The Short, the Long and the Tall

1 Saint Rochelle, June 1941

Nothing would have stopped them playing poker on a Friday evening. Even the outbreak of war.

The four of them had been friends – well, at least colleagues – for the past thirty years. Max Lascelles, a huge man who was used to throwing his weight about, sat at the top of the old wooden table, which he considered no more than his right. After all, he was a lawyer and mayor of Saint Rochelle, while the other three were only town councillors.

Claude Tessier, the chairman of Tessiers Private Bank, sat opposite him. He’d inherited the position, rather than earned it. A sharp, wily, cynical man, who was in no doubt that charity began at home.

To his right sat André Parmentier, the headmaster of Saint Rochelle College. Tall, thin, with a bushy red moustache that indicated what the colour of his hair must have been before he went bald. Respected and admired by the local community.

And finally, Dr Philippe Doucet, who was the senior physician at Saint Rochelle Hospital, sat on the mayor’s right. A shy, good-looking man, whose head of thick black hair and warm open smile made several nurses dream about becoming Madame Doucet. But they were all to be disappointed.

All four men placed ten francs in the middle of the table before Tessier began to deal. Philippe Doucet smiled when he saw his hand, which the other three players noticed. The doctor was a man who couldn’t hide his feelings, which was why he’d lost the most money over the years. Like so many gamblers, he tried not to think about his long-term losses, only rejoice in his short-term gains. He discarded one card, and asked for another, which the banker quickly replaced. The smile remained in place. He wasn’t bluffing. Doctors don’t bluff.

‘Two,’ said Max Lascelles, who was seated on the doctor’s left. The mayor showed no emotion as he studied his new hand.

‘Three,’ said André, who always stroked his bushy moustache whenever he felt he was in with a chance. The banker dealt the headmaster three new cards, and once he’d checked them, he placed his cards face down on the table. When your hand is that bad, there’s no point in bluffing.

‘I’ll also take three,’ said Claude Tessier, but like the mayor, once the banker had considered his hand, he gave nothing away.

‘Your call, Mr Mayor,’ said Tessier, glancing across the table.

Lascelles tossed another ten francs into the pot, to indicate he was still in the game.

‘How about you, Philippe?’ asked Tessier.

The doctor continued to study his cards for some time before saying confidently, ‘I’ll match your ten and raise you a further ten.’ He placed his last two grubby notes on top of the mounting pile.

‘Too rich for me,’ Parmentier said with a shake of the head.

‘Me too,’ said the banker, also placing his cards face down on the table.

‘Then it’s just the two of us, Philippe,’ said the mayor, wondering if the doctor could be tempted to part with any more money.

Philippe’s eyes remained fixed on his cards, as he waited to see what the mayor would do.

‘I’ll see you,’ Lascelles said, nonchalantly tossing another twenty francs into the centre of the table.

The doctor smiled and turned his cards over to reveal a pair of aces, a pair of queens and a ten, the smile remaining firmly in place.

The mayor began to turn his cards over one by one, prolonging the agony. A nine, a seven, a nine, a seven. Philippe’s smile was still in place until the mayor revealed his final card, another nine.

‘A full house,’ said Tessier. ‘The mayor wins.’ The doctor frowned as the mayor gathered up his winnings without revealing the slightest emotion.

‘You’re a lucky bastard, Max,’ said Philippe.

The mayor would like to have explained to Philippe that luck had very little to do with it, when it came to playing poker. Nine times out of ten, statistical probability and the ability to bluff would decide the final outcome.

The headmaster began to shuffle the pack, and was about to start dealing another hand when they all heard the key turning in the lock. The mayor checked his gold pocket watch: a few minutes past midnight.

‘Who could possibly consider disturbing us at this time of night?’ he said.

They all looked towards the door, annoyed to have their game interrupted.

The four of them immediately stood up when the door was pushed open and the prison commandant marched in. Colonel Müller came to a halt in the middle of the cell, and placed his hands on his hips. Captain Hoffman and his ADC, Lieutenant Dieter, followed in his wake. Another full house. They were all wearing the black uniform of the SS. Their shoes were the only thing that shone.

‘Heil Hitler!’ said the commandant, but none of the prisoners responded as they waited anxiously to discover the reason for the visit. They feared the worst.

‘Please be seated, Mr Mayor, gentlemen,’ said the commandant as Captain Hoffman put a bottle of wine on the centre of the table, while his ADC, like a well-trained sommelier, placed a glass in front of each of them.

Once again, the doctor was unable to hide his surprise, while his colleagues remained poker-faced.

‘As you know,’ continued the commandant, ‘the four of you are due to be released at six o’clock tomorrow morning, having served your sentences.’ Eight suspicious eyes never left the commandant. ‘Captain Hoffman will accompany you to the railway station where you will take a train back to Saint Rochelle. Once you’re home, you will resume your former duties as members of the town council, and as long as you keep your heads down, I feel sure no stray bullets will hit you.’

The two junior officers dutifully laughed, while the four prisoners remained silent.

‘However, it is my duty to remind you, gentlemen,’ continued the commandant, ‘that martial law is still in force, and applies to everyone, whatever their rank or position. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Colonel,’ said the mayor, speaking on behalf of his colleagues.

‘Excellent,’ said the commandant. ‘Then I will leave you to your game, and see you again in the morning.’ Without another word, the colonel turned on his heel and departed, with Captain Hoffman and Lieutenant Dieter following closely behind.

All four of the prisoners remained standing until the heavy door was slammed shut, and they heard the key turning in the lock.

‘Did you notice,’ said the mayor once he’d lowered his heavy frame back down onto his chair, ‘that the commandant addressed us as gentlemen for the first time?’

‘And you as Mr Mayor, but why the sudden change of heart,’ said the headmaster, as he nervously touched his moustache.

‘The town’s affairs can’t have been running quite as smoothly without us, would be my bet,’ said the mayor. ‘And I suspect the colonel will be only too happy to see us back in Saint Rochelle. He clearly hasn’t got enough staff to administer the town’s affairs.’

‘You may well be right,’ said Tessier. ‘But that doesn’t mean we have to fall in line.’

‘I agree,’ said the mayor, ‘especially if the colonel is no longer holding all the aces.’

‘What makes you think that?’ asked Dr Doucet.

‘The bottle of wine, for a start,’ said the mayor, as he studied the label and smiled for the first time that day. ‘Not vintage, but quite acceptable.’ He poured himself a glass before passing the bottle across to Tessier.

‘Not to mention his demeanour,’ added the banker. ‘Not the usual bombastic rhetoric suggesting that it can only be a matter of time before the master race has conquered the whole of Europe.’

‘I agree with Claude,’ said Parmentier. ‘I can always tell when one of my boys knows he’s about to be punished but still hopes to get off lightly.’

‘Once France is free again, I have no intention of letting anybody off lightly,’ said the mayor. ‘The moment the Hun retreat back to the Fatherland where they belong, I shall round up all the quislings and collaborators, and impose my own form of martial law.’

‘What do you have in mind, Mr Mayor?’ asked the headmaster.

‘The whores who made themselves available to anyone in uniform will have their heads shorn in public, while those who assisted the enemy will be hanged in the market square.’

‘I would have thought as a lawyer, Max, you would have wanted to conduct a fair and open trial before passing judgement,’ suggested the doctor. ‘After all, we can’t begin to know what pressures some of our countrymen must have been under. I can tell you as a doctor that sometimes there’s a fine line between compliance and rape.’

‘I can’t agree, Philippe, but then you’ve always been willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt,’ said the mayor. ‘An indulgence I cannot afford. I shall punish anyone and everyone I consider to be a traitor, while honouring our brave resistance fighters who, like us, have stood up to the enemy whatever the consequences.’

Philippe bowed his head.

