Emergency in the Pyrenees

by Ann Bridge

  ‘Monsieur causes me to wait several minutes’ Lord Heriot replied with asperity. Eventually big books were got out and opened, entries made, and a thin, rather scruffy sheet of paper handed to Lord Heriot, confirming the fact that the birth of Philip Bernard Jamieson, son of a British subject, had duly been registered at Pau, Basses Pyrénées. Lord Heriot thanked the registrar rather stiffly and drove back to the clinic, where he handed the sordid document to Julia.

  ‘That job’s done’ he said. ‘Now, you young people, what about coming home and getting some lunch? Let us know if there’s anything else you want’ he said to Julia. ‘Always there, you know, and delighted to be of use.’

  Chapter 10

  While all this was going on at Pau, Nick Heriot and his Mother were pursuing their enquiries for Bonnecourt in Tardets. Once again Nick by-passed the road-blocks near Ste. Marie-des-Pélérins; after they regained the main road he pointed out the lane up which he thought Bonnecourt had gone. ‘Should we try there’ he asked.

  ‘No—I know no one up there’ Lady Heriot replied. ‘Let’s go straight to the épicerie; Mme. Pontarlet is much brighter in the head than the old Aunt at the inn. Though of course I shall have to see her too; she’d be hurt if I didn’t, and she’ll be bound to hear that I’ve been in the town.’

  The Épicerie Pontarlet was crowded with customers—naturally enough on a Saturday—when the Dauphine drew up; Lady Heriot remained in the car.

  ‘Go in and tell Mme. Pontarlet that I should so much like to see her’ she told her son. Pretty Mme. Pontarlet came out at once, leaned in through the door, and warmly embraced his parent. ‘Miladi! How it is good to see you!’

  ‘Come and sit with me for a moment, Pauline,’ the older woman said. ‘Nick, go and get a fromage de brebis and a kilo of jambon de Bayonne’ (raw smoked ham)—these were two of the most expensive items in the shop’s repertory. ‘Here’s my purse.’

  ‘Unless you filled up yesterday there’s nothing in it’ Nick said, ruefully. ‘I rifled it to give Madame’s brother some cash, night before last.’

  ‘Never mind—Madame will trust me. Bring the bill, in that case,’ Lady Heriot said.

  Pauline Pontarlet’s brown eyes opened wide at this interchange; she understood some English.

  ‘It was Monsieur Nicolas who brought my brother away from the police?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. But now, Pauline—’ the old lady got down to business; rather unsuccessfully, as it turned out. Mme. Pontarlet was not only bright in the head, but cautious as well. When Nick reappeared with his purchases she left the car, again embracing Lady Heriot, and ran back into her busy shop.

  ‘Where now?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Let’s drive about a little; I must think. Turn up one of those side streets—just keep going.’

  ‘Doesn’t she know where he is?’ Nick asked, as he obeyed these curious instructions.

  ‘Yes, she does, but she won’t tell even me where. Don’t get into a blind alley!’ Lady Heriot said urgently.

  ‘Maman, what on earth goes on?’ Nick asked, surprised that his Mother, of all people, should insist on these manoeuvres. Tardets is anyhow a rather sinister little town, with the dark grey stone of its high houses, the narrow streets, the general sense of compression—and it usually seems to be raining there; rain was beginning to fall now—Nick suddenly felt uncomfortable and nervous.

  ‘It’s a little bothering. The place is full of Sureté men—they’ve been to Pauline, and to everyone connected with him, and she was too frightened to say a word.’

  ‘How did the Sureté trace him here? Oh, I suppose the D.B. have that on their files, and passed it on.’ Nick recalled his illuminating conversation with Colonel Jamieson the night before.

  ‘I have no idea how they knew, but anyhow they’re here, upsetting everyone’ Lady Heriot said. ‘Anyhow let us go to the inn—we must find him, and old Mme. Dutour is so silly that if she knows anything, I’m sure I can get it out of her.’

  The inn was another grey house, in another grey street.

  ‘Leave the car outside and come in’ Lady Heriot said. ‘We’ll order an apéritif—if the worst come to the worst we can have lunch, though it won’t be good.’

  The inn at Tardets is a chilly and unwelcoming place. In some strange way the greyness of the streets outside seems to have seeped into its rooms; in the gaunt, sparsely-furnished parlour such warmth as there was was furnished not by any fire in the empty grate, filled with elaborately folded paper covered with dust, but by old Mme. Dutour’s welcome.

