Roger lifted his champagne glass. ‘I should like to propose a toast to Mademoiselle Fleurier,’ he said. ‘For being a good sport.’
I saw that Roger had the kind of energy that I had admired in André. When a job needed to be done, he was a machine, but in personal moments, he was soft.
The others held up their glasses and gave me a cheer.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I have known you all only a short time and I don’t even know who some of you are, but I think that I shall miss you.’
I looked up, directly into Roger’s eyes. He held my gaze for a moment before turning away. He was smiling.
The Judge stressed the importance of maintaining our cover stories to avoid suspicion. While he and Roger went about finding their ‘contact’—which I had gleaned enough to guess was actually two people, someone high up in the French navy and an Allied soldier who had escaped from Fort Saint Jean—the rest of us were to keep up appearances. I had a piano installed in the suite for Eduard to play, which also gave us an excuse to leave the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the door.
Meanwhile, Mouse and I went to see the artistic director of the Alcazar. ‘Mademoiselle Fleurier, we have been trying to get you to perform here for years!’ Franck Esposito exclaimed. ‘And now you have come to us!’
As it turned out, Raimu was about to perform a show with the theatre but they were interested in having me do a few guest shows and spoke about putting together a special production for the next season. To my surprise, despite the war and his lack of experience, Mouse managed to negotiate a good contract for me.
Whenever we could, our party ate together in fine restaurants along the Canebière so as not to draw attention to ourselves by always hiding away in our suite. Marseilles had been bombed by the Italians but apart from that, the war and the Germans seemed far away. Something about the toughness of the Marseillaises told me they would put up more of a fight than the northerners had. One evening, a Spanish woman came into the restaurant to sell bunches of lavender. She looked so much like my mother that I was taken aback. I am homesick, I thought. With all the upheaval and fear, I longed to be with my family. But for the past few weeks I had put my country first. Had they known, my family would have implored me to do just that; but they didn’t know where I was or what I was doing and it pained me to think I was causing them worry.
A week later, when we were gathered in the hotel suite, the Judge announced that Mouse, Eduard and himself were leaving that night on the train for Toulouse.
‘What about Roger?’ Madame Goux asked.
‘He is staying,’ said the Judge.
My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Roger. I had no idea who he really was, but being near him had become important to me.
‘What for?’ asked Madame Goux.
‘There are hundreds of downed airmen in France,’ said Roger, standing up and moving to the window. ‘There are also escaped prisoners of war trying to make their way south on their own. Many are being recaptured. It’s a waste of skilled men for the Allies. My contact is setting up a series of safe houses from Paris all the way south to get the men to the Pyrenees. But he needs help and people he can trust. I’m going to stay in France to assist with the network.’
I was in awe of Roger’s bravery. There was so much self-seeking cowardice amongst the French and here was a foreigner prepared to risk his life to fight the enemy.
‘I want to help,’ I told him, ‘in any way I can.’
‘Me too,’ said Madame Goux.
Roger’s face lit up. ‘Neither of you can imagine how valuable you are to the Resistance. But I’m afraid to ask any more of you ladies than you’ve already done.’
‘Ask,’ I urged him. ‘What could be more important right now than saving France?’
Roger sat down next to me. ‘The apartment in Paris—can we use it?’
‘Of course,’ I told him. ‘I also have a house in Marseilles that I inherited. It is down in the Vieux Port. It is nothing grand but it has been done up inside and isn’t in any way conspicuous.’
Roger clapped his hands. ‘You speak German and English, and you have a house in Marseilles! What a find for the Resistance!’
He turned to Madame Goux. ‘I am also impressed with you, Madame. I’d like to get you back to Paris so that you can keep watch over the building. We’ll leave for Paris tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow!’ I cried. I thought of my plan to visit my family once the escape party had left. I was anxious to find out whether Minot and Madame Ibert had arrived safely, and also whether Odette and her family were there. I explained my situation to Roger, who was enthused by the news.
