The Collaborators by Reginald Hill Page B

real Frenchmen have done. It’s been suggested - that’s the word used - suggested to publishing firms that they might care to do a voluntary purge on their lists, get rid of unsuitable authors such as German exiles, French nationalists, British writers, and of course Jews. They’ve all agreed! No objections. Not one!’
    ‘Oh, those are intellectuals with their heads in the clouds, or businessmen with their noses in the trough,’ said Janine wearily. ‘It’s the ordinary people I’m talking about. They won’t let themselves be mucked around by these Boche. Just wait. You’ll see. But thanks for telling me about Sophie. I’ll keep an eye on her.’
    As she spoke, Valois realized just how much on edge she was; emotionally frayed by worry about Jean-Paul, physically exhausted by her work in the shop combined with sleepless nights looking after the kids, and doubtless worn down by the simple strain of daily life with the formidable Louise.
    Behind him the shop door opened and a German officer came in. He was a stocky fellow of indeterminate age with an ordinary kind of face, were it not for a certain shrewdness of gaze which made you think that every time he blinked, his eyes were registering photographs.
    ‘Good day, Ma’m’selle Janine,’ he said in excellent French. ‘I hope the children are improving. I was asking after them when I talked with your excellent mother earlier. I thought perhaps a few chocolates might tempt their appetites back to normal…’
    He proffered a box of chocolates. Janine ignored it and glanced furiously at Valois. She was angry that after what she’d just been saying, the civil servant should see her on such apparently familiar terms with this Boche. Feeling herself close to explosion, she took a deep breath and said, ‘No thank you, lieutenant. I don’t think they will help.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Günter Mai, nonplussed.
    He regarded her assessingly, placed the box carefully on the counter and said, ‘Forgive the intrusion. Perhaps your dear mother, or you yourself, might enjoy them. You’ll be doing me a favour.’
    He patted his waistline ruefully, touched his peak in the shadow of a salute and brought his heels gently together in the echo of a click.
    It was the gentle mockery of these gestures plus the diplomatic courtesy with which he’d received her rejection that finally triggered off the explosion.
    She pushed the chocolates back across the counter with such force that the box flew through the air, struck him on the chest and burst open, scattering its contents all over the floor.
    ‘Why don’t you sod off and take your sodding chocolates with you?’ she shouted. ‘We don’t want them, do you understand? I can look after my own kids without any help from the likes of you.’
    59

    The door from the living quarters burst open.
    ‘What’s going on!’ demanded Madame Crozier. ‘What’s all the noise?’
    ‘It’s nothing, madame. The young lady is upset. Just a little misunderstanding,’ said Mai with a rueful smile.
    ‘I’ve been telling your Boche friend a few home truths,’ cried Janine. ‘You talk to him if you want, maman. Me, I’ve had enough!’
    She pushed her way past her mother and disappeared.
    ‘Janine! Come back here!’ commanded Madame Crozier. ‘Lieutenant, I’m so sorry, you must forgive her, take no notice, she’s overwrought. Excuse me.’
    She turned and went after her daughter. Soon angry voices drifted back into the shop where Mai and Valois stood looking at each other.
    ‘And you are…?’ said Mai courteously.
    ‘Valois. Of the Ministry of Finance.’
    ‘Ah. Not in Vichy, monsieur?’
    ‘Finance remains in Paris.’
    ‘Of course. Good day, Monsieur Valois.’
    No salute or heel clicking this time. He turned and left the shop. Christian Valois went to the door and watched him stroll slowly along the pavement. His back presented an easy target. With a shock of self-recognition, Valois found himself imagining pulling out a gun