After the theater that evening she made love to him with a wild passion that reminded him of their early days together. Later Gautier lay in bed trying to understand the beautiful girl who rested beside him but he did not have a clue.
During the night Noelle Page had a dream about Colonel Mueller. The hairless albino Gestapo officer was torturing her with a branding iron, making burning swastikas in her flesh. He kept asking her questions, but his voice was so soft that Noelle could not hear him, and he kept pressing the hot metal into her, and suddenly it was Larry on the table, screaming with pain. Noelle awoke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding, and turned on the bedside lamp. She lit a cigarette with trembling fingers and tried to calm her nerves. She thought about Israel Katz. His leg had been amputated with an ax, and though she had not seen him since that afternoon at the bakery, she had received word from the concierge that he was alive but weak. It was becoming more and more difficult to hide him, and he was helpless on his own. The search for him had intensified. If he was going to be transported out of Paris, it would have to be done quickly. Noelle had really done nothing for which the Gestapo could arrest her: yet. Was the dream a premonition, a warning not to help Israel Katz? She lay in bed remembering. He had aided her when she had the abortion. He had helped her kill Larry's baby. He had given her money and helped her find a job. Dozens of men had done more important things for her than he had, yet Noelle felt no debt to them. Each of them, including her father, had wanted something from her, and she had paid in full for everything she had ever received. Israel Katz had never asked her for anything. She had to help him.
Noelle did not underestimate the problem. Colonel Mueller was already suspicious of her. She remembered her dream and shuddered. She must see to it that Mueller was never able to prove anything against her. Israel Katz had to be smuggled out of Paris, but how? Noelle was sure that all exits were closely watched. They would be watching the roads and the river. The Nazis might be cochons, but they were efficient cochons. It was a challenge and it could be a deadly one, but she was determined to try it. The problem was that there was no one she could turn to for help. The Nazis had reduced Armand Gautier to a quivering gelatin. No, she would have to do this alone. She thought of Colonel Mueller and General Scheider, and she wondered if a clash ever came, which one would emerge victorious.
The evening following Noelle's dream she and Armand Gautier attended a supper party. The host was Leslie Rocas, a wealthy patron of the arts. It was an eclectic collection of guests--bankers, artists, political leaders and a gathering of beautiful women whom Noelle felt were there mainly for the benefit of the Germans who were present. Gautier had noticed Noelle's preoccupation, but when he asked her what was wrong, she told him that everything was fine.
Fifteen minutes before supper was announced, a new arrival lumbered through the door and the moment that Noelle saw him she knew that her problem was going to be solved. She walked over to the hostess and said, "Darling, be an angel and put me next to Albert Heller."
Albert Heller was France's leading playwright. He was a large, shambling bear of a man in his sixties with a shock of white hair and broad, sloped shoulders. He was unusually tall for a Frenchman, but he would have stood out in a crowd in any case, for he had a remarkably ugly face and piercing green eyes that missed nothing. Heller had a vividly inventive imagination and had written more than a score of hit plays and motion pictures. He had been after Noelle to star in a new play of his and had sent her a copy of the manuscript. Now as she sat next to him at dinner, Noelle said, "I just finished reading your new play, Albert. I adored it."
His face lit up. "Will you do it?"
Noelle put a hand on his. "I wish I could, darling. Armand has committed me to another play."
He frowned, then sighed resignedly. "Merde! Ah, well, one day we will work together."
"I would enjoy that," Noelle said. "I love the way you write. It fascinates me the way writers create plots. I don't know how you do it."
He shrugged. "The same way you act. It is our trade, the way we make our living."
"No," she replied. "The ability to use your imagination in that way is a miracle to me." She gave an embarrassed laugh. "I know. I've been trying to write."
"Oh?" he said politely.
"Yes, but I'm stuck." Noelle took a deep breath and then looked around the table. All the other guests were engrossed in their own conversations. She leaned toward Albert Heller and lowered her voice. "I have a situation where my heroine is trying to smuggle her lover out of Paris. The Nazis are searching for him."
