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‘Yes, we just thought perhaps you would like to join us tonight?’
She swallowed. ‘Oh. Um, thank you. I’ll go get a plate,’ she said, smiling. His hand shot out to stop her, once more she was caught in a vice-like grip.
‘No, no bother, you can have half of mine,’ he said, mildly, letting her arm go, and then slopping half of his stew onto a side plate for her.
‘That is very generous,’ she said. She held the bottle in front of her, then reached for the bottle opener that Henri had left on the table. ‘Shall I pour?’
There were several nods.
‘Eat up, gentlemen, don’t let it get cold,’ she said with a smile as she began to fill their glasses.
One of the men was about to when Busch held up his hand, a half smile on his face.
‘Why the rush to feed us, madame?’
She looked at him, forced on a big easy smile. ‘No rush.’
He stared at her and she forgot to breathe.
‘You know, I have never seen you eat your own food,’ he said, with a frown.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘well, it’s not usually good for… for the cook to eat with everyone, but I always have a good taste,’ she said, winking at the others, ‘but if you insist.’ She came to the place he’d set for her, and took a seat. She picked up a fork and filled it from the side plate he’d set out for her, ready to put it in her mouth.
She wouldn’t mind dying if it meant they did too. If that meant that she could help prevent the forced removal of hundreds of people who were already afraid for their lives.
Busch watched her, a frown on his face, and then just before she was about to put it in her mouth he shook his head. ‘Henri,’ he called, ‘make yourself a plate too. You can join us too – tonight is a celebration.’
‘Oh no, monsieur, Henri…’
‘You don’t want him to eat this food?’
‘It’s all right, madame, I’m happy to join,’ said Henri.
She felt like she was drowning.
‘I don’t think that’s right, you have important guests,’ she said, looking at Karl Lange.
‘Oh no, I don’t mind,’ said Lange.
‘Come here,’ said Busch, taking the plate from her, ‘come sit, Henri. Try some of Marianne’s stew. Marianne, go get yourself a proper plate.’
Marianne’s mouth turned dry.
Henri nodded, good-naturedly, waiting for her to leave her chair and then he took her place. Before she could do or say anything he’d shovelled a big forkful into his mouth, closing his eyes in bliss. ‘Oh my gosh, it’s delicious. I was starving,’ he said.
Marianne felt like the world was falling away from her feet, she wanted to knock the plate out of his hands, tell him to run, but it was hopeless, they’d both be killed on the spot, and she needed that list from Louisa. From somewhere she managed to mutter and smile, ‘I’m glad you like it.’
Something about this perhaps calmed Busch and he began to eat too.
‘Look at the boy,’ laughed one of the others. ‘He is enjoying himself.’
‘Good,’ said Busch, patting him on his back.
Marianne got up. ‘I’ll go get one for myself,’ she said, and made her way to the kitchen to get another plate and to stop her eyes from filling in front of Busch.
When she returned everyone was eating.
One of the soldiers called for another bottle of wine. ‘Please, before you join us.’
She nodded, but by the time she brought it, the effects of the poison were already beginning to take effect. She watched in horror as they all began to convulse; there was the sound of chairs falling over, and gasping.
Busch was staring at her, his expression turning from shock to hatred as he gasped his last breath. Marianne tore her gaze away, knowing that the look he’d given her would haunt her nightmares, even though he’d deserved it. When the time had come for him to die, she didn’t even get to tell him why she’d killed him or to feel any vindication, she just rushed to Henri, hoping that somehow she could get him to vomit, or get him to a doctor, but it was too late. He was already gone.
She fell onto her knees and held his body in hers. She looked at his young face, with its smattering of freckles so like his brother, and hot tears slid down her neck, the guilt crushing her like a tidal wave. The sound she made was like something wild, as she keened, holding him close. She said, over and over again, ‘Oh Henri, what did I do? It should have been me. I’m so sorry…’