‘So you don’t just rescue abandoned animals, Mademoiselle Fleurier,’ he said. ‘You’re already practised in rescuing and hiding people!’
My face burned. Why was it that every compliment he gave me made me feel like a little girl? A Frenchman could never do that.
‘Where is Sault?’ he asked, unfolding his map of France. ‘How do you get there?’
I showed him the train line to Avignon. Although the journey was about six hours with all the connections, he was excited. ‘Would your family be willing to hide Allied servicemen? It’s a secluded location if ever we need to wait things out.’
‘My father fought the Germans in the Great War,’ I said. ‘My family will not stand for collaboration.’
Hearing that, Roger changed our plan. He suggested that Madame Goux should return to Paris as soon as possible, while he and I went to see the farm.
‘Achem!’ coughed the Judge, pointing to his watch.
I kissed Mouse, the Judge and Eduard goodbye as fondly as if they were my brothers.
‘I hope that we will meet again, in better days,’ I told them.
THIRTY
The next morning, Madame Goux, Roger, the animals and I caught the eight o’clock express train for the north. Roger and I were going as far as Avignon while Madame Goux was continuing on to Paris with my luggage.
After Kira arrived at the farm with Minot’s mother, Bernard had written to tell me that my mother and aunt were thrilled with their new feline companion as Bonbon had passed away a few months before. What a surprise they would get when they saw four more animals! Still, sheltering animals was less dangerous than what Roger and I were about to ask them to do. The war was raising my threshold of fear. The pre-show nerves I had suffered for years seemed ridiculous in the face of the presence of mind I needed to work for the Resistance. I was prepared to go to any lengths in order to free France, but could I ask my family to take those sorts of risks too?
With reduced train services between the north and south, and because we hadn’t made a reservation in advance, we had to make do with a crowded third-class carriage. The onion stink of the sweating bodies surrounding us, the screaming children in the aisles and the baggage jammed under our feet limited conversation between us. The dogs and Chérie had to travel in the luggage compartment, although the conductor was nice about it and promised to make sure they had enough water.
When the train slowed down for Avignon, we wished Madame Goux well and squeezed our way towards the door. As there was no longer a train service to Carpentras, Roger, the animals and I had to take the motor coach. The ruddy-faced driver let out a growl when he saw how many animals I had with me.
‘It is against Compaigne Provençale des Transports Automobiles regulations to transport livestock,’ he bellowed.
‘Surely you don’t regard my pedigree animals as livestock?’ I protested. ‘They are part of my stage act.’
‘Pfff!’ he scoffed, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I don’t care if you have sex with them. They are against the regulations, unless you want me to stick them on the roof along with the luggage.’
I sensed I would not be able to charm this garlic-reeking southerner the way I had the German officer by flirting with him. How could any woman? His eyes were bloodshot and there was dirt in the creases on his forehead. I decided that the
solution was to pay more money. An offer which he gruffly accepted, charging me an adult fare for Bruno, children’s fares for Princesse and Charlot and an extra tariff for Chérie as ‘overweight’ baggage.
‘I hope that means the dogs will have a seat each,’ Roger told him, tongue in cheek. ‘You can’t charge those prices and expect them to sit in the aisle.’
We arrived at Carpentras before midday and ate lunch in a café that stank of oil and cheese. With no sea breeze to relieve it, the heat was unbearable. My hair fell in limp strands around my face and when I patted my cheeks with my handkerchief I saw that my powder was melting into an oily mess. I had hoped to make it to Pays de Sault without attracting too much attention, but unfortunately the woman behind the bar recognised me and called out to her kitchen staff that Simone Fleurier was dining at their establishment. Roger and I had to eat our tomato and ham sandwiches under the curious eyes of the woman, the cook, a kitchenhand and a waitress. When we had finished, the woman asked me to autograph the restaurant’s menu.
‘And you,’ she said, turning to Roger. ‘Who are you? Are you a film star too?’
Roger shook his head. ‘No, just one of Mademoiselle Fleurier’s agents.’
