by Rosie Clarke
‘Yes – slightly amusing though, isn’t it? Everyone knows that Shultz is a timid beast. Far more likely to be one of Hoffmeister’s other enemies – he has enough.’ He smiled oddly. ‘Don’t worry for your friend, Marco. I dare say someone will arrest the Oberst before he can do much damage.’
‘One would hope the innocent will be spared,’ Marco shrugged as calmly as he could, bringing every bit of acting skill he’d ever had to bear. His hands unconsciously bunched at his sides as he felt the urge to bury them in the face of this sneering officer.
‘You’re a cold fish, Marco,’ the officer said. ‘Some might suspect you of being involved – but why would you? You have nothing to gain…’
Marco smiled coolly. ‘Indeed, what could I gain, Captain Wenger? I earn my living entertaining German officers – and the more you spend, the more I earn. What would I want with any missing items of Oberst Hoffmeister’s?’
‘Exactly.’ The German officer nodded. ‘Just what I said when your name came up as someone Shultz might pass the information to. I’m very rarely wrong about character in a man. I doubt you care for anyone or anything enough to risk your life.’
Now Marco allowed himself a shudder. ‘Do we have to speak of such things, Captain? I know there are some brutes in your Army, but I think men like yourself and others are gentlemen and more refined…’
‘Fortunately, we are not all like the Oberst,’ Captain Wenger replied and smiled wolfishly. ‘I do like you, Marco – but if I ever discovered you had lied to me…’ He inspected his nails, which were scrupulously clean. ‘Well, I’m sure we do not need to speak of such things.’
‘I hope not,’ Marco replied. ‘Will you excuse me please? I have someone to see.’
‘Please, do not allow me to detain you further.’
Marco left the café and walked down the road. He went directly to the little shop on the corner and bought a pot of flowers, spending some time chatting to the woman who sold her garden produce there. Then, without glancing over his shoulder, he returned to the club. Greta was sitting in the bar. He went up to her and presented her with the gift of potted geraniums.
‘Happy birthday, Greta,’ he said and smiled.
‘But it isn’t,’ she began.
Marco leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘Just pretend it is and accept them,’ he whispered. ‘I’m being watched.’
Greta smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you, Marco. It’s a lovely present.’
Marco heard the door close. He knew he’d been observed, but whoever it was would report back to Captain Wenger that he’d bought a birthday gift for one of the girls at the club.
‘To what do I owe this?’ Greta asked a moment later.
‘To your pretty face,’ Marco said. ‘Excuse me now, Greta. I have something to do.’
He left her sitting there staring at the pot of flowers, probably wondering what to do with them, and walked up to his room. Immediately, he knew someone had been in it – he could smell some kind of hair oil and it wasn’t his. Someone had searched his room discreetly while he was out. Nothing had been taken and hardly anything was out of place, but someone had been looking for something – perhaps while he was talking to the German officer.
So, he was suspected. Did they have anything to go on or was it just because he was known to be friendly towards Kurt? Wenger had been warning him or trying to frighten him, perhaps?
Marco knew that it was important he held his nerve. It was likely that his work here was done. If he was under even the slightest suspicion, he would be a danger to the others. He would have to get a message to someone – not Pierre this time. It would be dangerous to go near the café again, because Pierre might be endangered. He could only pray that he’d got through to his contact immediately and delivered those papers – because it was likely the Germans would stop and search everyone in the village now that the papers were known to be missing, but for the moment it was probably best to sit tight and do nothing.
27
Maggie stopped by the lieutenant’s bed and smiled as he opened his eyes and looked at her. His colour was better and his eyes looked clear of the fever that had pulled him down for a few days.
‘Good morning, Lieutenant O’Sullivan,’ she said. ‘Are you feeling better today?’
‘Yes, much better, Nurse Gibbs,’ he said. ‘Sister Mayhew frightened the fever out of me, so she did – told me she wanted me out of this bed, because she had more deserving cases…’
Maggie laughed and told him to open his mouth so she could take his temperature. ‘You are a wicked tease,’ she told him. ‘Sister Mayhew has a soft spot for you and she won’t make you go before you’re ready.’
