Survivor

by Lesley Pearse

  Not being able to tell anyone felt worse than the prospect of learning to kill with a knife, or being captured by the Gestapo. How was she supposed to make a decision about whether to agree to these secret missions or not, without talking it over with someone who cared about her?

  ‘Stick it in as if your life depended on it, because it will,’ the self-defence instructor, who Mariette knew only as PJ, yelled at her.

  She had met PJ at the hotel on the esplanade at two thirty, as arranged, and he’d led the way on his bicycle to a farm about a mile out of Sidmouth.

  The weather was hot and sultry, as if a storm was coming, and she had worked up a sweat keeping up with PJ on her bike. He was well over fifty, short, bald, wiry and with a fearsome scar down the side of his neck. She guessed he had got this in the Great War, but all he told her about himself was that he was a trainer. She spent the first hour with him in a large barn, running and jumping over obstacles, and climbing a rope. He seemed satisfied with her agility, but said she should practise running for an hour each day to give herself more stamina.

  Then, just when she thought she was about to expire with the heat and exhaustion, he began the lessons in self-defence, showing her how to throw someone who had grabbed her.

  At first, she was hopeless – she couldn’t see how a girl of eight stone could possibly defend herself against a man taller and stronger than herself and several stone heavier – but, after many attempts, she finally got the hang of it and managed to throw him to the floor.

  He lay there for a minute, grinning up at her. ‘Well done. But what you’ll have to keep in your mind is that what I’ve taught you is only good for someone who intends to rob or molest you in some way. It will give him a shock, and the chances are he’ll run for it. But in France you will be up against a soldier, who will have no compunction about killing you. Throwing him will give you a few vital seconds in which to draw your knife, and use it. By that, I mean kill him.’

  He laughed at her horrified expression, and jumped up from the ground. ‘You can’t leave him alive to identify you, or to raise the alarm. It is you, or him. Kill or be killed. Keep that in your mind at all times. Your knife will be your best friend, the one thing that can save your life. You must learn to trust it, rather than fear it.’

  PJ had sacks of straw, covered in a thick tarpaulin and shaped into the size of a human body, for her to practise on. It made her feel sick when he showed her how to get behind her victim, put her left arm around his neck to hold him, then cut his throat with her right hand. And he made her slash her knife across the straw man’s neck several more times, until he was satisfied she knew how much force was necessary to sever a windpipe.

  ‘In reality, it’s a very messy business,’ he said with the authority of someone who had actually cut many a throat. ‘But very effective, quick and silent. However, you are much more likely to find yourself coming face to face with the enemy, so keep the knife hidden from view to make him feel you are no threat. As an attractive woman, you may be lucky enough to be able to sweet talk your way out of suspicion and avoid capture. But if you sense that won’t work, you must get close enough to knee him in the balls to incapacitate him, then stab him through the heart. Or, as it is often easier to do, stab him in the side, pushing the knife upwards. Don’t forget to pull the knife out again. He’ll die faster, and you may need the knife again.’

  Mariette wondered how PJ slept at night after teaching people such things. He made her attack the straw man so many times that the tarpaulin covers were falling apart by the time he told her that was enough for one day.

  ‘We’ll have another session in two days’ time,’ he informed her. ‘You are showing promise, but you’ve got a long way to go yet. Don’t forget to do some running. I’d recommend running up the cliff path; the fitter and faster you are, the safer you’ll be in France.’

  July faded into August. These were long, hot days in which Mariette got up early to run up the cliff path. It was very hard at first, but soon she was finding these early morning runs invigorating. Rather than tiring her, she found she had more energy. She continued her training with PJ twice a week. And if Sybil wondered what she was doing in the afternoons and early mornings that brought her home so hot and sweaty, she didn’t ask.

  But Edwin did notice a change in her when he came down for a weekend in the middle of August.

  ‘You look different,’ he said, the moment he saw her. He was looking at her hard, as if trying to work out what had changed.

