The Eden Inheritance Read online

  ‘Be brave.’

  Tears ached in her throat.

  ‘I’ll try. But I don’t feel very brave.’

  ‘You will be,’ he said, ‘I know it. You are a very special woman, Kathryn. I never expected to feel this way about anyone, ever again. But there it is – I do.’

  ‘And I never knew it was possibleto feel this way at all.’

  ‘There you are then. Anything else is a bonus.’

  ‘I suppose so. What a time to find out though!’

  ‘That is often when it happens – when we are afraid there might be no second chances.’

  ‘Oh Paul …’

  ‘Go on now,’ he said gently. ‘Go and talk to Celestine.’

  She went. Alone, he thought: Thank God for that! At least when I know she is safe I’ll be able to get on with the job in hand.

  But the relief did nothing to ease the ache in his heart that came from knowing that within a few days she would be gone.

  Kathryn found Celestine in the walled garden, sitting on the old stone seat and staring into space. Kathryn sat down beside her.

  ‘I think I’ve found a way to get you and your baby out of reach of the Nazis. I’m going to take you to England.’

  Celestine’s eyes widened, huge dark-blue orbs in her sallow face.

  ‘England? But how? They’d never let us go.’

  ‘Look, you have to keep this completely to yourself, not mention it to Maman or Papa or anyone. There’s an English plane coming to drop supplies for the Resistance. We are going to take Guy and fly out on it.’

  ‘Oh!’ Celestine was silent for a moment, digesting the information, but instead of bombarding Kathryn with the questions she had expected, she only smiled slyly. ‘ It’s Paul’s doing, I suppose.’

  It was Kathryn’s turn to be surprised.

  ‘How do you know about Paul?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Christian told me. He’s an agent, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, be is. But Christian shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Gelestine laughed a little nervously. ‘You can trust me. I hate the Boche too, remember.’

  ‘I know you do, but all the same …’ Kathryn checked herself. No point agonising over it now; there were too many important plans to be made. ‘You do want to go?’

  ‘Of course I do! Oh Kathryn, you’ve no idea what a relief it would be to know I didn’t have to worry any more about them finding out my baby is half Jewish! Just to think he can be born in a free country … you can’t imagine what that will mean to me.’

  Kathryn hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she knew exactly what Celestine meant; that she felt exactly the same way. For Kathryn was beginning to be fairly certain that she, too, was pregnant.

  It had been a long while before she had recognised the signs. At first she had put the constant nausea that was troubling her down to the fact that she was so worried, though she now wondered how she could have beem so naive, considering she had felt exactly the same when she had been pregnant with Guy. Never one to be bothered with counting days she had not noticed either that her period had not come, until one day she woke up and thought in a rather puzzled way: When did I last have the curse? She began calculating, trying to tie it in with some event or other, only to realise that it must be almost two months ago. She had panicked then, examining her body for telltale signs, and when she found that her breasts had begun to change, the nipples harder and darker, the breasts themselves fuller and more tender, she knew in a minute without any doubt what she had failed to suspect for so long.

  She had stood staring at herself in the mirror, too stunned for the moment to think straight. When she had been pregnant with Guy it had been the fulfilment of a dream and she had been filled with joy. Now she felt only apprehension. This was no world into which to bring a new baby, this cauldron of suspicion and fear. And worse, she was not even sure who had fathered the tiny new life beginning within her. She would like to think, of course, that it was Paul. If it was, she would have something of his to carry into the years ahead, whatever might happen. But she could not be certain that the baby was Paul’s. Too vividly she remembered the occasion when Charles had forced himself on her. Charles had given her Guy within the first year of their marriage. Was it not quite likely that he might also be the father of the baby she was now carrying?

  Uncertainty and doubts plagued her and she had kept her own counsel about her condition. Would she have told anyone had she been sure who was the father? she wondered. Certainly she would have longed to share the news with Paul if she could have been certain the baby was his, but didn’t he have enough to worry about without that added complication? Arid to tell him now, with her hovering doubts, would mean admitting that single disgusting episode with Charles. As for telling Charles himself, she shrank from it. She felt too angry with him, too full of cold dislike, to want to share anything with him, much less this.

  She wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself much longer, of course. Soon it would be obvious for all to see. She wallowed in indecision, wondering how to deal with the situation.

  And then like the answer to a prayer Paul had offered her the flight out of France and Kathryn had known what she must do. Being away from Savigny would give her a breathing space. In addition, her baby, whoever had fathered him, would be-born in freedom. England might still be at war, but the dangers were clean-cut ones, not an ideal world but far preferable to the privations and insidious perils of occupied France. Besides, Kathryn thought with wry realism, if she remained here she might not even live to give birth to her child. She was, after all, involved with the Resistance. If that fact was discovered her chances would be slim indeed.

  She said none of this, however, to Celestine.

  ‘Get a few things together,’ she told the girl. ‘Not too much, we’ll have to travel light.’

