‘I’m not sure Monsieur Tache will be pleased to hear about this,’ I said. ‘You could end up losing your job.’
Bochette let out a laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t think Tache will be bothering me anymore. At this very moment, he is being arrested and taken for questioning by the Gestapo.’
‘What?’ My thoughts raced to keep up with this new information. Had Tache really been arrested? Or was Bochette just saying it? Would Tache give up my name to the Gestapo? It was only a matter of time before a person cracked under interrogation.
‘So, you little bitch, there’s no one here to save you now, is there? No Monsieur Tache.’ She pulled a mock sad face. ‘So we can have a bit of fun. Well, at least I will.’
‘You leave me alone,’ I said with as much force as I could muster.
‘Don’t be like that,’ said Bochette. Her face cracked into a greedy smile, showing her yellowing teeth and the gap at the side where two were missing. She took a step nearer, taking her hands from her pockets. It was then I saw a glint of metal reflecting the amber glow of the overhead light bulb. She had a knife in her hand.
I thought about screaming or shouting, but down here in the staff quarters, no one would hear me. The kitchen was too far away and even if anyone was in the laundry room, they wouldn’t be able to hear me above the noise of the spinners and wringers that were constantly in use to cater to the needs of the guests. I ran towards the door that led out into the courtyard, grabbing the handle. But it was locked.
Bochette let out a cackle of laughter.
I spun around, my back pressed up against the door as I frantically scanned the room, looking for something to defend myself with.
I had a fleeting thought of regret that I hadn’t brought the little silver pistol down with me. I had been wary about being stopped at a checkpoint and having it found in my purse. I had hidden it at the back of one of the laundry cupboards on Kranz’s floor.
Bochette was taking slow, deliberate steps towards me, enjoying every moment of trapping her prey.
On my second scan of the room, I saw the poker used to stoke the open fire. I looked at Bochette. Her eyes flicked towards the fireplace and back to me. The poker was nearer to me and I lunged for it a split second before Bochette pounced.
I grabbed the poker from the hearth and somehow swerved my body away from the blade, leaving Bochette stabbing the air.
With no conscious thought, I spun around, a little unsteady on my feet, and with all my might, I slammed the iron poker down onto Bochette’s arm.
She let out an almighty roar of pain but amazingly didn’t drop the knife.
I staggered back. The adrenaline pumped hard through my veins as Bochette snatched up the coal shovel and advanced towards me, swinging it back and forth in front of her. I tried to smash the shovel from her hand, but she held fast. It was like some ludicrous sword fight but without the appropriate weapons.
Bochette was faster on her feet than I expected and her robust frame was an easy match for my light and petite one.
I would not get many chances at this. I backed into the table but skirted around the end to keep a safe distance between us.
‘I promise you, I can keep this up all evening,’ said Bochette. ‘No one will come down here for hours. I’ve told them the door is jammed and can’t be fixed until tomorrow. Everyone will leave through the kitchen.’
I had to give her credit for her foresight. It was clearly superior to mine.
‘What do you think you’re going to do, kill me and just leave me here?’ I demanded, wondering, even if I managed to disarm her, how on earth was I going to physically fight her and get the key from her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not going to kill you. That I’ll leave for Kranz. He can have some fun with you, after I have, of course. By the time we’re both finished with you, you’ll wish you were dead anyway. Just like your snivelling brother, Edgar.’
‘Shut up!’ The rage ignited deep inside me, setting my insides on fire. ‘Don’t you dare even speak my brother’s name.’
Of course she didn’t stop. ‘Oh, how he cried, just like a baby. In fact, he called for his mother just before the end. It was one of the last words he said. Maman. Maman,’ she mocked.
I’m not sure what happened next. All I knew was I was screaming at her, running towards her, the poker raised above my shoulder. I swatted the shovel like swishing away an annoying fly.
Bochette cried out and lunged towards me with the knife. I threw my body to the side, bringing the poker up and smashing it down again on her shoulder. And again, for a third time.
It was this blow that caught the side of her head and Bochette crumpled soundlessly to the floor. The only noise was the knife clattering to the floor.
I kicked it away from her, sending it sliding under a cupboard. As it did so, I noticed a stain of red on the blade. Suddenly, a white-hot heat seared through my left side. I looked down and saw a bloom of red seeping through my blouse. I’d been stabbed. I clasped my hand over the wound.
I dropped to my knees, dizziness taking over. I swayed. How bad was it? I took a deep breath and gingerly lifted the fabric. The wound was about an inch wide and blood was pumping out.
I pulled my apron from me and bundled it up against my side, pressing it with my hand. Trying to clean my hand of the blood, I rummaged in Bochette’s apron and found the key.
