Chapter 7: An Unlikely Combination
Things didn’t go well for French aristocrats during the French Revolution. Those who managed to survive took lessons from the bloodshed, such as: be ready because the rich and powerful might find their heads on the chopping block at any moment.
Therefore, many homes built by the wealthy in the wake of the revolution were equipped with secret passages for a quick escape.
“Follow me,” Volker said. “I know a way down to the cellar, and from there, we can cross to the carriage house and my car. My usual guards won’t stop me. We just need to be sure the extra guards from the military installation they left here don’t recognize you.”
The secret stairwell twisted its way downward. To give them a little light, Volker lit matches, letting them burn down to his fingers before cursing and dropping them. When they reached the cellar, he located the light switch and turned on a bare bulb hanging from a frayed cord.
They began to head for the door but when he came to the wine collection, he paused.
“Ah, two bottles of 1926 Bordeaux. These may come in handy.”
“To bribe the guards?”
“To drink.” He grinned. “If for any reason you decide to shoot me, don’t let the wine go to waste. This was an amazing year for Bordeaux.”
He raised the cellar door and they poked their heads out to have a look around. The moon was hidden behind the clouds. A light rain had begun to fall.
“It looks clear,” he said. “Follow me.”
They hurried across the wet grass, reaching the carriage house without incident. He climbed behind the wheel of a black Mercedes sedan. He pulled the key from his pocket and the engine purred when he fired it up.
They hadn’t gone one-hundred feet before a guard stepped into their path, his gun raised. Volker stopped and leaned out the driver’s window.
“It’s just me,” he said.
The guard lowered his weapon and came around to the side of the vehicle.
“No one is to leave tonight. Those are the orders,” the soldier said.
Volker cocked a thumb in Erika’s direction. “But my cook here, Fraulein Himmler, needs radishes for a soup she is preparing tomorrow. It will be delicious, won’t it Fraulein Himmler?”
“Himmler?” she whispered, disgusted by the fact that he chose to call her by the surname of a notorious Nazi a**hole.
Volker ignored her.
“Is there anything we can get you while we are out?” he asked the man.
The rain was beginning to come down harder now. The soldier turned up the collar of his coat. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, unsure what to do.
“We have become friends in these months,” Volker added. “I assure you that you will not be disciplined for my leaving. They’ve probably caught the individual they were looking for by now as it is.”
Volker smiled broadly.
“You’ll need some soup to warm yourself after being out in the rain all night. She will be happy to fix you up a bowl when we return. And I’ll get you cigarettes while we are out as well,” he said..
The soldier gave in.
“Dr. Volker, I will let you leave, and your offer of cigarettes is most appreciated. However, I don’t know that the soldiers at the gate will be so . . . willing.”
Volker took the cigarettes from his jacket pocket and handed them to the man.
“These will tide you over until we return ,” he said.
The soldier took them and stepped out of the way so they could proceed. As they were driving away, Erika asked, “Radishes for soup?”
“It’s not that uncommon in Germany. And it doesn’t matter. He knows you are not my cook. I suspect he expects to never see you again.”
“A one-night stand?”
“There have been a few,” Volker said, proudly. “There are blankets in the backseat.”
“For stargazing with your one-night stands?”
“You’ve figured me out. Now please, get down on the floor and cover yourself. I don’t think we are going to be able to bribe the guards at the gate with a crumpled pack of cigarettes.”
“Keep in mind that I have your gun.”
“Yes, and keep in mind that you might have to use it in a moment. Just don’t accidentally use it on me,” he said.
As she crawled over the seat and lowered herself to the floor , the pain in her shoulder reminded her that a quick transformation to her wolf may not be possible. She pulled the blanket over herself.
“Hello gentlemen,” Volker said as the car rolled to a stop at the end of the lane.
“No one is allowed to leave,” said a husky male voice.
“I understand completely the need for caution, what with a spy on the loose. But trust me gentlemen, I do not intend to run into any trouble.”
“It’s not just the situation with the spy,” Volker was told. “The French Resistance attacked a truck earlier. It’s not safe to go out until we have been able to round up those responsible.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Volker said, raising his voice. “My orders are to return to Germany tomorrow and I have a rendezvous with a young lady that I intend to keep. I may not see her again.”
The soldier said something Erika couldn’t make out.
There was a forcefulness in Volker’s voice when he replied that told her the man was used to getting what he wanted.
“Have you been with a French woman? Not a whore, a real French lady?”
If there was a reply, she couldn’t hear it.
Volker went on, “Then don’t stand there and tell me that I cannot leave. I outrank you both. I’ll come and go as I please, but just to show that I do respect you men for standing here in the rain in an attempt to protect me, I am offering you this.”
He reached over the seat to the floorboard where she was hiding. He lifted the blanket slightly, gently patted her cheek, and then grabbed one of the bottles of wine.
“It’s a 1926, Bordeaux. I think you’ll find it much to your liking. I’ll be gone an hour, possibly two at the most. If I’m later than two hours, feel free to shoot me.”
This time, Volker didn’t wait for a reply. He drove off.
When they’d gone a mile or so, he pulled to a stop.
“Please rejoin me in the front seat. I promise I won’t drive off without you. Climbing over the seat must hurt your shoulder.”
She stepped out into a hard rain and climbed in beside him.
“Where to now?” he asked.
“That’s a good question,” she replied.