by Susan Lewis
Claudine shook her head. ‘He went to Blois yesterday and won’t be back until Friday.’
‘I thought he was supposed to be protecting you from François’ nemesis?’
‘Life has to go on, Lucien.’
He nodded. ‘Has anyone discovered who Halunke is yet?’
‘I don’t think so. But as I said, we haven’t heard from François for almost a year.’
‘What about von Pappen?’
‘He came here a few months ago. Looking for you, as a matter of fact.’
‘Did he?’ Lucien said thoughtfully. ‘Did he say why he was looking for me?’
‘No. He just said he was concerned.’
Lucien laughed. ‘Probably thought I’d got myself killed. Well, we can put his mind at rest now. So what’s all this about Armand going to Blois?’
‘He travels quite a lot to sell the wine.’ She shrugged. ‘Someone has to, now François isn’t here to do it.’
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and he wondered if he should tell her that he knew how in love she and his brother were, so there was no need to hide it from him. But he decided not to. She was handling it in her own way, and now wasn’t the time to be having that kind of conversation. ‘So who’s running the vineyards?’ he asked.
‘Armand. Solange, Monique and I help as much as we can. But that’s not important. What is important is that Armand finds it much easier than most to obtain a laissez-passer, or an Ausweis – the documents we need to travel about the country. So he could be invaluable as a courier.’
‘He most certainly could,’ Lucien agreed. ‘Pity he’s not here now. I have three airmen at a safe house in La Flèche, and I need to get word to their next safe-house which is just outside Loudun. I can’t go myself because I have to return to La Flèche before curfew to get them.’
‘I’ll go,’ Claudine said, without even thinking about it.
‘You would?’ Lucien exclaimed. ‘That’s just what I was hoping you’d say.’ And putting his arm round her, he gave her a smacking kiss on the forehead. ‘You’re a remarkable woman, Claudine!’
She pulled a face, and extricating herself from his embrace, said, ‘So, what do I do, and who should I speak to?’
‘First things first,’ he chuckled. ‘You have to think of a cover-story for why you’re going to Lémeré.’
‘Lémeré? But I thought you said Loudun?’
‘I did. But we’re introducing a system of cut-outs, which means you never actually meet the person you’re trying to contact. That way, if the Gestapo get hold of you you won’t be able to betray anyone. So, you are to go to the post office in Lémeré and ask to send a long cable including the words “Grandfather is sick”, then make a fuss about the charge. That way the postmaster will pay extra attention to your cable, and when he sees the code he’ll know he has to pass the message on to the next cut-out point.’
‘But that way I know who my contact is. And he’ll know me.’
‘As I know you, etc. It’s not a perfect system, but we’re working on it. However, if the Germans rumble you and torture you, which they will if they catch you, you will be able to tell them only of the post office in Lémeré. And if you disappear, I will know, so I can warn the postmaster.’
‘And if I tell them about you?’
‘What can you tell them? You have no idea where I’m going from here.’
‘La Flèche.’
‘That’s what I’ve told you.’
She grinned. ‘I’m with you.’
‘Good. So all you need now is a cover-story, and a cable.’
‘The cable is easy enough. I’ll simply address it to some friends in the south and tell them how sorry I am to learn their grandfather is sick.’
‘And sign it with a fictitious name. The last thing the postmaster will want to know is who you really are.’
She nodded. ‘And the reason I’m going to Lémeré, if I’m stopped along the way? I know, Liliane has a friend in Lémeré, I’ll say I’m taking her some eggs because Liliane can’t ride a bicycle.’
‘Pretty thin,’ Lucien said.
‘You know, we spend half our time pedalling round the countryside delivering farm produce to old folk.’
‘All right. But keep to the back roads, and if there’s a German anywhere near the post office, don’t go in. Just deliver the eggs and come home. If you succeed in passing the message, then black-out your bedroom window at curfew as normal, but leave the shutters open. If you fail, close the shutters. That way, I’ll know.’
‘So you’re going to be passing through the forest. Should you really be telling me that?’
Lucien laughed and got up. ‘I can see you’re going to make an excellent agent! But even agents have to tell one another something. Now, I’m going to make my way back to La Flèche,’ he gave her a comical look, ‘and you should go to see Liliane and tell her you’re taking eggs to her friend. And you’ll have to do it, too.’
Claudine walked with him to the bridge door.
‘One other thing before I go,’ he said, pulling the door closed behind them. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to get here again, but if I need you to relay another message, Jacques will come. It’s not his real name, of course, and you should think of a pseudonym too, by the way. Do it now.’
‘Antoinette,’ she said, immediately giving her mother’s name.
‘Good. I’ll tell him to give an owl hoot from the forest if he needs to contact you. When you hear it, go to the edge of the bridge and wait. When he’s sure you haven’t been followed and aren’t being watched, he’ll come out of hiding. Then he’ll give you a password. It is snowing in Paris. You answer with, It often does in spring. If you hear anything but that, scream! Make it look as though you were waiting for a lover or something – but if you have to, kill him. Do you have a gun?’
