We'll Meet Again

by Lily Baxter

  ‘Poor you. Poor Gerald.’

  ‘That’s just it, Pearl. Poor Gerald. He’s been taken off God knows where by the Feldpolizei. Pa and Marie are going out of their minds with worry and so am I.’

  Pearl stirred her coffee thoughtfully. ‘How do you feel about your father and Marie?’

  ‘At first I was furious, and hurt too. I couldn’t bear to go and see him even though I knew he was ill.’

  ‘And now?’

  Meg shrugged her shoulders and stared out of the window at the rain-drenched street. The air in the café was thick with cigarette smoke, although it was only the higher-ranking German officers who seemed to be able to get hold of the commodity long denied to the islanders. ‘I used to think that Pa was wonderful,’ she said after a moment’s pause. ‘To me he was a sort of demigod who never did wrong, and I thought that everything he said was bound to be true. Now I know that he’s human like the rest of us, and he’s making his illness worse by fretting about Gerald. Pearl, I’ve got to do something. I can’t go on day after day without knowing what’s happened to him.’

  ‘Have you told Simone?’

  ‘No. To tell the truth I’d forgotten all about her.’

  ‘I can understand that, but don’t you think you ought to go and see her?’

  Meg smiled reluctantly. ‘You’re right, of course. I suppose I just didn’t know how to break it to her. She’s always been so against us, and now she’s got a real reason to hate the Colivets.’

  Meg hesitated outside the hospital. She had not seen Simone since she walked out of the house and she did not particularly want to see her now, but Pearl had been correct in saying that Simone had the right to be told everything. Bracing her shoulders she entered the building. The smell of strong disinfectant brought back painful memories of Eric’s sudden collapse, and the anxious hours spent in the waiting room before they were given the sad news. She was tempted to leave now, but she forced herself to walk up to the desk. The receptionist was a middle-aged woman with a mouth like a steel trap, who was obviously well acquainted with Simone. Disapproval was written all over her sharp features as she told Meg to take a seat. After what seemed like an eternity, Simone finally appeared. She did not look pleased. ‘What do you want? I’m on duty.’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’ Meg rose to her feet. ‘In private.’

  ‘It had better be important.’ Simone led the way along a corridor, coming to a halt outside a door marked Sluice. A few feet away a ward maid was languidly mopping the floor. ‘Okay, say what you’ve got to say and then leave.’

  Meg glanced at the cleaner. ‘This isn’t something you’d want anyone else to hear.’

  Simone opened the door to the sluice. ‘Is this private enough for you? Now get on with it.’

  Meg wrinkled her nose in distaste at the mingled smells of carbolic, antiseptic and human excreta that assailed her nostrils as she entered the room. The slender thread of sympathy that bound her to Simone snapped and her patience with it. ‘All right. You want the truth, then here it is.’ In short succinct sentences she told Simone exactly what had happened on the fatal evening when Gerald had attacked Nordhausen, but she was shocked by Simone’s impassive reaction to the fact that Gerald was only her half-brother. Slowly, the truth dawned on her. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  Simone gave a curt nod. ‘I’ve known for years. Why do you think I hated the Colivets so much? Once, when I was just a kid, Mum and Dad were having a row. I heard my dad call Mum all sorts of names, accusing her of staying on at the manor house because she was still in love with the boss. Dad was a mild man normally but that time he really let fly, calling Gerald the Colivet bastard. It was then that I understood why my brother had always been treated differently. He had the best of everything. He went to a posh private school in England. He always had new clothes and shoes and I had my cousin’s hand-me-downs.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Meg was shocked beyond belief. ‘But it wasn’t Gerald’s fault.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘The Feldpolizei have taken him away, Simone. I must find out what’s happened to him. Can you help?’

  ‘Why do you think I should know any more than you do?’

  ‘Because you’re friendly with the Germans and because you must hear a lot of talk in the hospital.’

  ‘How do I know that I can trust you?’

  ‘Why would I want to hurt you, Simone? Gerald is our brother. Surely that gives us something in common?’

  Simone eyed her warily. ‘I don’t know where he is,’ she said slowly. ‘But I do know the name of one of his contacts.’

  ‘You mean the saboteurs?’

  Simone’s black brows snapped together. ‘Keep your voice down, you fool.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘And you would risk your life to help Gerald?’

  ‘Yes. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Maybe. But on the other hand probably not.’ Simone pulled a pencil from her apron pocket. Tearing the corner off a paper towel, she scribbled something down and handed the scrap of paper to Meg. ‘Destroy this when you’ve memorised the name and the place. They meet tonight after curfew.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘You know what will happen to you if you’re caught?’