‘I can’t pretend I’ve always stood up to them,’ said the headmaster, ‘and am well aware that as town councillors we have often received preferential treatment.’

‘Only because it was our duty to ensure the town’s affairs are run smoothly in the interest of those who elected us.’

‘Let’s not forget that some of our fellow councillors felt it more honourable to resign than collaborate with the enemy.’

‘I am not a collaborator, Philippe, and never have been,’ said the mayor, thumping his fist on the table. ‘On the contrary, I have always tried to be a thorn in their flesh, and feel I can safely say I’ve drawn blood on several occasions, and I’ll continue to do so given the slightest opportunity.’

‘Not that easy while the swastika still flies above the town hall,’ suggested Tessier.

‘And you can be assured, Claude,’ continued the mayor, ‘I will personally burn that evil symbol the moment the Germans depart.’

‘Which might not be for some time,’ murmured the headmaster.

‘Possibly, but that’s no reason to forget we are Frenchmen,’ said the mayor, raising his glass, ‘Vive la France!’

‘Vive la France!’ the four men cried in unison, as they all raised their glasses.

‘What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get home, André?’ asked the doctor, trying to lighten the mood.

‘Have a bath,’ said the headmaster. They all laughed. ‘Then I shall return to my classroom and attempt to teach the next generation that war serves little or no purpose, either for victor or the vanquished. How about you, Philippe?’

‘Report back to the hospital, where I expect to find the wards full of young men returning from the front, scarred in more ways than we can imagine. And then there will be the sick and elderly, who had hoped to enjoy the fruits of retirement, only to find themselves overrun by a foreign power.’

‘All very commendable,’ said Tessier. ‘But that won’t stop me going straight home and jumping into bed with my wife. And I certainly won’t be bothering to have a bath.’

They all burst out laughing.

‘Amen to that,’ said the headmaster with a chuckle, ‘and I’d do the same if my wife was twenty years younger than me.’

‘But then, unlike Claude,’ said the mayor, ‘André hasn’t deflowered half the virgins in Saint Rochelle, with promises of an overdraft.’

‘Well, at least it’s girls I’m interested in,’ said Tessier, once the mayor had stopped laughing.

‘And can I assume, Tessier,’ said the mayor, his tone changing, ‘you will then return to the bank, and make sure all our affairs are in order? I can remember exactly how much was in my account the day we were arrested.’

‘And every last franc will still be there,’ said Tessier, looking directly at the mayor.

‘Plus six months’ interest?’

‘And what about you, Max,’ responded the banker, equally sharply. ‘What will you do after you’ve hanged half the population of Saint Rochelle, and shorn the hair off the other half?’

‘I shall continue my practice as a lawyer,’ said the mayor, ignoring his friend’s barb, ‘as I suspect there will be a long queue waiting outside my office in need of my services,’ he added, as he refilled everyone’s glass.

‘Including me,’ said Philippe. ‘I’ll want someone to defend me when I can’t afford to pay my gambling debts,’ he added without a hint of self-pity.

‘Perhaps we should call a truce,’ suggested the headmaster. ‘Forget the past six months, and wipe the slate clean.’

‘Certainly not,’ said the mayor. ‘We all agreed to abide by the same rules that applied while we were on the outside. A gentleman always honours his gambling debts, if I recall your exact words, André.’

‘But that would clean me out,’ said Philippe, as he checked the bottom line in the banker’s little black book. He didn’t add that while they’d been incarcerated, every night had become a Friday night, and Dr Doucet had come to realize for the first time just how much the mayor must have pocketed over the years.

‘The time has come to consider the future, not the past,’ said the mayor, wanting to change the subject. ‘I intend to convene a council meeting as soon as we get back to Saint Rochelle and expect you all to be present.’

‘And what will the first item on the agenda be, Mr Mayor?’ asked Tessier.

‘We must pass a resolution denouncing Marshal Pétain and the Vichy regime, and make it clear that we consider them nothing more than a bunch of quislings, and in future will be supporting General de Gaulle as the next president of France.’

‘I don’t recall you expressing those views at any of our recent council meetings,’ said Tessier, not attempting to hide his sarcasm.

‘No one knows better than you, Claude, the pressures I’ve been under, attempting to keep the show on the road,’ said the mayor. ‘Which resulted in me being arrested and thrown in jail for collaboration.’

‘Along with the rest of us, who did no more than attend the private meeting you’d called without notice,’ said Tessier. ‘Just in case you’d forgotten.’

‘I offered to serve all your sentences,’ said the mayor, ‘but the commandant wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘As you never stop reminding us,’ said the doctor.

‘I do not regret my decision,’ said the mayor haughtily. ‘And once I’m released, I shall continue to harass the enemy whenever possible.’

‘Which wasn’t all that often in the past, if I recall,’ said Tessier.

‘Children, children,’ said the headmaster, aware that six months locked up together hadn’t improved their relationship. ‘Let us not forget we’re all meant to be on the same side.’

‘Not all the Germans have treated us badly,’ the doctor said. ‘I confess I’ve even come to like one or two of them, including Captain Hoffman.’

‘More fool you, Philippe,’ said the mayor. ‘Hoffman would string us all up without a second thought if he believed it would benefit the Fatherland. Never forget the Hun are either on their knees or at your throats.’

‘And they certainly don’t believe in an eye for an eye when it comes to our brave resistance fighters,’ said Tessier. ‘You kill one of them, and they’ll happily hang two of us in revenge.’

‘True,’ said the mayor. ‘And if any of them should fail to make it back across the border after the war is over, I’ll be the first to sharpen the guillotine, so help me God.’

The mention of the Almighty stopped everyone in their tracks, and both the headmaster and the doctor crossed themselves.

‘Well, at least we won’t have a lot to confess after spending six months in this hellhole,’ said the headmaster, interrupting the eerie silence.

‘Although I feel sure Father Pierre would not approve of us gambling,’ said Philippe. ‘I’m reminded that Our Lord threw the moneylenders out of the temple.’

‘I won’t tell him, if you don’t,’ said the mayor as he refilled his glass with what was left in the bottle.

‘That’s even assuming Father Pierre will still be around when we get back,’ said Philippe. ‘When I last saw him at the hospital, he was putting in hours that would have broken a normal man. I begged him to slow down, but he simply ignored me.’

A clock in the distance chimed once.

‘Time for one more hand before we turn in?’ suggested Tessier, handing the cards to the mayor.

‘Count me out,’ said Philippe, ‘before I’m declared bankrupt.’

‘Perhaps it’s your turn to win,’ said the mayor as he began to shuffle the pack, ‘and you’ll get everything back on the next hand?’

‘That’s just not going to happen, and you know it, Max, so I think I’ll call it a day. Not that I expect to get much sleep. I feel like a schoolboy on his last day of term who can’t wait to go home.’

‘I hope my school isn’t this bad,’ said the headmaster, as he began to deal another hand.

Philippe rose from his place and made his way slowly across to his bed on the far side of the cell, before climbing up onto the top bunk. He was just about to lie down, when he saw him standing there, in the centre of the room. The doctor stared at him for a few moments, before he said, ‘Good evening, Father. I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘God bless you, my son,’ replied Father Pierre, giving the sign of the cross.

The headmaster immediately stopped dealing when he heard the familiar voice. They all swung round and stared at the priest.

Father Pierre was bathed in a shard of light shining from the skylight above. He was wearing his familiar long black cassock, white collar and silk bands. A simple silver cross hung around his neck, as it had done since the day of his consecration.

The four men continued to stare at the priest, but said nothing. Tessier tried to hide the cards under the table, like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

‘Bless you, my children, I hope you are all well,’ the priest said, once again making the sign of the cross, ‘although I fear I am sadly the bearer of bad tidings.’ The four of them froze like rabbits caught in the headlights, all of them assuming they were no longer going to be released in the morning.

