their entourages and hangers on, of course.” She took the cigarette from Enrique’s fingers and dragged on it deeply.
Enrique’s lips formed a silent whistle. “Do you have any idea why they are here?”
Lais shrugged. “There’s a meeting tomorrow to discuss the movement of French workers into the armaments factoriesin Germany. I think Himmler and Speer are at loggerheads. Goebbels is here to show the pretty Magda the sights of Paris. I have been delegated to take her to the couturiers, the furriers, the hat shops, the perfumers, the jewellers … apparently she’s a nice woman …” Her voice trailed off and tears coursed down her face. “I can’t do it, Enrique, don’t make me go on …”
“Just this once, Lais,” he gripped her hand fiercely, “you
must
. You’ve done so well before, the information you have given us has been invaluable. You’ve saved many French lives through your work. Just do what you’ve done before, Lais. Listen to all the conversations—particularly those
after
dinner when they’ve been drinking and are likely to open up and discuss matters among themselves that should be kept for meetings behind closed doors. Observe everything, read any documents or papers left lying around before or after that meeting. We need
any
information we can get, Lais. And then
“My, my,” Lais sipped the fresh cup of brandy and stared at him with tear-swollen eyes. “Anyone might think you cared.”
“This is not a personal matter,” Enrique replied coldly. “You have a job to do. You knew what you were taking on when you started. Now you are important to the organisation. We
need
you, Lais.”
“Well, at least that’s something,” she said, finishing the brandy at a gulp, “at least I’m needed.”
“How dare you feel sorry for yourself,” said Enrique angrily, keeping his voice low, “there are hundreds of women in far worse situations than you.
You
are living in luxury. Others are hiding in the slums of Ménilmontant or Belleville, keeping just one step ahead of the Gestapo. They’ve lost husbands and sons. They
know
why they are working for the Resistance and
they can never forget
.”
Lais stared at Enrique’s dark, impassive face. He was right. She
had
known what she was getting into; at first she’d been excited by the game and the thrill had been exhilarating. Flirting with danger had offered an excitement thatwas better even than a dangerous sexual flirtation with a man because with
that
, she always knew how it would end.
But Karl was clever, his sharp eyes missed none of her changes in mood. When he made love to her he searched her face looking for clues to her true emotions. Every time he made her beg him he would lift her face to his, watching her with that icy smile. And one night she knew he would go too far, past the point of enjoyment into cruelty. Lais felt the rush of fear up her spine.
It was herself she was afraid of
. She didn’t know what she might do—or what she was capable of. “If I could just leave him,” her eyes begged Enrique, “I could work somewhere else. I’d do
anything
, Enrique, anything!”
“It’s too late,” Enrique pulled the pack of Gauloises from his pocket. “You’ll just have to put up with him until he tires of you, Lais. Meanwhile, you’ve got work to do.” Lighting up the cigarette from the stub of the previous one he tossed the butt into the brimming blue ashtray. “So, who are these important visitors, Lais?”
She stared at the meagre display of bottles behind the bar. “General Guderian—the man who occupied and practically destroyed Reims, and Otto Klebbich, the man he appointed to control the champagne industry.”
“Not such big fish,” shrugged Enrique.
“There’s to be a party tonight at the house. Goebbels is coming with his wife Magda, and Reichsführer SS Heinrich Himmler and someone called Speer, who is Hitler’s Minister of Armaments and War Production. Along with their entourages and hangers on, of course.” She took the cigarette from Enrique’s fingers and dragged on it deeply.
Enrique’s lips formed a silent whistle. “Do you have any idea why they are here?”
Lais shrugged. “There’s a meeting tomorrow to discuss the movement of French workers into the armaments factoriesin Germany. I think Himmler and Speer are at loggerheads. Goebbels is here to show the pretty Magda the sights of Paris. I have been delegated to take her to the couturiers, the furriers, the hat shops, the perfumers, the jewellers … apparently she’s a nice woman …” Her voice trailed off and tears coursed down her face. “I can’t do it, Enrique, don’t make me go on …”
“Just this once, Lais,” he gripped her hand fiercely, “you
must
. You’ve done so well before, the information you have given us has been invaluable. You’ve saved many French lives through your work. Just do what you’ve done before, Lais. Listen to all the conversations—particularly those
after
dinner when they’ve been drinking and are likely to open up and discuss matters among themselves that should be kept for meetings behind closed doors. Observe everything, read any documents or papers left lying around before or after that meeting. We need
any
information we can get, Lais. And then
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