  Mariette knew she’d built up muscle during her training; her biceps were hard, her stomach as flat and firm as a board. She hadn’t thought he’d notice it, though.

  ‘I’ve just got a suntan,’ she said. ‘That always makes people look different.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that, you’ve lost weight, but you’ve got a glow about you. Have you been playing tennis?’

  Mariette wanted to laugh at that because she knew he had the idea that it was rather unladylike to take part in any sport other than tennis.

  ‘No, I’ve been running,’ she said. ‘I miss swimming and sailing, and as I was getting a bit flabby I thought I’d run instead to keep fit.’

  ‘You aren’t planning to run from me, are you?’ he joked.

  ‘Not even if a pack of wolves were after me,’ she said, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  That night, after the bar closed, they walked along the esplanade in the dark. The sound of the waves breaking on the pebble beach was soothing after the racket in the bar earlier.

  ‘That’s the sound I grew up with,’ Mariette said. ‘I’d lie in bed on stormy nights, listening to the waves crashing on the beach, but by morning it would be just a faint lapping sound.’

  ‘Are you homesick?’ he asked.

  ‘In as much as I’d give anything to see my family and go swimming and sailing, but then I couldn’t see you.’

  ‘Does that mean I’m important to you?’

  ‘You know you are,’ she said, and playfully punched him in the side. ‘And, speaking of important things, isn’t it time I met your parents?’

  ‘I-I-I d-d-didn’t think you’d want to do that,’ he stammered out.

  ‘Well, of course I do,’ she said. ‘Why would you think otherwise?’

  It was too dark to see his expression, but she sensed by his hesitation that he was searching for an appropriate answer.

  ‘They are a bit stuffy,’ he said eventually. ‘Old-school, dyed-in-the-wool conservative types.’

  ‘So! You are saying they won’t approve of me? Why wouldn’t they? There’s nothing outlandish about me, I eat with a knife and fork, I say please and thank you.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ he insisted, just a bit too quickly. ‘Look, forget about them, I don’t care what they think. I love you, I want to marry you, and I’ll happily go home with you to New Zealand, if that’s what you want, when the war is over.’

  While it was good to have him declaring his love for her and his hopes for their future together, she didn’t like the idea that his family would be looking down their noses at her.

  ‘Well, say something!’ he exclaimed. ‘I just said I wanted to marry you.’

  ‘I love that you said that. But I couldn’t marry anyone without knowing all about them, so I’ll have to meet your folks before agreeing,’ she said. ‘But let’s not get into this now. We should wait till the war ends, and see how we feel then.’

  What she really meant was, if they were both still alive. But that was a terrible thing to say.

  Sybil and Ted went up to bed soon after they closed the bar and, for once, left Mariette and Edwin in the living room.

  ‘All alone at last,’ Edwin said, drawing her into his arms on the sofa. ‘Or does that make you nervous?’

  ‘No, why should it?’ Mariette asked.

  ‘I thought maybe you were afraid I’d push you into something you didn’t want to do.’

  For a second or two, she didn�
��t understand what he was getting at. But then she realized that he meant lovemaking.

  ‘That’s the silliest thing I ever heard,’ she said indignantly. ‘Of course I’m not afraid. In fact, I’d love to make love with you – as long as it was with precautions, so I didn’t find myself pregnant.’

  He looked shocked. ‘You are amazingly forthright,’ he said. ‘Is that a New Zealand trait? I don’t think an English girl would say such a thing.’

  Coming on top of the suggestion that his parents wouldn’t approve of her, she resented the implication that girls from the colonies were uncouth. She also didn’t like the fact that he felt he had to discuss whether or not to make love.

  Surely the right way to go about it was to just kiss and cuddle, and let passion take over?

  ‘I can’t see the point of being coy. I find the English upper-class way of hiding behind euphemisms rather pathetic,’ she said waspishly. ‘But it’s late, and I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.’

  With that, she got up and flounced out of the room.

