Jackdaws by Ken Follett Page B

aspirations.
    Dieter told Lieutenant Hesse to
drive to the château at Sainte-Cécile and make sure the Gestapo were ready to
cooperate. He did not want to risk being repulsed a second time by Major Weber.
Hesse drove off, and Dieter went up to the suite where he had left Stéphanie
last night.
    She got up from her chair as he
walked in. He drank in the welcome sight. Her red hair fell on bare shoulders,
and she wore a chestnut silk negligee and high-heeled slippers. He kissed her
hungrily and ran his hands over her slim body, grateful for the gift of her
beauty.
    "How nice that you're so
pleased to see me," she said with a smile. They spoke French together, as
always.
    Dieter inhaled the scent of her.
"Well, you smell better than Hans Hesse, especially when he's been up all
night."
    She brushed his hair back with a
soft hand. "You always make fun. But you wouldn't have protected Hans with
your own body."
    "True." He sighed and let
her go. "Christ, I'm tired."
    "Come to bed."
    He shook his head. "I have to
interrogate the prisoners. Hesse's coming back for me in an hour." He
slumped on the couch.
    "I'll get you something to
eat." She pressed the bell, and a minute later an elderly French waiter
tapped at the door. Stéphanie knew Dieter well enough to order for him. She
asked for a plate of ham with warm rolls and potato salad. "Some
wine?" she asked him.
    "No—it'll send me to
sleep."
    "A pot of coffee, then,"
she told the waiter. When the man had gone, she sat on the couch beside Dieter
and took his hand. "Did everything go according to plan?"
    "Yes. Rommel was quite
complimentary to me." He frowned anxiously. "I just hope I can live
up to the promises I made him."
    "I'm sure you will." She
did not ask for details. She knew he would tell her as much as he wanted to and
no more.
    He looked fondly at her, wondering
whether to say what was on his mind. It might spoil the pleasant atmosphere—but
it needed to be said. He sighed again. "If the invasion is successful, and
the Allies win back France, it will be the end for you and me. You know
that."
    She winced, as if at a sudden pain,
and let go of his hand. "Do I?"
    He knew that her husband had been
killed early in the war, and they had had no children. "Do you have any
family at all?" he asked her.
    "My parents died years ago. I
have a sister in Montreal."
    "Maybe we should be thinking
about how to send you over there."
    She shook her head. "No."
    "Why?"
    She would not meet his eye. "I
just wish the war would be over," she muttered.
    "No, you don't."
    She showed a rare flash of
irritation. "Of course I do."
    "How uncharacteristically
conventional of you," he said with a hint of scorn.
    "You can't possibly think war
is a good thing!"
    "You and I would not be
together, were it not for the war."
    "But what about all the
suffering?"
    "I'm an existentialist. War
enables people to be what they really are: the sadists become torturers, the
psychopaths make brave front-line troops, the bullies and the victims alike
have scope to play their roles to the hilt, and the whores are always
busy."
    She looked angry. "That tells
me pretty clearly what part I play."
    He stroked her soft cheek and
touched her lips with the tip of his finger. "You're a courtesan—and very
good at it."
    She moved her head away. "You
don't mean any of this. You're improvising on a tune, the way you do when you
sit at the piano."
    He smiled and nodded: he could play
a little jazz, much to his father's dismay. The analogy was apt. He was trying
out ideas, rather than expressing a firm conviction. "Perhaps you're
right."
    Her anger evaporated, and she looked
sad. "Did you mean the part about us separating, if the Germans leave
France?"
    He put his arm around her shoulders
and pulled her to him. She relaxed and laid her head on his chest. He kissed
the top of her head and stroked her hair. "It's not going to happen,"
he said.
    "Are you certain?"
    "I guarantee it."
    It was the second time today he had
made a promise