11. A meeting

'They planned what?' Paul nearly choke on his drink and Sophie gave a short laugh at his reaction, quite pleased with the effect her revelations caused.

They were sitting at the table in the large kitchen of his tavern, where Paul had brought her so that they could quietly discuss the last week's events. In private; Paul's mother had left her usual sanctuary to give them some privacy and she was wiping tables in the main room, whereas François, Sophie's usual driver,had been told to stay in the car for this part of their visit, which of course did not make him happy at all.

There was still enough time left before the opening hours and Sophie was sipping her wine unhurriedly, particularly glad that she did not have to wear her usual work uniform. This time it was not necessary. She acted as herself.

Well, almost herself.

'Like I said, the plan was simple. Extremely simple,' Sophie continued in a low voice. 'They wanted to wait until those soldiers were completely drunk and then they were going to disarm and kill them. Or maybe kill and disarm, I'm not sure about the exact sequence of events, but the result would have been approximately the same. A military action,' she smirked mockingly at the memory of the night conversation she had held with Lt. Raine not so long ago.

Paul's eyes grew wider.

'You mean here?' he groaned in disbelief. And anxiety.

'Quiet,' she said warningly. His mother could not certainly hear them from the other room – even if she was interested in whatever kind of business her son had with the Larmount girl – but Marie, the waitress, might come to work earlier, as she occasionally did, and this part of their conversation was not exactly intended for her ears.

'Here?' he repeated and she nodded, watching his expression in amusement.

'And what the hell would I have done with four dead Krauts in my tavern?' he whispered dramatically.

'No idea,' she shrugged. 'I guess they didn't really take that into account. Apparently it was a good thing that you asked me to take them out of here. Really good. Not only for them.'

He cursed under his breath. 'Do they have any idea about what we're doing here?'

'Now they know,' she admitted, lighting a cigarette.

'So I hope they won't come up again with anything like that.'

'Definitely not this way,' she smirked slightly as he gave her a searching look. 'That's exactly what I need to discuss with you.'

'So what are they planning now? Attack on a German post?' he snorted in laughter, but she kept a straight face and his smile was slowly fading while they were looking at each other in silence.

'Which one?' he eventually asked.

She wrote the name of the street on a piece of paper and passed it to him. He read it quickly and whistled quietly before he lit a match and put it to the scrap.

'Quite ambitious,' he commented, watching the fire ravage the paper and reduce it to ashes. 'They mean a direct attack?'

'Not direct,' she denied, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray before she finished it. 'We must invent some excuse to get inside.'

'We?' he raised an eyebrow, watching her closely.

'Yes, you've heard well,' she suppressed a smile, knowing well that smiling could only make the things worse. 'I mean them and myself. Or rather Sophie von Eckstein,' she hastened to add before he managed to interrupt.

His mouth twisted into an unpleasant grimace. 'Whose idea was it?'

'Actually mine,' she admitted, holding his gaze even though now it was particularly unpleasant.

'You've completely lost your mind!' he hissed, his voice a bit louder than he intended and she cast a quick glance at the doorway leading to the main room.

'Don't shout,' she asked calmly.

'Alright, alright,' he agreed, irritation still evident in his voice. 'So I repeat my question. Are you crazy?'

She grimaced. 'I thought you'd be delighted. If I remember right, you were so eager to help them. Why so little enthusiasm right now?'

'It's a dangerous job,' he admitted, his tone gloomy and harsh.

'Not for them.'

'Jesus Christ, I don't mean them!' he said impatiently. 'They can do whatever they want. They're fucking professionals. They're fucking good at that job. I don't need to worry about them,' he gave her an intense look. 'What I mean is you. You've never done anything like that.'

She averted her eyes immediately, dropped them to her wine. You don't know that, she thought raising the glass to her lips to hide an involuntary smile, but I did worse. Much worse. And I had to go through much worse trouble when something went wrong.

She took a sip of the dark red liquid that was so delightfully good on her palate and for a moment she felt a sudden – and rather silly – urge to tell him the truth. Not for the first time; she had felt it on many occasions before. Yet she stifled this urge before it could become any stronger. Paul was not acquainted with any details of her double identity and she was not going to change this state of affairs without a really good reason.

Not that she did not trust him. She did. But trust had really nothing to do with that.

'I'd like to help them,' she said quietly after a moment of unbearable silence. 'And it's no more dangerous than anything I'm doing here. It's just different.'

'Still fucking risky,' he said matter-of-factly, his irritation gone almost completely.

'Why? It's definitely easier to raid a small post in the suburbs than the headquarters in the centre of Paris.'

'It's not an ordinary…' he began, but she interrupted him.

'I know. That's why I suggested this one.'

