Emergency in the Pyrenees

by Ann Bridge

  ‘No—but those jolly Spanish guards seemed to think that you do.’

  ‘Ah, they like their joke!’ Bonnecourt said.

  ‘Why did they call you Colonel?’ Colin asked, still thinking of his session with the grey-haired clerk and the card-index in the office in London.

  ‘I used to be in the Army—I was in Indo-China.’ He praised de Lattre de Tassigny warmly, and then on a long sigh—‘So much courage, and so much blood, poured out in vain!’

  Colin expressed suitable sympathy. ‘I expect many French officers feel that about Algeria too,’ he added. His host looked at him rather keenly.

  ‘Assuredly! Another sell-out! But I was not in Algeria—I was invalided out of Indo-China with dysentery after Dien Bien Phu, and had to leave the Army altogether.’

  Colin wondered privately whether the Heriot boys knew about the Indo-China or not—Bonnecourt’s attitude would fit in with the rumours of his helping the O.A.S. But he switched from a possibly awkward subject to mention the story of the old Smiths—on this Bonnecourt opened up. ‘Miraculous, that the glass in this Thermos did not break’ he said at the end. ‘It would have been terrible for the poor old man to lose all his money.’

  When Colin got home he found Julia sitting out by the spring. ‘Well, I’ve brought your gigôt d’isard’ he said; ‘I gave it to Luzia.’

  ‘She mustn’t put it in the frig’ Julia said, making to rise from her chair.

  ‘She hasn’t. She’s pinning it up in some muslin—one of her petticoats, I imagine!—and she’s going to hang it behind the wine-table, against the north wall.’

  Julia sat back again. ‘What a splendid creature that is!’ she said. ‘Now, tell me how your day went.’

  Colin told her in some detail. The points Julia at once fastened on were the guards’ addressing Bonnecourt as a ‘Coronel’, and his having been in Indo-China. ‘Of course that Army background points to his helping the O.A.S.’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘Still, it’s all pretty vague’ her cousin replied.

  ‘All pointers—you can’t have too many. What’s he like?’

  ‘A terribly nice man, I would say.

  She reflected. ‘What’s your next move?’

  ‘I think I’d better get back fairly soon to Pamplona, and check up with the lads there on B. and his goings-on. But I want at least one more day here—I ought to look at the smugglers’ paths west of this; they’ re nearer to Lacq. I’ve covered most of the rest, and made notes. I’d better do that last stretch before I leave.’

  As usual he demanded sandwiches overnight from Luzia, and well before 6 a.m. next day he set out. He took the path behind the house up past the spot where one emptied la poubelle, and followed it on, up and round the shoulder of the hill, where it passed through a beech-wood; beyond, another valley opened out on his left—he walked through it, and struck up to the frontier ridge. A tiny, barely discernible path descended from this; Colin followed it till he could look down on the opposite side, where, still barely visible, it led into Spain. He made a note of the path, and then scanned the further slope; there his eye was caught by two figures climbing up on the Spanish side, over steepish rocks, only some 300 yards away—they had no rope, and seemed to be making rather heavy weather of the rocks, especially the second man, who looked older than the leader. Colin watched them till a projecting bluff cut off his view; he climbed along the ridge in their direction—it might be interesting to learn who and what they were. One of the innumerable limestone towers common in that part of the Pyrenees presently blocked his passage along the ridge; he scrambled down on the French side to circumvent it—the rocks were quite steep and rather loose, from a climber’s point of view a nasty place.

  Just as he regained the ridge the two men reappeared, and paused on the crest; then they began trying to make their way down into France; but they too had those unpleasant rocks to negotiate. Colin looked about for a place from which he could watch them, himself unseen; a boulder on the ridge a few yards ahead seemed to offer a suitable spot, and he moved carefully towards it. But in so doing he dislodged a loose slab, which fell with an immense clatter; he just saved himself from falling, and reached the boulder—but as he did so he heard a loud cry, and more noise of falling stones. Panting a little, he peered out to see what had happened. The older man had fallen, and was lying at the foot of the rocks a hundred feet below; his companion was working his way down to him, calling out in French, ‘Jean, have you hurt yourself?’

