Never Leave Me by Margaret Pemberton Page B

control. That he had momentarily lost that control was, to him, unforgiveable.
    â€˜Le Rosey explains your flawless command of French,’ the Comte said, striving to recover the easy atmosphere that had existed before Lisette had entered the room and then left it in so extraordinary a manner.
    The slight, almost imperceptible shrug of Dieter’s shoulder was almost Gallic. ‘It is my second language,’ he said, suddenly bored with the evening, annoyed by the Comte’s blatant desire to please.
    Henri shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The rapport that had so unexpectedly sprung up between them had been irretrievably lost. If he failed in his task, it would be Lisette’s fault, not his. He cleared his throat. ‘My wife is not very strong, Major Meyer. Before the war we had plenty of staff but since then, things have become very difficult. Lisette helps admirably, but the chateau is large and my wife is beginning to feel the strain. Marie has a niece who would be willing to come and take over most of the chores in the kitchen … with your permission, of course.’
    Dieter swirled the cognac around in his glass, suddenly wary. ‘Is Marie’s niece a village girl?’ he asked with deceptive lack of interest.
    â€˜No.’ The Comte’s reply was uncomfortably swift. ‘She’s from Caen. A good girl. Reliable.’
    Dieter held the Comte’s eyes steadily for a moment. ‘Are her papers in order?’
    â€˜Oh yes, yes,’ the Comte said eagerly. Too eagerly.
    Dieter felt disappointment settle cold and hard deep in his gut. Henri de Valmy, a man who had probably never lied in his life, was lying now. He drained his cognac, setting the empty glass carefully on a nearby table. ‘Then you had better tell her to come immediately,’ he said, his voice so indifferent that Henri de Valmy suppressed a heartfelt sigh of relief.
    It was done. The girl would be here, within Valmy. The first task of his self-appointed mission was complete.
    â€˜The polo at Deauville, before the war, was the best in Europe,’ he said, resuming the earlier topic that had seemingly bridged the barriers between them. ‘I played myself until I broke my wrist. It’s an infuriating thing to happen to any player. I never had the same strength again.’
    His voice was filled with regret and Dieter’s eyes darkened. Damn the man. He should never have allowed even the merest cordiality to have sprung up between them. They were enemies. Oppressor and oppressed. A second ago de Valmy had lied to him and there could only have been one reason for such a lie. Now, amiably, he was trying to gain his sympathy for an accident that, if it had happened to him, would have filled him with equal regret and frustration.
    He glanced at his watch and rose to his feet. ‘It is eleven o’clock and I still have work to do,’ he said abruptly. ‘Goodnight, Comte de Valmy.’
    Swiftly he strode from the room, wishing that he had never entered it. First of all Lisette de Valmy had disconcerted him so profoundly that even now his chest felt tight, as if an iron band constrained it. Then Henri de Valmy had lied to him and all his doubts and suspicions as to Lisette’s activities had been re-awakened. He wanted the Resistance groups all along the coastline routed out, watched and questioned. He wanted any information, however slight, that would give him a clue to the enemies’plans. But he did not want to see Lisette and her father escorted to Gestapo headquarters at Caen. Never, even when he had served at the Russian front, had he longed so intensely for the war to be over.
    He stared sombrely down at the long table and the large scale maps of Calvados spread open upon it. Away to the east was Deauville. Deauville, where Henri de Valmy had played polo. He wished to God that polo was still being played there. That there were no mines deforming the