Page 64 of The Resistance Book Club

Let them laugh, she thought to herself.

And then she heard a sound that made her catch her breath with fear; the now-familiar purr of Lauterborn’s Mercedes. The hood was up to enclose the car but the troops snapped to attention at the very sight of the gleaming bonnet as it rounded the square. This time when the chauffeur climbed out he stood even straighter than usual, if that was possible, and, when he turned to open the kerbside rear door as one of the soldiers moved to open the other, Margot caught a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

With a lurch of horror that made Margot feel as if the ground was tearing open beneath her feet, she realised she recognised the rotund man who was climbing out of the car, his uniform bristling with medals.

He was one of Hitler’s top brass: Hermann Göring.

Monsieur Delafosse, in his tricolour sash of office again, rushed up to greet the senior Nazi.

‘Welcome to our humble village, monsieur!’ he exclaimed. Instead of reaching out a hand to shake, Margot watched in disgust as their mayor shot up his arm in a Nazi salute. Göring acknowledged the salute with a lazy gesture, his plump face brightening with a broad smile.

‘Monsieur Le Mayor!’ he declared in French as Lauterborn cast his gaze across the street, puffing his chest out with pride. ‘Thank you for your invitation to visit your pretty village. All the prettier now the vermin have been chased out, eh?’

‘Of course, of course!’ Delafosse gabbled. ‘Our citizens areexemplary, apart from those bad apples who your countryman dealt with.’

Margot had seen Delafosse in the café in the square before, chatting amiably with Madame Guerin over the zinc counter. But he evidently hadn’t shed a single tear for her, even as he’d seen her being shot right in front of him. How he could’ve allowed Lauterborn to drag everyone into the square to witness those atrocious murders – even children – she would never, ever understand. If she was feeling generous, she’d suspect he was doing his best to keep the village safe by going along with the Germans to an extent. But she struggled with that thought, because the course he’d chosen had led to the murder of her friend. He’d always loved his position as mayor, strutting like a Napoleon, even though Cordeval was a small place, and she suspected he enjoyed leeching off their power.

‘Please come and take a drink of our local speciality, our calvados, Monsieur!’ Delafosse went on to Göring. ‘The best is served in the café on the square.’

Margot suppressed a shudder of deep disgust. He was inviting Göring to the very place where Madame Guerin had lived and worked. Lauterborn turned towards the SS troops and barked an instruction in German. Margot couldn’t understand what he said, but she recognised two words: ‘Professor Lauterborn’. Moments later, the soldier was stalking towards her shop.

Margot went cold. Her feet seemed to freeze onto the pavement. Not Theo. No, they couldn’t take Theo. And at that very moment, he was looking after Isabelle.

But she daren’t say a word and draw attention to herself. Instead, keeping an anxious eye on her shop, Margot attached herself to a group of local gossips who had gathered on the pavement to stare at Cordeval’s infamous celebrity visitor.

She watched the soldier as he crossed the street and approached the door to the shop. Clearly he wasn’t aware of thealleyway that led to the back entrance, where the door to the flats could be found.

She barely heard Delafosse prattling on to Göring about the delights of the village. All she could hear was the sound of her own heart, beating so fiercely it might’ve burst from her chest. She pictured Theo cradling Isabelle, his face soft with affection for the motherless little girl who reminded him so much of his own lost daughter. Then, in her mind, she saw Madame Guerin collapsing lifeless to the blood-soaked ground.

Don’t hurt them, please don’t hurt them, Margot pleaded silently.

The soldier raised his fist and knocked on the door as the mayor and his German guests strolled away, with every eye watching them go. When no reply came, the soldier knocked again, then stepped back and peered up at the building.

As he did, a window on the top floor opened and Theo called down something to the man in German. There was some back and forth before Theo gestured to Margot and called in French, ‘Madame, I cannot come down at present; I am engaged in a precise moment of composition! Will you let the gentleman in and ask him to wait?’

‘They’re very clever with music, those Germans,’ one of the gossips said to another, who nodded in agreement.

‘Of course!’ Margot called in reply. Later, perhaps they would laugh about Theo referring to Isabelle as aprecise moment of composition, but laughter was far away from her at that moment.

She separated herself from the crowd and hurried across the road to the shop. She unlocked the door and gestured for the soldier to follow her inside. There were some French–German dictionaries on a shelf near the door, and she hoped he’d notice them as they waited for Theo.

The soldier’s French was halting at best and as he conveyed his message to Margot he mimed it with his hands too, pointingfirst to the ceiling, then to the street, before pantomiming someone playing a piano keyboard.

‘Tell him,’ the soldier said slowly, ‘Obergruppenführer Lauterborn requests he come to the café and play the piano for Reichsmarschall Göring.’ Then he shook his head exaggeratedly. ‘No refusal. He must come now. You understand? You tell him?’ He patted the holster at his hip and repeated, ‘No refusal.’

Margot nodded urgently, then hurried away through the shop and up the stairs to Theo’s flat. She knocked. Even though they were close now, they both kept their doors locked in case anyone should get into the building.

‘Theo!’ Margot called. ‘Göring’s just arrived. Your brother wants you to play the piano for him, in the café on the square. Now!’

Theo opened the door and reached to take Margot’s elbow. He drew her inside, then closed the door and whispered, ‘Why would Göring be here?’ He frowned. ‘Surely they can’t know about Daniel coming?’

Margot had been so alarmed to see Göring arrive in her village that she hadn’t thought of that. ‘I don’t know – maybe it’s a coincidence. If I was a famous Nazi, I wouldn’t want to risk crossing Chevalier’s path; the resistance would mow him down. I don’t think they know. Göring might just’ve booked himself into the spa in Clarenville and your brother couldn’t resist showing him the sights of Cordeval while he’s here.’

‘You’re right,’ he replied. He looked over to the sofa, where Isabelle was merrily coddled in the cushions with her beloved goose and bear. At her side was a dog-eared storybook that had been a gift from Aunt Sandrine. ‘I was telling her one of her stories; she’s such a bright little thing.’

From the foot of the stairs there came a bark in German, and Isabelle frowned, pausing in her game. Theo moved quickly to sweep her up from the cushions and cuddle her close as he told Margot, ‘I have to do as they say; and I might hearsomething worth knowing. If you can, try and get hold of anyone on the radio. Don’t worry about the code, just tell them that Göring’s here. Use Savant as your codename.’ He dashed a kiss to Margot’s cheek and bundled Isabelle into her arms. ‘Let’s hope some wine loosens his tongue, eh?’

Margot kissed Theo in return. ‘Come back safe, won’t you?’ she said.