V2 A Novel of World War II - Robert Harris Page 0,95
and the images leaped up at you in 3D. Gazing down now at the desk drawer, everything that had happened over the past two days acquired a new perspective. For almost a minute she sat calmly, remembering every tiny detail: incidents that had meant nothing by themselves but that together made up a different picture. The reluctance of the Vermeulens to take her in. The photograph of the dead son placed face down on the desk in the study. The Nazi salute in the waterfront bar. Arnaud’s nervous glances at the ceiling while they were making love. The empty food cupboard. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke outside the back door that morning.
She rose, left the bedroom and walked along the passage to the landing, then began to climb the stairs to the second floor. She guessed that the room directly above hers must be at the rear of the house, on the left. The door was half-open. Inside, the sheets on the single bed were tangled, as if someone had been tossing and turning in a fever. There was a strong male smell of sweat and stale cigarettes. Piles of books. A first-aid box, its lid open, containing rolled bandages, gauze, lint pads, a bottle of antiseptic. On the dressing table, a tin of the Fray Bentos corned beef she had presented to Madam Vermeulen, empty, with a spoon stuck in it that had been licked clean. She opened the dressing table drawer. A small grey identity card, like a passport, with 3. SS Panzer Division ‘Wiking’ written on the outside, and on the inside a picture of a young man remarkably like Arnaud, made out in the name of Guillaume Vermeulen, with his blood group, the signature of his commanding officer, and a purple swastika stamp.
Although her heart was thumping, her mind was cool and sharp. Guillaume was not dead. He had fought for the Germans. He was in hiding – wounded, by the look of it. He would not dare show his face out of doors. Therefore, while the others might have gone out, he must still be in the house. He would almost certainly have heard her knocking at the front door, heard her come in, heard her go into the kitchen and come upstairs.
Slowly she turned around, half expecting to find him behind her. But the doorway was clear, so too the landing and the staircase. She descended to the first-floor landing and peered over the banister down into the hall. The black-and-white tiled floor was deserted. He was unlikely to be in any of the other bedrooms, so either he was in the parlour or – more likely, given how cold and unused the parlour seemed – he was in his father’s study, probably listening. She calculated the distance to the front door. She could make a run for it, but that might bring him out to intercept her. Better, then, to walk normally. She looked around for anything she might be able to use as a weapon, but there was nothing she could see. Very well. She squared her shoulders. Go.
She descended the stairs, crossed to the front door, opened it and stepped outside. The key was still in the lock. She locked the door and replaced the key on the lintel. The study window looked out over the garden. The curtains were drawn. She could imagine him behind them, the heavy material parted slightly, watching her. She suppressed her instinct to hurry and walked carefully across the grass. She was halfway to the gate when it opened and Dr and Madam Vermeulen came in with Arnaud.
They stopped in surprise. She advanced towards them. ‘You’re all safe,’ she said. ‘Thank goodness for that.’
Dr Vermeulen said coldly, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see if you were all right.’ Her voice sounded strangulated, high and false, so she added, rather too brightly, ‘Where did the rocket land, do you know?’
Arnaud was looking at her intently. ‘We went to see but we couldn’t get close. It seems to have hit a field.’
‘That’s a bit of luck.’ She managed to smile at him. ‘Well, as long as you’re safe. I’ll see you all this evening.’
They were blocking the path. She made a move to leave, and for an instant she thought Arnaud would stop her. He seemed to be trying to weigh her up. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that would be good.’ He stood aside, and an instant later she was through the gate and out