  Colin climbed down too—a good deal faster and more skilfully. In fact the older man had hurt himself considerably; he was bleeding profusely from a scalp-wound, and averred that he had broken his leg. Colin, when alone in the mountains, always carried a small First-Aid case, and quickly strapped up the headwound with plaster—then he asked in French where they were making for?

  ‘Now, to the nearest place where we can find a Doctor’ the younger man said, vexedly. ‘Grand Dieu, that this should have to happen at this moment! Does Monsieur know this region, and where we can obtain medical assistance?’

  Colin, much struck by the fact of two Frenchmen climbing up out of Spain into France, wanted most of all to find out where they were going, and whether indeed they knew where they were? He replied, carefully, that he didn’t know the district very well— he was just there en vacances. Had Monsieur perhaps a map? The younger man drew out a large-scale map; Colin peered at it over his shoulder. Yes—faint pencil-dots indicated the path by which he himself had gone up to the ridge, which they must somehow have missed on the Spanish side; but the dots led down, not to Larége but to a spot on the Grandpont road close to Labielle, where there was a tiny pencilled X. H’ m—that was where they were to have met whoever they had come to meet. Could it be Bonnecourt, he wondered? He thought there were figures beside the X, but they were too faint to read. He put his finger on the name Larége.

  ‘Somehow we must get him there—it is the nearest place, and I have a car. Then we can find a Doctor, and drive him down.’

  ‘But how is he to get to Larége?’ the young man asked wretchedly. ‘He cannot walk!’ He looked at his watch. ‘Mon Dieu, it is so late already.’

  ‘Let us see if we cannot get him along between us’ Colin suggested. They took the injured man under the elbows, and tried to support him; but he proved limp and inert, and cried out with pain if he set his injured leg to the ground.

  ‘This is no good’ Colin exclaimed. ‘You stay with him, and I’ ll go down to the village and try to get a stretcher, and some help.’

  ‘You could not go to Labielle?’

  ‘Why? It’s miles further away.’

  ‘We—have friends there’ the younger man said, with slight hesitation.

  ‘Well we’ll find them later, when we’ve got him into the car’ Colin said briefly, and hurried away.

  On his way back to Larége Colin decided that even at the cost of some delay he had better go down to Bonnecourt’s, as a check—if the hunter was out he might conceivably be the ‘friends’ the two Frenchmen intended to meet at Labielle. He also speculated as to whom he could rope in to help to carry the Frenchman down?—he was thickset, and heavy. And what in?—he doubted whether Larége boasted such a thing as a stretcher. On reaching the house he ran in to ask Julia to look out a strong blanket; at a pinch one could carry a man in that.

  Julia was lying on the sofa in the big room; Colin hurriedly explained the situation. ‘Find an old one—we shall have to cut holes in the corners to get a grip.’

  ‘What a mercy Dick’s here’ Julia said, getting up.

  ‘Is he? Where?’

  ‘He was going to take Luzia down to the dam for a swim.’

  ‘Good—I’ll go and find him. Get that blanket.’

  Striding on through the hot cobbled streets of the village Colin thought how well all this fitted in: Dick to help carry the patient, and a perfect excuse to call at Bonnecourt’s house, which was not far from the dam. He went to the house first—a fair, plai
nish woman, not very young, opened the door to him. No, Monsieur was out for the day. With la voiture? Colin asked. ‘Mais oui.’

  So he wasn’t after isard, Colin thought—it might well be as he had suspected. He went a little further along the path, till he could see the dam and the pool behind it—there was no one there. He walked back to the square and turned in at Barraterre’s to make his enquiries—Mme. Barraterre was all interest. Colin asked first for the nearest Doctor?

  ‘Dr. Fourget, at Labielle. Is it pour Madame Jimmison?—les douleurs commencent?’

  ‘No!’ Colin said irritably. ‘It is a man who has fallen in the mountains, and injured himself. We need a brancard to bring him down.’

  ‘But in this case one must alerter the gendarmerie; they have a Rescue Service—my sons are volunteers in it! Only it is rather expensive—they alert four communes and send sixty men.’ She looked eagerly towards the telephone in the narrow hall. Colin headed her off, appalled.

  ‘A little moment, Madame! There is no need for sixty men, or for the gendarmerie!—all I need is the brancard, and to warn the Doctor.’