‘Earlier this evening,’ continued the priest, ‘a train travelling to Saint Rochelle was blown up by local resistance fighters. Three German officers were killed, along with three of our own countrymen.’ He hesitated a few moments before adding, ‘It will not come as a surprise to you, gentlemen, that the German High Command are demanding reprisals.’

‘But three Frenchmen were killed,’ said Tessier, ‘isn’t that enough?’

‘I fear not,’ said the priest. ‘As in the past, the Germans are demanding that two Frenchmen are to be executed for every German killed.’

‘But what has this to do with us?’ demanded the mayor. ‘We were locked up in here at the time of the bombing, so how could we possibly have been involved?’

‘I did point that out to the commandant, but he remains adamant that if three of the town’s leading citizens were to be made an example of, it would send a clear message to anyone who might consider taking similar action in the future. And let me assure you, no amount of pleading on your behalf would move him. Colonel Müller has decreed that three of you will be hanged in the town square at six o’clock tomorrow morning.’

The four men all began speaking at once, and only stopped when the mayor raised a hand. ‘All we wish to know, Father, is how the three will be chosen?’ he asked, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead, although the cell was freezing.

‘Colonel Müller has come up with three suggestions, but has decided to leave the final choice to you.’

‘How considerate of him,’ said Tessier. ‘I can’t wait to hear what he has in mind.’

‘He felt the simplest solution would be to draw straws.’

‘I don’t believe in chance,’ said the mayor. ‘What are the alternatives?’

‘A final round of poker, when the stakes could not be higher, if I recall the colonel’s exact words.’

‘I would be happy to go along with that,’ said the mayor.

‘I bet you would, Max,’ said Claude. ‘After all, the odds would be stacked in your favour. What’s the final choice?’

‘I hesitate to mention this,’ said the priest, ‘as it is the one that least appeals to me.’

‘Do enlighten us, Father,’ said the mayor, no longer able to mask his feelings.

‘You will all agree to make a final confession before you face your maker, and I will be left with the unenviable task of deciding which one of you should be spared.’

‘That would certainly be my choice,’ said the headmaster, without hesitation.

‘However, should you decide to go down that particular path,’ continued the priest, ‘there is a caveat which I insisted on.’

‘And what was that?’ demanded the mayor.

‘Each one of you will be expected to confess to the worst sin you have committed. And you would do well to remember that I have heard all your confessions over the years, so there isn’t much I don’t know about you. And possibly more important, I have also been privy to the confessions of over a thousand of my parishioners, some of whom have considered it their sacred duty to share with me their innermost secrets. Not all of which reflect well on you. One of them, an unimpeachable source, says one of you is a collaborator. Therefore, I must warn you gentlemen, should you lie, I would not hesitate to strike your name from the list. So I’ll ask you once again, which of the three options would you prefer?’

‘I’m quite happy to draw straws,’ said Tessier.

‘I’ll opt for one final game of poker,’ said the mayor, ‘and leave God to deal the cards.’

‘I’m willing to confess to the worst sin I’ve ever committed,’ said the headmaster, ‘and face the consequences.’

They all turned to Philippe, who was still considering his options.

‘If you agree to play one final game of poker,’ said the mayor, ‘I’d be willing to wipe the slate clean.’

‘Don’t listen to him, Philippe,’ said Tessier. ‘Take my advice and draw straws. At least that way you’d still be in with a chance.’

‘Possibly, but with my luck, Claude, I don’t suppose drawing straws would make any difference. No, I’ll join my friend André and admit to the worst sin I’ve ever committed, and leave you, Father, to make the final judgement.’

‘Then that’s settled,’ said Tessier, shifting uneasily in his chair. ‘So what happens next?’

‘Now all you have to decide,’ said Father Pierre, ‘is which one of you will go first?’

‘Shall we leave the cards to decide?’ said the mayor, who dealt four cards, face up. When he looked down at the queen of hearts he said, ‘Lowest goes first.’

The headmaster left the group to join Father Pierre.

The priest blessed the headmaster as he knelt before him.

‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. May God, the Father of all mercies, assist you as you make your final confession.’ Father Pierre smiled at a man whom he’d admired for so many years. He had followed André’s career with considerable pleasure and satisfaction. Textbook, you might have described it. Young Parmentier had begun his life as a student at Saint Rochelle College for Boys, where he would end his days as headmaster, with breaks only to graduate from the Sorbonne in Paris and to spend a sabbatical year as a supply teacher in Algiers.

On his return to Saint Rochelle, André had taken up the position of junior history teacher, and, as the cliché has it, the rest was history. He had progressed rapidly through the ranks, and no one was surprised when the Board of Governors invited him to be headmaster, a position he’d held for the past decade.

Many of his colleagues were surprised that André hadn’t deserted Saint Rochelle for plusher pastures, as it was well known that several other more renowned schools had approached him over the years. But he had always turned them down, however tempting the offer. Some suggested it was because of family problems, while others accepted his explanation that he had found his vocation and was happy to remain in Saint Rochelle.

By the time war broke out, Saint Rochelle College was among the most respected schools in France, attracting young and ambitious teachers from all over the country. Recently the Board of Governors had begun to consider the problem of who would replace their respected headmaster when he retired in a couple of years’ time.

When the Germans marched into Saint Rochelle, André had faced new challenges and tackled them with the same resolution as he had always done in the past. He considered occupation by a foreign power was an inconvenience, not an excuse to lower one’s standards.

André Parmentier had never married. He treated all his charges as if they were his first-born. He wasn’t surprised to find that many of them who hadn’t excelled in the classroom, shone on the battlefield. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to come to terms with a brutal and pointless war.

Sadly, many of his charges were destined to die in the heat of battle and, like a grieving father, he wept for them. Somehow André kept his spirits up, never doubting that in time this barbaric war, like the last, must surely come to an end. And when it did, he would be given the opportunity to teach the next generation not to repeat the mistakes of their fathers and forefathers. But that was before a German decree had ordered that three of them must be hanged at six in the morning. And he didn’t need to be a maths teacher to know the odds were against him.

‘Forgive me, Father,’ said André, ‘for I have sinned and beg your forgiveness. My last confession was just before I was arrested and sent to prison.’

Father Pierre found it hard to believe that André had ever done anything reprehensible in his life.

‘I accept your remorse, my son, aware of the good work you have done in the community for many years,’ said the priest. ‘But as this could be your final confession, you must reveal the greatest transgression you have committed so that I can judge whether you should be spared, or be one of the three who the commandant has condemned to death.’

‘When you have heard my confession, Father, you will not be able to absolve me, as my sin is cardinal, and I have long since given up any hope of entering the kingdom of Heaven.’

‘I cannot believe, my son,’ said Father Pierre, ‘that you are the collaborator.’

‘Far worse, Father. I must admit,’ continued André, ‘I have considered sharing my secret with you many times in the past, but like a coward on the battlefield, I’ve always retreated at the first sound of gunfire. But now I welcome this final chance of redemption before I meet my maker. Be assured that death for me, to quote the gospel, will have no sting, and the grave no victory.’ The headmaster bowed his head and wept uncontrollably.

The priest couldn’t believe the words he was hearing, but made no attempt to interrupt him.

‘As you know, Father,’ the headmaster continued, ‘I have a younger brother.’

‘Guillaume,’ said the priest, ‘whom you have loyally supported over the years, despite a tragic lapse in his youth, for which he paid dearly.’

‘It wasn’t his lapse, Father, but mine, and it is I who should have paid dearly.’

‘What are you saying, my son? Everyone knows that your younger brother was rightly sent to prison for the grievous offence he committed.’

‘It was I who committed the grievous offence, Father, and should have been sent to prison.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘How could you,’ said André, ‘when you only saw what was in front of you, and didn’t need to look any further.’

