There was something else, too. She hated to admit it, but her pride had been hurt. She had gone to meet him, imagining he would be glad to see her – and he had treated her like a child. He had humiliated her – very subtly but very definitely – and it made her shudder.
She was angry – but not with Michel, with herself. What a fool she’d been! She’d built up a picture of Michel that bore no resemblance to the person he really was. She’d imagined him as a husband, as a lover; she’d made him into what she wanted him to be. It was self-delusion. Puppy love!
It began to rain, the drops driven by the wind into a horizontal curtain of penetrating wetness. Julie pulled her coat more tightly about her and began to walk slowly back down the lane. She wasn’t angry any more, just rather cross and sad.
One thing: she wouldn’t be so stupid again.
The most important thing in her life was Peter. He was the only one who really mattered. Tomorrow night she would take him to stay in the village, in a safe house, away from everything. Then if anything went wrong … neither of them would get caught.
A floorboard creaked and Julie woke with a start. It had taken her an hour to get to sleep and now she was wide awake again. It was hopeless: she was as jumpy as a cat and she knew it would take just as long to get back to sleep again. Being in a strange bed was half the problem; Madame Boulet’s house was only a short distance down the lane, in the centre of the village, but it might as well be a hundred miles away. Apart from anything else, the bed was lumpy.
She put out an arm and touched the sleeping figure beside her. That was another thing: though it was lovely to share a bed with Peter, she found it difficult to relax in case she should move in her sleep and disturb him. It was disconcerting, too, to hear the steady breathing and occasional sighs of someone sleeping beside you, even when that someone was your own child.
But what really made it impossible to sleep was knowing what was happening – out there, in the fields and down on the beach. Julie began to wonder how they got the airmen to the beach. Did they creep across the fields like shadows? Or did they walk brazenly along the roads? Whichever way, the risk was tremendous. Sometimes the Germans sent out extra patrols … And then how did the boat find the right beach? Did they signal? No, surely not …
She couldn’t see how it could be done safely. There were too many things to go wrong.
Best to try to sleep. She closed her eyes and made a conscious effort to relax her body.
Suddenly there was a faint moan. Instantly she was tense and alert again. It had sounded like someone in terrible anguish, sighing … She listened, straining to pick up the slightest noise, but all she could hear was the roar of silence.
Then it came again. A slight moaning which began as a low murmur and grew into a whine.
Julie suddenly relaxed with a groan. What a nervous idiot she was becoming! It was the wind. Only the wind!
She closed her eyes again and tried to calm herself. The wind … It sounded so different here. At home it whistled or, sometimes, when it was really blowing, it howled like an animal in pain. But this moaning … it made her feel uneasy. She tried to guess how strong the wind was now. A gale at least. The sea would be rough then, and there would be large breakers on the beach. She tried to imagine what it must be like for the British boat, trying to get in towards the land. Perhaps enormous waves were breaking right over it …
There was a faint tapping on the door. Julie almost jumped out of her skin. She lay rigid.
The tapping came again, soft but insistent.
Julie got quickly out of bed, pulled the covers up over Peter, and dragged on her dressing gown. She tiptoed to the door and opened it.
Madame Boulet was standing there, her anxious face illuminated by the candle in her hand. Immediately Julie knew something was wrong. ‘What is it?’
The older woman whispered, ‘Come down. Please. Now.’
Julie tied her dressing-gown cord and, closing the door behind her, followed Madame Boulet down the stairs. The hall was in darkness, but light was coming from the kitchen door which was slightly open. As they approached Julie could hear the low murmur of a man’s voice.
The two women went in. Monsieur Boulet was sitting by the stove, fully dressed, his face solemn. Another man who Julie knew only vaguely was sitting opposite, talking urgently. When they saw the women they rose to their feet, anxiety on their faces. Julie thought: God, the Germans have found out. Everyone’s been captured. Everyone’s been killed!
Julie said, ‘What is it? Please tell me!’