'What if someone recognizes you?' he asked, much calmer this time, but still obviously not approving of the whole idea.

'Not me,' she shrugged. 'Sophie von Eckstein. Besides we… they don't really plan to leave any witnesses.'

'I see,' he gave her a searching look. 'If they want to get inside officially, they'll need a damn good plan. And really good papers.'

She nodded. 'You're right, of course.'

'So maybe you should contact this friend of yours,' he suggested. 'What's his name? Monsieur Maroz? Marez?'

'I've already met him,' she held his gaze, although for a second his eyes gleamed with something she could not define well. Like irritation combined with excitement.

'In fact two hours ago,' she added. 'He's flourishing in Paris.'

Paul did not return a smile.

'You're not wasting time,' he said wryly. 'And what do you want from me? Permission for your involvement?' She felt a touch of irony in his voice, but the question was quite serious.

Paul was more than just her contact in the French Resistance, he was a sort of commander. She was responsible to him. Formally. And theoretically.

But Paul was neither much of a formalist nor a theoretician.

'Permission,' she agreed. 'Acceptance. And help.'

He was silent for a while, watching her with a slightly irritated expression and she did not urge him, waiting patiently for any decision he had to take.

'All right then', he finally said. 'When are you going to do this?'

She risked a faint smile to which he responded with a grin, half-amused and half-irritated.

'When we're ready,' she said.

'So what you wanna from me?' Paul emptied his glass in one gulp and looked at her expectantly.

'Any information you can get,' she almost whispered and he leaned forward not to miss any word. 'What we can expect there. How many guards. How many Germans altogether. Guardhouses. Weapons. Stuff like that.'

'Normally about fifteen,' he said, his tone totally businesslike. 'Fifteen Krauts. I'll check exactly and let you know about everything I'll be able to find out. Just give me some time.'

'How much?'

'Not much, don't worry.' His grin widened. 'I'll inform you very soon. I can even draw you the plan of this place. I've been there once.'

'Have you?' she asked in surprise.

'Yeah,' he smiled. 'The sins of youth. It was a police station before the war.'

And of course he could not refrain from telling her the whole story, both funny and disgusting details of his arrest after a night spent in a bar in the company of a good Scotch – and they were laughing at this until Marie came to work and Sophie said she must be leaving.

Paul saw her to the main room and when they were saying goodbye his mood was light and his eyes mischievous. Enough to ask her the question she had been expecting for the whole afternoon.

'Are you going to tell me how you met… him?' he asked quite unexpectedly, changing the last word at her warning glance. His mother still removing some invisible dust from the last table and Marie standing behind the counter were not exactly the audience she would like to have while answering any questions about Stiglitz.

'No, I'm not,' she rolled her eyes. 'So you can stop bothering me about that. Or you can ask François. He'll tell you his theory.'

Paul winked at her. 'I'm not asking about what I've already know.' He chuckled at her puzzled expression. 'Frank mentioned one or two details when we were bringing crates to the basement.'

She sighed irritably. 'I really shouldn't leave this gossip alone even for a moment.'

Paul smirked. 'Don't blame the boy. So?' he prompted. 'Are you going to tell me?'

Sophie hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully.

'I just met him two years ago. He kind of helped me. And now he simply recognized me. That's all. No romance involved.'

'No romance then or no romance now? Your grandmother doesn't usually get mad without a reason.'

'Like I said, no romance. Stop laughing,' she smiled with slight irritation at his insistence, but a sudden change she saw in his face and a glance he shot at the door behind her immediately wiped her smile off.

She turned around to follow his gaze and what she saw froze her to the spot.

There was a man standing at the doorframe. A German. A German officer dressed in a black uniform and a long leather coat; an attire that left her in no doubt about his profession. She recognized this style perfectly. The Gestapo.

He met her eyes for a second before his gaze turned to Paul.

'Bonjour,' he smiled at them, a slimy, sugary smile that made her blood curdle, but she replied to his greeting almost as casually as Paul and the man's smile grew wider. And more slimy.

'Are you open?' he asked in French, his German accent distinct. 'The entrance door was open. May I come in?'

To his credit, Paul composed his face in record time, promptly replacing the utter amazement that had graced his features a moment ago with professional attentiveness.

'By all means, major,' he said politely, gesturing to the nearest table, but the German did not move.

'I really like these small French taverns,' he said while his gaze was gliding over the room unhurriedly, taking in wooden tables, rows of bottles behind the counter and Marie, who was casting anxious glances at all of them.

Sophie did not take her eyes off him, analyzing his pale face, studying every little detail.

