Chameleon Love

While Marie packed trunks for herself and Suzanne, Henri and Suzanne scoured the house for valuables whose absence wouldn’t be notice by first-time visitors and hid them away in the recess in the chimney in Suzanne’s room that had been used for similar emergencies in the two hundred years the villa had stood here. There were more secrets in the house than just this hiding place.

The women had been gone none too soon when the knock on the door that Henri had anticipated came. Standing on the landing in front of the door, backed by two soldiers—one older and grizzly and one almost as young as Henri and wide-eyed and full of unspoken questions—was Hauptmann Gerhard Reins, eyes aglow from the servicing he’d received earlier in the day. Henri didn’t regret having given into the man. He was maybe in his late thirties, ramrod straight and tall, on the thin side, but muscular, hair even blonder than Henri’s—nearly pure white—and piercing, cruel pale-blue eyes. The mouth was set in a superior-attitude near-sneer, which contrasted with the older soldier behind him, whose sneer was knowing and demanding. When he was honest, Henri had to admit to himself that he preferred a demanding—and, yes, even a bit cruel—man. This soldier, at least, had been told of Reins’ tryst with Henri, Henri was certain. And it was just as likely that he wanted to claim a share.

“We require billets,” Reins declared. “Your house has been identified as the most appropriate one in the village. And I expect it to provide full amenities.” The captain gave Henri a meaningful look.

Henri knew there were houses in better shape, but he had to admit that this villa was the most imposing one and with the most furnished bedrooms. This had been his premonition—that the German captain would come straight here for housing—and other benefits. The “other benefits” fit in with Henri’s desperate plans, though.

Henri merely inclined his head in assent and acquiescence.