"Ah." The big man sat there, toying with a salad fork, drumming it against a plate. Then he said, "Easy. Have him put on a German uniform and walk right through them."
Noelle sighed and said, "There is a complication. He's been wounded. He can't walk. He lost a leg."
The drumming suddenly stopped. There was a long pause, then Heller said, "A barge on the Seine?"
"Watched."
"And all transportation out of Paris is being searched?"
"Yes."
"Then you must have the Nazis do the work for you."
"How?"
"Your heroine," he said, without looking at Noelle, "is she attractive?"
"Yes."
"Supposing," he said, "your heroine befriended a German officer. Someone of high rank. Is that possible?" Noelle turned to look at him, but he avoided her eyes.
"Yes."
"All right, then. Have her make a rendezvous with the officer. They drive off to spend a weekend somewhere outside Paris. Friends could arrange for your hero to be hidden in the trunk of the car. The officer must be important enough so that his car would not be searched."
"If the trunk is locked," Noelle asked, "would he not smother?"
Albert Heller took a sip of wine, quietly lost in thought. Finally he said, "Not necessarily." He spoke to Noelle for five minutes, keeping his voice low, and when he had finished, he said, "Good luck." And he still did not look at her.
Early the next morning Noelle telephoned General Scheider. An operator answered the switchboard, and a few moments later Noelle was put through to an aide and finally to the General's secretary.
"Who is calling General Scheider, please?"
"Noelle Page," she said, for the third time.
"I am sorry, but the General is in conference. He cannot be disturbed."
She hesitated. "Could I call him back later?"
"He will be in conference all day. I suggest you write the General a letter stating your business."
Noelle sat there a moment contemplating the idea and an ironic smile touched her lips.
"Never mind," she said. "Just tell him I called."
One hour later her phone rang, and it was General Hans Scheider. "Forgive me," he apologized. "That idiot didn't give me your message until just now. I would have left word for them to put you through, but it never occurred to me that you would telephone."
"I'm the one who should apologize," Noelle said. "I know how busy you are."
"Please. What can I do for you?"
Noelle hesitated, choosing her words. "Do you remember what you said about us at dinner?"
There was a short pause, then "Yes."
"I've been thinking about you a great deal, Hans. I would like very much to see you."
"Will you have supper with me tonight?" There was a sudden eagerness in his voice.
"Not in Paris," Noelle replied. "If we're going to be together, I would like us to be away from here."
"Where?" General Scheider asked.
"I want it to be some place special. Do you know Etratat?"
"No."
"It's a lovely little village about a hundred and fifty kilometers from Paris, near Le Havre. There's a quiet old inn there."
"It sounds wonderful, Noelle. It's not easy for me to get away right now," he added apologetically. "I am in the middle of--"
"I understand," Noelle interrupted icily, "perhaps some other time."
&
nbsp; "Wait!" There was a long pause. "When could you get away?"
"Saturday night after the show."
"I will make arrangements," he said. "We can fly down--"
"Why don't we drive?" Noelle asked. "It's so pleasant."
"Whatever you like. I'll pick you up at the theater."
Noelle thought quickly. "I have to come home and change first. Pick me up at my apartment, would you?"
"As you wish, my liebchen. Until Saturday night."
Fifteen minutes later Noelle was speaking to the concierge. He listened as she talked, shaking his head in vigorous protest.
"No, no, no! I will tell our friend, Mademoiselle, but he will not do it. He would be a fool to! You might as well ask him to go down and apply for a job at Gestapo headquarters."
"It can't fail," Noelle assured him. "The best brain in France figured it out."
When she walked out of the entrance of her apartment building that afternoon, she saw a man lounging against the wall pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper. As Noelle stepped into the crisp, winter air, the man straightened up and began to follow her at a discreet distance. Noelle strolled the streets slowly and leisurely, stopping to look into all the shop windows.
