I’ll see what I can do about getting you out of this situation.”
“You mean that?” she asked shakily. “Really Enrique?”
“I mean it,” he promised. Damn that bastard von Bruhel! He’d broken her. And Lais had been one of their best sources of information, ensconced snugly among the ranks of Nazi power.
“Lais, you must promise me that tonight you’ll be your old self. Karl von Bruhel’s beautiful Frenchwoman, his charming hostess. Make the others envious of him, Lais, so that Karl will preen himself in his glory. And later, after you’ve ‘made love’ to him, drop this in his champagne.” He held up a familiar little packet. “He’ll sleep soundly and you can take the opportunity of inspecting his papers for tomorrow’s meeting.”
She managed a grin. “Lais de Courmont, super-spy.”
“Lais de Courmont, a brave woman.” He leaned forwardand kissed her on the lips. “Take care, Lais. I’ll be thinking of you.”
He watched as she walked to the door, pausing to tighten the scarf over her hair, checking the street before she stepped out. He hoped she would be all right.
The great crystal chandeliers of the de Courmont mansion glittered a welcome as long gleaming limousines swung into the courtyard, disgorging elegant passengers. Karl von Bruhel, waiting impatiently at the foot of the curving marble staircase to greet his guests, glanced angrily upwards.
Where
was Lais? His guests were arriving, and he would have to receive them alone.
Ah! At last!
Lais floated down the stairs towards him, a vision in sea-green silk crěpe de Chine. The long gown left one gleaming shoulder bare, clinging to the curves of her slender, high breasted body, and affording a tantalising glimpse of her long silk-stockinged legs where the straight skirt wrapped around at the front. Enormous emerald drops hung from her small ears and the matching necklace, threaded with diamonds, circled her neck. The hairdresser had swept her blonde hair into two glossy wings that framed her lovely face—the face, dammit, that she had just spent an hour making-up when she should have been here by his side!
“It’s good of you to come down, Lais, in time to meet our guests,” Karl said acidly.
“And here they are.” Ignoring the barb in his words Lais swept forward with outstretched arms and a wide smile to welcome Magda and Joseph Goebbels. Magda was older, sophisticated, blonde and attractive. Her husband was thin with a large, elongated head and a small man’s strutting arrogance. His protuberant grey eyes swept over Lais in a way that made her blush. Joseph Goebbels was a notorious womaniser and he and Magda had separated several times,though the rumour was that Hitler had forbidden their divorce because it would set a bad example to the Reich. Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler, his chest a blaze of ribbons, high boots glittering, bowed over her hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, Fräulein de Courmont,” he said, “especially since I also had the recent pleasure of meeting your stepfather.”
Lais felt the colour drain from her face. Himmler’s position as head of the SS gave him control of concentration camps. If he’d met Gerard could it mean that he had been moved from the “political” camp near the Belgian border into one of the concentration camps in Germany?
Taking her arm Himmler walked with her into the beautiful salon. She had filled the room with sweet-scented jasmine and tall aromatic lilies. Garlands of fresh bay were looped around a table containing a silver platter with a two-foot-high mound of Beluga caviare. White-gloved waiters offered champagne as Himmler helped himself to the shiny black granules, licking his fingers greedily. “A good man, your stepfather,” he said to Lais, “a straightforward man.
Honourable
.”
“Yes, Gerard is an honourable man.”
The caviare glistened between Himmler’s teeth. “You should have a talk with him, my dear. Perhaps
you
could convince him that working for
“You mean that?” she asked shakily. “Really Enrique?”
“I mean it,” he promised. Damn that bastard von Bruhel! He’d broken her. And Lais had been one of their best sources of information, ensconced snugly among the ranks of Nazi power.
“Lais, you must promise me that tonight you’ll be your old self. Karl von Bruhel’s beautiful Frenchwoman, his charming hostess. Make the others envious of him, Lais, so that Karl will preen himself in his glory. And later, after you’ve ‘made love’ to him, drop this in his champagne.” He held up a familiar little packet. “He’ll sleep soundly and you can take the opportunity of inspecting his papers for tomorrow’s meeting.”
She managed a grin. “Lais de Courmont, super-spy.”
“Lais de Courmont, a brave woman.” He leaned forwardand kissed her on the lips. “Take care, Lais. I’ll be thinking of you.”
He watched as she walked to the door, pausing to tighten the scarf over her hair, checking the street before she stepped out. He hoped she would be all right.
The great crystal chandeliers of the de Courmont mansion glittered a welcome as long gleaming limousines swung into the courtyard, disgorging elegant passengers. Karl von Bruhel, waiting impatiently at the foot of the curving marble staircase to greet his guests, glanced angrily upwards.
Where
was Lais? His guests were arriving, and he would have to receive them alone.
Ah! At last!
Lais floated down the stairs towards him, a vision in sea-green silk crěpe de Chine. The long gown left one gleaming shoulder bare, clinging to the curves of her slender, high breasted body, and affording a tantalising glimpse of her long silk-stockinged legs where the straight skirt wrapped around at the front. Enormous emerald drops hung from her small ears and the matching necklace, threaded with diamonds, circled her neck. The hairdresser had swept her blonde hair into two glossy wings that framed her lovely face—the face, dammit, that she had just spent an hour making-up when she should have been here by his side!
“It’s good of you to come down, Lais, in time to meet our guests,” Karl said acidly.
“And here they are.” Ignoring the barb in his words Lais swept forward with outstretched arms and a wide smile to welcome Magda and Joseph Goebbels. Magda was older, sophisticated, blonde and attractive. Her husband was thin with a large, elongated head and a small man’s strutting arrogance. His protuberant grey eyes swept over Lais in a way that made her blush. Joseph Goebbels was a notorious womaniser and he and Magda had separated several times,though the rumour was that Hitler had forbidden their divorce because it would set a bad example to the Reich. Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler, his chest a blaze of ribbons, high boots glittering, bowed over her hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, Fräulein de Courmont,” he said, “especially since I also had the recent pleasure of meeting your stepfather.”
Lais felt the colour drain from her face. Himmler’s position as head of the SS gave him control of concentration camps. If he’d met Gerard could it mean that he had been moved from the “political” camp near the Belgian border into one of the concentration camps in Germany?
Taking her arm Himmler walked with her into the beautiful salon. She had filled the room with sweet-scented jasmine and tall aromatic lilies. Garlands of fresh bay were looped around a table containing a silver platter with a two-foot-high mound of Beluga caviare. White-gloved waiters offered champagne as Himmler helped himself to the shiny black granules, licking his fingers greedily. “A good man, your stepfather,” he said to Lais, “a straightforward man.
Honourable
.”
“Yes, Gerard is an honourable man.”
The caviare glistened between Himmler’s teeth. “You should have a talk with him, my dear. Perhaps
you
could convince him that working for
Similar Books