There was something wrong about this man, something that had lit a red warning light in the back of her mind the moment her eyes rested upon him. And it was not his Gestapo uniform. Not a sugary smile that in fact did not reach his eyes. Not even the skull and crossbones symbol that ornamented his cap. It was something else, something vague, indefinable, though Marta would probably called it an aura. He gave her the creeps.

And just when she realized that, he shot a look at her again.

'Is this charming lady your wife?' he asked Paul, who smiled widely.

'No, unfortunately not. Mademoiselle Larmount is just one of our suppliers.'

'Really?' the Gestapo major raised his eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. 'Forgive my professional curiosity, but what exactly do you supply here?'

It was really strange but she managed to find her voice at once and it did not sound neither hoarse nor shaky.

'Wine. Apples. Meat. Fish. Whatever the owner orders,' she explained with a smile so charming that it must have dispelled his doubt.

At least she hoped so.

'I see.' His smirk turned into a smile, although the difference between one and the other was hardly noticeable. 'I haven't introduced myself. Major Dieter Hellstrom, at your service.'

'Sophie Larmount,' she said, her lips still twisted into a smile.

To her surprise he held out his hand and when she automatically held out hers he did not shake it as she supposed he would. He raised it to his lips instead, leaning forward slightly, slowly, as if he wanted to test her reaction, and his mouth touched the back of her hand, leaving a wet trace on her skin.

And when he let go of her hand, he gave her a close, piercing look.

'Please excuse my presumptuousness, Mademoiselle Larmount, but haven't we met before?'

She cringed inwardly, though her expression betrayed nothing.

'I'm sorry, major, but I really can't remember all handsome officers I see in Paris.'

'No, no, no,' he said pensively. 'I don't think it was Paris.'

Deep inside she felt her slight prick of anxiety turn into the wave of panic. Quite irrational. He can't have known her.

At least she did not know him.

'So maybe Zurich?' she suggested. 'I lived with my parents in Switzerland for quite a couple of years.'

'That explains your slightly different accent,' he smiled, and it was written all over his face. He could not remember where he had met her. At least not yet.

And it was definitely wise to get out of his sight without delay.

'Probably you're right,' she admitted. 'Now I wish you a nice evening.'

'You're leaving?' he asked but the question sounded quite innocent. No suspicion, no threat or insistence in it.

'Yes, major. I was just about to leave when you came,' she gave him another charming smile that covered her feelings well enough.

'Goodbye then. I won't delay you any longer.' He cast a last close glance at her and eventually moved to choose himself a table.

She said goodbye to Paul, who winked at her and said that he would send his order soon. Marie smiled at her faintly, evidently anxious at the prospect of having a German major in their tavern. Paul's mother gave her a parting smile and Sophie went to the door, feeling Hellstrom's gaze on her back, almost sure that any moment a sharp voice from behind would stop her.

She did her best not to run the moment she left the tavern. She did not even quicken the pace too much and the distance she had to cover to reach the car seemed unbearably long. Frank noticed a change on her face at once and she told him whom she met in Paul's tavern. She told him everything. Except for all forebodings she had about that meeting. And she ignored his attempts at a conversation on their way back.

She was still scared. Terribly.

When they arrived home, she told him to release the dogs and stay on watch in the orchard before she stormed into the house like a hurricane, immediately catching the attention of those she wanted to talk to. This time the family meeting was brief and constructive. Gran heard her out in silence and announced her verdict with no hesitation. All, absolutely all temporary residents of their place must be taken to the basement immediately. No exception.

To say they were not happy about this was a total understatement. Mona got really angry and she accused Sophie of being paranoid. Karl, her brother, took offence at her for forcing him into the basement again; the same basement he had already left months ago. And Sarah burst into tears so violently that Sophie felt a twinge of almost physical pain.

But she was unyielding. They were all moved to basement rooms at once.

Utivich only shrugged his shoulders when she announced their decision to him and the necessity of hiding in the basement did not bother him in the least. He was not confined to bed any more and Sophie had the impression that he would happily follow any of their requests as long as he was close to Mona. A week was enough for the ginger beauty to wrap him around her little finger.

Hardly anyone slept well that night and when Emma arrived on the next day, early in the morning, Sophie started shooting questions at her even before the panting woman could even take off her coat and make herself comfortable in an armchair.

Emma only frowned slightly at the commotion.

'Everything's OK,' she explained calmly. 'He didn't ask any more questions about you, didn't mention you at all, didn't even talk to Paul more than necessary. He just had dinner, complimented Paul's mum on the stew, had two beers, read several pages of whatever book he had with him, smoked plenty of cigarettes and left before ten'.

'It was a Gestapo officer. They never come without a reason,' Sophie answered and immediately regretted saying that out loud as she cast a quick, worried look at the other woman.

