Chapter 21
Hoffmann greeted Fitz with much enthusiasm when she came into the room. He kissed her either side of her face this time and slipped his hand across her lower back, giving her waist a squeeze. ‘You look stunning tonight, Claudine.’
Fitz was wearing a bright red dress. She had no idea where Margot had obtained the gown, but once again it was a perfect fit. It had an open cowl back to it, with tiny spaghetti-like straps tied at the back of her neck. The dress was very fitted and a long split ran up to her mid-thigh allowing her just enough room to walk.
‘Colonel …’ began Fitz.
Hoffman held up his finger. ‘Ah, ah, ah,’ he scolded good humouredly. ‘It’s not Colonel. Remember, it’s Rolf now.’
‘Of course, I just didn’t want to be presumptuous,’ said Fitz with a giggle. Her stomach churned and she thought she was going to vomit for a moment. She could smell his aftershave and see a small nick on his jaw where he’d caught himself shaving. He wasn’t unattractive in looks, though, and Fitz found herself wondering if it wouldn’t be that bad having to sleep with him if necessary. She thought of the women who were distractions for the soldiers on the checkpoint. If they were prepared to do whatever it took, then she was, too. She leaned into the colonel. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Rolf,’ she said quietly, but offering a seductive smile. ‘Much more of you.’
She could see the German puff his chest out a fraction at the overtly flirtatious comment. ‘And I of you,’ he said.
As she sipped her drink, Fitz glanced around the room, catching sight of Margot. The Frenchwoman gave a small nod at Fitz and returned to her conversation with one of the women.
Fitz spent the meal sitting next to Hoffmann and fawning over him as much as was decent without it seeming too over the top, but certainly offering the right encouragement to him. This time, when he reached down for the napkin on his lap, he rested his hand on her thigh, his fingertips sliding open the split of her dress so he could stroke her stocking top.
There was no mistaking his intentions for later that evening and Fitz felt somewhat reassured. She sipped rather more wine than she had the previous night, in a bid to settle her nerves or to cover them. Any slip up, she could put down to the alcohol.
After dinner, rather than the men retiring to another room, they remained in the dining hall. Fitz was aware the atmosphere was more boisterous than it had been the previous evening. One of the officers was leaning back in his seat, with a woman each side cuddled up to him. He had loosened his tie and undone the top button on his shirt.
Fitz glanced down at Engel and was disappointed to see he looked as composed as he had when he’d first arrived. Fortunately, he hadn’t spoken to her other than to say hello and she hoped this was a good sign. But when his eyes locked on hers, an involuntary shiver ran down her spine. Hoffmann might have a reputation for his barbaric actions, but Engel’s cool and calm demeanour was equally chilling. She was sure making an enemy of Engel was far worse than it would be of Hoffmann. Engel smiled at her and raised his glass.
Fitz smiled back with a confidence she didn’t feel. She was just happy he wasn’t anywhere near her.
However, her respite was short-lived and very soon Philippe ushered his guests through to the ballroom where a string quartet was playing, and more alcohol was on offer.
‘How are you at dancing?’ asked Hoffman, taking Fitz’s hand in one of his and placing the other around her waist. Before she could even answer, he had whisked her into the centre of the room and straight into a waltz.
Thank heavens for the Badcombe House summer balls thought Fitz as she glided effortlessly around the dance floor. It wasn’t long before other couples joined in with the dancing. The chandelier sparkled overhead, and soft lighting illuminated the dark corners of the room. A fire had been lit in the large fireplace and a decorated Christmas tree stood next to it.
Fitz wasn’t sure her dress was ideal for twirling around for too long and was pleased when after only three dances the colonel seemed out of breath and in need of refreshment.
‘Don’t wear yourself out too soon,’ she said, running her hand down his arm. ‘We have a long night ahead of us.’
‘We do?’ Hoffmann kissed the side of her face. ‘I’m pleased to hear that.’
‘In fact,’ continued Fitz. She leaned into him to whisper in his ear. ‘If it gets too dull around here, we could go and see Madame Mimi.’
Hoffmann looked surprised. ‘Madame Mimi?’
‘Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t heard of her?’ said Fitz.
‘I have not,’ said Hoffmann. ‘Who is she?’
‘Let’s just say, she knows how to look after a man and his needs,’ said Fitz. ‘I’m sure a man like you will be able to handle the both of us.’
A deep guttural sound came from Hoffmann and he ran a finger around the inside of his collar. ‘I like the sound of Madame Mimi very much.’
‘Oh, good. It will be a fun evening after all,’ whispered Fitz. ‘These dinner parties are all right but they can be a little dull.’ She slipped her arm through Hoffmann’s and cosied up to him. This was going far more smoothly than she had anticipated. She’d thought Hoffmann might be resistant to the idea, but no, he was definitely game for it. Thank goodness.
She checked the clock. She had an hour to get Hoffmann out of the château and into the waiting car. As planned, a waiter approached them, carrying a silver tray with two champagne flutes on it. He offered it to Fitz first, who took both glasses. The one on her left was the one she had to give to Hoffmann. It was laced with some sort of drug that would impair Hoffmann’s co-ordination and thought process, so much so, it would make him open to suggestion and incapable of resisting. To the casual onlooker, he would appear very drunk.
Fitz handed the glass to Hoffmann, hoping that whoever had laced the drink hadn’t got muddled up, or it would be her who was rendered useless rather than Hoffmann and who knew what sort of trouble she could end up in.
‘Thank you,’ said Hoffmann, accepting the glass of champagne. He looked around as Philippe stood on a chair.
‘A toast!’ called out Philippe, holding his champagne flute in the air. ‘To our special guests this evening, Colonel Hoffmann.HeilHitler!’