  ‘I left most of my things in Paris anyway.’ Celestine sounded almost light-hearted. The only thing that is important to me is what I’m carrying right here.’ She patted her stomach with fondness and pride and Kathryn felt a moment’s envy for the simplicity of her priorities.

  ‘It might be dangerous, of course,’ she warned. ‘The plane will have to fry through flak. There’s always the risk of being shot down.’

  ‘We’ll get through,’ Celestine said. ‘ I know it. Oh, Kathryn, this is the best news I’ve had since this nightmare began.’ Her. face clouded slightly and she ran a hand through her straight dark hair. ‘What will Maman and Papa do, though? I won’t even be able to say goodbye to them!’

  ‘They’ll know it’s for the best. With any luck the war will soon be over and we’ll all be able to be together again.’

  Celestine nodded.

  ‘What will we do when we get to England?’

  ‘We’ll go to my parents. They’ll let us stay with them for the time being. They live in the country, well away from the bombing – or at least, I hope it is!’ She hugged Celestine briefly. ‘Be ready the minute I say the word. And remember, it would be safest not to mention this to anyone, even Christian.’

  Celestine hugged her back.

  ‘I understand. I won’t let you down, Kathryn. And you know something? I don’t think Charles realises for one moment how lucky he is to have you as a wife.’

  Kathryn smiled wryly.

  ‘I’m not sure he would agree with you about that,’ she said.

  The remark was totally ambiguous.

  Every day on his way to the distillery Charles checked the letterbox in the wall; every night on his way home he checked it again. He made excuses to Christian and his father for walking alone – easy as far as Christian was concerned, for he seemed to want to go off on his own far too often for Charles’ liking, much more difficult to get away from Guillaume. But somehow he managed it. Checking the box had become an obsession with him.

  For the first few days the tiny cave behind the stone was empty and Charles began to wonder if they had stopped
using this particular hiding place. It would make sense, he knew, to keep changing the letterboxes, and the valley between the château and the village was full of possibilities.

  Then one evening his seeking fingers encountered something that felt like folded paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it, trembling with excitement at his find.

  Once again the message was simple and uncoded.

  ‘listen for message, Le bébé s’appelle Beau. Act after dark same night.’

  Charles’ eyes narrowed. So, in spite of all his warnings, some kind of operation was being planned and, if the message was to be believed, imminent. If it went ahead von Rheinhardt would be furious; Charles had no doubt he would make reprisals as he had threatened. Unless the perpetrators were caught. Charles replaced the message and the loose stone and walked on, deep in thought. He had already decided he would have no compunction about betraying Paul. Not only would it save the innocent, it would also give him deep personal satisfaction. The bastard had played him for a fool in more ways than one and Charles was consumed with the desire for revenge. If he could be caught in the act of whatever foolishness he was planning, so much the better. All he, Charles, had to do was to listen for the message – Le bébé s’appelle Beau – and he could warn von Rheinhardt that something was in the offing.

  That night at seven o’clock he went to the small room he used as a study and tuned the wireless there to the BBC. He knew that was the time messages were transmitted – he had listened to them before, fuming at the multitude of coded gibberish which had increased dramatically over the past months. Half France must be resisting, judging by this evidence – including his own brother, which, of course, presented a problem. Charles had no wish to see Christian taken. He must, he thought, ensure that Christian played no part in whatever operation was planned. As for the others – well, they would get what they were asking for.

  Without the slightest compunction, Charles began to lay his plans.

  Guy was running around the garden pretending to be an aeroplane, arms stretched wide, humming loudly in an effort to imitate the sound of an aero-engine.

  Watching him, Kathryn had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from shouting at him to stop. With nerves stretched to breaking point by the days of waiting, it seemed to her that he was announcing to all the wodd that very soon an aeroplane would play a very important part in his life.

  That was nonsense, of course. He knew nothing of what was planned. It was simply a game played by a small boy for whom a fascination with flying was fast replacing his interest in his toy farm. But it jarred on her all the same.

  ‘Kathryn.’

  She looked up, startled, to see Paul at her side. He must have followed the path from the house that was obscured by the thick hedges and his shoes had made no sound on the grass.

  ‘You made me jump.’

  ‘Sorry. Listen – I just heard the message on the wireless. If it is repeated tonight that means the drop is on.’

  ‘For tonight.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve arranged for Albert to be at the gates with his truck at twenty-three-thirty hours. I didn’t think it was a very good idea for you to have to trek across the fields with Guy. Will you tell Celestine?’

  ‘Twenty-three-thirty hours – you mean half past eleven?’

  ‘Yes. You must be on time – he won’t be able to hang about.’

  ‘We will be.’ But her heart was hammering uncomfortably. After all the waiting she could hardly believe the time had arrived; now that it had, she did not know how she could bear to leave him. She looked at him, at every line of the face she loved with a depth she had never believed possible, and felt her heart would burst within her. If only she could tell him about the baby! If only she could be sure it was a part of him she was taking with her! But she could not be sure and she knew she must keep her secret.

  Until this moment he had been brisk, efficient, thinking only of the arrangements he had to make. Now, seeing her look, his own heart twisted.

