Chapter Twenty-seven
He walked away from where she knelt on the carpet, her head bowed and her eyes lowered.
Not even a week!
"Continue your story, Madame de Chagny.
She did not move as she resumed her account.
"He took me out of Marseille and brought me to his uncle's home near London. We were married there. A few weeks later, we went back to Paris."
"Paris? But why?"
"Raoul's uncle, Sir George Lowethorpe, is employed by His Majesty's government. Because Raoul was raised in Paris, he has been acting as Sir George's agent there. He was working to establish contact with various small underground groups that are organizing to oppose the occupation."
Erik nodded slowly. During those days when Sam and a physician named Ravic had hidden him and tended to his injuries, he had heard talk...mainly from Dr. Ravic...of such groups and agents.
You gambled, Christine. You married into constant danger.
"Raoul wanted me to stay behind in England. He said Sir George and his wife, Isobel, would look after me during his absences. But I went back to Paris with him."
"Why did you go back with him? Surely, you knew the risk," Erik said, watching her reflection, afraid that her answer might involve him.
"It was my duty as his wife," she said, rubbing her forehead as if to ward off a headache, "And I hoped to find Sam...to learn exactly what happened to you...to find out how you died."
So you were there...I was calling for you through the pain, through the fever and delirium...and you were so close to me.
He met his own gaze in the mirror and his fingers found the edge of his mask.
"And this price on de Chagny's head?"
"A man Raoul trusted...a friend he knew at the university...he went to the Nazis and told them of Raoul's activities...that Raoul was the liason between the resistance groups and the British government. We had to flee Paris...the order had been given for Raoul's arrest...and we then came here to Casablanca."
And then you came back to me.
Raoul sat across from Philippe in the tiny, tawdry Cafe du Fantasie. It was, as Philippe had said, no place to bring a lady. It was a shabby blend of coffee house and brothel.
"I would advise you not to stay long in Casablanca, Monsieur. And be very vigilant while you are here."
Raoul slowly stirred the thick, foul-smelling coffee that a thin, toothy waiter had set before him. It was quite obvious that the majority of the patrons were not there for the quality of the service or the menu.
"You know something that I do not," he asked.
Philippe frowned, sipping reluctantly at his own drink.
"Are you aware that three German officers arrived in Casablanca shortly after you?"
"Yes. I saw them last night at La Belle Reve."
"Major Christiaan Hetzner is the senior officer. He is here for one purpose and one alone. To make certain that you never leave Casablanca."