Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(56)

“Although it was dangerous, now many times I found reasons to return to the chateau. Anne-Marie and her brother—he was much younger, maybe four years old—had taken refuge with Madame and Anne-Marie stayed even when Frédéric was sent deeper into the countryside for safety. I was young and vain and knew that she stayed for me. It was heart-wrenching, her tears and his cries the day he left. I was young and full of idealism. The boy would be safer, and she and I would not be separated. For me she was my heart, the one who would come to know all of my secrets. They knew my true name, what my life had been before. With her I began to dream of life again.”

The flood wall had broken and, unbidden, her dreams, hers and George’s, flowed. What had they dreamt of? Was their dream ever truly his dream?

“I had found someone to live for. We were the same, Anne-Marie and me. Madame was of another world, yet for the duration of these years she was our partner in a strange way. She guarded Citoyen’s secrets carefully. We used the chateau and he hated that it put her in danger, but she insisted. Anne-Marie and Madame lived in that great place all alone and it was silent and forbidding and they were always waiting, not knowing when we would need their help; Madame afraid someone would realize her husband had not fled the country at the start of the war and use her to get to him. She lived a dangerous double life, always balancing a need to keep the villagers suspicious and aloof, mixing disdain and chilly acceptance of the Germans, and her real work for the Resistance.”

“She is the one who showed you how to survive?”

Arsov started, as if dragged from a dream. “Yes, she showed me how to survive the worst that can happen.” He motioned for a cigarette and Agnes held out the silver box. “I remember the beginning of the end so clearly. On this particular trip Citoyen and I were in the region to meet a man important to the war effort. He is dead now, this man, but I will call him Monsieur X for his role in the war remains a great secret. We were ambushed on our way to the rendezvous. Citoyen was injured, badly, bullets in his abdomen and his thigh, and we were separated. There was another hiding place that we occasionally used and I took Monsieur X there, then left to find Citoyen. Because of his injuries, I knew he would have to make his way to the chateau, for there we had medicine. He traveled slowly and, despite my detour, I arrived just after him. From the bank of the river I heard the shots, then saw Anne-Marie run screaming from the chateau into the arms of the Germans who were jumping from their automobiles. She was hysterical—that was not acting—screaming that an injured man had broken in and that Madame had shot him. She sobbed and fell on the ground and the German captain ordered a search for more partisans. I knew what had happened without the explanation that came later. Citoyen hadn’t time to hide; the Germans were too close and he had shot himself, standing in the kitchen of his home in front of his wife rather than be taken or implicate her. Anne-Marie was sent out to sell the story to the Germans when they arrived only a few minutes later. Her hysteria was real and they believed that she was frightened of the man. They searched the chateau. I could see lights flickering through the normally darkened windows, but they were looking for others like Citoyen, men who had crept in under darkness to steal. They did not look, really search, for secret hideaways and those who were in the room under the bridge were not discovered.”

“Didn’t someone recognize Citoyen and realize he was Madame’s husband?” Agnes asked. “Of course the Germans weren’t locals. They wouldn’t have known him.”

“He should not have been recognizable by the local platoon, but Madame knew that the Germans were thorough. They document and we knew that.” Arsov paused. “That is why there were two shots. The first, his, instant death. The second was Madame’s into his face. She destroyed his features.” His fingers curled until his hands were tight fists. “I have never met a woman like Madame before or since. I was at first deceived by her elegance and manner, but beneath this calm disinterest was a woman who was deeply interested and unafraid to act. She would never have let him die in vain.”

Agnes was afraid to breathe, to do anything to disturb the quiet of the room. Some ways off Petit laughed loudly and, although the nurse shushed him, the spell was broken.

“Who are Citoyen and Madame?” asked Agnes. “Their real names.”

“Have you ever had a secret, Inspector, a real life-and-death secret? I have had these secrets, secrets between two people, and the release does not necessarily come with death. Le Citoyen and Madame separately gave me a chance at life. He gave me France and she introduced me to my love. I will never forget this or stop serving them.”

Agnes waited silently for a few minutes. Arsov was asleep. The nurse approached and nodded. He was old and needed his rest. They would go.





Twenty

Agnes jolted awake at the sound of footsteps. She was seated in the dark shadows of the chateau’s library. Most of the candles had long since guttered and the fires were banked for the night.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, embarrassed when she saw the figure in front of her. “I wanted a book to read,” she added inconsequently.

Marie-Chantal held her finger to her lips and motioned toward Mimi, who was nestled deep into the seat of a wing-backed chair. “She was put to bed hours ago and when I checked she’d gotten up again. She is incorrigible.” She studied the sleeping figure. “It’s almost a shame to wake her, though.”