Five minutes after Noelle left the building, the concierge came out, glanced around to make sure he was not observed, then hailed a taxi and gave the address of a sporting goods shop in Montmartre.
Two hours later the concierge reported to Noelle. "He will be delivered to you Saturday night."
Saturday night when Noelle finished her performance, Colonel Kurt Mueller of the Gestapo was waiting for her backstage. A frisson of apprehension went through Noelle. The escape plan had been worked out to a split-second timing, and there was no room for any delays.
"I saw your performance from out front, Fraulein Page," Colonel Mueller said. "You improve each time."
The sound of his soft, high-pitched voice brought her dream back vividly.
"Thank you, Colonel. If you'll excuse me, I have to change."
Noelle started toward her dressing room, and he fell into step beside her.
"I will go with you," Colonel Mueller said.
She walked into her dressing room, the hairless albino Colonel close behind her. He made himself comfortable in an armchair. Noelle hesitated a moment and then began to undress as he watched indifferently. She knew that he was a homosexual, which deprived her of a valuable weapon--her sexuality.
"A little sparrow whispered something in my ear," Colonel Mueller said. "He is going to try to escape tonight."
Noelle's heart skipped a beat, but her face showed nothing. She began removing her makeup, fighting for time as she asked, "Who is going to try to escape tonight?"
"Your friend, Israel Katz."
Noelle swung around, and the movement made her suddenly conscious of the fact that she had removed her brassiere. "I don't know any--" She caught the quick triumphant gleam in his pink eyes and saw the trap just in time. "Wait," she said. "Are you talking about a young intern?"
"Ah, so you do remember him!"
"Barely. He treated me for pneumonia some time ago."
"And a self-induced abortion," Colonel Mueller said in that soft, high-pitched voice. The fear flooded back into her. The Gestapo would not have gone to this much trouble if they were not sure that she was involved. She was a fool to have gotten herself into this; but even as Noelle thought it, she knew that it was too late to back out. The wheels had already been set in motion and in a few hours Israel Katz would be either free...or dead. And she?
Colonel Mueller was saying, "You said that the last time you saw Katz was at the cafe a few weeks ago."
Noelle shook her head. "I said no such thing, Colonel."
Colonel Mueller looked steadily into her eyes, then let his gaze drop insolently to her naked breasts and down her belly to her sheer pants. Then he looked up into Noelle's eyes again and sighed. "I love beautiful things," he said softly. "It would be a shame to see beauty like yours destroyed. And all for a man who means nothing to you. How is your friend planning to get away, Fraulein?"
There was a quietness in his voice that sent shivers down her spine. She became Annette, the innocent, helpless character in her play.
"I really don't know what you're talking about, Colonel. I'd like to help you, but I don't know how."
Colonel Mueller looked at Noelle a long time, then stiffly rose to his feet. "I will teach you how, Fraulein," he promised softly, "and I will enjoy it."
He turned at the door to deliver a parting shot. "By the way, I have advised General Scheider not to go away with you for the weekend."
Noelle felt her heart plummet. It was too late to reach Israel Katz. "Do Colonels always interfere in the private lives of Generals?"
"In this case, no," Colonel Mueller said regretfully. "General Scheider intends to keep his rendezvous." He turned and walked out.
Noelle stared after him, her heart racing. She looked at the gold clock on the dressing table and quickly began to dress.
At eleven forty-five the concierge telephoned Noelle to announce that General Scheider was on his way up to her apartment. His voice was trembling.
"Is his chauffeur in the car?" Noelle asked.
"No, Mademoiselle," the concierge replied carefully. "He's on his way up with the General."
"Thank you."
Noelle replaced the receiver and hurried into the bedroom to check her luggage once more. There must be no mistake. The front doorbell rang, and Noelle went into the living room and opened the door.
