Paris: The Novel

excellent. She was a little surprised he didn’t keep a mistress. Did he feel it was too time-consuming? Or perhaps he preferred the amusement and variety the establishment could offer. In any case, he was always welcome.
    When Schmid turned up, however, even when he was trying to be agreeable, there was tension in the air. She was pretty sure that Colonel Walter didn’t like him, either.
    But nothing could have prepared her for the scene that took place that evening.
    They both of them came rather early, as it happened. She greeted them herself, and joined them in the salon. Two of the girls came in and one, called Catherine, started talking to Schmid. But it seemed that she displeased him in some way, and he told her rudely to go away and send him someone better-looking. The girls were used to handling all kinds of behavior, but it was obvious that Catherine was offended; and Louise was about to ask Schmid to be a little nicer when Colonel Walter intervened.
    “My dear Schmid”—his voice was silky soft, but the rebuke in it was clear—“I know you have many things on your mind, but you will find it easier to relax if you make an effort to be pleasant.”
    “I always have things on my mind, Colonel Walter.”
    It was apparently intended to close the conversation, but Walter went on, quite unperturbed.
    “My dear Schmid, the word is that you have the honor of conducting a certain visitor to the theater tomorrow night.” He shrugged. “Though what our friend Müller will make of
Antigone
, I cannot imagine. But if I were you, I would go home now and get a good night’s sleep, rather than exhausting yourself here tonight.”
    Müller? Louise’s face did not move a muscle. It was a common German name. There were several senior figures in the Reich who bore the name. But the effect on Schmid was remarkable.
    “May I ask where you heard this, Colonel?” His voice was icy.
    “At least two people said it to me when I was in headquarters today.” For the first time, she caught a hint of nervousness in the colonel’s voice.
    “I believe you, Colonel, because we are aware that someone has started this rumor. But I can tell you that it is entirely untrue.”
    “I understand.”
    “I hope you do, Colonel Walter. Because rumors can be dangerous.” Schmid’s voice rose. “Dangerous also for those who spread them.”
    “You are the only person to whom I have said it, I assure you.”
    “I hope so for your sake.”
    And then the mask dropped. The look that Schmid gave Walter was venomous. Gone was the deference to his rank. The Gestapo man looked like a snake about to strike. And Walter shrank with fear.
    Schmid stood up.
    “I think Colonel Walter is right. I am not good company tonight. I shall return another evening.” He made for the door. A moment later Colonel Walter hurried after him. Standing discreetly in the hall, as the two men went out the door, Louise heard Schmid hiss to the colonel: “Are you mad?”
    The door closed behind them. There was a long pause. So she did not hear Schmid turn to the colonel when they were twenty yards down the street and remark in a very different tone: “Thank you. That was perfect. Only one sad duty remains for you, if you would be kind enough.”
    When Colonel Walter returned to the house, he looked a little shaken, and asked for a whisky, rather than the usual champagne. A little while later he went upstairs with Chantal, one of the girls he liked best. But it was only half an hour before he came down again and quietly left.
    Chantal came down soon after.
    “Something’s bothering him,” she said. “He couldn’t keep it up tonight, no matter what I did.”

    It was ten o’clock the following morning when Charlie reached Max Le Sourd.
    “We have a message from Corinne. It came by the usual route this morning.”
    The note would be neatly stuck between two banknotes which Catherine, the girl Louise trusted most, would take to her home early in the morning. A little later, going out to her local market, she would use the notes to pay a flower-seller. Within an hour, placed in an envelope, the notes would be dropped through the letter box of a safe house.
    “This could be Heinrich Müller himself,” Max said, after reading the message. Heinrich “Gestapo” Müller, the second most important man in the entire Gestapo. “It’s the first we’ve ever heard of him coming to France,” he continued, “but with the Normandy landings, it would be natural