  Once in bed, and hearing Edwin tiptoeing along the passage from the bathroom to his room, she felt a little ashamed that she’d sniped at him. It wasn’t his fault if his parents were snobs, and neither was he to know she’d been hoping for some fireworks when Sybil and Ted had cleared off to bed.

  She thought of creeping along the passage to his room, to make it up to him. But why should she? She wasn’t the one who’d been tactless.

  Knowing Sybil would be cross, if she heard her going into Edwin’s room, she decided to stay put. He had to be on the early train tomorrow morning anyway, so it was best to just leave well alone.

  25

  PJ picked himself up from the barn floor, where Mariette had thrown him. ‘A fitting end to our last session,’ he said with a wide grin.

  ‘The training’s over?’ she asked.

  ‘It certainly is. You are as ready now as you’ll ever be,’ he replied. ‘You’ve got the skill, stamina, speed and agility I aimed at. I feel very confident that you will be able to defend yourself, should the need arise. You’ve been a good pupil.’

  Mariette beamed. PJ wasn’t usually one for compliments.

  ‘So when will my training be put to the test?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t say.’ PJ shook his head. ‘It could be tomorrow, or two months hence. They’ll come for you when they need you.’

  Mariette looked at him in consternation. ‘But I have to give Sybil and Ted some kind of notice. I can’t just go and leave them in the lurch.’ As much as she wanted to do her first mission, she was also terrified at the prospect. ‘I must say, it’s a bit thick expecting me to stand by, ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice!’

  PJ smiled at her indignation and put his hand on her shoulder, in a gesture of understanding. ‘I agree. But you see, Mari, there are so many difficulties and obstacles that have to be overcome. We need a night with no moon to cross the Channel. The sea can’t be too rough, and the person being passed down the escape chain also has to be in the right place. Setbacks are very common, and sometimes our people in France have no choice but to bring forward or cancel a rescue. But if I were you, I’d go home and prepare Sybil and Ted.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes, no time like the present. Ted’s an old soldier – if you tell him it’s a clandestine operation, he’ll understand that you can’t give him or his wife any details. But you will need to hatch a cover story with them about where you are, when you are called away. Visiting a sick relative is usually a good one. That way, you can use the same relative again later.’

  ‘I don’t have any relatives in England, but I’m sure I can think of something,’ Mariette replied. She felt a little sad that she wouldn’t see PJ any more. At the start he’d seemed very harsh, but she understood now why he’d had to push her so hard. ‘I suppose there’s nothing left to say but goodbye, and thank you for training me.’

  He gave her one of his intimidating, penetrating stares. But she knew now that was just one of his arsenal of ploys to unnerve the people he trained. ‘You will do well, Mariette, you are tough and resourceful, and it’s been my pleasure to train you. May God go with you. And when the war is over, maybe we can meet up and have a drink together.’

  On Sunday morning, three days after PJ had said goodbye to Mariette, she finally told Ted and Sybil about it. She had waited until then because, with the pub closed all day, it was the one time in the week when there would be no interruptions or distractions.

  ‘I may have to go away for a few days any time now,’ she blurted out. ‘I’m afraid I can’t explain it better than that, it’s some covert work for the government. I hope you won’t be cross about it, I know how much it’s going to inconvenience you, but I can’t help it.’

  There was complete silence. They just looked at her with blank expressions, as if she was speaking a foreign language.

  ‘Please say something,’ she pleaded. She knew Ted was never one to shoot his mouth off, but Sybil always had an opinion about everything. ‘I’d rather you were angry or said you felt let down than saying nothing.’

  ‘We’re too taken aback to know what to say,’ Ted admitted. ‘We never saw this coming.’

  ‘I thought there was something fishy about that man coming here, and then you suddenly taking up running,’ Sybil burst out. ‘And going off in the afternoons and never saying where you were going. Was that to do with this?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mariette sighed. ‘But please don’t ask me anything about it because I can’t tell you. All I can tell you is that I’m likely to be called away suddenly, and I won’t be able to say where, or what for. But if it’s any consolation, I’d give anything to be able to confide in you.’

