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T he violent storm had passed as though it had been a figment of the imagination, and the blooms fluttered on the magnolia trees in the balmy evening air.

Armand found it rude in the extreme that his passenger, Walter Von Schneider, made no effort to engage with him.

It was a sign of poor breeding, he decided.

When Armand went to Paris for training on how to hunt the enemy in their midst, which took place at the Gestapo’s infamous HQ on Avenue Foch, the inferior quality of the newly ranked police officers who attended shocked him.

Armand considered himself special, despite his humble upbringing, but most of the attendees were clearly out of their depth, whereas he shone and was proud of his performance.

It was common knowledge that experienced long serving police officers loyal to the pre-war administration had been replaced by sycophants, handpicked by the Vichy government to appease the Nazis.

Whilst Armand supported the initiative wholeheartedly when it suited him and was all for a new order, the experience at Gestapo HQ disturbed him.

Von Schneider eventually raised his head from his newspaper and snapped, ‘How long until we reach this wretched chateau? I’m seasick around these bends and up and down these hills.’

Armand bit back what would have been his angry retort if the man wasn’t a special guest of the commissaire and an esteemed member of the Gestapo.

‘I detest leaving Paris,’ Von Schneider complained. ‘It’s the only civilised city in the whole of this damned country, judging by this provincial backwater.’

Armand seethed with indignation and had to force himself to remain courteous.

It was too dangerous to share his real thoughts and wouldn’t further his cause.

He must put up with these faux leaders on his rise.

Just because they were Nazis didn’t mean they all possessed Hitler’s intelligence and charisma.

He consoled himself that every great man faced vicissitudes on his rise to the top, and this was merely a necessary evil he would look back on and laugh.

Unable to silence himself entirely, Armand pointed to the breathtaking view of the golden sun sinking over the Pyrenees in the distance from the top of the hill.

‘The medieval city of Toulouse is known as La Ville Rose and is admired the world over.’ He paused.

‘I’m sure you’ll agree that’s a stirring scene, Herr Von Schneider. ’

His passenger snorted. ‘It’s not bad, I suppose, but it doesn’t compare to the Bavarian Alps,’

Armand clamped his jaw tight. Who was this bully to lecture him and disparage his beautiful city?

Everyone knew Germany was a lowly mongrel state.

It wasn’t all that long ago it was still called Prussia.

That was why Hitler had such a monumental task on his hands in his admirable quest to cleanse Europe.

Germany had been a big part of the problem, flooded with undesirables, and until the Führer rose to power, wealthy Jews controlled everything.

Armand took several deep, calming breaths.

He mustn’t lose his temper and ruin his chance to make a useful contact, and so he remained silent until the car swung through the wrought-iron gates of the chateau.

This time, a staff member greeted them. Armand expected Michel Dubois, his prey, to await them and disappointed slithered through him.

The butler was as formal as though he were greeting guests at the Palace of Versailles, and this time Armand harboured no illusions that he would be invited to dine with the police chief and his Gestapo friend.

As if on cue, the commissaire’s car rolled into the spot beside them. He had opted to drive himself this evening and instructed Armand to be completely at the beck and call of their elite guest.

Armand opened the door for his passenger, who stepped out of the car and then shrugged his black leather trench coat off and handed it to him as though he were a servant who lived solely for his comfort.

The commissaire greeted Von Schneider enthusiastically, and then the butler ushered them towards the chateau.

Armand glanced around the courtyard and his eyes swept over the medieval building, and he tilted his head back to look up at the charming turret that rivalled a scene from a fairytale.

The small window etched into the pink-hued stone was like a porthole in the pale blue sky.

What a magnificent view it must be from all the way up there.

Armand decided after dinner he would ask the housekeeper if he might walk up there and see it for himself.

The troublesome big dog appeared in the courtyard and growled and barked at him, baring his sharp teeth.

Armand froze, the taste of fear filling his throat.

The housekeeper ran outside and called the dog. ‘Leave Monsieur Armand alone, Beau,’ she scolded him. The dog whined but immediately stood down. ‘He’s a teddy bear,’ she said. ‘Just likes to pretend he’s fierce.’

Armand thought she should keep her dog away from guests, but he didn’t want to risk turning her against him before dinner, so he followed her in, still shaken by his encounter with the dog.

When he was seated in the picture window overlooking the city, his thoughts soared once more.

Soon, if events played out as he envisioned, the old class hierarchy would be destroyed, and he could live in this very chateau.

He swirled his drink in the expensive, heavy glass and savoured every sip as his imagination grew wings, and his fantasies became ever grander. The housekeeper was amenable, and he might even keep her on to serve him.

But one thing was certain. When he was master of the chateau, he would shoot that ugly, vicious dog.