The French Affair by Theresa Howes

Author:Theresa Howes [Howes, Theresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2023-05-25T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Mason collected Iris at seven thirty, just as he said he would. It wouldn’t do to be late for dinner at the house of Commander Frisch and his wife. It wasn’t his house of course, but one that had been requisitioned.

Iris clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her reaction as Mason turned off the road onto the gravel drive that led to the beautiful fin-de-siècle property that had taken Monsieur Hoffman, a local respected surgeon, most of his working life to afford. Like all the Jewish families in the area, Monsieur Hoffman, his wife, mother-in-law and two grown-up sons had been rounded up and sent to a prison camp in 1940. None of them had been heard of since. Allowing senior German officers to claim their homes only added further injury to the crime.

Mason must have noticed her reaction as he stopped the car in front of the house, straightening his cap in the rear-view mirror.

‘Are you all right? You’re not going to be sick, are you?’

‘I didn’t realise this was where we were coming.’

Eva had been great friends with Madame Hoffman. They’d shared a passion for kitchen gardening. Over the years, they’d planted potagers together, swopped cuttings and shared seeds. Iris glanced at the strawberry beds, tucked up against the high stone wall, wondering how many spoonfuls of jam she’d eaten from their fruits during the endless summers she’d spent with Eva. In those days, life had revolved around the simple pleasures of food and spending time with the people you loved. Even after the war, there’d be no going back to how things once were. Not only had lives been lost and the love taken away, but the innocence had gone too.

‘Did you bring Frisch’s wife a gift?’

Iris showed him a small pink box, tied with a cream ribbon. Inside were a dozen squares of quince paste, made with the first ripe fruits from Eva’s tree.

Mason’s eyes grew wide. ‘Is it sweet?’

‘Very.’

Iris would be forever thankful for the sugar Eva had stashed in the cellar. She had no idea how long she’d been stockpiling it, or whether Schiller had provided it, but it was turning out to be a major weapon in her armoury.

‘It’s made to a Spanish recipe and quite plain. Yours are different.’ She handed him a similar box, this time without a ribbon. ‘These are made to a recipe adapted to include local herbs. I made them especially for you.’

She couldn’t say what the herbs were exactly, because it was her secret. Now she’d seen the house the Frisches were living in, she regretted not making the special recipe for them too.

It was a substantial house with nine bedrooms spread over four floors. During the summer, the sun slanted on the honey-coloured stone until it glowed. There was a heavy oak front door and balustrades at every window. When the Hoffmans had lived there, each one had frothed with trailing red pelargoniums.

The door was opened by a flustered-looking maid, who disappeared as soon as she heard Frisch approaching along the hallway.

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