The officers often swept through this ward looking for men who were ready to return to the front line and simply lingering in bed for a rest. Despite the new recruits that were sent out regularly, the officers wanted their best men back. Men who knew what it was all about and didn’t wet their breeches at the first sound of the guns and some of the young ones did, but then they were sending them out as young as fifteen to fill up the empty spaces caused by so many deaths and fatal wounds. The older men protected them as much as they could, but everyone knew they were far too young and should never have been accepted or sent to the front.
‘I’ll not be troubling you much longer, Nurse Gibbs,’ Mick said and smiled at her. ‘I’ve no doubt I’m needed elsewhere and as soon as the doc says I can go, it’s back to duty for me.’
‘You should rest while you can,’ Maggie said and turned to move on, but Mick caught her hand. ‘Is there something you need – something I can do for you?’
‘I wondered if I could help you,’ he said. ‘I’m good at fixing things – finding stuff. If you need any soap or a bit of chocolate…’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘I have good friends at home and they send me all those things, lieutenant. It’s very kind of you but I don’t need anything.’
‘Well, maybe I could take you into the village for a drink on your night off?’
‘What is that?’ Maggie mocked. ‘It’s very kind of you, Lieutenant O’Sullivan, but I stay with friends when I do go into the village – but I do thank you for the thought.’
‘Well, I had to ask,’ he said, quirking an eyebrow. ‘Sure, there isn’t a man in this ward who wouldn’t ask if he dared.’
Maggie laughed and shook her head, though she knew he was right. Ever since she’d come out here, she’d been inundated with offers to go for walks, a drink or the occasional dance in the village. She’d said no to all offers, because she had Tim – and even now, she wouldn’t accept an offer – even from someone she liked. It was too soon and she didn’t even want to think of getting to know another man.
‘Perhaps one day,’ she said and wondered at herself.
‘One day but not yet,’ he replied and smiled in a way that Maggie liked. ‘Just so long as you know I asked.’
Maggie nodded and moved off to her next patient. He was lying with his eyes closed and she thought he seemed a bit flushed. She decided to leave him sleeping but report his change of condition to Sister Mayhew and moved on to the next bed, where the occupant was sitting up and grinning at her.
‘Would you like a glass of water, private?’
‘Nothing but a kiss will quench my thirst, nurse,’ he quipped.
‘Then you’ll die of thirst,’ she retorted and smiled to take the sting from her words. ‘Sister says you’re down for an enema today.’
‘You do know how to make a man feel good,’ he groaned and pulled a wry face.
Maggie laughed and moved on. It was a joy to work on this ward. Here the men were brought in sick and they recovered quite quickly, most of them being sent back up the line, or if they were lucky enough to be due leave, they might be shipped home. Either way, they’d had a brush with near death and felt lucky to be alive.
Maggie changed bandages, took temperatures and administered medication until Sister Mayhew sent her to have her break.
<
br /> ‘You’re looking better, Nurse Gibbs,’ she said approvingly. ‘I think you’ve proved yourself to be a good nurse – do you want me to recommend you for a spot of home leave?’
‘No, thank you, Sister. I’m happy here,’ Maggie said. ‘I like working for you – but if I’m needed elsewhere, I’m ready.’
‘I think I shall keep you here for a bit longer,’ Sister Mayhew said. ‘I want good nurses in this ward as much as anywhere else, so I’ll be selfish and keep you to myself. Off you go now.’ Just as Maggie was about to leave, she called her back. ‘You’re off this weekend, I think?’
‘Yes, Sister – I’m going to a wedding in the village. Marie’s eldest niece is getting married and she invited both Sadie and me.’
‘Well, enjoy yourselves. There is no reason you shouldn’t – remember that and don’t feel guilty that you’re not working.’
‘Yes, Sister – and thank you.’
Maggie was feeling much better about life and she knew who to thank – working with these men who still smiled and joked despite all they’d been through had made her see that she wasn’t the only one to know suffering and grief. They lost friends all the time and yet they carried on; they had to, and so would she.