Claudine shook her head.
‘I’ll get one to you.’ He grinned. ‘Do you think you’re up to it?’
‘Killing?’
He nodded.
‘Yes,’ she answered without hesitation, thinking of Blomberg.
Laughing, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and loped off into the forest. She waited until he had disappeared, then turned back inside. Just as she was closing the door she saw him come back through the trees. She waved, and he blew her kiss, mouthing the words, ‘Bonne chance!’
Several days later, Claudine was in the library reading the newspaper Gustave had slipped her that morning. It was by now three months old, the date at the top of the page was December 1940; but the clandestine newspapers often were well out of date by the time they received them. Circulating newspapers like Résistance – the one she was reading now – was an extremely risky business, and if the publishers, or indeed the readers, were caught, they would almost certainly be delivered into the hands of the Gestapo. Particularly if the paper carried a message on its front page like this one: ‘Resist! This is the cry that comes from the hearts of all of you who suffer from our country’s disaster. This is the wish of all of you who want to do your duty.’
A few minutes later Claudine pushed the newspaper back into the drawer of Louis’ desk and locked it. Then, resting her chin on her hands, she started to think. Her little venture for Lucien the other day, which had passed without incident, had sharpened her appetite for action. She hadn’t heard from him since, so she had no idea if he had managed to get the pilots to their next safe-house or not. But either way, she knew she couldn’t just sit around waiting for him to make contact. The time had come for a more organized resistance, and instead of talking about it she must actually do something about it.
The problems were manifold, that much was clear. To begin with, though there were obviously plenty of people who would be willing to help, there were many more who wouldn’t, and who would even betray those who did. Nevertheless, she made a mental list of those she felt sure she could rely on. Armand, naturally. Then there was his mother, who could possibly be persuaded into mak
ing her home a safe-house. And of course the cottage in the forest could be used too. There was also Gertrude Reinberg, who would undoubtedly be willing to make clothes for the pilots. And Doctor Lebrun, who had already volunteered the information that the telephone operator in Chinon was listening into German telephone calls, and said how frustrated he felt at having no one to pass the intelligence on to. So what they needed was to co-ordinate and extend this little network in such a way that it would not only help Lucien and the pilots, but would to some degree harass and thwart the Germans.
She must begin with a recruitment programme. Potential resisters should be given a rigorous interview and various tests of loyalty, and must be initially recommended by someone already known to be trustworthy. What then? Defacing German posters, cutting telephone lines, re-hoisting French flags and slashing tyres was hardly going to send the Germans scuttling back to the Fatherland. Annoyance wasn’t enough; they must be inconvenienced. But how? They, the resisters, had no weapons, no training, no underground experience …
Claudine’s eye suddenly widened, and she couldn’t imagine why the idea hadn’t occurred to her before. Corinne. She would know exactly how to go about this, she could even help train the recruits in unarmed combat.
Excitedly, Claudine got up from her chair and began to pace the room. She must think this through a little more, because Corinne’s job was to protect Louis, and that must come first. But Corinne could act as an adviser; the training she, Claudine, would carry out herself. She would need someone to head their little group, too, once it was under way. Most of their members would probably be men, and knowing the French as she did, it would be fatuous of her to expect them to take orders from a woman. Lucien’s visits were going to be erratic, but Armand was both liked and respected and, as she had pointed out to Lucien, he had the perfect excuse for travelling about the countryside, and bona fide documents that would even take him over the demarcation line and into Vichy France if necessary.
Yes, it was all beginning to shape up nicely. There was no point in thinking about the danger, if she did that she would become one of the Attentistes she accused Tante Céline of being. Sitting around waiting to see what would happen wasn’t good enough. They had to make things happen, and the sooner they started the better. Armand was due back later that day, so she would cycle into the village, return the newspaper to Gustave … Gustave! There was another recruit. A café was the perfect place to pass on information.
‘Ah! I was just coming to see you,’ Armand said as she walked out of the café an hour later.
‘And I you,’ Claudine said. ‘How was Blois?’
‘Successful.’
‘Good. Did Estelle enjoy her trip?’
‘I think so.’
His face had turned slightly pink at the mention of Estelle, but if he hadn’t told her himself that he was taking Estelle to Blois she would never have mentioned it. ‘And what were you coming to see me about?’ she asked, as they turned to walk across the square.
‘Two things. First, I wanted to know that you were all right.’ He grinned. ‘That the big bad wolf hadn’t come out of the forest to get you.’
They often joked about Halunke now, it was probably one of the best ways of dealing with it, she’d decided. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, smiling, ‘someone did come out of the forest.’
Immediately he was angry. ‘I’ve told you time and time again that I shouldn’t be leaving you to go and sell wine. We should employ someone else to do it …’
‘Oh, do be quiet, Armand, and stop fussing,’ she laughed. ‘Now, don’t you want to know who it was?’
‘Well?’ he said.
She put her head to one side, caught her scarf as it took off in the wind, and said, ‘Lucien.’
‘What!’
‘Yes, our very own Lucien. Alive and kicking and in need of our help. Which is why I was coming to see you.’