  ‘Miladi! What a pleasure! How goes it with Milord? And this is a son?’ She shook Nick by the hand.

  ‘Have you someone now who attends to the bar, Madame? My son would like a little refreshment.’

  ‘But yes; my great-nephew, Marceline’s son, makes his apprenticeship here as bar-man. Permettez’—she made for the door.

  ‘My son will find his own way,’ Lady Heriot said firmly. ‘Sit down, Madame, and let us talk a little. It is long since we met.’

  ‘Ah yes—le bon vieux temps! During the war we constantly saw Miladi here, helping the escape of those of the Royal Air Force, and of others, into Spain.’

  Old Mme. Dutour had herself, immediately, led the conversation into the desired channel; only a little skilful pressure on Lady Heriot’s part was necessary to learn what she wished to know. But silly as she might be, at first even Mme. Dutour was hesitant—‘The Sureté have been here; he is in danger,’ she said.

  ‘I know this—and I have come, precisely, to learn where he is, and to see him. Then the Royal Air Force will secure his escape.’ Unscrupulously, Lady Heriot said what she knew to be most convincing; how British Intelligence would get Bonnecourt away she had no idea, except that one of the twins had said something about his being flown out—but ‘The Royal Air Force’ was still a name to conjure with, in France.

  ‘Who is so good as Miladi? She helps everyone!’ the old woman exclaimed. But it was some time, even then, before Mme. Dutour could be brought to the point; at last ‘He is with Marceline’ she hissed in Lady Heriot’s ear. ‘But this place is watched—do not go there direct, I implore you, Miladi! These creatures watch every face, every car.’

  Lady Heriot promised to take all precautions, and kissed the old landlady goodbye. Back in the car—‘Drive out along the road towards St. Jean Pied-de-Port’ she told Nick.

  ‘Oh, is he out that side?’

  ‘No, he’s with Mme. Bertrand, his other sister. But we won’t go straight there; presently let’s wait in a wood or somewhere, out of sight, till we see whether we are being followed. Old Madame says the inn is watched the whole time.’

  They couldn’t be absolutely sure, after Nick had slung the car up a wood-cutters’ track among the beech-trees, whose leaves were already taking on a coppery tinge, whether they were being followed or not. A bus and several large touring-cars shot by at speed; but presently two small cars, travelling much more slowly, came past, both full of little men peering intently out of the windows.

  ‘Those could be them’ Nick said, ungrammatically but lucidly. He had chosen his spot with care—just beyond the track where they had hidden themselves the road made a sharp bend to the right—the moment the two little cars were out of sight round this he shot down the track onto the main road, and drove back towards Tardets at top speed. ‘Any sign of them?’ he asked his Mother.

  ‘No, nothing in sight’ Lady Heriot said, slewing round to look out of the rear window. ‘That was perfect, dearest.’

  Mme. Bertrand, whose husband was a lawyer in quite a good way of business, lived in a neat little villa on the outskirts of Tardets on the western side, so they were able to reach it without returning through the town itself—once more Nick admired his Mother’s astuteness in causing him to drive out along the road towards St. Jean. The villa had a small drive with a gate, which was shut. ‘Open the gate, and drive in’ Lady Heriot said.

  Even before they rang the bell the door was opened
by Mme. Bertrand herself.

  ‘Lady Heriot! It is too long since we see you!’ She spoke in English. ‘But who is this?’ she asked, with a glance at Nick.

  ‘Have you forgotten my son Nicholas? May we come in, Marceline?’

  ‘Of course—I am enchanted.’ All the same there was here an evident guardedness, a hesitation. ‘If you would wait just one moment, Lady Heriot, I will go in and prepare to receive you.’

  Lady Heriot knew the lay-out of the villa perfectly: besides the kitchen there was only one sitting-room, and probably Bonnecourt was in it.

  ‘Do not trouble, Marceline. If you are thinking of causing your brother to climb out of the window, please let it be! I have come expressly to see him.’

  ‘My brother! But—why should Miladi imagine that he is here?’ Mme. Bertrand stammered.

  ‘I don’t imagine—I know he is’ Lady Heriot said brusquely. ‘Don’t be silly, Marceline; of course he is in danger, but I have come to arrange matters. Please to let us come in—I am a little tired, and I should prefer not to remain standing.’ As Mme. Bertrand stood aside, Lady Heriot walked past her and straight into the sitting-room; there, at a little table, sat Bonnecourt, playing patience with two packs of small cards, as cool as a cucumber. But some of his calm left him when she came in.