‘But you weren’t even with your brother when he killed that young girl.’

‘Yes, I was,’ said André. ‘Allow me to explain. My brother and I had been out earlier that evening celebrating his twenty-first birthday, and both of us had a little too much to drink. When we were finally thrown out of the last bar, Guillaume passed out, so I had to drive him home.’

‘But the police found him behind the wheel.’

‘Only because I’d careered onto a pavement and hit a girl, a girl I taught, who later died. Would she still be alive today if I hadn’t run away but stopped and called for an ambulance? But I didn’t. Instead I panicked and drove quickly away, purposely crashing the car into a tree not too far from Guillaume’s home. When the police eventually arrived, they found my brother behind the wheel and no one else in the car.’

‘But that was exactly what the police did find,’ said Father Pierre.

‘The police found what I wanted them to find,’ said André. ‘But then they had no way of knowing. I had climbed out of the car, pulled my brother across to the driver’s seat, and then abandoned him with his head resting on the steering wheel, the horn blaring out for all to hear.’

The priest crossed himself.

‘I made my way quickly back to my own flat on the other side of town, slipping in and out of the shadows, to make sure no one saw me, although there weren’t many people around at that time in the morning. When I eventually got home, I let myself in through the back door, crept upstairs and went to bed. But I didn’t sleep. Truth is, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since.’

The headmaster put his head in his hands and remained silent for some time, before he continued.

‘I waited for the police to knock on my door in the middle of the night, arrest me and lock me up, but they didn’t, so I knew I’d got away with it. After all, it was Guillaume they discovered behind the wheel, only a hundred metres from his home. The following day, several witnesses confirmed they’d seen him the night before, and he was in no fit state to drive.’

‘But the police must eventually have interviewed you?’

‘Yes, they visited the school the following morning,’ admitted André.

‘When you could have told them it was you who was driving the car, and not your brother.’

‘I told them I’d had a little too much to drink so walked home, and that was the last time I’d seen him.’

‘And they believed you?’

‘And so did you, Father.’

The priest bowed his head.

‘The local paper had a field day. Photos of a pretty young girl with her whole life ahead of her. A headline that remains etched in my memory to this day. A crashed car, and a young man being dragged out of the front seat at two in the morning. The only mention I got was as the poor unfortunate brother, whom they described as a popular and respected young teacher from the local college. I even attended the girl’s funeral, only exacerbating my crime. By the time it came to the trial, the verdict had been decided long before the judge passed sentence.’

‘But the trial was several months later, so you still could have told the jury the truth.’

‘I told them what they’d read in the papers,’ said André, his head bowed.

‘And your brother was sentenced to six years?’

‘He was sentenced to life, Father, because the only job he could get after he came out of prison was as a janitor in the school, where I was able to pull a few strings. Few remember that Guillaume was training to be an architect at the time, and had a promising career ahead of him, which I cut short. But now I’ve been granted one last chance to put the record straight,’ said André, looking up at the priest for the first time. ‘I want you to promise me, Father, that after they hang me tomorrow, you will tell everyone who attends my funeral what actually happened that night, so that my brother can at least spend the rest of his days in peace and not continue to take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit.’

‘Perhaps Our Lord will decide to spare you, my son,’ said the priest, ‘so you can tell the world the truth and begin to understand what your brother must have suffered for all these years.’

‘I would rather die.’

‘Perhaps we should leave that decision to the Almighty?’ the priest said, as he bent down and helped the headmaster back onto his feet. André turned and walked slowly away, his head still bowed.

‘What can he possibly have told Father Pierre that we didn’t already know about?’ said the mayor when he saw André collapse onto his bunk and turn his face to the wall, like a badly wounded soldier who knows nothing can save him.

The priest turned his attention to those still seated at the table.

‘Which one of you will be next?’ he asked.

The mayor dealt three cards.

‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ said Claude. ‘I wish to seek God’s understanding and forgiveness.’

‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.’ Father Pierre couldn’t recall when Tessier had last attended church, let alone confession, although there wasn’t much he didn’t know about the man. However, there remained one mystery that still needed to be explained, and he hoped that the thought of eternal damnation might prompt the banker to finally admit to the truth.

Claude Tessier had become chairman of the family bank when his father died in 1940, only days before the Germans marched down the Champs-Elysées. Lucien Tessier had been both respected and admired by the local community. Tessiers might not have been the largest bank in town, but Lucien was trusted, and his customers never doubted that their savings were in safe hands. The same could not always be said of his son.

The old man had admitted to his wife that he wasn’t sure Claude was the right person to follow him as chairman. ‘Feckless and foolhardy’ were the words he murmured on his deathbed, and then whispered to the priest that he feared for the widow’s mite when he was no longer there to oversee every transaction.

Lucien Tessier’s problems were compounded by having a daughter who was not only brighter than Claude, but also honest to the degree of embarrassment. However, the old man realized that Saint Rochelle was not yet ready to accept a woman as chairman of the bank.

Claude’s only other banking rival in the town was Bouchards, a well-run establishment that the old man admired. Its chairman, Jacques Bouchard, also had a son, Thomas, who had already proved himself well worthy of succeeding him.

Claude Tessier and Thomas Bouchard had advanced through life together, admittedly at a different pace on their predestined course. School, national service, and later university, before returning to Saint Rochelle to begin their banking careers.

It was Bouchard’s father’s idea, and one he quickly regretted, that the two boys should serve their apprenticeships at rival banks. Claude’s father happily agreed to the arrangement, and got the better deal. After two years, Bouchard never wanted to set eyes on young Claude again, while Lucien wished Thomas would join him on the board of Tessiers. Nothing much changed as both boys progressed towards becoming chairman of their banks; that is until the Germans parked their tanks in the town square.

‘May God, the Father of all mercies, help you when you make your final confession,’ said the priest as he blessed Tessier.

‘I was rather hoping, Father, that it wouldn’t be my final confession,’ admitted Claude.

‘For your sake, let us hope you are right, my son. However, this might be your last chance to admit to the most grievous transgression you have committed.’

‘Which believe me, Father, I intend to do.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, my son,’ said the priest. He leant back, folded his arms and waited.

‘I readily admit, Father,’ began Claude, ‘that I failed to stand by my oldest friend when he most needed me, and I beg the Lord’s forgiveness for this lapse, which I hope you will feel is out of character.’

‘Should I assume you are referring to the fate that has befallen your closest friend and banking rival, Thomas Bouchard?’ enquired the priest.

‘Yes, Father. Thomas and I have been friends for so long, I can’t ever remember when I didn’t know him. We were at school together, served as young lieutenants in the army, and even attended the same university. I was also his best man when he married Esther, and am godfather to their first child, Albert, but when he most needed the support of a friend, like Saint Peter I denied him.’

‘But how could that be possible after such a long friendship?’

‘To understand that, Father,’ said Claude, ‘I have to take you back to our university days when we both fell in love with the same girl. Esther was not only beautiful, but brighter than both of us. To be fair, she never showed the slightest interest in me, but I still lived in hope. So I was devastated when Thomas told me that he’d proposed to her and she’d agreed to be his wife.’

‘But despite the sin of envy, you still agreed to be his best man?’

‘I did. And they were married in a local town hall on the outskirts of Paris, just days after we graduated. They then returned to Saint Rochelle as man and wife.’

‘I well remember,’ said the priest. ‘And confess that at the time, I was disappointed not to have been invited to conduct the wedding ceremony. However, I only recently discovered why that would not have been possible, and admire you for keeping your friend’s secret.’ Father Pierre fell silent as he realized Claude had reached a crossroads, but was still unsure which path he would take.

‘And be assured, Father, I have continued to do so, and was horrified when the Germans discovered Esther was Jewish and the daughter of a distinguished academic who had denounced the Nazis.’