The second man said quickly, ‘Nothing’s happened! Not yet anyway. But we need your help, Madame.’
Julie let out a sigh of relief and sat down weakly on a chair. ‘Thank God … I thought for a moment …’ Then she remembered what the man had said. ‘Help? How can I help?’
‘Madame, believe me I would not ask … except that you are the only person … Madame, we need someone who speaks English. There is a young pilot. He is injured. We have done what we can for him but … Please come and talk to him. Otherwise – Otherwise we are all in trouble. Please, Madame.’
‘I don’t understand … What do I have to do?’
‘Madame, please, I beg of you. It isn’t far. Just at Roget’s farm, up near the point. You will understand when we arrive. Please, we have no time …’ He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Julie saw that it was almost midnight. She looked back at the man. She remembered that he was a farmer from the next village, a nice man who usually smiled. Now, as he waited for her reply, his face was deathly serious.
They were all watching her, waiting for her to speak. Julie felt the beginnings of panic. How could she possibly decide at a moment’s notice? It really wasn’t fair!
Then she realised they must be desperate. For them to ask her something like this – and in the middle of the night – something must be very wrong. Perhaps this pilot had terrible injuries … Perhaps he needed help … And he was young, the man had said …
Julie said abruptly, ‘I’ll go and get dressed,’ because it was easier to say that than to refuse. She hurried from the room before she changed her mind.
In the darkness of the bedroom she found some clothes and started to pull them on, wondering what she was getting herself into.
She dropped a shoe which clattered to the floor. Peter turned over and moaned quietly. Julie found the shoe and put it on. She went over to the bed and, leaning down, put her face against the soft, gentle cheek.
She took a last look at him, murmured, ‘I love you,’ and left the room.
The staircase was in total darkness and she had to feel her way down. When she reached the kitchen the lights were out and the back door already open. A blast of cold air came from the door, making her shiver. Someone helped her on with her coat and then she was outside, following the man as he led the way down the side of the house.
They turned a corner of the house and met the full force of the wind. It tore at Julie’s coat and blew her hair across her eyes until she could hardly see. She pulled the coat back round her and held her hair back from her face and saw that they had reached the road.
In the blackness Julie could just make out the figure of the farmer as he strode off in the direction of Roget’s farm. She followed quickly before she lost him in the murk. So they did use the roads on these night jaunts. Julie glanced nervously behind her. Sometimes she’d heard German trucks driving through the village in the middle of the night. If one came along now what would they do? Jump over the wall into a field, presumably. If there was time.
The farmer’s pace was relentless and when they came to the steep hill which led up to the point Julie had to make an effort to keep up. She thought of asking him to slow down, but then she remembered what he’d said about there being no time and she pushed herself on, concentrating on each step, closing her mind to everything except the rhythm of her stride.
At one point she looked up and he was gone, melted into the pitch darkness
ahead. But then he reappeared again, standing, waiting for her to catch up. He whispered, ‘Nearly there,’ and set off again briskly. Julie made a final effort, pumping her legs, swinging her arms, and then at last they arrived. The black bulk of a building loomed up ahead and a low voice came out of the darkness. The farmer answered with a single word and then they entered the farmhouse.
Someone took her arm and led her along a passage. Another door was opened and there was a sudden blaze of light. Julie blinked.
She found herself in what was obviously the front parlour. It was full of people. At least twenty. At first it was difficult to make out the faces, but then her eyes became accustomed to the light and she saw several people she knew, villagers and men from outlying farms. The rest – perhaps ten or twelve of them – were strangers, all young men, all slightly out of place despite their rough working clothes.
Everyone was staring at Julie, some with a kind of horror on their faces, some with hope and relief. No-one spoke. Julie cast around, looking for some kind of clue. She expected to see a figure on a stretcher, but there was none. Perhaps he was upstairs …
A villager glanced nervously towards the far end of the room, someone else did the same … Julie followed their eyes. And then she saw.