It took all my willpower not to laugh at the double meaning. On our way down the street to catch the motor truck, I whispered to Roger, ‘You should have told her we had come to Carpentras to make a film about the town.’
‘I know about small towns, Mademoiselle Fleurier,’ Roger said, bringing his mouth close to my ear and sending a tingle through me. ‘If I’d said that, we wouldn’t have been left alone for a minute. Everyone from the mayor to the undertaker would have been vying for a part.’
The motor truck travelling to Sault that afternoon was a smaller vehicle than the motor coach had been, but the driver was jovial and made no objections to taking the animals. He greeted each dog as she or he bounded up into the tray. As the only other passenger was an old man with an accordion, the driver said he would drop us off near the farm rather than taking us all the way into Sault.
‘So you grew up here?’ Roger whispered to me, once the driver had started the motor. ‘Amongst these people?’
‘You seem to find that hard to believe,’ I said.
‘A little.’ The corner of his mouth twisted into a smile. ‘I saw you as the ultimate Paris sophisticate. But now I see where you get your determination and strength.’
I sat back and studied Roger. Was it possible that while I was so captivated by him, he was also a little in awe of me?
The driver dropped us off about half a kilometre from the farm. Roger and I had a small suitcase each. He carried both and I carried Chérie. The dogs walked. The sun was still high in the sky but fortunately the road was shaded by trees.
‘Have you ever lived in Algiers?’ I asked him.
‘I’ve never even been there,’ Roger answered. ‘But the Deuxième Bureau men had me studying the French area and Kasbah down to the last rug shop and magazine stall. So I feel as though I have.’
‘So how is it that you speak French so well?’
‘My father served here in the Great War. He was a doctor. Afterwards he stayed on to help with the repatriation of soldiers. He returned to Australia such a Francophile that he hired an immigrant to be our tutor. From the time I was eight up until twelve we spoke French at home.’
I found the story amusing. ‘Your father sounds charming and a little eccentric.’
‘He was,’ said Roger. ‘I was telling the truth when I said my parents were killed in a train accident and I was brought up by my grandparents. I’ve kept up my French though, it’s my way of remembering him.’
We walked on through a field, Bruno making a path for us through the grass and Charlot and Princesse leaping after butterflies.
‘And what about Tasmania?’ I asked after a while. I omitted that I had only worked out where the place was by sneaking a look at an atlas in a bookshop in Marseilles. I had thought it a separate country to Australia, like New Zealand, but when I read the commentary, I had learned it was Australia’s southernmost state.
Roger glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m sure you can tell me about Tasmania,’ I said. ‘If I am caught by the Germans I can give them a good travelogue.’
He let out a hearty laugh, as warm and rich as his speaking voice. ‘I suppose that isn’t giving away vital information, although the Germans may have plans to invade Tasmania.’
‘And what will they find if they do?’ I asked, switching Chérie’s cat cage from my right arm to my left.
‘Well, in the north-west, where I was raised, they will find rich farming areas with volcanic soil. Travelling south along the coast and inland they’ll find mining towns as well as wilderness no one has ever touched. And in the northeast they’ll find the biggest lavender farm in the southern hemisphere.’
‘A lavender farm? Like those in France?’
‘Very much so,’ he said, looking around him. ‘I’ve always wanted to see Provence. And now I am, courtesy of the Germans.’
‘I thought Australia was a desert,’ I said, pulling out every bit of information I had read in order to impress Roger with my knowledge of his country.
He shook his head. ‘Some of it. But not Tasmania.’
‘I would like to go there some day,’ I declared, which was quite a statement for someone who had just discovered where the country was. ‘Do they have music halls?’
‘In Sydney and Melbourne, although we might have to finish the war first,’ he said, smiling. ‘How much further to go until we reach your farm?’
‘Not long,’ I told him. I wondered if I was annoying him by asking so many questions. But when he asked me about my childhood in Provence and how I had become a star in Paris, I assumed that he was enjoying the conversation too. I was surprised when he told me that he had seen me perform.
