Page 36 of The Widows of Champagne
Hélène
S tepping into the room that had once belonged to her daughter, but was now filled with von Schmidt’s effects, Hélène shut the door and stared straight ahead. She took a moment to breathe past her nerves. He doesn’t know your secret. He would have turned you in by now.
This was true, if for no other reason than to forward his own career.
He’d proven that when he’d provided his superiors with the list of local Jewish business owners and their families. Such a calculated move would have brought him great reward, if he’d been the only one to supply the names. Three others in his ranks had produced a similar list.
Now was not the time to dwell on such matters.
Hélène needed to gather her composure and set aside her building fury. It took her a moment, and longer than perhaps it should. When she fastened her gaze on von Schmidt, she found she couldn’t lift her eyes higher than his chin.
“You’re upset,” he said, reaching for her, taking her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “No, don’t deny it. I can see it in the way you avoid looking at me directly.”
She forced her gaze higher. A superior grin passed over his lips, then moved into his eyes. Hélène hated that smug expression. “It was difficult watching Josephine contradict you.”
“That was unwise of her.”
His words made her wince. But she felt, finally, they were speaking candidly. And in their candor she heard his threat. His patience had come to an end. Josephine was in grave danger. Hélène would do what she could to protect her mother-in-law. “You said it yourself. Josephine is old and, most days, confused. She can barely remember the names of her own granddaughters. She is harmless.”
It was only half-true.
“You make a salient point. Now let me make mine so there is no misunderstanding.” With a quick, swift sweep of his hand, he gripped her arm. “My loyalty is to myself.”
This, she knew.
“But also, with the Third Reich.”
“Of course.” Why would he think it important to make this clarification? “I am aware of your allegiance, Helmut. You welcome Nazi elitists into this home, men who see themselves as superior to others, men like Standartenführer Bauer and Lieutenant Weber. And now you are one of them. You talk like them. You think like them. They have corrupted your mind.”
She’d spoken too freely. She felt her mistake in the tightening of his fingers on her bicep. It was too late to take back the words. She wasn’t sure she would if she could. His grip tightened.
He was hurting her.
“You think it’s only me who is like them? You give these men your smiles, your laughter.” Mouth grim, he dragged her to the full-length mirror next to the bureau and forced her to face her reflection. “Look at yourself, Hélène. Look at the color of your hair, the blue tint of your eyes.” He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. “You are one of them, too. One of us.”
Hélène tried not to sway on her feet. Her throat was raw with unshed tears. It felt like she’d swallowed a collection of knives. Still, she said to him, “One of us?”
“Yes, us. Aryan. The pure race.” His voice was driven, possessed. Evil. What made his words worse was that nothing he said was original. He was parroting what others professed before him. “We are among the privileged elite. Is that not exciting?”
Hélène stared at the face next to hers in the mirror. Side by side, cheeks pressed together, two images of the same coin. But their eyes were not the same. Hers, frightened, appalled. His, glowing with zeal. She’d known Helmut to be a greedy man, but never a fanatic.
When had this transformation happened? Why did she not trust it?
Something bleak and angry rose up from her soul. Her heart began to thump fast and hard. She thought she might be ill, right here, at von Schmidt’s feet. She pulled in several tight breaths until the sensation passed, then spoke to their shared reflection. “Privilege at the sacrifice of an entire race of people is not exciting, Helmut. It’s monstrous.”
“Wanting to purify mankind does not make us monsters. It makes us noble.”
“Noble?” She repeated the word, keeping her voice mild, her sentences short, even as her mind raged. “Genocide is not noble. It’s the method of animals.”
She expected an open-palmed slap to her cheek.
He laughed at her instead, the sound a little wild, and—again—not quite right. “You are wrong, my dear. Animals kill to survive. Nazis kill to purify. You will remember my words. Say it. You will remember what I have said to you this day.”
“I will remember.” She yanked her arm free and pushed away from him. She wanted nothing more than to be away from this room, this man. She still had to pack his suitcase.
“How long will you be in Paris?” she asked, training her voice to a throaty purr as much to distract him as herself. “One night, two? No longer, I hope.”
After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself. The smug, knowing grin was back on his face. This man, she knew. This man, she understood. “Don’t tell me you’re worried I will replace you.”
Her breathing faltered, ever-so-slightly, but she kept her smile bland, even as her mind wished, prayed, begged the Lord that von Schmidt would do just that. That he would cast her aside as nothing more than a piece of overused baggage. “I simply need to know how many changes of clothes to pack.”
His gaze stayed on her face, and she knew he was attempting to read her. “I plan to be gone for a few days, at least three, possibly four.”
She walked past him. “Will you require a business suit for your meetings, or will your uniform suffice?”
“I will need several suits. As I said, I expect to be gone awhile.” His voice wasn’t pleasant and, again, she thought something was wrong, something off. His tone was too syrupy, too sweet, the slippery hiss of a snake before a deadly strike.
“Very well.” She stood at the threshold of the closet and, lifting onto her toes, retrieved the valise from the shelf above her head. Her movements were stiff and impatient as she filled the case with various articles of clothing and von Schmidt’s personal items.
The thought of him leaving for more than a night brought such joy she had to fight to keep it off her face. He could not know how much she wanted him out of her life, not just for the days he would be gone, but forever. I could make that happen.
Emotion roared through her. The disquiet she’d been feeling since becoming this man’s mistress twisted hard in her stomach, almost painful, and her blood surged with a sudden burst of power. A strange sort of excitement. It was too much feeling, too fast. She felt like screaming. And then, a rush of calm swept through her.
I could make that happen.
She finished packing, shut the case, secured the straps and sent her mind somewhere else. She gave Helmut her full attention. He seemed as preoccupied as she, and it wasn’t long before he sent her away. She returned to her room and went to stand before her reflection.
How often had she gazed into this mirror? How many hours dedicated to the application of makeup, the adjustment of her hair, the addition of another layer of camouflage?
She touched her chin, curved her fingertip along her jaw, pulled at the skin at her cheek. She was no longer a girl anymore. She was not an old woman, either. She was trapped somewhere in between. Mature, but not young. Still beautiful. More curse than blessing, that. The lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes were minimal considering her age. Blond hair, blue eyes. You are one of us.
Not far from the truth, but not how he meant. She’d supplied the list of local Jewish names. Men, women and children who would soon be rounded up and sent to the camps. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t the only one to do so, or that her list wasn’t as extensive as the others. What she’d done, turning on her own kind, it made her a monster. No better than a Nazi.
But maybe, yes maybe, it took a monster to defeat a monster. A plan began formulating in her mind.
She went to the window and looked out. It was the time of day when everything softened. The sun dipped below the horizon. That final burst of light caught in the clouds and lingered in a kaleidoscope of pastel colors. Pink melted into blue into gold into yellow and even purple. It broke her heart to look at that sky so full of God’s handiwork, knowing others were locked in a sports arena, or a train car, or a terrible cage, unable to absorb the beauty.
With trembling fingers, she lit a cigarette and considered her options. She sat in front of the mirror again, staring at her face. She stayed there for hours, smoking, thinking. Night fell. The moon rose. And still she sat.
And she stared.
A band of clouds drifted over the moon slowly, slyly, casting her troubled reflection in shadow. Her mind went to dark places, where monsters roamed freely and atonement awaited the brave.
Von Schmidt would be leaving in the morning.
Hélène would be ready, knowing she would never find peace until the man vanished from her life for good.