Marcel groaned and moved to a sitting position. It was then I noticed he was cradling his left arm. ‘Damn it,’ he muttered.
‘You’ve been shot!’ I scrambled over to him.
‘I’ll live.’ Marcel got to his feet. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘What made you come?’ I asked. ‘And what’s all this?’ I gestured towards the uniform.
‘Had to get in here somehow.’
‘But you also need to get out,’ a voice said from the doorway.
We both looked up and there was Alphonse. As Marcel before him, Alphonse was holding a gun in his hand. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him as he surveyed the scene.
‘Alphonse,’ I began.
‘Don’t speak,’ he snapped.
I could see Marcel look to the floor where, after shooting Kranz, he had dropped his weapon as he bundled me to safety.
I knew he was thinking about making a grab for it. ‘Don’t,’ I said, resting my hand on his arm.
Alphonse waved the gun at Marcel. ‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’ He then moved around us and picked up Marcel’s gun.
‘He was going to shoot Nathalie,’ said Marcel.
Alphonse pursed his lips. ‘And I’m guessing, Nathalie, you were going to shoot Kranz?’
I nodded. There wasn’t any point denying it, not to Alphonse. ‘It was a stand-off,’ I said.
‘And that’s when you arrived.’ He looked at Marcel. ‘You knew she was going to do this?’
‘I tried to talk her out of it.’
‘She didn’t listen to you either,’ concluded Alphonse.
‘What are you going to do?’ I asked Alphonse. ‘Are you going to shoot us?’
Alphonse looked shocked. ‘Shoot you? Do you think that little of me? I know you don’t love me and you hate what I represent, but surely you know I’m incapable of killing you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, and I meant it. I was sorry I had rejected Alphonse and hurt him. I was sorry I had been pig-headed and determined to avenge Edgar’s death. I was sorry Marcel had got involved. The only thing I wasn’t sorry about was Kranz being dead.
‘Dearest Nathalie. You know I would have taken care of you,’ said Alphonse. ‘I would have looked after you. I could have made you happy.’ He let out a deep sigh. ‘I’m not the heartless man you may think I am.’
‘I know you’re not, but we … we want different things,’ I said, feeling genuine sorrow but at the same time relief.
I could sense Marcel getting agitated. He grunted as he moved from one foot to the other, his injury obviously hurting him.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Alphonse.
‘Shot in the shoulder,’ said Marcel.
‘He pushed me out of the line of fire,’ I explained.
‘And caught a bullet for you. How romantic,’ replied Alphonse.
‘He needs a doctor.’
Alphonse studied us for what seemed a long moment before speaking. ‘What I am about to suggest is not because I don’t still believe in the German ethos, but because I still care about you, despite everything.’
