Paris: The Novel

channel.
    But where? Some said the Allies might land in Normandy, or farther west. But Schmid didn’t believe that, nor did intelligence support that idea. The Allies would strike across the narrowest point of the Channel, between Dover and Calais. Why would they do anything else?
    And when they did? That would be the test. No one should underestimate the genius of the führer, or of the Wehrmacht. For wherever they struck, the Allies would find the Germans ready for them. The assault would fail. The Allies would be massacred. Eisenhower would lose his command. Quite possibly the Americans would lose heart and give up, and then where would the Allies be?
    Europe would belong to Germany.
    That, Schmid told himself, as he waited for Luc Gascon to arrive, was how it would be.
    It was destiny. It could not be otherwise.

    Luc had passed three bad days. Now and then, he had felt remorse for what he had done. But his remorse was not great. Whatever relationship they had once had, Louise had scorned him. Indeed, when she’d said that even if she had an escape route, she wouldn’t tell him, it was quite clear that she’d happily leave him to his death. No, he thought, he owed her nothing at all. Nothing. He was just repaying her in kind.
    What worried him was something far worse. He had just put himself in greater danger.
    What if she told one of her Resistance friends about his visit and their quarrel? And that she already suspected he was a collaborator? When something happened to her, who was going to be at the top of their list of suspects? The fact that Schmid had also been there might provide a partial cover, but it wasn’t enough. He should have thought the whole thing through more carefully before he went to see the Gestapo man.
    He’d let his feelings get in the way of his judgment—not something he would ever do normally. But he had this time, and he cursed his folly.
    Even more than before, it seemed to Luc, he needed a place of safety. A place, at least, where he could hide for a while without being found. A place nobody knew.
    He could think of only one. True, his brother, Thomas, knew of it. But nobody else. And Thomas, thank God, was the one person in the world whom he could trust.
    There’d be work to do, of course. He’d have to stock it with food and water. Not an easy thing to do with rationing. But he could take canned food, smoked ham, other things that would keep, a little at a time from the restaurant. He told Édith he needed them for a customer, and she only shrugged. After all, it was his restaurant. He’d begun the process the evening after he’d seen Schmid.
    And now, here he was again, back in Schmid’s office, and Schmid was smiling.
    “I looked at the sketch,” the German said pleasantly, “and I agree with you. I have just given the order that she is to be watched day and night, and followed wherever she goes. With luck, she may lead us to something.” He passed a small wad of francs across the desk to Luc. “You have earned this. If our suspicion is correct, there will be more.”
    “And if she doesn’t lead you to anyone?”
    Schmid smiled.
    “We shall set a trap.”

    How peaceful it was at the château. If massive preparations were in motion, across the English Channel, for the greatest amphibious invasion in history, down in the Loire valley there was not a hint of it. Unless, perhaps,one counted the occasional Allied bomber, driven off course after bombing the railway yards around Paris, that droned across the sky.
    But Marie had plenty to occupy her mind. She had little Esmé to think about.
    There was no doubt about who he was. Within two hours after Louise left, Marc had arrived at the rue Bonaparte. Five minutes of explanation and he confirmed the truth of everything.
    “Take a quick look at your grandson,” she commanded. “Don’t try to see Louise. She doesn’t want it, and you must respect that. Then go.”
    Roland, however, was quite another matter.
    She’d never seen him so excited.
    “I have a grandson? Let me look at him.
Mon Dieu
, but he’s like Charlie.”
    “He’s illegitimate, of course,” she gently reminded him. She didn’t want him to get too happy, and then suffer a reaction, and take against the child. But she needn’t have worried.
    “Oh, that’s nothing.” He shrugged. “Some of the greatest generals and statesmen, the noblest families in France, descend from the illegitimate children of kings.”
    “True.” Marie thought