General Scheider stood in the corridor, his chauffeur, a young captain, behind him. General Scheider was out of uniform and looked very distinguished in a flawlessly cut charcoal-gray suit and a soft blue shirt and black tie. "Good evening," he said formally. He stepped inside, then nodded to his chauffeur.
"My bags are in the bedroom," Noelle said. She indicated the door.
"Thank you, Fraulein." The captain walked into the bedroom. General Scheider came over to Noelle and took her hands. "Do you know what I have been thinking about all day?" he asked. "I was thinking you might not be here, that you might change your mind. Every time the phone rang, I was afraid."
"I keep my promises," Noelle said. She watched as the captain came out of the bedroom carrying her makeup case and overnight bag. "Is there anything else?" he asked.
"No," Noelle said. "That's all."
The captain carried the suitcases out of the apartment.
"Ready?" General Scheider asked.
"Let's have a drink before we go," Noelle replied quickly. She walked over to a bottle of champagne on the bar, resting in a bucket of ice.
"Let me." He moved over to the ice bucket and opened the champagne.
"What shall we drink to?" he asked.
"Etratat."
He studied her a moment and then said, "Etratat."
They touched glasses in a toast and drank. As Noelle set her glass down, she surreptitiously glanced at her wristwatch. General Scheider was talking to her, but Noelle only half-heard the words. Her mind was visualizing what was happening downstairs. She must be very careful. If she moved too quickly or too slowly it would be fatal. For everyone.
"What are you thinking about?" General Scheider asked.
Noelle turned quickly. "Nothing."
"You were not listening."
"I'm sorry. I suppose I was thinking about us." She turned to him and gave him a quick smile.
"You puzzle me," he said.
"Aren't all women a puzzle?"
"Not like you. I would never believe that you are capricious and yet"--he made a gesture--"first you will not see me at all and now we are suddenly spending a weekend in the country."
"Are you sorry, Hans?"
"Of course not. But still I ask myself--why the country?"
"I told you."
"Ah yes," General Scheider said. "It is romantic. That is something else that puzzles me. I believe you are a realist, not a romanticis
t."
"What are you trying to say?" Noelle asked.
"Nothing," the General replied easily. "I am just thinking aloud. I enjoy solving problems, Noelle. In time I will solve you."
She shrugged. "Once you have the solution, the problem might not be interesting."
"We shall see." He set his glass down. "Shall we go?"
Noelle picked up the empty champagne glasses.
"I'll just put these in the sink," she said.
General Scheider watched as she walked into the kitchen. Noelle was one of the most beautiful and desirable women he had ever seen, and he meant to possess her. That did not mean, however, that he was either stupid or blind. She wanted something from him. He intended to find out what it was. Colonel Mueller had alerted him that she was in all probability giving aid to a dangerous enemy of the Reich, and Colonel Mueller made very few mistakes. If he was correct, Noelle Page was probably counting on General Scheider to protect her in some way. If so she knew nothing at all about the German military mind and still less about him. He would turn her over to the Gestapo without a qualm, but first he would have his pleasure. He was looking forward to the weekend.
Noelle came out of the kitchen. There was a worried expression on her face. "How many bags did your chauffeur take down?" she asked.
"Two," he replied. "An overnight bag and a makeup case."
She made a face. "Oh dear, I'm sorry, Hans. He forgot the other case. Do you mind?"
He watched as Noelle walked over to the telephone, picked it up and spoke into it. "Would you please ask the General's driver to come up again?" she said. "There's another bag to go down." She replaced the receiver. "I know we're only going to be there for the weekend," she smiled, "but I want to please you."
"If you want to please me," General Scheider said, "you will not need a lot of clothes." He glanced at a picture of Armand Gautier on the piano. "Does Herr Gautier know that you are going away with me?" he asked.
"Yes," Noelle lied. Armand was in Nice meeting with a producer about a motion picture, and she had seen no reason to alarm him by telling him of her plans. The doorbell rang, and Noelle walked over to the door and opened it. The captain stood there. "I understand there is another bag?" he asked.