‘I was equally horrified,’ said the priest, ‘but did you keep your side of the bargain, and remain silent about Esther’s heritage?’

‘I did better than that, Father. I warned Thomas that the Germans had found out that Esther was Professor Cohen’s daughter, and he shouldn’t delay in taking his wife and children to America, and only return when the war was over.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t the other way round?’ said the priest quietly.

‘What are you suggesting?’ said Tessier, his voice rising with every word, causing his colleagues to look across in his direction.

‘That it was in fact Thomas who confided in you that he was planning to escape before the Germans found out the truth about his wife, and then you betrayed him.’

‘Who would consider accusing me of such treachery? I even offered to manage Thomas’s affairs while he was away, and hand back the bank the moment he and Esther returned.’

‘But if you were the only person in Saint Rochelle who knew Esther was Jewish, how could the Germans have possibly found out, if it wasn’t you who told them?’

‘It was covered by the national press that Professor Cohen had been arrested and disappeared overnight, which would explain how the Germans found out.’

‘I don’t think the professor would have informed the Nazis that he had a daughter and a grandson living in Saint Rochelle.’

‘I swear on all that is sacred, Father, that I would never have told the Germans his secret. Thomas was my dearest friend.’

‘That’s not what Captain Hoffman told me,’ said the priest.

Claude looked up, his face drained and chalk white, his whole body trembling. ‘But he’s a German, Father, who cannot be trusted. Surely you wouldn’t take his word against mine?’

‘No, I wouldn’t in normal circumstances. But I would take his word in the presence of Our Lord after he’d sworn an oath on the Bible.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Claude.

‘What you couldn’t know is that Karl Hoffman is a devout Roman Catholic, as are millions of Germans.’

‘But he’s first and foremost a Nazi.’

‘The man who attends my church privately every Thursday to take Mass before making his confession is no Nazi, of that I can assure you. In fact, it was Hoffman who first warned me that the commandant was planning to arrest Esther and have her sent to a concentration camp in Poland.’

‘He’s lying, Father, so help me God. I did everything I could to help my friend escape.’

‘But Hoffman warned me a week before Esther was arrested,’ said the priest, ‘giving the partisans more than enough time to organize a safe passage for the family to America. Esther’s bags were packed and ready when the Gestapo turned up in the middle of the night, arrested her, took her to the station, and threw her on a train that didn’t require a ticket.’

Tessier slumped down, burying his head in his hands.

‘And something else you could not have known. Your friend Thomas also attempted to board that train so he could be with his wife, and only the butt of a German rifle prevented him from doing so.’

‘But—’

‘And because you betrayed your friend, he will spend the rest of his life only being able to imagine the abject horror and degradation his wife must be going through.’

‘But you have to understand, Father, the Germans were putting pressure on me,’ pleaded Tessier. ‘They were making my life hell.’

‘Nothing compared to the hell Thomas is now experiencing while you sit and watch his whole life crumble in front of him. Even some of his customers have begun to cross the road and transfer their accounts to Tessiers, for fear of reprisals from the Germans.’

‘That wasn’t what I intended, Father, and if you’ll give me a chance, I swear I’ll make it up to him.’

‘I think it’s a little late for that,’ said the priest.

‘No, no. If I get out of here alive, I’ll merge the two banks and make Thomas the senior partner. And what’s more, I’ll donate a hundred thousand francs to the church.’

‘Would you be willing to make a will confirming this, whatever my decision?’

‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘you have my word on it.’

‘And the Almighty’s,’ said the priest.

‘And the Almighty’s,’ repeated Claude.

‘That’s most generous of you, my son,’ said the priest. ‘If you do keep your word, I feel sure Our Lord will be merciful.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Claude. ‘And perhaps you might mention my offer to the commandant,’ he added, as he raised his head and looked directly at the priest.

‘You have given your word to Our Lord,’ said Father Pierre, ‘which should surely be more than enough.’

Claude got off his knees and, not looking totally convinced, bowed to the priest and returned to join the mayor and the doctor.

‘How did it go?’ asked Max.

‘I simply told him the truth,’ said the banker, his poker face back in place, ‘and am content to await the Almighty’s decision.’

‘I have a feeling it won’t be the Almighty who makes that decision,’ said the mayor, as he dealt two more cards.

The doctor stared down at the five and said, ‘My turn, it seems.’

‘Be warned, Philippe,’ said Tessier. ‘If you bluff, he’ll catch you out.’

‘I think we’re all agreed that I’m not much good at bluffing.’

But then Philippe knew exactly what he was going to tell Father Pierre.

When Philippe Doucet knelt in front of the priest, Father Pierre had never seen him looking more at peace with himself. The priest had often witnessed that same contentment when the old finally accept they are going to die, and almost welcome it.

Father Pierre gave the sign of the cross, touched the doctor’s forehead and pronounced, ‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. May the God of all mercies assist you when you make your final confession.’

There was little the priest didn’t know about Philippe Doucet. After all, he was a regular churchgoer, and made his confession at least once a month. His idea of sin rarely demanded more than half a dozen Hail Marys.

Philippe was an open book, and the only chapter that the priest hadn’t read was the first one. No one could explain how he’d ever ended up in a backwater like Saint Rochelle. Unlike the mayor, the banker and the headmaster, he hadn’t been born in the town, or attended its only college, although everyone now accepted him as a local.

It was common knowledge that he’d been educated at Paris Sud Medical School, and graduated with honours, as the several certificates and diplomas hanging from the walls of his surgery confirmed. However, it remained a mystery why a man who was surely destined to become the senior partner of a large medical practice had ended up as a hospital doctor in Saint Rochelle.

Was Philippe Doucet about to turn the first page?

‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was on the Friday before I was arrested.’

‘I am not expecting this to take too long, my son, because as long as I’ve known you, your life has been an open book.’

‘But there is one chapter you don’t know about, Father, that was written before I came to Saint Rochelle.’

‘I feel sure that Our Lord will forgive some youthful indiscretion,’ said the priest. ‘That could hardly compare with being a collaborator.’

‘What I have done is far worse than being a collaborator, Father.’ Doucet was clearly distraught. ‘I have broken the sixth commandment, for which I must suffer eternal damnation.’

‘You, a murderer, my son?’ The priest was stunned. ‘I don’t believe it. Every doctor makes mistakes…’

‘But this was not a mistake, Father, as I will now explain. After leaving university,’ Doucet continued, ‘I began my medical career as a junior doctor in a large and prestigious practice in my home town of Lyon. As over sixty other graduates had applied for the post, I considered myself fortunate to be chosen. When I wasn’t working, I was reading the latest medical journal, so I would always be one step ahead of my contemporaries. Within a year, I was promoted, and already preparing to take my next step on the medical ladder.’

‘Which surely can’t have been as a junior doctor at Saint Rochelle Hospital,’ suggested the priest.

‘No, it was not, Father,’ admitted Philippe, ‘but Saint Rochelle was the only hospital that offered me a job at the time.’

‘Why was that?’ asked the priest. ‘When you’d already proved to be a shining light among your contemporaries?’

‘It was a Thursday in November 1921 when I fell off the ladder,’ said Philippe. ‘I had been working at the practice for just over a year when one of my colleagues, Victor Bonnard, a doctor not much older than myself, asked me if I would visit one of his patients. He explained that she was an elderly lady who suffered from the illnesses of the rich, and once a week liked to while away an hour or two with her doctor. Victor explained that an emergency had arisen at Saint Joseph’s that he considered far more pressing.

‘I readily agreed, not least because Victor always seemed to have time for the practice’s latest recruit. I grabbed my bag and headed for the Boulevard des Belges, an arrondissement usually only visited by senior doctors. When I arrived outside a magnificent Palladian mansion, I stopped to catch my breath. An experience that was to be repeated moments later when the front door was opened by a beautiful young woman whom I assumed must be an actress or a model. She had long blonde hair and deep blue eyes accompanied by a captivating smile that made you feel you were an old friend.