  ‘Miladi! What brings you here?’

  ‘You! Why aren’t you in Spain?’ She sat down in one of the small, uncomfortable French versions of an armchair. ‘Why are you lingering here? You have been most good to Madame Jamieson, and to our people in the past—but now you are really being troublesome.’

  Nick, who had followed his Mother into the room, had never till that moment seen the hunter look in the least embarrassed; now he obviously was.

  ‘Miladi, I ask your pardon—I am ashamed to have put you to so much trouble. But perhaps we had better discuss this matter alone. Marceline, can you not go and prepare some luncheon? And Nick, you can perhaps amuse yourself in the garden—behind the house! What car are you in?’ he added sharply.’

  ‘My little Dauphine.’

  ‘Where did you leave it?’

  ‘In the drive—on Her Ladyship’s instructions!’

  ‘C’est très-bien.’

  ‘Marceline, don’t bother about lunch; we must get back’ Lady Heriot said. ‘Just a cup of coffee, perhaps.’ When both Nick and the young woman had gone out she turned a stiff gaze on Bonnecourt.

  ‘Now perhaps you will explain to me why you are here? Even if the whole frontier has been alerted, as I imagine, that can hardly trouble you, or prevent you from crossing.’

  ‘Miladi is, as always, perfectly right. The frontier is my manoir —I come and go as I please, patrols or no patrols’ the man said, with a certain contained pride.

  ‘Then why haven’t you gone, you tiresome creature? Here is poor Mr. Monro gone driving off into Spain to look for you, and Colonel Jamieson leaving his wife to dash up to Paris on your behalf—to say nothing of our poor old Pierre turning out in the middle of the night to get you away. And here you sit playing Patience! Really, Bonnecourt, I am exasperated! Why haven’t you gone?’

  The brusque, motherly familiarity of this rebuke made the hunter laugh.

  ‘There are two reasons. But first, please, how is Madame Jamieson? Was the child delivered safely?’ ‘Yes, thank you very much.’

  ‘A boy or a girl?’

  ‘A boy—and they are both getting on quite well. Now, may I have your famous reasons?’

  Bonnecourt laughed again.

  ‘Yes. First, there is my wife. I wished to arrange that my family should bring her over to stay with them, when I leave.’

  ‘Well I should have thought you could have settled that with Pauline in five minutes’ Lady Heriot said crisply. ‘No need to hang about here for over twenty-four hours! What was the other reason?’

  ‘Ma voiture!’

  Lady Heriot just managed not to laugh. She had known Bonnecourt for over twenty years, and for many of them had recognised his fantastic attachment to his old Bugatti, which only his constant attention and mechanical skill kept on the road at all. But for a man to risk his neck, even for such a vintage rattle-trap, struck her as both funny and crazy.

  ‘The boys said that it had been put in our garage’ she said, ‘after you brought Madame Jamieson down to the Clinique.’

  ‘Yes—I ventured to take this liberty. But with these éléments of the Sureté everywhere I was anxious! I did not wish to leave France without ensuring its safety.’

  Again Lady Heriot only refrained from laughing with some effort. Which was Bonnecourt most anxious about, his wife or his car? Her guess was the voiture—he had had it longer! But arbitrary as she was, she could always adjust her tone to the immediate need, and switch from asperity to gentleness.

  ‘My dear friend, I perfectly comprehend both these anxieties of yours’ she said, pleasantly. ‘As regards your car, I doubt whether even the Sureté would attempt to touch it on our premises; and we will gladly keep it for you as long as you wish. But surely for Madame your wife, the essential thing is your safety; and this is what I have come over here to arrange—since you have failed to take the trouble to do that yourself!’ she added, with a return to her earlier brusqueness.

  ‘And how does Miladi propose to ensure my safety?’ Bonnecourt asked smiling—Lady Heriot always amused him when she got tough.

  ‘Oh, I leave the arrangements to the experts, like poor Colonel Jamieson! What I now ask of you, Bonnecourt, is to remain in this house until you hear from him, or from me. It is essential that he can see you. Have I your promise?’

  ‘Miladi, yes—unless the Sureté should come, and I am obliged to leave.’