There was an air of festivity in the village despite the sound of the guns, no more than ten or fifteen miles away, so the soldiers told them. When Maggie had first realised how close to the fighting they were, she’d shivered, fearing the Germans might break through and descend on them, but it hadn’t happened yet. It seemed as if the war was fought over a small space called no man’s land and although both sides made attacks on each other’s lines they never seemed to get far. The first attack of what they now called mustard gas had taken everyone by surprise and the Germans had broken through for nearly four miles that day, but fortunately the Canadians had stopped them, driving them back, and stalemate seemed to have descended again, as far as Maggie could tell.
Here in the village it was as if the war was far away this morning. The villagers had put out tubs of bright geraniums and other flowers and Marie’s house had garlands of flowers hanging on the door and from the windows. She was wearing the pretty silk scarf Maggie had given her as she welcomed the two English girls with kisses and smiles, delighted to see them and drawing them in as though they were family. She took them both up to see the bride, who was a pretty shy girl of eighteen. Since silk and satin was almost impossible to buy now, Magdalena was dressed in her mother’s wedding gown of cream lace and had a crown of fresh flowers on her hair, her bouquet tied up with blue ribbons.
Sadie and Maggie gave her the lace handkerchiefs they’d managed to buy from a nurse who had purchased them in Paris while on leave, and Magdalena was delighted with her gift. Especially, she told them, since they were in a box with the name of a prestigious Paris shop and she’d always wanted something from there.
‘Maison Fontaine is a wonderful shop,’ she told Maggie. ‘I have seen pictures and wanted to work there, but Maman kept me at home to help in the shop – but I will go there when the war is over and buy something.’
‘You would like Harpers,’ Maggie told her. ‘I think the shop these came from must be similar, from what Nurse Rose told us, and I loved working there. I sold beautiful silk scarves and leather gloves – and sometimes hats.’
‘Why did you leave? I would never have left if I’d had a job in a shop like that.’
‘It was because of the war – because I wanted to help the men who were fighting for us.’
Magdalena nodded. ‘I understand, because I know how I would feel if my Phillipe was wounded.’ She sighed. ‘He is only home for six days and then he must go back to his unit.’
Phillipe was a handsome young man of nineteen. He looked older than his years, perhaps because he’d been fighting with the French troops for a year now and that aged men quickly. They saw more horror and pain in a few months than most men would see in a lifetime.
However, that day was a happy day and the wedding went well. Most of Marie’s neighbours turned out to escort her niece to the church, leading her with strings of flowers and teasing the blushing bride as she was given to her bridegroom and the pair were blessed by the padre.
The ceremony was different to any wedding that Maggie had been to before, perhaps because it was a Roman Catholic ceremony, but although she didn’t understand much of what was said and done in church, she shared in the general happiness and showered the happy couple with rose petals when they left the church for the reception at the village hall.
‘I thought Pierre was sure to be here – he said he would,’ Sadie whispered to Maggie when they took their places at the long table, which was miraculously covered with dishes of wonderful food: cheeses, ham, cold chicken, ripe tomatoes, peppers, green salads and fresh bread, accompanied by delicious relishes and, as the centrepiece, a large sponge cake decorated with soft icing and filled with jam and buttercream. Wine flowed and fragrant coffee was there for those that preferred it.
‘No doubt he has been delayed for some reason,’ Maggie soothed. She understood Sadie’s anxious look because Pierre would not miss a cousin’s wedding unless he was forced. Clearly, his work had taken him elsewhere – and it was such dangerous work that Sadie had every right to worry. ‘He’ll come later if he can, I’m sure.’
Pierre slipped into Marco’s room and placed a finger to his lips, glancing around to make sure they were alone before he spoke.
‘I have news,’ he said. ‘Shultz was tortured and died at the hands of that monster, but he did not talk. Hoffmeister has been arrested and shot. He was accused of treason and of murdering another officer to cover up his own guilt.’