‘“Hello, I’m Celeste Picard,” she told me, offering her hand.

“‘Philippe Doucet,” I replied. “I’m sorry that Dr Bonnard can’t make it, but he was held up at the hospital,” I explained. Although in truth I wasn’t at all sorry.

‘“It’s not important,” Celeste assured me as she led me upstairs to the first floor. “No one pretends Great-aunt Manon is ill, but she does enjoy a weekly visit from the doctor. Especially the younger ones,” she said with a grin.

‘When she opened the bedroom door, I found an old lady sitting up in bed waiting for me. It didn’t take a very thorough examination to realize there wasn’t much wrong with Great-aunt Manon that holding her hand and listening to her endless stories wouldn’t have taken care of. I realized that it was no wonder the practice was so successful with patients like this.’

The priest smiled but didn’t interrupt.

‘When I left the house an hour later, Celeste rewarded me with the same disarming smile, and if I hadn’t been so shy, I might have attempted to strike up a conversation, whereas I only managed “Goodbye”, as she closed the front door.

‘It was about a week later that Victor told me the old lady had asked to see me again.

‘“You’re clearly in favour,” he teased. But my only thought was that I might see Celeste again. After I’d examined the old lady a second time, her niece invited me to join her for tea, and when I left an hour later, she said, “I hope you’ll come again next week, Dr Doucet.”

‘I floated back to the surgery, unable to believe such a goddess would even give me a second look. But to my surprise, tea was followed by a walk in Parc de la Tête d’or, an evening at l’Opéra de Lyon, and dinner at Le Café du Peintre, that I couldn’t afford, after which we became lovers. I couldn’t have been happier, because I knew I’d found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

‘I waited for almost a year before I proposed, and was heartbroken when she turned me down. But Celeste explained it wasn’t because she didn’t want to marry me, but as she was the sole beneficiary of her great-aunt’s will, she couldn’t consider leaving the old lady until she died. I was shattered. Great-aunt Manon may have been eighty-two, but I couldn’t see why she wouldn’t live to a hundred.

‘I tried to assure Celeste that I earned more than enough for us to live on, even though I knew it wasn’t true. She did, however, agree to become engaged, but refused to wear a ring for fear her great-aunt would see it and dismiss me, and possibly even her.’

‘And you went along with the deception?’ said the priest.

‘Yes, but it wasn’t until Celeste said, “Don’t worry, darling, she won’t live forever,” that the idea first crossed my mind, and I considered using my skills not to prolong life, but to shorten it. I didn’t share those thoughts with Celeste.’

‘How did the thought become the deed?’ asked the priest.

‘It must have been a few weeks after we’d become engaged that Great-aunt Manon complained about not being able to sleep at night. I recommended a course of sleeping pills, which seemed to do the trick. But whenever she complained about not having a good night’s sleep, I found myself increasing the dosage, until finally she didn’t wake up.’

Philippe bowed his head, but the priest said nothing as he knew there was more to come.

‘When I filled in the death certificate, I wrote that she had died of natural causes. No one questioned my judgement; after all, she was eighty-four.

‘I assumed that after a suitable period of mourning, Celeste and I would be married. However, when I attended the old lady’s funeral, she turned her back on me. I tried to convince myself this was only sensible, as she wouldn’t want to attract any unnecessary gossip.

‘Some weeks later I was working at my desk when I heard laughter and raised voices coming from the corridor outside. I poked my head around the door to see Victor surrounded by doctors and nurses, who were warmly congratulating him.

‘“What’s the cause of the celebration?” I asked the receptionist.

‘“Dr Bonnard has just got engaged.”

‘“Anyone I know?”

‘“Celeste Picard,” said the receptionist, without realizing how painful her words were. “You must have come across her, doctor, when you looked after her great-aunt.”

‘What a naive fool I’d turned out to be, Father, as it slowly dawned on me what role the two lovers had chosen for me to play. I started to drink, often arriving late for work, and began to make small mistakes at first, but then bigger ones that are unforgivable for someone in my profession. So when I came to the end of my trial period, it was hardly a surprise that my contract wasn’t renewed.

‘On the day of Victor and Celeste’s wedding, I even considered committing suicide, and only my faith prevented me from doing so. However, I knew that I had to get as far away from Celeste as possible if I hoped to lead a normal life.’

‘Which is how you ended up in Saint Rochelle?’

‘Yes, Father. When the vacancy for a junior doctor was advertised in the medical journal, I immediately applied for the post. The hospital’s supervisor admitted he was surprised that such a highly qualified doctor had even considered the position, and he didn’t hesitate to offer me the job, even though the references from my former employer weren’t exactly overwhelming.

‘I have practised my profession in this town for over twenty years,’ continued Philippe, ‘and not a day goes by when I don’t fall to my knees and beg the Almighty to forgive me for cutting short the life of an innocent old lady.’

‘But your record during your time at the hospital has been exemplary, my son. Don’t you think by now Our Lord may feel you have served your sentence?’

‘The truth is, Father, I should have been struck off the medical register, and sent to prison.’

‘Jesus told a sinner on one of the other crosses at Calvary that he would that night sit on his right hand in Heaven.’

‘I can only hope Our Lord will show me the same mercy.’

‘Have you considered, my son, while the war continues unabated, Saint Rochelle will need the skills God gave you as never before?’

‘No more than the headmaster,’ said Philippe, ‘who will be responsible for teaching future generations that war can never be the answer.’

‘Bless you, my son,’ said the priest, as he gave him the sign of the cross. ‘I absolve you of your sins and pray you will enter the kingdom of Heaven.’

Philippe Doucet rose from his place, a look of serenity on his face, no longer fearful of facing his maker. He bowed and left the priest without another word and rejoined his colleagues.

‘You look very pleased with yourself, Philippe,’ said the mayor. ‘Did Father Pierre promise you anything?’

‘Nothing,’ said Philippe. ‘But I could not have asked for more.’

The mayor placed the cards back down on the table and looking at the banker said, ‘Shuffle the cards, Claude. This shouldn’t take too long, so there should still be time for another hand.’ He sauntered across to the priest, trying to recall when he’d made his last confession.

Father Pierre was well prepared for the mayor, and suspected he would not display the same humility as his colleagues. But Our Lord would not have expected him to make a judgement before the lawyer had been allowed to admit to what he considered his worst sin. Where would he begin, wondered the priest.

‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth,’ said the priest, giving the sign of the cross. ‘Are you prepared to make your final confession, my son?’

‘No, Father, I am not,’ responded the mayor. ‘Not least because it is not going to be my final confession.’

‘How can you be so sure it will be you that the Almighty spares?’

‘Because it is not going to be the Almighty who makes that decision, but the commandant,’ said the mayor, ‘and I can assure you, Father, Colonel Müller is not on his knees at this moment seeking guidance from above because he’s already decided that I am the chosen one.’

‘But you were the one arrested for sedition. You even admitted that you’d arranged the meeting, and that your three colleagues were innocent of any charge.’

‘True, but then it was the commandant who suggested I should set up the meeting in the first place, and during that conversation we also agreed on a six-month sentence and regular reports that I was being treated badly.’

‘But that still doesn’t explain why Colonel Müller would consider your life more important than that of a headmaster, a doctor or even a banker,’ said Father Pierre.

‘Because he knows none of them, even Tessier, would be willing to fall in with his long-term plans.’

The priest paused. ‘So you are the collaborator.’

‘I consider myself a realist, which is why my three colleagues will be hanged in the morning, and not me. However, you can be assured, Father, that as the town’s leading citizen, I shall attend all three of their funerals and deliver glowing eulogies emphasizing their service to the community and how much they will be missed.’

