Stranger at the Gates Read Online Free

chair away from the sofa where Ilse Minden had sat down; she lit a cigarette and deliberately calmed herself. She straightened a cushion and made a note to replace one of the hothouse plants.
    â€˜Mother? I heard that woman go out. Darling, what’s the matter?’ Sophie de Bernard came towards her. ‘What in God’s name did she say to you?’
    â€˜Not a lot,’ Louise said slowly. ‘But enough. Her husband’s in prison in Germany; he’s going to be tried for war crimes. She wants me to go and give evidence for him. She wants me to tell the story in court.’
    â€˜That’s ridiculous! You’re not doing anything of the sort! You can give written evidence, an affidavit and send them that. You’re not going near any war crimes trial!’
    â€˜Darling, you don’t understand. She threatened me. She threatened to make a scandal.’
    â€˜And can she make one?’ Sophie asked the question boldly. Her attitude was defensive, determined not to care. ‘Not that I give a damn,’ she said. ‘You know that.’
    â€˜Yes, I do. But you’re not the only one. What about Paul?’
    â€˜Don’t tell him,’ Sophie said. ‘Look, Mother, be sensible. She’s just trying to frighten you. There’s nothing she can rake up now that would matter to anyone. It’s over and done with—nobody cares any more. Let her go to hell. And so what if he did do one decent thing? What about the rest of it? Come on, forget about it. I’ll take you out to lunch today.’
    â€˜She left me her address,’ Louise said. ‘She said she’d be there for two days and to let her know when I changed my mind. When. Not “if”.’
    â€˜That’s just bluff,’ Sophie said angrily. ‘You’ll never hear another word about it.’
    Louise looked at her daughter. She was brave and loyal and loving, ready to battle the world for her mother. Would she be so ready, so trusting if she knew exactly what the woman Ilse knew? Probably; there was a generous spirit there and a capacity for understanding which was rare in the modern avant garde .
    She held out her hand to Sophie and forced herself to smile.
    â€˜You’re right, I expect. I won’t hear any more from her. Give me half an hour to telephone and finish that wretched report upstairs and then we’ll go and lunch together.’ Reassured, Sophie preceded her mother out of the salon. She had a capacity for believing the best would happen rather than the worst. Upstairs in the study, with the mechanics of her normal life to be attended to, Louise stared at the telephone and the papers, unable to apply herself to either. Sophie had tried to comfort her, and had succeeded in lulling herself. Louise thanked God for what she felt was only a respite. When you change your mind. Heinz Minden’s wife had chosen her words with care. The piece of paper with the address of the pension was on her desk. She had brought it upstairs with her. Subconsciously. She put it away carefully in a drawer, and knew as she did so, that the first part of the battle had been won by Ilse Minden.
    There was a three-hour delay on calls to Bonn. She sat in the dreary little sitting room of the pension, waiting for the call, looking through old copies of Plaisir de la Maison and a tattered edition of Elle , which was six months out of date and featured an article by film stars who had undergone abortions and were championing the cause. She hated the French. Their lack of morality disgusted her. She disliked their food and their fashions, their architecture annoyed her because it was so grandiose and nothing could take away from the people of the country the splendour of its history and the strength of its traditions. She could never forget that they had been beaten; that she had worn stockings and scent and a smart fur coat which Heinz had brought her after his posting to France. For a