‘May God have mercy,’ Marco said and crossed himself. For a moment grief stabbed at his heart and he felt guilt. It was his fault that Kurt had died in such a painful way. ‘I never thought Kurt would be strong enough to keep silent through that kind of torture.’
‘Apparently, he took cyanide crystals,’ Pierre said. ‘They are questioning where he got them, but they have no proof.’
Marco went to the drawer in his dressing table and opened it, taking out a small pillbox. Two of the pills he’d been given when he was sent out here as a spy had gone. ‘I know where he got them – but they can’t know…’
‘Yet you are suspected,’ Pierre told him grimly. ‘Before he died, Hoffmeister named you as a British spy.’
‘My God!’ Marco felt a thrill of fear. ‘Why in heaven’s name did he do that? If Kurt didn’t break, he couldn’t have known.’
‘It was probably just spite – or a suspicion,’ Pierre replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Whatever, it means your time here is over, my friend. We have to get you out, now, today, before they come for you.’
‘Yes, I have to go now,’ Marco said. He slipped the pillbox into his pocket and pushed a few clothes into a canvas rucksack. ‘Where do I go – have you any idea?’
‘I’ve been sent to take you to the coast. A fishing vessel will take you offshore and you’ll be met by a British ship.’ He broke off as they heard shouting outside, going quickly to the window to look down into the street. ‘They’re here. I’ll have to get you out across the roof; they will have the back entrance covered as well as the front.’ He gestured at the rucksack. ‘Leave that – you will have to manage without whatever it is.’
Marco nodded. His nerves were taut and he felt a sick anxiety inside, because he knew his fate if the Germans took him alive. He followed Pierre from the room as the banging at the front door began. They went to a small, discreet curtain that covered a narrow staircase leading up to the roof. The roof was flat at first but then rose to a peak but flattened out again where it met the neighbouring roof of a butcher and then the local baker. Keeping low, they scrambled across the roof to the next and then the baker’s property. Here, a window was opened and a man dressed in a white apron beckoned frantically.
‘Quickly,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll get you away through my cellar whi
le they search the club.’
‘Thank you,’ Marco said as he was helped inside. ‘But you’re risking so much, Jean.’
‘Pouff,’ Jean made a sound of disgust and spat on the floor. ‘Those pigs raped my niece and the girl is now in a convent, broken and likely to die. I have no one but myself. If they kill me, I’ll take some of them with me.’
Marco thanked him, feeling lucky that the sentiment in the village was mostly against the invaders. Even though the Germans shopped in their businesses and used the club as their own, they were not liked and it seemed that Jean knew more about Marco than he’d guessed his neighbours suspected. Was it one of them – a local – who had betrayed him to Hoffmeister? There was always one who would take the enemy’s money and betray his neighbours; it was Sod’s law.
Following Jean down to the bakehouse, Marco marvelled at the simple ingenuity of the cellars that led down beneath the bakery. The first was used to store old trays, sacks of flour and discarded furniture, but behind a false wall of wooden slats, there was a long and winding tunnel tall enough for a man to walk with his head bent.
‘It leads to the church,’ Pierre said and smiled as he lit an old-fashioned lantern. ‘This has been here for centuries. I imagine it was used for smuggling in the old days.’
‘You’ve used it before,’ Marco said, feeling reassured as Pierre led the way. His nerves still prickled because it had been close. If the Germans had looked up or come ten minutes sooner, he would now be contemplating how soon he needed to take those cyanide crystals.
Poor Kurt, he would never get to London now, never live the life he’d craved of theatrical parties and fine dining. He’d wanted Marco to take him into his world and he’d died because of what he’d done. Had he lived Marco would have kept his word; perhaps they would have found a good life together or moved on after a time, but now he would never know. Marco prayed that the British had made good use of the information he’d given them and not dismissed it as unimportant – a man had died for those papers. Yet, as he pondered on what Kurt had done, plodding behind Pierre in the semi-darkness, Marco realised it hadn’t been for any sense of high ideals or what was right and wrong. Kurt had taken the papers to impress him, and to bring disgrace on to the man he hated.