  ‘Kathryn, don’t,’ he said. ‘We will be together again one day, I promise you.’

  He gently brushed her hair away from her face, letting his fingers linger on the base of her neck. She raised her hand to place it on top of his and after a moment he turned it over, curling his fingers around hers. Such a little touch, yet it epitomised all the depth of the feeling they shared, as if the whole of their beings was there concentrated in the small area where their fingers brushed, generating warmth and electricity and mutual understanding. She learned towards him, oblivious to everything else, lost in a world where there were only their two selves. His lips found hers and they kissed with all the desperation of two people who knew that their time together was short and that soon they would be denied even the shared secret glance, the clandestine touch.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered, and her breath on his cheek was like a sigh. ‘You will take care, won’t you? Promise me?’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ But they both knew it was a promise he might be unable to keep.

  ‘Mummy?’ Guy’s voice, questioning, broke the spell. She turned quickly to see him standing there, arms still outstretched like wings, small face perplexed. She felt a rush of guilt. How much had he seen?

  ‘Guy – you startled me!’

  For a moment Guy regarded them solemnly, looking from one to the other. He could not understand why they were sitting there like that, so close together. He’d never seen his mother so close to anyone – he was the only one she cuddled. He experienced a flash of something close to jealousy, then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone again, along with his interest in an unfamiliar scenario.

  ‘Look at me, Monsieur Paul!’ he shouted. ‘I’m an aeroplane!’

  ‘Oh, are you?’ Paul’s voice sounded level as it always did. Only Kathryn was aware of the slightly rough edge betraying his inner feelings.

  ‘Yes – watch me! Watch me!’

  And he was off again, wheeling around the garden in a huge circle.

  ‘He saw us,’ Kathryn said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. One day soon he’ll have to get used to it, won’t he?’

  She laughed nervously.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  The thought lifted her spirits. For a moment it put her in touch with a future where there would be no more fear, no more pretence – and no more partings. She held on tightly to the illusion, knowing she needed it to give her courage for what lay ahead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WHEN HE JOINED them for dinner that evening Paul’s eyes sought Kathryn’s and he gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she realised what it meant; the drop was on for tonight.

  As they sat down to eat her thoughts were racing, checking over the preparations she had made – a bag packed with the few things she was able to take, Guy’s clean shorts and a warm jumper laid out ready to dress him in when the time came to wake him and lead him quietly out of the house. But at least Charles had taken to sleeping in his dressing room – if they sail shared a bed the whole plan would have been much more difficult to execute.

  She had primed Celestine too, and now, glancing at her sister-in-law, she saw her own nervous tension reflected in Celestine’s pale face and edge of palpable excitement.

  ‘Yes – tonight,’ she whispered to Celestine as she leaned towards her to reach for the salt, and heard the quick intake of breath,

  Was Celestine, too, thinking that this would be the last time they would all sit around this table together for dinner? Kathryn wondered She doubted it. To Celestine this was merely a temporary escape. One day soon when the Allies had driven the Nazis out of her beloved France she would come home again and everything would be as before. But Kathryn knew that whatever the outcome she would never again return to Savigny as the daughter of the house. That part of her life was over forever and she could not regret it. She had never felt truly at home here even in the days when she had been in love with Charles. Now, despising him, she co
uld feel only immense relief that the charade was almost over. But it was a strange feeling, nevertheless, knowing that a ritual which was now so totally familiar would soon be consigned to the past.

  Occasionally as they ate she glanced at Paul, but he was avoiding looking at her. It was Charles whose eyes seemed to be on her whenever she looked in his direction, and the expression on his face frightened her a little. It was almost as if he was gloating, she thought – that hooded glance, that twist to his lips that might have been mistaken for a smile if one failed to notice that it did not reach his eyes. Had Guy said something to him about finding her practically in Paul’s arms? Surely he was too young to understand the significance of what he had seen. ‘I saw Mummy kissing Monsieur Paul.’ It could have been that. But in that case surely Charles would have looked angry, not so … triumphant.

  She gave herself a small mental shake. No point worrying about it now. If all went well in a few hours’ time she would be leaving Savigny – and Charles – forever.

  The meal proceeded at its usual leisurely pace. For generations the de Savignys had been taking their time over enjoying the fine food and wines that graced their table and although the fare was now frugal by comparison the habit of lingering over dinner was too much a part of their routine to be altered. Kathryn kept an eye on the elegant cased clock which stood on the mantel shelf as one course followed another, and thought it must be playing tricks on her. Sometimes the hands seemed to have moved scarcely at all, sometimes they had raced with frightening speed through another half-hour. Her throat felt tight with nerves, her mouth so dry it was difficult to swallow. She sipped at her wine, wishing she could drink more and knowing she dared not She needed to be sharp for what lay ahead, not fuddled from the effects of alcohol however calming it might be to her tight-drawn nerves. Instead she filled her glass from the pitcher of water, fresh from the well in the central courtyard and icy cold in spite of the searing temperature of the day, and saw Charles watching her again.