Béatrice could feel the prick of tears in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks, and as her pride evaporated like a puddle in the sun, she meekly followed Claude into the house.
41
Revelations
Renazé, 2005
Béatrice wiped away a tear that had leaked from the corner of her eye. She had ceased picking at the tassel on one of the cushions that were scattered along the sofa and raised her eyes to meet Dottie’s.
‘So now do you understand? I’m sure there is no need for me to go into detail about what happened in the farmhouse, but Claude made it clear that to ensure his silence I would be required to, shall we say, be nice. Not only did he take my virginity, for a while he took away my sanity and plunged me into the depths of fear and shame. He said that Vincent had put everyone in danger by killing Jörg and if the other members of the brigade found out there would be trouble. He told me he would try to keep me safe from them but if the Boche came, they would have no mercy. They always said they’d take ten lives for one of theirs. I thought I would die from the sheer terror.
‘Afterwards, I cried all the way home and once I had changed and thrown away the oil-stained camisole, I cycled to the edge of the village, praying that Vincent would use the main road from Nantes. I wanted to apologise, say I forgave him and warn him of the danger. I would have told him to turn around and go somewhere safe. For the next two days I got up at dawn and waited until it was pitch black. It rained, it was cold, but I did not care. In the end I missed him. I should have known he would sneak back unnoticed and not simply drive around in plain sight, but I had to try, I had to do something. I never saw my brother again, not until they brought his body home. And I have lived with that image, and the guilt that has eaten me like a cancer, ever since.’
On hearing this Dottie stood. She had had enough and couldn’t bear for Béatrice to suffer any longer. The chasm between them had always been wide, ever since they’d met, but now was the time to close the gap and offer each other comfort, and in her case, the gift of truth and understanding. Moving to the sofa Dottie sat beside Béatrice and took her hand as she spoke.
‘Béatrice, it is now my turn to speak and there are things I need to tell you, and they will be hard to hear, but once I am done I hope you can forgive me as you would have forgiven Vincent. I cannot allow you to torment yourself for one day longer and if you need to direct your hate and anger towards anyone, it should be at me and Claude.’
At this Béatrice looked confused but did not remove her hand.
Dottie gave an ironic smile, knowing that in the next few seconds most of what Béatrice thought and said would change. ‘You see it wasn’t Vincent who killed Jörg, it was me. And it wasn’t the Boche that killed your brother, it was Claude.’
When Béatrice gasped and snatched her hand away, her face hardened, and her eyes bore into Dottie’s. She didn’t say a word. It was as though she’d been stunned into silence, so seizing the moment Dottie spoke hastily.
‘Please, let me explain. I know you are shocked but there is so much I have to tell you.’
Béatrice gave an almost unperceivable nod of the head. Feeling like a rabbit trapped in the glare of a spotlight, expecting a bullet from the shotgun, Dottie took a deep breath and told her the truth about Vincent and Jörg, and Polo; about everything.
Dottie felt like she’d been talking forever but it could only have been a few minutes, and Béatrice had remained silent throughout. Her confession had ended with Polo’s revelation about Vincent’s bag.
‘Your brother didn’t even know about my plan to kill Jörg, but after your threats I couldn’t risk you passing on information. I acted entirely alone. It was self-preservation, although it did solve two problems at once. That sounds harsh but it’s true.’
There was still no response from Béatrice.
‘When I told Vincent what I’d done, I offered to tell you the truth that day we came to see you, but he forbade me. You know the rest now, the sequence of events which followed.’
Béatrice was ashen. Dottie was the opposite. Flushed from her confession she wished that her confessor and spiritual judge would speak. Her wish was eventually granted.
In a voice barely a whisper, tears rolling down her cheeks, Béatrice spoke. ‘But in the end, I still betrayed Vincent. I told Claude he’d killed Jörg. He would have told the Boche and that’s why they rounded everyone up. I’d even given away that Vincent was in Nantes. Claude was always digging, I see that now. What a pathetic fool I was.’
‘You didn’t know Claude was working for the Germans, none of us did. You thought you were talking to a patriot not a traitor. So did I when I told him about Estelle, my friend in Nantes. He knew exactly what she looked like so would have given them a description. The SS or Gestapo would have tracked her down.’
At this Béatrice merely blinked.
‘And remember, it was my actions that brought on the reprisals. I killed one of theirs. They would have come for us eventually with or without the death of Jörg because Claude had been gathering information for a long time. He’d already betrayed the group in Nantes and probably others, and then my dearest friend was arrested, tortured and died in a camp in Germany.’ Just the thought of Maude threatened to break Dottie, so she forced her mind elsewhere and listened to the woman by her side.
‘Was it quick, for Jörg?’ Béatrice sounded weary, sad.
‘Yes, I promise.’ Dottie could hear the thud, see the blood-stained stave even now.
‘And the traitor… is he still alive, do you think?’
‘Yes, I know for a fact that he is still alive.’ Such injustice was not lost on Dottie.
‘What will happen to him?’
‘He will be punished. I will make sure.’ Of this Dottie was certain.
‘Good.’