  ‘Will you then go to Pamplona?’

  ‘Yes, I will.’

  ‘If you do have to leave, you must arrange to send a message.’ Lady Heriot considered. She had no knowledge whatever of Secret Service procedure; but she had plenty of commonsense, and an intimate acquaintance with all Bonnecourt’s family. ‘Let Pauline telephone to me’ she said—Pauline, in her opinion, was more reliable than Marceline.

  ‘Telephone calls may be tapped’ Bonnecourt interjected.

  ‘Of course’—the old lady spoke impatiently. ‘Give me a moment, and I will think what she is to say.’ She paused. ‘Yes:—“The foreign order has been executed”. Will that do?—just what a shop might say, I think.’

  ‘It is perfect. Miladi ought to be in Intelligence!’

  Marceline came in with a tray of coffee.

  ‘Oh, how good of you, my child.’ Lady Heriot poured herself out a half-cup. ‘Call Nick’ she said to Bonnecourt—‘We really must get home.’

  The hunter went through and summoned Nick, who was smoking in an arbour in the well-stocked kitchen-garden, with a low whistle—when the young man came in Bonnecourt asked him whether he had any idea of Colonel Jamieson’s plans on his behalf? ‘Madame your Mother seemed to think he desired to see me.’

  ‘Yes, he does. That’s important, I gather.’

  ‘But if I must remain here to meet him, how long is it before he returns?’

  ‘No notion. As long as it takes him to fix with the D.B. to make the Sureté lay off you, I imagine’ Nick said airily—‘which you probably know more about than I do.’

  ‘That could take all eternity!’

  ‘Not with him, I think. I got the impression that he is a fast worker.’

  ‘And if he fails?’

  ‘Then I’m sure you’ll be told, provided you stay put.’

  ‘What sort of a man is he?’ Bonnecourt asked, with sudden interest.

  ‘I’ve hardly seen enough of him to know. Good-looking; very able, I should say—or he wouldn’t be where he is; rather débrouillard—and the tiniest bit stuffy’ Nick added.

  ‘Stuffy? What does this mean?’

  ‘Oh well, rather formal. He’s Scotch, like my Father.’

  The hunter laughed, and changed the subject. Or didn’t he, Nick wondered, whe
n Bonnecourt said—

  ‘I am so glad that Madame Jamieson has got a son, and that she is well. Pray give her my best congratulations.’

  ‘Right—I will.’

  ‘This is a most wonderful person’ Bonnecourt said slowly; he spoke as though the words were being drawn out of him by some force beyond his control. ‘Courage; generosity and consideration for others, even when in distress herself. I wish I saw more of the English now, as in the past I did!’ he broke out.

  Nick, embarrassed, said foolishly—‘You see us.’

  ‘Yes; and always with pleasure. But you are not as Madame Jamieson—except for Miladi! They are made somewhat of the same clay.’ He made an impatient movement, as if to jerk himself out of this mood. ‘Allons! I know that Madame votre mère is anxious to get home. But’—he paused in the passage, and held his friend’s arm. ‘If you should hear when this Jamieson is returning, do me a favour, mon cher Nick, and give a coup de fil to my sister Pauline, at the épicerie Pontarlet—she will pass on the message.’

  ‘How shall I word it?’ Nick asked—after going through all those road-blocks 48 hours earlier he was even more alive than Lady Heriot to the Surete’s activities. ‘I can’t just say “The Colonel has arrived”, can I?’

  ‘Naturally not. If you hear before he comes, say to Pauline—“The formalities will be completed at such an hour”.’ Bonnecourt grinned as he said ‘The formalities.’ ‘If you only hear after he has arrived, say “Formalities completed here.” But if I knew in advance, I might be able to facilitate matters for the Colonel; perhaps save him a journey.’

  ‘Don’t go doing anything silly, Bonnecourt!’ Nick said, a little anxiously.

  ‘Of course not. But do keep an eye on my car, will you?’

  * * *

  On they way home Nick drove straight through Ste. Marie-des-Pélérins, to save time—to his surprise the road-blocks were being removed, and the car was waved forward.

  That Jamieson man seems to be quite effective’ he said—and he repeated the remark as they passed through Pau with no police checks. ‘It’s something to make the Sureté lay off like this, and so fast.’ There was still an agent at the front door, but he stood aside and saluted politely. ‘Fresh instructions, definitely’ Nick observed.