Clash by Night Read Free Page B

and fixed on the girl. He was surprised to see her; he remembered the attractive redhead he’d noticed in the crowd on his way into Fains. He also remembered the volatile teenager who’d been with her, not in evidence today.
    “You are?” he said to the woman.
    “Laura Duclos, Henri’s daughter-in-law,” she recited again, getting tired of identifying herself.
    “I did not request your presence. Why are you here?”
    Laura took a calming breath. Bluntness seemed to be a specialty with these people; the French regard for politesse , which Laura had come to take for granted during her years in Fains, was entirely missing. “My father-in-law’s German is poor,” Laura answered. “I thought I could help translating if there were a communications problem.”
    “My French should be adequate to the task. You will be notified if your assistance is required in that regard,” Becker stated flatly. Then, “You are a linguistics expert?”  
    “I have a degree from the University of Nancy in European Languages,” Laura replied patiently, wondering wildly if this suspicious autocrat would require her to produce it.
    “Your accent is not French,” he observed curtly, alert to every nuance.
    Laura stepped forward and placed on his desk the papers she’d been holding. “ Ich bin Amerikanerin ,” she said proudly, her eyes never leaving his. “I am American.”
    Becker picked up her passport and identity papers thoughtfully, accepting this for the challenge it was. This woman was not a French national but an American citizen. Considering the tenuous relationship between their two countries, it would be wise for him to treat her carefully; the American consulate was still in full operation. The girl had come, not to assist the old man, but to protect him. Her American citizenship was the only armor she possessed to shield herself and the Duclos family.
    Becker arranged the papers on his blotter and folded his hands on top of them, eyeing the girl steadily. She gazed back at him, her green gaze unruffled, very cool. He kept his tone neutral as he said, nodding at Henri, “You are married to his son?”
    “I was. My husband is dead. He was killed during the fighting last autumn while trying to aid a fallen comrade.”  
    Henri shot Laura a terrified glance, silently begging her not to antagonize this steely automaton. But Becker merely leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, commenting, “Very commendable. He died a hero, then.”
    “A lot of heroes died that day.”
    Henri closed his eyes.
    Becker exhaled deliberately.
    “On both sides I presume you mean, Madame Duclos,” he said evenly. He held Laura’s gaze, his dark eyes direct and cold.
    Laura bit her tongue to stifle a tart reply, and Henri relaxed visibly. Becker waited a few beats to drive home his victory, and then said, “I have drawn up a list of regulations regarding curfew, the curtailment of social gatherings, and other concerns of that nature. I will read them to you now, so that I am assured of your cooperation. I advise you to pay close attention and avoid confusion. Ask for an explanation if anything is unclear. Failure to comply with these rules will be severely punished. Copies of this list are to be posted on all street corners and in all public places. It will be your duty, Duclos, to see that this is done.”
    When both Henri and Laura remained silent, Becker put out his cigarette and proceeded to read the list. It decreed that all citizens must be indoors by 10:00 p.m., that any gathering of five or more townspeople would be presumed anti-Reich and the participants arrested, and so on. He talked for several minutes in his precise, Leipzig University French. He then glanced up at Laura, who was regarding him impassively, and at Henri, who was staring at the floor.
      “ V’standen?” he said to Henri, lapsing into his native German.
    “ Comprenes-tu , Papa ?”Laura asked softly.
    Henri raised his head and nodded.
    “Good,”