‘But if the Germans were to lose the war, the partisans wouldn’t hesitate to string you up from the nearest lamp post,’ said the priest, trying not to lose his temper.

‘That’s a risk I’m willing to take. But then I always try to make sure the odds are in my favour, and if I have to back the Germans or the British to win this war, I still consider it a one-horse race.’

‘Mr Churchill may have something to say about that.’

‘Churchill’s nothing more than a fog-horn on a sinking ship, and once he’s been replaced, Hitler will quickly take control of the rest of Europe. By which time I will no longer be mayor of Saint Rochelle, but the governor of one of his new provinces.’

‘You seem to have forgotten one thing, my son.’

‘And what might that be, Father?’ said the mayor, raising an eyebrow.

‘The intervention of the Almighty.’

‘That’s another risk I’m willing to take,’ said Lascelles, ‘as he’s certainly taken his time over the Second Coming.’

‘May God have mercy on your immortal soul.’

‘I’m not interested in mortality, only in which one of us will be on the train back to Saint Rochelle in the morning, which I can assure you, Father, will be me.’

‘Unless the partisans were to find out the truth,’ said the priest.

‘I don’t have to remind you, Father, that if you utter one word of my confession to anyone, it will be you who will be condemned to spend an eternity in hell.’

‘You’re an evil man,’ said the priest.

‘At last we’ve found something we can agree on, Father,’ said the mayor as the priest fell to his knees and began to pray.

The mayor gave the sign of the cross, before saying in a loud voice, ‘God bless you, Father.’ He smiled and returned to his seat at the top of the table.

‘That didn’t take too long,’ said Claude.

‘No, but then I’ve led a fairly blameless life, and had little to confess other than my desire to continue serving my maker.’

‘That’s noble of you,’ said Doucet, looking down at the priest. ‘He was clearly moved by your testimony.’

‘Possibly, but then I did make it clear to the good father,’ continued the mayor, ‘that I was content to let the Almighty decide which one of us should be spared, stressing that all three of you were far more worthy of his beneficence than I was.’

Tessier raised his eyes to Heaven in disbelief.

‘Do you think Father Pierre has made his decision?’ asked Philippe.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Lascelles, as he turned to face the priest, who was still on his knees praying.

The mayor raised his glass and said, ‘May the Lord guide you in your deliberations, Father.’

The other three raised their glasses and said in unison, ‘May the Lord guide you—’ but before they could finish, the mayor’s face drained of all colour and he began to tremble. He dropped his glass and it shattered on the table as he continued to stare in front of him.

His three colleagues turned to look in the same direction, but the priest was no longer there.

2

They all counted the chimes as they rang out: one, two, three, four. Two more hours before they would discover their fate.

‘What are you doing, Claude?’ asked the mayor as he sat back down in his seat.

‘Writing my will.’

‘Would you like me to draw it up for you? After all, you wouldn’t want there to be any disputes or misunderstandings after your death.’

‘Good idea,’ said Tessier. ‘Then I’ll be able to say it was drafted by a lawyer, should I live.’

‘Touché,’ said the mayor.

Claude tore half a dozen pages out of his little black book, and handed them across to the lawyer.

The mayor spent some time studying the banker’s efforts at making a will before he settled down to write.

‘You’ve been extremely generous to your sister and your friend Thomas Bouchard,’ he said, after he’d turned the second page.

‘As I had always intended,’ said Tessier.

‘And your young wife?’ said the mayor, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is she to get nothing?’

‘She’s young enough to find another husband.’

The lawyer turned another page.

‘And I see you’ve left a large donation to the church. Was that also something you’d always intended?’

‘No more than I promised Father Pierre years ago,’ Tessier replied defensively.

‘I also made promises to the good father that I intend to keep,’ said the mayor, before adding, ‘should I live.’

The lawyer continued to write for some time before he presented the testament to his client.

Once Claude had read the document a second time, he asked, ‘Where do I sign?’

The mayor placed a forefinger on the dotted line. ‘You’ll need two witnesses who are conveniently on hand at no extra charge.’

Tessier looked across at the doctor, who could have been in another world. ‘Philippe,’ he said, interrupting his friend’s thoughts. ‘I need you to witness my will.’

The doctor blinked, picked up the pen and, turning to the last page, added his signature.

‘Are you still awake, André?’ asked the mayor, looking across at the headmaster’s back.

‘I haven’t slept a wink,’ came the weary reply.

‘I need a second witness to Claude’s will, and wondered if you’d do the honours.’

André heaved himself slowly up off the bottom bunk and placed his feet on the cold stone floor before making his way across to the table.

‘Do I need to read the document before I sign it?’ he asked.

‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ said the mayor.

‘You’re simply witnessing Claude’s signature.’ He watched as André Parmentier scribbled his name below that of Philippe Doucet. The lawyer placed the will in his battered briefcase.

Tessier jumped up from the table and began pacing around the cell as he thought about the document he’d just signed. If he was to die, it made sense for Thomas Bouchard to merge the two banks and allow his sister to play her part. He didn’t doubt that, between them, they’d make a far better fist of it than he’d managed. He only wished he’d taken his father’s advice and put Louise on the board years ago.

The mayor was taken by surprise when André didn’t return to his bunk, but said, ‘I would also like to make a will, Max.’

‘I’d be delighted to assist you,’ said the lawyer, ripping some more pages out of Claude’s little black book before picking up a pen. ‘Who will be the main beneficiaries?’

‘I want to leave everything to my brother Guillaume.’

‘Don’t you think you’ve done more than enough for him already?’

‘Not nearly enough, I’m afraid,’ the headmaster replied. He extracted a sheet of paper from the pile and began writing a letter to his brother.

Dear Guillaume...

The mayor didn’t have time to argue with his client, so set about preparing the headmaster’s will. A simple exercise that only took him a few minutes, and once he’d double-checked each paragraph, he handed the single sheet of paper across to the headmaster.

‘Thank you,’ said André, who read it slowly, before signing on the bottom of the page and handing it to Tessier and Doucet for their signatures. ‘I’d also like this letter to be attached to my will,’ he added, giving a folded sheet of paper to the lawyer before returning to his bunk.

Once again André closed his eyes, although he knew he wouldn’t sleep. If he were among the three picked, at least Guillaume and his family would live in comparative comfort for the rest of their lives. And he hoped the letter would finally make it clear that his brother had not been responsible for killing the young girl – especially since Guillaume believed he was still the guilty party. When five chimes interrupted his reverie, André wasn’t troubled by the thought of only having one more hour to live.

Once the mayor had placed the headmaster’s will and his letter to Guillaume in his battered attaché case, he smiled at Philippe and said, ‘What about you, my friend, have you thought about making a will?’

‘What’s the point,’ said the doctor, ‘when I’d have to leave everything to you just to clear my gambling debts, and that there still wouldn’t be enough to pay your fee.’

‘Prison visits are pro bono,’ said the mayor with a chuckle.

Philippe leant on the table and placed his head in his hands as the lawyer began writing a third will. The doctor’s thoughts drifted back to Celeste as they so often did when he was alone. She’d be middle-aged by now, and he wondered if she was still married to Victor Bonnard. Did they have any children? Had they migrated to their home in the country after the Germans had marched down the Champs-Elysées? Had the Palladian mansion been requisitioned by the German High Command? Not a day went by when Celeste didn’t creep into his thoughts.

Once the mayor had completed a document of which he was the only beneficiary – not strictly legal, but who would know – he swivelled it round for Philippe to sign. Claude and André added their signatures without comment.

‘Will you be making a will, Max?’ asked Claude.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ replied the mayor without explanation.

A strange and eerie silence descended on the cell. Four men lost in their thoughts as the seconds ticked by and they waited to learn their fate.

