End of Spies by Alex Gerlis (best free ereader txt) 📗

if she was in a hurry. ‘Yes, my husband. He had no idea, of course, about what I’d been up to – he was so arrogant that he assumed I was just another loyal Parisian wife, in awe of him and with no opinion of her own. When the city was liberated, he was terrified – he spent days trying to destroy documents and coaching me on how we were to account for ourselves during the occupation. I arranged for some of my resistance comrades to come to our apartment one evening a week after the liberation. Before they were due to arrive, I sat him down and told him what I’d been up to – how I was so angry at his informing on the Jewish family that I had joined the resistance, and how active I’d been. He was beyond shocked, and pleaded with me to help him, and then, as arranged, my comrades arrived.’ She paused, holding her cigarette in front of her face and watching the smoke spiral towards the ceiling.

‘And?’

‘They took him away.’ She shifted in her seat and tipped some more cognac into her cup. ‘I guess you want to know what happened to him? Le épuration sauvage: he was handed over to a group of Jewish resistance fighters who were specifically looking for people who’d informed on Jews, leading to their deportation. They made him write a full confession.’

‘And has he been put on trial?’

‘There’s a French saying: manger les pissenlits par la racine. How would you translate?’

‘It means to eat dandelions by the root,’ said Wilson.

She paused, looking at the others for a reaction. ‘It means he’s dead. Thank God.’

She smiled sweetly as she opened her handbag, removed her lipstick and proceeded to apply it. ‘That’s my story, so to find someone who knew le furet will be a pleasure. I will make some calls this afternoon and speak to people. Let’s meet back here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’

Paris had continued to feel like a honeymoon. On Wilson’s recommendation, they dined that evening at Fouquet’s on the corner of the Champs-Elysées and Avenue George V. They both had caviar and duck and agreed that after what they’d both been through Tom Gilbey would find it hard to deny this meal on their expenses. They toasted Gilbey with a champagne cocktail, and Prince explained how the talk was that Gilbey’s family had set up one of the most famous gin distilleries in England.

When they turned into rue de Duras just before eight o’clock the next morning, a heavy drizzle had made the cobbles slippery and a black Citroën was waiting outside the bar, its engine running. As they approached it, the passenger door opened and Marguerite gestured for them to get in the back. She turned round as it pulled away.

‘I think I have had some luck – maybe. We’re heading to Val-de-Marne, it’s about half an hour’s drive south of Paris. There’s a large prison there called Fresnes. The Germans used it as a place to imprison and torture many of our resistance comrades. Now it’s full of collaborators – we’re interested in one of them.’

‘But if they’re a prisoner, won’t this all need to be official?’

‘You don’t need to worry about that. The resistance still carries considerable moral authority. Last night we arranged for the prisoner to be moved to a section that is under the control of one of our former comrades. The only thing I ask is that you don’t speak until we’re in a room with them. Meanwhile, enjoy the journey. Do you like this car?’

‘It’s magnificent!’

‘One of the fleet of Citroëns the Gestapo had in Paris. My group borrowed them.’

An hour later, they were in a small office in the basement of the prison. The car had driven through a side entrance, passing through three security barriers until they reached a small cobbled courtyard, where a tall, strikingly handsome man in a black uniform was waiting for them in an open doorway. He shook their hands, introduced himself as Benoît and told them to follow him.

He led them into a room in the basement and closed the door. ‘I have made sure my most trusted guards are on duty today. They’ll bring the prisoner in and then wait outside. I can give you a maximum of forty-five minutes with her. Marguerite, you have the file there on the table. I’ll give you a few minutes to read it, and then they’ll send her in.’

Prince and Hanne sat either side of Marguerite at a metal table as they studied the file together:

Name: Anna Lefebvre

Age: 47

Residence: Sarcelles

Date of arrest: 17 July 1945

Alleged offence: the prisoner Anna Lefebvre was employed by the German occupying forces from October 1940 as a clerical worker. From November 1941 she worked for the Gestapo at 11 rue de Saussaies in the 8th arrondissement. We have specific information from three sources that after a period as a records clerk in January 1943, Lefebvre transferred to a section of the Gestapo that comprised French citizens who undertook surveillance on other French subjects. See appendices to this file for details of cases she worked on, which include infiltrating a resistance group and informing on hidden families. Lefebvre is understood to have been an active member of this unit until July 1944, when she left Paris ahead of the liberation. In July this year, acting on information received, she was arrested in Blois, where she had been living under the false identity of Eugénie Paquet. She claims she was forced to work for the Gestapo and says it was only ever as a clerk.

Action: trial of prisoner Anna Lefebvre scheduled for November 1945 at Fresnes.

When Anna Lefebvre was led into the room, she looked surprisingly defiant. Despite her prison clothes, she had a certain elegance. The collar of her prison blouse was turned up, and she appeared to be wearing make-up. She held her hands out in the expectation that the guards would remove her