  ‘Ah oui, oui, for the injections!—le tétanus!’ This surprised Colin—he did not realise how intensely aware of the danger of tetanus French country-people are. In France it is not a matter of infection by the odd shaving-brush from China; it is a daily menace. But Mme. Barraterre was equally well-informed about the rules concerning accidents.

  ‘Monsieur must absolutely inform the gendarmerie—they have to make le constat in the case of any accident.’

  ‘Of course I shall do this’ Colin said. ‘But for the moment the essential is to bring le blessé down, and for that I require the stretcher. Where is the gendarmerie post?’

  ‘Monsieur, here in Larège we have none. Only at Labielle.’ Again she looked at the telephone. Colin thanked her, and left. They would just have to manage with the blanket. But where on earth was Dick Heriot? He had seen his car at the turn. And what a nuisance this constat with the police was likely to be—probably messing up his own enquiries. He walked homewards feeling vexed and frustrated.

  By now poor Colin was not only hot. but extremely thirsty; and instead of going into the house he went on to the shed, to get an ice-cold drink from the spout, and sluice his face and hands in the trough. But he never did either. On the lawn immediately below him he caught sight, between the silvery trunks of the trees by the spring, of Luzia in a deckchair, looking cool and beautiful, with a slightly mocking expression; Dick Heriot was kneeling on the grass beside her, holding her hands, and apparently making a declaration. Irritated and disconcerted, still unwashed and still thirsty, he went back and into the house.

  ‘Did you find him?’ Julia asked—she was again on the sofa, stitching away at a rough old Army blanket.

  ‘Not exactly—I mean they weren’t at the dam. They’re out by the spring; Dick seems to be proposing to Luzia.’

  ‘Well let him stop proposing’ Julia said with the utmost calmness, ‘and go up with you and get this wretched man down.’

  ‘It’s a bit embarrassing to interrupt them.’

  ‘Oh nonsense, Colin.’ She hoisted herself off the sofa, put her head out of the open window, and called—‘Dick! Come at once! I want you.’ She handed the blanket to Colin. ‘I’ve cut slits in all four corners, and stitched down the edges, folded over. It should hold.’

  Dick came in through the big doorway, alone.

  ‘Yes, Mrs. Jamieson?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s been an accident. I think you’d better go up with Colin and help to bring the casualty down. Can you?’

  ‘Yes of course—if someone could ring up Her Ladyship and say I may be a bit late. She worries.’

  ‘We can see to that. Where’s Luzia?’

  ‘Here’ the girl said, also walking in at the door.

  ‘Oh, good. All right—you two breeze off’ Julia said to the two men. ‘Want a drink first?’

  ‘Just water’ Colin said, filling a tumbler from the earthenware jug, and gulping down a great draught. ‘And ring that Doctor too.’ He had been examining the blanket. ‘I think that will hold’ he said. ‘Come on, Dick.’

  When they had gone Julia took a writing-pad from the table by the sofa, and wrote two messages in French—one to Lady Heriot, whose number she knew, to say that Dick was helping to bring down a climber who had fallen and was injured, and might therefore be delayed. ‘Send that as a telegram’ she said, tearing off the top sheet—‘Save time.’ She wrote again. ‘Telephone this one—it’s to Dr. Fourget, at Labielle. You can look out his number.’ (The thoughtful Madame Monnier had determinedly given cette pauvre Mme. Jimmison the local Doctor’s name.) ‘If you happen to catch him, it would be handy to know how soon he can come up.’

  Luzia read through the messages.

  ‘I do this’ she said, and went out.

  Chapter 4

  Dick and Colin made fast time round the wooded shoulder and up the valley beyond it, Colin carrying the blanket; when they reached the two Frenchmen the older man was placed on this, and Colin and Dick took a top corner each, leaving the young man to hold the two lower ones. Then they started the long plod back to Larége. In spite of Julia’s well-sewn slits this was hard on the hands; more than once they had to pause, set their burden down, and rest. ‘Extraordinary that there should be no brancard here’the young Frenchman said at one of these halts, rubbing his sore palms together.

  ‘Oh, Larége isn’t very up-to-date’ Dick told him cheerfully.

