Read Online A War of Flowers (2014) by Jane Thynne - Free Book Online

of dead chrysanthemums withered in a heap.
    As she picked her way through the remnants of vegetation, a flock of starlings whirred balletically up into the glass and iron vault, and, turning to watch them, she noticed out of the corner of
her eye the figure of Max Brandt rounding the corner about two hundred yards behind her, his shadow under the streetlamp stalking boldly ahead of him. At once, a bubble of laughter rose in her
throat. Brandt was actually in pursuit of her! He was evidently a man who couldn’t take no for an answer. He couldn’t possibly have known that he was following a woman expertly versed
in the arts of evasion. She could lose him in an instant if she wanted. But did she want to?
    Quickening her step, Clara wove through the streets, doubling back on herself, choosing side streets and alleys. A current of exhilaration spurred her on, as she walked away up the Rue
Quincampoix, and ducked into a tiny cul de sac containing a couple of shops and the back door of a bar. Easing herself into a doorway, she saw Brandt stride past, heard him hesitate, grunting with
frustration as he looked from right to left, wondering how she could have disappeared. The heat made her skin prickle with sweat and she shifted a little in the darkness, stifling a laugh.
    Suddenly, behind her, a door swung open and a ribbon of noise billowed out. A man was emerging from the bar backwards, manoeuvring a crate of empty bottles towards her. A blade of light, as
sharp as any Gestapo lamp, sliced across Clara’s face and at that moment Brandt glanced down the alley and saw her.
    He smiled, and she couldn’t help smiling too.
    ‘Fräulein Vine.’ He came slowly towards her, ambling now that he had his prey in his sights. ‘When you wanted to clear your head, I hadn’t imagined you intended to
walk halfway around the city.’
    ‘I enjoy a long walk.’
    ‘It is refreshing, isn’t it?’
    He smiled and leant a hand on the wall beside her head, imprisoning her in the circle of his arms. Clara felt a familiar giddiness rise within her.
    ‘In fact, I have an even more refreshing idea. Why don’t you and I go for a cognac at my apartment?’
    ‘You forget. I need an early night.’
    ‘Of course. What if I promise not to detain you too long?’
    His hand brushed lightly along her arm. An electric thrill ran the length of her body and her pulse quickened. Brandt was right; she did find him attractive and he knew it. Perhaps a man like
him assumed that women would fall at his feet. Or maybe he thought that an actress on her own in a foreign city for a single evening would be an easy target. He was not to know that Clara would not
dream of succumbing to the approaches of a Nazi bureaucrat. If indeed a bureaucrat was what he was. She thought again of Hamilton’s comment.
Steinbrecher says the Gestapo’s pretty
well entrenched in Paris now. Heydrich has an extensive network of informers in place.
    ‘I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much.’
    Brandt recoiled visibly and straightened up.
    ‘A boyfriend? You didn’t mention him. Is he here, or back in Berlin?’
    ‘He’s in Berlin.’
    ‘Of course. Is he an actor too? Perhaps I know him. Can I ask his name?’
    Clara’s mind went blank. The only two men she had ever cared for – Ralph Sommers and Leo Quinn – were both English. In the heat of the moment, she conjured the first name that
entered her head and gave him a rank for good measure.
    ‘He’s not an actor. His name is Sturmbannführer Steinbrecher.’
    It worked. The seductive nonchalance of Brandt’s face vanished and he placed his hands in his pockets. He lit a cigarette and inhaled, continuing to scrutinize her all the while.
    ‘Is that so? Well, if you won’t come to bed with me, Clara Vine, perhaps you’ll come to dinner?’
    Clara wanted to. She had an urge so deep it surprised her. It had been a year since she had had a dinner date with a man. There were always actors, of course, at