The mayor occasionally checked his watch, only to find time was something he couldn’t influence as it progressed on its predetermined course, like a runner on his final lap. No one spoke when the first chime rang out, echoing around the cell. Long before the sixth bell had struck, they all heard the key turning in the lock.

‘You can rely on the Germans to be on time,’ said the mayor.

‘Especially for a hanging,’ added the banker as he stopped pacing and stared at the door. The mayor placed the deck of cards neatly back on the table. The headmaster sat bolt upright in his bunk, while Philippe continued to think about Celeste. Was he finally going to be released from her spell?

They all watched apprehensively as the massive door swung open and Captain Hoffman marched into the cell, a large smile on his face.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I hope you all had a good night’s sleep.’

No one responded as they waited to find out which one of them would be reprieved.

‘I have your tickets,’ said Hoffman, before handing each of them a small green billet. ‘We’d better get a move on, as the only train to Saint Rochelle today leaves in about half an hour.’

The four of them still didn’t move, wondering if they were taking part in some elaborate Teutonic version of gallows humour.

‘Can I ask,’ said the doctor, the only one willing to voice what he knew was on all their minds. ‘How many people were injured in last night’s train crash?’

‘What train crash?’ Hoffman asked.

‘The one that took place yesterday evening. We heard three German officers and three Frenchmen were killed by a bomb that had been planted on the track.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Hoffman. ‘There hasn’t been a bombing on the Saint Rochelle line for several months. A fact that the commandant is particularly proud of. I think you must have had a bad dream, doctor. Let’s get moving, we can’t expect the train to wait for us.’

Hoffman turned to leave, and the four men reluctantly followed him out of the cell.

André wondered if he was about to wake up.

Hoffman led his little band down a long dark corridor, up a steep flight of worn stone steps and out into a sharp morning light that the four of them hadn’t experienced for the past six months. As they walked across the courtyard, their eyes focused on the gallows.

Colonel Müller and his ADC marched into the station and came to a halt in the centre of the platform. When the locals saw them, they immediately scattered to the far ends of the platform, as if the colonel was Moses, parting the Red Sea.

‘I’ve allowed the mayor and the three councillors to travel back to Saint Rochelle first-class,’ said the commandant. ‘The occasional concession does no harm if we hope to keep things running smoothly.’

‘Is the mayor still onside?’ asked Dieter.

‘For the moment, yes,’ responded the commandant.

‘But that man would switch sides without a second thought if it suited his purpose.’

Dieter nodded. ‘And I fear I’m going to have to leave you to deal with the damn man, sir, because I’ve just received orders from Berlin instructing me to join my regiment in East Prussia. It looks as if the Führer has called off an invasion of England, and has decided to attack Russia.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Dieter,’ said the colonel. ‘And I suspect it won’t be too long before I’ll have to join you, and leave the mayor in charge of Saint Rochelle.’

‘Perish the thought,’ said Dieter.

‘I’d rather the mayor perished,’ the colonel replied as Captain Hoffman marched onto the platform, his four charges in his wake.

Captain Hoffman walked across to join his colleagues beside the first-class carriage in the centre of the train, while the mayor and the three councillors kept their distance. Hoffman clicked his heels and gave the commandant a Nazi salute. ‘The paperwork has been completed, sir, and as instructed, they’ve been issued with first-class tickets.’

‘Don’t acknowledge them,’ said the colonel as he turned his back on the mayor. ‘No need to give the partisans any reason to suspect we have someone on the inside.’

‘Frankly, I wish I could send the mayor to the Eastern Front,’ said Hoffman.

‘Amen to that,’ said Dieter as the three German officers boarded the first compartment in the first-class carriage.

‘Say nothing,’ whispered the mayor to his three colleagues, ‘until we’re on board, when no one else can overhear us.’

The four Frenchmen waited until everyone else had got into the second-class carriages before they climbed into the last compartment in first-class, leaving an empty compartment between themselves and the three Germans.

The mayor placed his briefcase on the rack above him, and settled down in a corner seat.

‘Max, I’ve been thinking about my will,’ said Tessier, who sat down opposite him, ‘and I’ve decided I’d like to make a few changes.’

‘Why?’ demanded the mayor, staring innocently across the carriage at the banker.

‘Circumstances have changed.’

‘But you gave your word to Father Pierre—’ The mayor stopped in mid-sentence, aware that he’d raised the one subject none of them wanted to discuss.

3

The two resistance fighters picked up the bomb the moment the sun disappeared behind a solitary cloud. They crept out of the forest, moved stealthily down the grassy slope and planted it in the middle of the track.

The older man began to walk backwards, unwinding a wheel of fuse wire, until they were once again safely out of sight. Once the correct length of wire had been cut and attached to the detonator they both slithered back down the slope and spent the next twenty minutes covering the exposed wire with bracken, stones and tufts of grass.

‘Just in case an observant driver spots the wire glinting in the sun,’ Marcel explained to his latest recruit.

Once the job was done to the older man’s satisfaction, they clambered back up the hill to their hiding place and waited.

‘How old are you, Albert?’ asked the resistance commander as he lit a cigarette.

‘Sixteen,’ the boy replied.

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ he teased.

‘Not until I’ve seen the last German leave France in a wooden box.’

‘Why made you so keen to join our cause?’

‘The Germans came in the middle of the night and arrested my mother. Father says we’ll never see her again.’

‘What was her crime?’

‘Being Jewish.’

‘Then it’s your lucky day, Albert, because my contact in Saint Rochelle has assured me that three German officers, including the prison commandant, will be on the train this morning.’

‘How will we know which carriage to blow up?’

‘That’s easy. German officers always travel first-class, so we are only interested in the carriage in the centre of the train.’

‘Won’t some of our own people be injured, even killed by the blast?’ asked Albert.

‘Unlikely. Once it’s known there are German officers on a train, the two second-class carriages on either side of first-class will be deserted.’

Albert stared at the plunger, his hands trembling.

‘Patience, my boy,’ said Marcel as the train rounded the bend and came into sight, billowing clouds of smoke into a clear blue sky. ‘It won’t be long now.’

Albert placed both hands on the plunger.

‘Not yet,’ said Marcel. ‘I’ll tell you when.’

The young recruit could feel the sweat pouring down his face as the train came closer and closer.

‘Any moment now,’ said the older man as the engine clattered over the bomb. ‘Get ready.’ It was only a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime to Albert, before Marcel gave the order, ‘Now!’

Albert Bouchard pressed firmly down on the plunger, and watched as the bomb exploded in front of his eyes. As the blast tore through the carriage, a ball of purple and blue flames shot into the air, mixed with shards of glass and debris. The carriage was blown unceremoniously off the track, landing with a thud on the far bank, a mass of twisted, molten metal embedded in the grass. Albert sat there, mesmerized by the scene. His only thought was that no one could possibly have survived. He stared at the other two carriages lying like abandoned children by its side, doors flapping and windows smashed.

‘Let’s go, Albert!’ shouted the older man, who was already on his feet. But the boy couldn’t take his eyes off the carnage.

Marcel grabbed his new recruit by his collar and yanked him up. He quickly disappeared into the forest with young Bouchard following in his footsteps. No longer a schoolboy.

The guard who had been stationed in the rear carriage was among the first on the scene. When he came across the bodies of three German officers, including Colonel Müller, he crossed himself. He moved on and was surprised to find the bodies of three of his countrymen lying nearby. They must have been travelling first-class. But why, he wondered. Everyone had been briefed about the latest directive from the commander of the resistance.

Next on the scene was the driver, who’d been furthest from the blast.

‘How many dead?’ he asked.

‘Six,’ replied the guard. ‘Three Germans and sadly three of our own.’

‘And I passed several passengers lying by the side of the track,’ said the driver. ‘But none of them were badly injured. They got lucky, because there was a local doctor on the train, and he’s looking after them.’