‘That must have been in London?’
‘Paris too. But twice in London,’ he said. ‘I’ve been working in my uncle’s law firm there. My grandparents migrated to Australia and my father was born there. But my mother’s side of the family is English through and through: pale, weak and inbred.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, laughing. ‘Look at what a passionate fight the British are giving. Besides, I admire Churchill.’
‘You do?’ asked Roger. ‘He’s a good friend of my uncle’s.’
‘He makes the French leaders who dragged us into this mess look small.’
‘When I see him again, I’ll tell him what you said,’ Roger said. ‘He’ll be chuffed because I happen to know that he has seen every one of your films.’
It was my mother who first saw us crossing the fields towards the house. She was throwing scraps to the chickens, her hair tied back under a scarf. When we reached the wall, she lifted her chin as if she smelt our scent on the wind, then turned, her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes.
‘Simone!’
A few seconds later Aunt Yvette and Bernard appeared in the farmhouse doorway. A window sash was raised in my father’s house and Minot and Madame Ibert leaned out. Before we even reached the yard, everybody was rushing towards us. My mother threw her arms around me.
‘We have heard nothing from you in the past month,’ Aunt Yvette said. ‘We have been so worried.’
I explained about the post offices being closed during the invasion, and asked about Monsieur Etienne and Odette. I was disappointed to hear that they hadn’t contacted Bernard. Then I realised that everybody was looking at Roger.
‘This is my friend, Roger Delpierre,’ I said.
I left my introduction there. I wasn’t going to lie to them and say that Roger was my stage director or agent, but standing out there in the heat and with so much to catch up on, it didn’t seem the right time to explain our mission. Bernard thrust out his hand to Roger and everyone welcomed him.
‘And this is Bruno, Princesse and Charlot,’ I said, introducing the dogs.
R
oger took the cat cage from me and held it up. ‘And this is Chérie, who Simone rescued in Paris.’
My mother glanced at me then bent down to pat the dogs. I could feel my cheeks burn. For some reason Roger had called me ‘Simone’ instead of ‘Mademoiselle Fleurier’. Perhaps it was because I had introduced him as a friend, but the effect was to put us on a more intimate footing.
‘Simone hasn’t changed. She collects pets as she goes along,’ said Aunt Yvette.
Aunt Yvette’s kitchen had changed as little as she had over the years. As we bundled into its coolness I felt as though I were stepping back in time. There were still the familiar scents of rosemary and olive oil, and the multitude of pots hanging from the beams. How far away the war seemed here. Everything was the same as it had ever been. Minot’s mother was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of soup. She was eighty-seven years old but her mind was still bright, although she had to be reminded who I was. Kira was perched on top of one of the cupboards. As soon as she saw me she let out a ‘Murr!’ and ran towards me. I picked her up and she rubbed her chin against my cheek, purring. ‘This is Kira, one of my oldest friends,’ I said to Roger.
‘We have never had so many people staying at the farm,’ Bernard said, gesturing for us to sit down. ‘Just as well we have plenty of room.’
Roger and I exchanged a glance. Bernard noticed it and gave me a puzzled look.
While my mother and Aunt Yvette prepared bread and dried fruit for us, Madame Ibert and Minot took water to the dogs outside. Kira and Chérie stayed in the kitchen, eyeing each other. Chérie was used to other animals and was fearless. She won Kira over by inching up to her and sniffing her nose. After that, everything was fine and they sat together near the door, watching insects flitter in the grass, their hunters’ tails swishing in unison.
‘We haven’t seen one German here,’ Bernard said. ‘Despite what has happened in the north.’
‘So things haven’t changed much in the village?’ I asked.
Bernard shook his head. ‘Except that Monsieur Poulet received an order to remove the statue of Marianne and other symbols of the Republic. They are replacing the motto of “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity” with Pétain’s new dictum: “Family, Work, Country”.’
Wild Lavender Page 49