RISK (an extract)

Gestapo headquarters in Limoges was a three-storey villa on Impasse Tivoli, a cul-de-sac within walking distance of the railway station. Annette Tabaraud arrived there by car after spending one night in the Maison d’Arrêt, the prison situated near the remains of a Gallo-Roman amphitheatre across the city. It transpired that the customer who had recommended the proposed safe house was a collaborator in the pay of the Germans. Madame Tabaraud had walked into a trap and almost taken Geoffrey and Jean-Claude with her. For the Plover line network, the uncertainty remained about her willingness to co-operate and the depth of her knowledge that could be useful to her captors.

She found herself in an upstairs room, sparsely furnished with a desk, a small table and three wooden chairs. Two uniformed soldiers seated her in a chair opposite the desk and positioned themselves outside the door. Closed shutters blocked any light from the window; two lamps with low wattage bulbs hanging directly overhead lit the room. Outside, thunder rumbled, rattling the wooden shutters as a storm-laden sky blanketed Limoges in a mantle of dark grey.

The door opened to admit a Gestapo officer accompanied by a younger man who sat to one side by the table. The interrogating officer sat at the desk facing the inwardly terrified woman. He placed a folder on the desk, opened it and flicked through some pages before looking directly at her. Of stocky build but short in stature, he was fair-haired, wore rimless spectacles and looked to be in his mid thirties. Whilst continuing to stare at her, he lit a cigarette before leaning back in his chair. His casual demeanour starkly contrasted with her taut, nervous disposition.

Finally, he spoke. “You are Annette Tabaraud, proprietor of the Restaurant Pont Saint- Martial, yes?”

Madame Tabaraud brushed her long but now straggly hair from her gaunt grey face and nodded.

“Speak up, woman. I cannot hear you.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

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