‘Help? What kind of help?’
Claudine glanced about her, and seeing that there was no one in sight decided that here was as good a place as any. She perched herself on the edge of the well, and began.
‘… So what d’you think?’ she said, when she had finished. ‘It’ll be risky, I know, but …’
‘Risky! It’ll be downright dangerous,’ he cried. ‘We might just as well go and put ourselves in front of a firing squad now.’
‘Oh, Armand,’ she groaned. ‘Please don’t …’
‘Count me in,’ he laughed. ‘When are you seeing Lucien again?’
Resisting the urge to hug him, she said, ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say. But that’s no reason for us to wait. We can have everything organized by the time he returns.’
‘All right. I’ll make a start by going to ask my mother about this safe-house business, and you can talk to Gustave. Then I want you to meet me on the bridge at eleven thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh?’ she said curiously.
‘It’s the second reason I was coming to see you this afternoon. But it can wait until then.’
Claudine shivered and pulled her waterproof hat tighter onto her head. It was a horrible, dreary day, the sky was leaden grey and the wind bitingly cold. Armand was leading the way through the forest, and though she was trying to concentrate on what he was saying, the fact that they were clearly heading towards the old cottage was unsettling her. He had so far refused to tell her why they were going there, except to say that he had something to show her.
They reached a dip in the path and she slipped in the slimy undergrowth, her scarf getting hooked on the spiky branches of a low-hanging tree.
‘Armand, I do wish you would tell me what’s going on,’ she said, exasperated.
‘You’ll see soon enough,’ he answered, helping her to untangle her scarf, then winding it about her neck. ‘Now come along, we’re almost there.’
A few minutes later they approached the clearing in front of the cottage, and Claudine saw straightaway that there was smoke coming from the chimney. Her heart sank. It was days like this that she and Armand had found so romantic, making love in front of the fire and huddling into the coarse blankets they took from the bed …
‘Wait!’ Armand put out a hand to stop her going any further. ‘Wait here,’ he whispered, and hunching his shoulders against the rain, he crept quietly across the clearing.
She watched, not a little irritated, as he pressed himself against the wall of the cottage and edged towards the window. He peered inside, then looked back to where she was standing and signalled her to join him.
‘What is it?’ she whispered as she walked into the circle of his arm. But he only put a finger over his lips then pushed her towards the window.
At first she couldn’t see anything through the steam on the glass, but Armand pointed to a clear patch near the bottom and she stooped to look through.
Her eyes scanned the room. It hadn’t changed a bit since she was last there; even her amateurish portrait of Armand still hung over the fireplace. The table was laid for lunch, with pieces of broken bread, a half-empty bottle of wine and – considering the ration per person per day was a quarter of an ounce – a surprisingly generous wedge of cheese. She could hear voices, but she couldn’t actually see anyone until she re-positioned herself and looked over into the far corner where the old bed was pushed up against the wall. On it were two naked figures in the final throes of making love. Immediately Claudine drew back and turned an angry face to Armand.
He shook his head. ‘Look closer,’ he hissed.
Her face was taut with disapproval, but she dragged her eyes back to the window, and as she looked in again the man rolled over onto his back. Claudine’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. It was Hans, Blomberg’s chauffeur, and the woman he had been making love to was Monique.
It was almost four o’clock by the time Monique let herself in through the bridge door. Claudine was waiting for her. Without uttering a word, she grabbed Monique by the arm and hauled her into her bedroom.
‘Wh
at the hell’s going on?’ Monique cried, snatching her arm away and glaring at Claudine defiantly.
Claudine slammed the door. ‘I’d like you to tell me that!’ she said, trying to keep her voice down. ‘I saw you, Monique. I saw you with my own eyes, so don’t bother to deny it. Now what the hell do you think you’re doing fornicating with Germans? You know what could happen …’
‘How dare you speak to me like that!’
‘I dare. And if need be I’ll keep you locked in your room to stop you seeing him again.’
For a moment Monique was speechless with rage. ‘Just who do you think you are!’ she shouted. ‘I’m not a child …’
‘No! You’re a damned fool. You know as well as I do what the penalty is for sleeping with a German. They call it “polluting the master race”, Monique, and for that you can be shot.’
‘But we’re in love!’ Monique cried, tears starting to pour from her eyes. ‘You know what it’s like to be in love, so how can you …’
‘Stop it! Stop it now!’ Claudine shouted. ‘If he’s in love with you, why is he putting you in this danger?’ An image of François flashed into her mind and for once she was relieved that no one knew how they felt about each other. ‘If I can find out so easily what’s going on,’ she continued, ‘then so can others. The worst that can happen to Hans is that he’ll be transferred elsewhere. But you, you could find yourself facing a firing squad and there won’t be a damned thing he can do to help you.’
Burying her face in her hands, Monique started to run from the room, but Claudine caught her and pulled her back. ‘No!’ she said firmly. ‘You are not going to run away. You’re going to sit here and talk to me, and I’m not letting you leave until I have your word that you won’t see him again.’