One of the young men was standing by the fireplace. He had a bandage round his head and a frightened look in his eyes.
In his hand was a gun. It was pointing at the other people in the room.
Suddenly Julie understood.
She had been brought here to get the gun out of his hand.
For a long time she stood quite still, looking at the young man, and wondering where to start. Finally she took a step forward and smiled at him. ‘Hello, my name’s Julie. Who are you?’
The young man stared at her, his face taut and uncertain. The gun waved slightly in his hand.
Julie thought: I must try something else. She took a breath and said brightly, ‘There’s obviously something the matter. Would you like to tell me about it?’
The young man blinked rapidly and tried to focus his eyes.
Suddenly he spoke, so loudly it made Julie jump. ‘I know who you are! You’re a spy too!’ The voice was high-pitched and tense, the accent Welsh.
‘A spy?’ Julie laughed gently. ‘Goodness gracious me no. I’m English!’ In the pause that followed she realised that this may not appear very logical and added, ‘No, you see I just happen to live here … among these good people and … They’re trying to help you, you know, to get you home. You do realise that, don’t you?’
‘No! No! They’re not to be trusted, they’re not! They’re spies! I saw one with a German!’
‘But … if they were spies they would have handed you over to the Germans long ago, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t have bothered to hide you for so long, would they? Not if they were going to give you up.’ She smiled gently. ‘Haven’t they cared for you? Haven’t they bandaged your head?’
‘But I saw one talking to a Kraut!’
‘Maybe the German asked him something. It would have looked odd if he hadn’t replied, wouldn’t it? We have to reply to the Germans, however much we hate it. I give you my solemn word that no-one here is on the Germans’ side. I am telling you the truth, believe me.’
The young man frowned and clamped his lips together.
‘Why don’t I tell you all about myself and then you can tell me all about your family and your home. Eh? Wouldn’t that be nice? Why don’t we get rid of everyone else and talk, just the two of us?’ She walked slowly across the room towards him. As she started to move, his eyes leapt with fear. But then they relaxed a little and followed her, searching her face, half hopeful, half uncertain. Julie felt a surge of confidence. She could see that he wanted to believe in her; he was only frightened.
Finally she stood in front of him. He did not move. She said, ‘We’ll tell the others to go away, shall we? And then we can talk.’ She turned and signalled to one of the villagers for them to go. People started standing up and shuffling towards the door. He shouted, ‘No, no! They must stay.’
Everyone stopped. Julie smiled and, reaching out, touched his hand, the one holding the gun. ‘They only want to go down to the boat and get you people home. You want to get home too, don’t you?’
He shook his head. ‘Yes, yes … But …’ He closed his eyes and said wearily, ‘It’s all so crazy.’
‘I know, I know. You’ve had a tough time, I can see that. Poor old thing, poor old thing. I bet it’s been terrible.’
‘Yes, yes! Jesus Christ, Oh God …!’ His voice cracked and Julie felt a moment of fear.
She said quickly, ‘Remember your duty!’
‘My duty?’ The young man looked at her, puzzled, trying to understand.
‘Yes. Your duty. It’s quite clear, you know. You must get back to England. That is what they want you to do. And you know why? So that they can get you back home to your family. That’s what they want you to do. They’re not going to ask you to fight again, you know … not after all you’ve done. You can go home, back to where you belong. Back to your family. Really.’ The young man’s face cleared a little and Julie thought: I’m on the right track. She prompted gently, ‘You have a family?’
He nodded slightly and for a moment she thought he would cry. He whispered, ‘Mum … and Dad … And my sister, Susan.’
‘And a girl? You have a girl?’
He looked at her as if his heart would break. ‘Yes, yes …’ His eyes filled with tears and he bowed his head and began to sob quietly. Slowly, Julie reached forward and removed the gun from his hand. She passed it to one of the men and then, reaching out, took the young pilot and cradled him in her arms. He clutched at her, his head on her shoulder, his tears warm on her neck.