  ‘You can tell us, we won’t let it go beyond these four walls,’ Sybil urged her, her face lighting up at the prospect.

  ‘Enough, Sybil!’ Ted glared at his wife. ‘Mari can’t tell us, she’d be in trouble if she did. All we should be saying is that she’ll always have a job and a home with us, and to stay safe wherever she is sent.’

  ‘Thank you, Ted.’ Mariette’s eyes welled up. Ted rarely strung more than half a dozen words together, and she was touched that he’d managed to find the very words she wanted to hear. ‘They did say I’d only be away a couple of days at a time, and it wouldn’t be a regular thing. To be honest, I’m scared. I almost wish they’d decide I’m no good to them and cancel the plan.’

  ‘What does Edwin say about it?’ Ted asked.

  ‘He doesn’t know, and he mustn’t know. So if he rings and I’m not here, just make out I’ve gone to the pictures or something. I don’t want him worrying about me.’

  Things had been a little cool since their last meeting, when he’d said he wanted to marry her but didn’t seem keen for her to meet his family.

  ‘Is everything alright between you two?’ Sybil asked.

  ‘Yes, fine,’ Mariette said, getting to her feet. She knew if she stayed in the pub all day, Sybil would keep on at her like a dog with a bone. ‘I’m going to visit Ian and Sandra. I’ll see you later.’

  Each time she saw Ian and Sandra, she always thought how proud Joan would be of her children. They were well behaved, enthusiastic, articulate, interested in so many different things, and very appreciative of everything people did for them. Maybe much of the credit for how they’d turned out was down to Mr and Mrs Harding, but they had Joan’s sense of humour and her generosity of spirit.

  Sandra had joined Ian at the grammar school in September, and she was excited by the new subjects she was learning, such as Domestic Science and Biology.

  ‘At the moment we’re only learning how to make pastry and stuff like that,’ she said, her face aglow. ‘But soon we’ll be making whole meals. And in Biology we’ll be dissecting frogs before long. Imagine doing that?’

  Mariette had a job not to laugh. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than dissecting a frog, but it was great that Sandra enjoyed school. Mariette had a
lways hated it.

  Ian was learning to play the guitar. The Hardings had bought one for him, the previous Christmas, and he’d tried to teach himself from a manual. By Easter, Mrs Harding was feeling sorry for him because he wasn’t getting anywhere with the manual and he wanted to play so badly. So she’d found someone in Beer to give him lessons, and now he was doing very well.

  ‘Auntie Mari,’ he asked, ‘could I work as a guitarist? I mean, when I leave school. Do people get paid for playing musical instruments?’

  ‘They do, if they are really good at it,’ she told him. ‘So stick at it, and maybe you will be able to make a career of it. But even if you aren’t that good, it doesn’t matter. You can just play for your own enjoyment.’

  She went with them for a walk later. Although it was sunny, autumn had arrived with a vengeance at the start of October, with cold winds and a sprinkling of frost in the mornings, and it was dark by five o’clock. Looking out to sea, which today was like a millpond, she remembered what PJ had said about waiting for a moonless night. It sounded like the plot of a film, a romantic and daring dash into France to rescue someone, but she knew the truth of the matter was that it would be a long and cold journey fraught with danger. The coast of France was bound to be well guarded by the Germans, both on land and at sea, and there was the danger of mines too.

  But, looking on the bright side, which she knew she must, whoever planned this must know it was viable. After all, there would be no point in sending people into France to rescue someone, if everyone involved was likely to be killed.

  Yet, despite the danger, Mariette was very excited. To be out on a boat in heavy seas was the kind of challenge she welcomed. As for what she had to face in France, she would worry about that when she got there.

  A call came on Monday morning telling her to report to Miss Salmon that afternoon, at three thirty, at the same hotel on the esplanade where she’d had her initial interview.

  ‘PJ informs me you are ready,’ Miss Salmon said, when Mariette had been ushered in to see her.