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minutes while the firing squad laughed and joked and smoked cigarettes. They sneered and taunted them when they prayed, or they cursed them. Sometimes men wet themselves before they were executed - and the guards would ridicule them, or shout obscenities at them--’ Eleanor paused and clenched her fists.

‘There were a couple of guards who put black bags made of coarse sacking over prisoners’ heads, but others, the more sadistic among them, made the prisoners look at me. I was an unwilling spectator at their cruel games, Claire.

‘Some weeks before the Allies liberated the prison, I was dragged out of my hut and propped up against the wall with half a dozen other prisoners. This time they did put black bags over our heads. The sergeant in charge of the firing squad ordered them to take aim, then fire! I braced myself and began to pray. When the firing stopped I heard the bodies of the men on either side of me falling to the ground while I was still propped against the wall.

‘That was the latest game. Ordered by Heinrich Beckman as a punishment because, although he was sure that I was a member of the Resistance and he suspected a Jew, I wouldn’t confirm either. I wouldn’t tell him anything, except under the influence of one of his mind-meddling drugs.’

Eleanor spat out a harsh laugh. ‘But that wasn’t good enough for Doctor Beckman. He was an egomaniac. He needed to personally break me, not have a truth serum do it for him. So that was the torture he designed for me. Propped up against the wall, in agony from legs already broken, not knowing if I would be executed that day or the next, or in a week’s time.’

‘You said women were executed?’

‘Yes, there were only a few women in the prison. Some, like me, were members of the Resistance. Each hut had at least one woman in it. It was another way to break the men. Most of the prisoners had spouses or sweethearts back home - the women too. They missed their loved ones, so the Germans put temptation in their way. Two or three years in a place like that can make the most faithful man lonely for a woman.’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘Relationships between prisoners was a breach of discipline, punishable by death. If two people were caught together, or even suspected of having an affair, they were taken out and shot.

‘Thankfully, most of the men were like Alain, able to control their needs. But then Alain knew you were waiting for him. Never doubt that he loved you then, Claire.’ Eleanor sighed. ‘Alain is the best of men. I owe him my life.’

Eleanor looked into Claire’s eyes. ‘Without Alain, I would not have survived the torture Beckman dished out to me. I think if I hadn’t had Alain to go back to, Beckman would have broken me. But every time the guards dragged me back to the hut, Alain would wrap me in his blanket and hold me, taking care not to do more damage to my broken body.’

Guilt and shame swept over Claire. She couldn’t help herself, and said, ‘Last night I saw you in Le Restaurant du Parc and I thought--’

‘You thought I was in love with him?’

Claire lowered her eyes, her cheeks red with embarrassment. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?’

‘There is nothing to forgive. I was in love with him in the prison, but Alain was in love with you. As for last night?’ Eleanor reached out and took Claire’s hands. ‘Last night I felt the warmth and love of a big brother. I want to always know him, and always feel that love. I shall do nothing to risk losing it.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No. Thank you.’ Letting go of Claire’s hands Eleanor stacked the documents one on top of another. ‘With these,’ she said, ‘we’ve got the devil.’

‘We have the proof, but how do we get him to a court in France for a trial?’

‘The Canadian police will find him, and when they do they will bring him to France and turn him over to the French authorities. Or, two of our investigators will fly to Canada and bring him back.

‘It is usually investigators working for the lawyers who find the proof to put war criminals away - and that can take time.’ Eleanor lifted the documents and waved them above her head, ‘but with all this, Beckman won’t know what has hit him,’ she laughed.

Eleanor Cheval was ready for the fight. Claire too was ready. Full of admiration for this courageous woman whose enthusiasm was rubbing off on her, Claire was laughing when the door of the music room crashed open.

Mitch rushed in, his face was as white as a sheet. ‘Heinrich Beckman is holding my father and step-mother hostage. Guillaume is taking me to Orly airport, I’m flying to Canada tonight.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Claire said. She reached over the arm of the settee and grabbed her handbag. Ripping a page from her notebook, she scribbled down Antoinette Marron’s name and telephone number. Beneath it she wrote Thomas Durand and his telephone number. ‘Would you telephone my friend Antoinette? Tell her what has happened. Tell her we won’t be coming to Paris now, and,’ Claire took a panicky breath, ‘ask her to let Édith Belland and my sister Bess know? She has their numbers.’

Eleanor assured Claire that she would telephone Antoinette Marron as soon as she and Alain left. ‘And Thomas? What do I tell him?’

‘Tell him to meet me at Orly airport.’ Claire thought for a second. ‘I don’t know what time we’ll arrive, but Thomas will work it out if you tell him what time it was when we left here. And, tell him to bring me a key kit.’

Eleanor knew, as Thomas would know, that a key kit was

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