She thought: But he’s no more than a boy; just a boy. And they send children like this to war … what madness it all is. She patted his back and said, ‘It’s all right now. Everything’s all right now.’
There was activity behind her: people were moving about and whispering. Someone touched her arm and breathed, ‘We must go now or it will be too late. Will you bring him? Down to the beach?’
Julie hesitated. The beach … No-one ever went to the beach. It had barbed wire and patrols.
The young pilot clutched at her, still sobbing. She held his head to her shoulder and patted his back again. She looked at the man waiting beside her and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’ll bring him. Just tell me what to do.’
Julie felt the pilot stumble behind her. She held tightly to his hand and turned her head. She saw that he had regained his balance and was tentatively stepping forward again. She whispered, ‘Are you all right?’ but the wind tore her words away and he didn’t hear. She asked again, louder.
He nodded, ‘Yes, I’m okay.’
Julie squeezed his hand and said, ‘Well done. Not far now!’
She peered down the path to where the man ahead of her had been. But there was no-one now, not even a shadow against the greys and blacks of the night mosaic. Julie drew in her breath and started forward again. The path was uneven and narrow, carved uncertainly into the side of the cliff and descending rapidly to the beach below. Sometimes, when a rock protruded, it disappeared altogether and Julie had to reach down with her foot until she found it again some distance below. She went forward carefully, leaning slightly inwards towards the cliff face, her leading hand feeling along the safe hardness of the solid rock. She tried not to think of what lay below.
At one point she stepped on a loose stone and almost lost her footing. She was wearing the wrong kind of shoes, of course: leather with a slight heel – horribly slippery. She should have brought canvas shoes. She also wished for the hundredth time that she’d worn a scarf: when the wind tore down the cliff it blew her hair across her face until she could hardly see.
The path seemed interminable. Behind, the pilot stumbled again; she gripped his hand again and turned to make sure that he had regained his balance.
Ab
ove the dull roar of the wind it was just possible to hear a low rumbling, like muffled thunder. As they went down it grew steadily louder. The sound of the surf. Julie’s spirits rose: they must be very near the beach now.
Without warning the path suddenly fell sharply away beneath her feet. Julie felt down the slope with her foot, but there was nothing: no ledge, no rock, no sign of the path. She sat down, pulled the pilot down beside her and, letting go of his hand, levered herself over the edge. She felt a jolt of fear as she began to slide downwards, faster and faster. Then, just as she grabbed for a handhold, she saw the beach rushing up towards her. With a soft crunch, she landed on the pebbles.
She got to her feet and dusted her coat down. The young pilot hadn’t appeared yet. She called up, ‘It’s all right. The beach is just here! Just slide down like I did!’
There was no reply. For a moment she thought she was going to have to climb back up again. Then she heard his voice, almost carried away by the wind. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes, yes. Just slide!’
There was a moment’s pause, then a figure shot down and fell on to the pebbles beside her. Julie said, ‘Well done.’ She helped him up and, holding hands again, they started slowly down the beach.
Julie could just make out a line of pale grey that revealed the breaking surf and, to the left, a blackness, much inkier than the sky, which marked the high cliffs around the cove. But where were they meant to go? Where were the others? She stopped uncertainly and looked around, peering into the darkness.
‘What’s happening?’ The pilot’s voice sounded frightened again.
‘It’s all right. I’m just waiting for them to find us.’
She only wished they would.
As if in answer, a shadow, darker than the rest, emerged in front of them. A voice said, ‘Here! Follow me!’ Julie sighed with relief and, pulling the pilot behind her, followed the dark figure along the beach. They came to a finger of rock which protruded from the cliff. The rest of the group were waiting on one side of it, some of them sitting against the rock, their faces pale and indistinguishable in the gloom, others standing in groups of two or three. As Julie walked up she was surprised to hear the sounds of raised voices. With dismay she realised that there was a row going on.
Night Sky Page 29