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‘I don’t know, but somehow I’m going to have to get them to cover their tracks – they can’t just simply move, it’ll be too suspicious.’
‘Please be careful.’
‘Always, cherie,’ he said and then kissed the top of her head. ‘That goes for you too. Carry on as normal.’
‘Yes.’
It was two days before the planned move on the school, and Harald Vlig was visiting the restaurant once more. The decision she’d made the night before sat like a stone inside her belly. But she knew it had to be done. This time Vlig wanted to try something else, something really French. She had prepared a ratatouille just for him.
When she dished up his plate of stew, she was careful to shred a tiny leaf of belladonna inside – the nuns had said it could take two days to take effect, and that was what she was counting on. She took it out to him personally, as she had done the evening before. He seemed to enjoy that he was the only one with a special meal; Busch had told her to really make him feel like an honoured guest so that was what she did, even coming out to pour his wine.
‘Here you go, General. One ratatouille.’ She gave him a wide smile, as he set it down before him.
He smiled in return. ‘I’m looking forward to it. Busch really did well by discovering this gem. I can see why he likes to dine here so often.’
She touched her heart, as if she was flattered, murmured, ‘Thank you,’ and went to pour one of the other officers’ wine, waiting with bated breath as Vlig finally put a forkful in his mouth. Then he turned to her and pressed his fingers to his lips. She beamed in response.
