The knock at Hoffmann’s bedroom door came earlier than Fitz had expected. It was still dark outside, and the dawn was yet to break. How wrong Wilding had been when he said she’d be home for Christmas dinner.
Fitz had ruffled the sheets on both sides of the bed and dented the pillows, so it looked as if two people had spent the night there. She’d messed up her hair somewhat, smudged her lipstick and flung her stockings onto the floor, along with her shoes. She’d also used the towel in the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat. She wasn’t sure it would fool Engel, but she had to at least try. If anything, it would buy some time and Hoffmann would be on a plane to England before anyone realised he was missing.
She waited for the second knock before going over to the door.
‘Who is it?’ she asked without opening it.
‘Captain Engel. I need to speak to the colonel.’
‘He’s not here,’ called Fitz through the door.
‘Open the door before I shoot the lock,’ commanded Engel.
Fitz turned the key, and the door was immediately barged open. She jumped back out of the way as Engel strode into the room, his pistol in his hand. Two soldiers followed him in. One of them trained his gun on Fitz.
‘He’s not here,’ repeated Fitz as she watched Engel take in the room, before striding over to the bathroom and then the dressing room.
He marched back out and stood in front of her. ‘Where is the colonel?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Fitz. ‘He was here earlier. But when I woke up, he was gone.’
‘Liar,’ snapped Engel. Without warning, he raised his hand and struck Fitz hard across the face, almost sending her off her feet.
She let out a small cry. It stung, rather than hurt. Engel grabbed her jaw, squeezing her face between his finger and thumb. ‘I will ask once again. Where is the colonel?’
‘I don’t know where he is,’ she repeated.
This earned her another slap on the other side of her face.
Fitz could hear the sound of feet and voices. It sounded like Margot and Philippe.
‘What is going on here?’ Philippe strode into the room. ‘It’s Christmas morning, for goodness, sake, Captain. My cousin is a guest of mine.’
‘Stay where you are,’ ordered Engel. ‘Mademoiselle Bardot is under arrest. Guest or not. I’m the one who gives the orders.’ He nodded at the soldiers who stepped forward and at gunpoint grabbed Fitz by the arms.
‘At least have the decency to allow her to get dressed into suitable clothing,’ said Margot.
‘The colonel will not be happy to learn you’ve treated Claudine in this way,’ said Philippe.
Engel narrowed his eyes. ‘That is the problem, though. We do not know where the colonel is and I have reason to believe Mademoiselle Bardot does and she is withholding the information with the intention of delaying locating the colonel.’
‘Even so,’ said Philippe. ‘You might be wrong. He might have been called away for some reason.’
‘And you think I wouldn’t know about that?’ Engel gave a snort. He looked at Fitz’s clothing and then turned to Margot. ‘Get her something else to wear.’
Margot hurried off and returned shortly with Fitz’s clothes. ‘Get changed,’ ordered Engel as Margot handed her the garments. ‘No, not in the dressing room. Here.’
There was a glint in Engel’s eye and Fitz knew he was enjoying the thought of humiliating her in front of everyone. Well, he had underestimated her if he thought that.
Very slowly, she slid the thin straps off her dress from her shoulders and slipped her arms out. Philippe turned away and Margot looked down at the ground. Fitz looked at each of the soldiers in turn, but neither batted an eyelid. Her gaze moved to Engel and she locked eyes with him.
She lifted her chin and then reached around and undid the side zip and stepped out of the dress. Then she put on her own clothes, taking her time to fasten the buttons on her cardigan and smoothing down her hair.
‘Very nice,’ said Engel. ‘Take her away.’
The guards grabbed her by the arms and marched her out of the room, down the stairs and out to the front of the château where Engel’s black Citroën was waiting.
Philippe had protested at Fitz’s arrest and had been so convincing in his disbelief and the injustice, that Fitz had almost believed him herself. Unsurprisingly, it had been to no avail and Fitz had been whisked off in Engel’s car to Saint Martin’s Clinic – a property in the north of the town, now taken over by the Gestapo as a place of interrogation.
