by Elaine Young
Every Hidden Thing
Elaine Young
Copyright ©2013 Elaine Young
Published 2013 by Elaine Young
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
This is dedicated to my dearest family
And other readers and editors and friends,
With thanks for all their patience, positive
Input and unfailing support.
A special word of thanks to my daughter Natalie Pereira
For designing the beautiful cover!
Cover detail (necklace) via Dreamstime.
For God will bring every deed
Into judgement
Including every hidden thing
Whether it is good or evil.
Ecclesiastes 12:14
Prologue
France June 1944
The coded message had come last evening. It instructed all résistance cells to begin acts of sabotage across Northern France. Jacques had a gut feeling that this was the beginning of the Allied invasion and he had immediately brought his own getaway plan into action. The valise containing his stolen trophy had been located in an accessible place. It was time to move on.
He stood in the darkness of the courtyard with the other three members of the cell. The only ones left of the band of twenty partisans that had started out three years before. Most of those had been Gaillard’s men, all local, but one by one they had met with ‘accidents’ until the number was down to four. Those who remained had come from Paris with him, but the only one he could really rely on was poor stupid Louis Pantin. As for the other two, he knew they would stab him in the back as soon as wink. He had made sure no-one else joined them and he did just enough to convince the English agents who were in touch with the cell of his allegiance to the Allies.
Armand and Philippe had arrived back from a reconnaissance expedition on the motor-bike a short while before. Now they moved back towards the bike, but Jacques’ deep voice stopped them.
‘The plan has changed;’ he said abruptly, ‘you two will go to the target in the car this time. Louis and I will follow on the bike and move around to the south side. You will set explosives under the bridge at the north end as we discussed and we will wait for you under the large copper beech near the road. We’ll hide the bike there and go back for it later,’ he said as he held out the car keys. The two men merely nodded and climbed into the car. The driver saluted as the old Citroën moved quietly out of the cobbled courtyard.
Jacques pulled Louis outside the courtyard area, so they could watch the car as it coasted slowly down the rutted pathway before it turned left at the gate in the direction of the river. The moon was high but was obscured by scudding clouds on this sultry night in early June. Lightning flashed, announcing an approaching storm and the wind had risen. Jacques turned to his companion.
‘You are sure you did it properly?’
Louis bobbed his head. ‘Yes, yes, exactly what you told me. Every box of explosives we had left is in the boot of the car.’ His voice was high-pitched, ingratiating. ‘The brakes will fail on the steep hill going towards the river when he tries to apply full pressure and all the explosives will detonate. Poof! That will be the last anyone hears from them!’ he fought to suppress his laughter, but the tall man merely nodded and lit a cigarette, his face impassive in the sudden flare of the match as he turned back to the house and the open door behind them.
‘Wait here . . .’ he handed his cigarette to Louis, who puffed it gratefully. Jacques took his precious valise from the cupboard where he had hidden it the night before and after a last look around he was about to slip out of the kitchen door again, when he realised he had forgotten his Luger upstairs.
He made no noise that might wake the sleeping woman as he crept into the darkened bedroom. Long ago he had oiled all the hinges in the place so he would be able to rummage unobtrusively through each room, cupboard and drawer, uncovering every secret the old house could offer. The women in the house knew that the men went out at night, but this time he didn’t want any witnesses to their departure. He opened the drawer in the nightstand, took out the gun and tucked it into his belt, sliding his hand over his jacket pockets to make sure he had the spare clips for it. As he stood there the woman in the bed groaned and threw off the blankets. He waited watchfully not daring to breathe as Adelina turned, her dark hair spread out in long coils on the pillow. She didn’t wake but was obviously uncomfortable in the heat. She flung a thin arm over her face and snored loudly. She had been beautiful and desirable once and as he looked down at her he felt an unfamiliar flash of regret. If she hadn’t fallen pregnant he might have taken her with him. But reason asserted itself; with a brat in tow she would be a greater burden. He shrugged and turned, leaving the house without a backward glance.
He stored his valise in one of the panniers on the motor-bike before swinging his leg over the pillion. Louis pushed with his feet to send the bike rolling silently down the drive. The dogs that always slept outside the kitchen door did not stir as the motorbike coasted out of the shadowy yard. At the gate, the engine coughed into life. Rain started falling heavily as the bike slowed and turned right, away from the river, and then accelerated as it headed east.
From his window, the boy Michel watched the bike leave, but the pouring rain closed like a curtain behind it and it was lost to his view. He climbed back into bed and hid under the blankets. In the distance he heard what sounded like an explosion but as he was drifting off to sleep he thought perhaps he’d been mistaken and that it was just a clap of thunder.