One of Emma's nephews had been arrested by men in leather coats last year and to this day his fate had been unknown, in spite of his family's numerous attempts to learn the truth.

'It seems that this one did.' Emma smiled wryly. 'It wasn't an official visit. He just wanted to eat and drink. They also have their needs.'

Sophie averted her eyes and the woman took her hand.

'My dear, if I had known you would be so nervous, I would have come here yesterday.'

'You also think I'm exaggerating?' Sophie asked.

Emma watched her for a long moment.

'It's not a matter of exaggerating. Now you can cancel the alarm. But be careful. Very careful. In everything you do.'

XXX

Two large black dogs appeared out of thin air, emerged from behind raspberry bushes quite unexpectedly, menacing and silent as ghosts.

Stiglitz, who was leading their little group through the orchard, stopped dead in his track as soon as he saw them, and he warned the others in a low voice. But the dogs did not lunge at them – they stopped as well, keeping their distance as if invisible leashes did not allow them to come any closer.

'You didn't mention any dogs,' Aldo cursed under his breath.

'There weren't any dogs before,' Hugo replied calmly. 'Don't move,' he said, when Donowitz shifted impatiently and Hirschberg started to sneak away.

'We can't just stay here for the whole afternoon,' Donowitz grimaced. 'Maybe we should just shoot them down,' he added, not taking his eyes off the dogs even for a moment.

'That won't be necessary,' a sudden voice alarmed them only for a second.

François came out from behind a tree and the dogs noiselessly moved closer, flanking him when he shook hands with Donny and Hugo. And with the other two men, when Stiglitz made the introductions.

'Why did you let these beasts out?' Donowitz was the first to ask the question that bothered them all. 'They scared us shitless.'

'Sophie's orders,' Frank explained briefly.

'I should have known that,' Donny cast a furtive glance at Stiglitz. And kept his further comments to himself.

Aldo frowned a bit. 'Is the invitation still open? Or is it your way to cancel it?'

'No, no, sir,' François denied promptly. 'It's just… precautions.'

'Precautions?'

'Yes,' the boy shrugged again. 'Mrs. Larmount will explain it better. But before we go to the house, sir, you'd better leave some of your men on guard.'

Aldo watched him closely for a while, before he gave relevant orders to Hirschberg, who turned on his heel and promptly marched back to the truck they had left in the forest.

The dogs followed them lazily as Frank was leading them forward and when the whole group reached the edge of the orchard, the house came into view at its best. As well as a reception committee standing at the porch and Aldo immediately understood the true reason why Donowitz had never really stopped nagging him about coming here.

Women. Which definitely meant that he would have to keep an eye on his boys at any time.

He had no idea which of them – a red-haired girl in a green dress or a blond woman standing beside her – was responsible for a wide, dreamy grin that bloomed on Donny's face. Most probably both of them.

Perhaps it was also Sophie, who gave them a faint smile. Or maybe it was intended only for Stiglitz, whose eyes – Aldo could bet his whole military pay – had been riveted on her since they had come out into the open.

The elderly lady who appeared at the porch as they came closer eyed them with both caution and interest and it became clear to Aldo that whatever he was going to say he should say it right to her. And when she turned her gaze on him he saw something in her face – some authority, dignity and tenacity – that almost made him click his heels and salute. But of course he did not do this.

'Good afternoon, Mrs. Larmount,' he said and she gave him a nod.

'My name's Lt. Aldo Raine,' he continued when she remained silent, her eyes bored into him apraisingly. 'But I'm sure you already know that.'

'You're right, lieutenant,' she said and her voice sounded strong and firm, even though her English was coated with a melodious French accent. 'We're glad you've come. Very glad indeed. Would you mind if we talk in private for a while?'

Aldo eyed her for a moment. 'Right now?' he asked to make sure he understood her well.

'Right now,' she confirmed with a quizzical smile.

'Alright,' he nodded, not sure what to expect. But ready to learn that at once.

Sophie slipped out of the porch just after her grandmother and the lieutenant went to the sitting room, but she directed her steps towards the kitchen, now completely empty, as almost everyone was out to welcome the guests. She took a cup out of the cupboard to make herself just another coffee.

She did not hear him coming in, did not hear his footsteps at all, and a gentle touch on her shoulder startled her as much as a sudden voice.

'Escaping from me? You should have chosen a less obvious place.'

XXXXXXXXXX

Sorry for ending it like that, but I really couldn't carry on with this chapter ad infinitum :-). So I decided to move their conversation to the next chapter where it looks better.

Hope you liked this one, especially as the long-awaited Hellstrom finally appeared to play quite a nice part in this story :-).

Thanks for reading and of course constructive criticism welcome as always.