  At last they crossed the shoulder, left the rough going, and started down the better path. Soon the car turn came in sight—a strange car was parked there besides his and Dick’s, Colin noticed. ‘Nearly there now’he encouraged the young man. In a few moments more—‘Now, down these steps—carefully’he said; they carried their casualty down and into the big room.

  ‘Put him on the sofa’ Julia said, rising from an armchair; as they did so a stout dark man with a beard got up from another. ‘This is Dr. Fourget, of Labielle’ Julia introduced him. ‘My cousin, Monsieur Monro, Monsieur le Médecin—but I do not know the names of these two gentlemen.’

  The younger man made no response to this invitation to give his name.

  ‘N’importe, pour le moment’ the doctor said, going over to the figure on the sofa. ‘Open your eyes!’ he commanded sharply—the injured man, who had seemed almost unconscious, did so—the Doctor looked at his face keenly. ‘H’m’he muttered. He raised the head and felt carefully all round it, then lowered it again. ‘Where else is he hurt?’ he asked.

  ‘I think the right leg is broken—he cannot walk.’

  ‘Perhaps Mesdames would leave us, while I examine?’ Fourget said. Julia went out with Luzia onto the little gravelled terrace; they perched on the stone seat.

  ‘Who are they?’ Luzia asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Colin just happened to see the old man fall.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Coming down off the frontier, in that next valley.

  ‘So coming from Spain?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘But they are French—what do they do, climbing up out of Spain? Julia, I am suspicious!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The young one would not say their names, when you suggested it. I think they are activistes of the O.A.S.’ Luzia pronounced.

  ‘They may merely be harmless French tourists, who’d taken a walk into Spain, and were coming back.’

  ‘I think otherwise,’ Luzia said firmly.

  ‘Well, I fancy the one who fell won’t be able to do much about blowing up Lacq for some time’ Julia replied, lighting a cigarette. ‘I think he’s probably fractured his skull. I noticed Dr. Fourget’s expression when he made him open his eyes.’

  ‘Yes—why did he do this?’

  ‘I’d guess, to see if the poor creature was squinting. People with fractured skulls generally squint—and he was, judging by Fourget’s face.’

  ‘How do you know this, Juli
a?’

  ‘Because a dear friend of mine died of a fractured skull, not so long ago, and the Doctor told Philip all about it.’

  Julia’s guess proved to be correct. Dr. Fourget presently came out to tell them that le blessé must be got into the hospital at Pau immediately— Dick, following the Doctor, volunteered to drive him down. ‘I can take out one front seat, and if you fill the space with cushions he can lie flat.’ Julia resisted the idea of cushions, and made Luzia and Colin bring down bolsters, pillows, and a mattress from the unused spare beds, and arrange these in Dick’s car. Fourget offered to take the young Frenchman in his car—‘I call at my house on the way, to alert the hospital; then we follow.’ The young man objected—he must be with his friend.

  ‘There’s not room’ Dick said tersely. Colin intervened. He would take the young man in his car, following Dick’s closely; the young man, obviously worried and uncertain, finally agreed, and the casualty, still in the old blanket, was carried up and disposed, carefully, in Dick’s car. Then the little cortége drove off, Fourget leading, followed by Dick and Colin.

  No arrangement could have pleased Colin better. If Bonnecourt was really waiting at the spot marked with a cross on the Frenchman’s map, which he had memorised, he would be able to check on what happened there—if it was not Bonnecourt, he might get a sight of the contact, whoever it was. Before leaving he turned back and spoke to Julia—‘Just leave some soup on the stove, if I don’t come for supper. I might be late.’

  Luzia followed him out to the steps.

  ‘I think these are saboteurs’she whispered in his ear.

  ‘Why?’ Colin asked, startled.

  ‘It is just my idea.’

  ‘Oh well, I must go’ Colin replied impatiently—and unfairly, since in fact it was his idea too. ‘But do for goodness sake keep quiet, Luzia.’

  Dick’s car was much faster than the Doctor’s old Peugeot; and though he had been instructed to drive gently, and on no account to jolt the patient, when they were out on the main road below the hairpin bends, he passed Fourget. So did Colin, with a cheerful wave; after he had done so his young French passenger spoke, rather hesitantly.