  Meg nodded.

  ‘I still think you’re a fool, but good luck anyway.’

  There was no moon that night, and the air was hot and humid as Meg slipped quietly out of the house. Dressler was so confident of the superior strength of the German force and the subservience of the islanders that he no longer posted guards at the front door, although a sentry still watched over the main gates. In the long hours spent waiting for Gerald to return from his secret missions, Meg had seen the guard cutting across the grass as he headed off in the direction of the stables. Whatever his reason for deserting his post, it had left the gate unmanned for at least ten minutes, and tonight was no exception.

  The velvety blackness was stifling and, until her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she could see almost nothing. She darted towards the safety of the trees, following the exact path that she had seen Gerald taking on one of his night missions. She stumbled over an exposed tree root and almost fell, suppressing a cry of pain as she twisted her ankle. She leaned against the trunk rubbing the aching joint, her ears pricked for the slightest sound. An owl screeched overhead and some unidentifiable small animal scuttled past her, rustling through the carpet of leaf mould. She clenched her teeth and moved on cautiously.

  Once outside the grounds, Meg kept close to the shadow of the hedgerows. She reached the church gate and steadied herself on la Gran’mere. ‘Wish me luck, ma mère,’ she whispered, gently stroking the ancient stone head. The gravel path leading up to the church shone palely silver like a strip of satin ribbon. It appeared to wind on into infinity although it was only a matter of yards to the safety of the low door that led into the crypt. Meg had never been there before, and would not have gone there even in daylight but this was the place where she would meet Hugh Martel – unless Simone had led her into a trap. The thought had been at the back of her mind all along, but it was a chance she had to take.

  She dodged between the headstones, avoiding the path as much as possible. Tapping three times on the door, she waited for five seconds and repeated the knocks. It opened like a mouth in a silent scream and Meg was unceremoniously yanked inside. The darkness was absolute for a few seconds until the door was closed and then someone lit a candle.

  ‘Meg Colivet. What the hell are you doing here?’ Hugh Martel’s lean, weather-beaten face was so close to Meg’s that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

  ‘Simone told me you would help.’

  Silently he guided her down a flight of stone steps to the buttock-clenching cold below the ground. Meg shivered convulsively, hugging her arms around her body in an attempt to keep warm. By candlelight, the vaulted crypt looked like the setting of a horror film. She half expected to see a vampire looming out of the
shadows, but there were two ordinary-looking men sitting on upturned crates.

  ‘Now sit down, and tell us why you came.’ Taking her by the shoulders, Hugh gave her a gentle shove towards an upturned orange box.

  The faces of the two other men were in shadow but Meg thought she recognised one as Tom de Gruchy, a farmer from Torteval. She cleared her throat and licked her dry lips. ‘You must know that Gerald was taken by the Feldpolizei. I want to find him.’

  Their laughter echoed eerily round the stone walls and was quickly subdued.

  Hugh sat astride an empty wine keg. ‘And if you knew, what good would it do you?’

  ‘I’m afraid they will send him to a camp in Germany and we may never see him again.’

  Tom de Gruchy leaned forward, his eyes searching Meg’s face. ‘And you think you could prevent that?’

  ‘I might. If I knew where they are holding him at least I could try to get him out.’

  ‘No chance.’ Hugh shook his head. ‘Too risky.’

  ‘You mean you’re afraid to help me?’

  ‘You live with a house full of Germans. How do we know we can trust you?’

  Meg faced Hugh with a defiant lift of her chin. ‘You seem to trust Simone. She sleeps with the enemy.’

  ‘Simone works with us and she has done from the first.’

  Meg looked from one to the other and they each nodded in agreement.

  ‘You can trust Meg.’

  Meg recognised the voice of the second man instantly. ‘Billy!’

  He chuckled. ‘Yes, it’s me. Who would suspect old Billy?’

  ‘I never did,’ she said with feeling.

  ‘We know that Gerald is still on the island,’ Hugh said seriously. ‘But to try to rescue him would be insanity.’

  ‘For you maybe, but no one would suspect me, and even if they did they wouldn’t connect me with you. Please tell me where he is.’

  Hugh and Tom exchanged glances and Meg held her breath.

  ‘We don’t know, but we can find out,’ Hugh said. ‘After that you’re on your own. We can’t take the risk of being discovered, not with the Allies about to invade Normandy. We’re needed to put a spoke in the works of the German war machine and make their rotten lives just a bit more unbearable until it’s all over.’

  ‘I understand. Just tell me what to do.’

  ‘Go home now and act normally. Billy will pass a message on to you as soon as we have news.’ Hugh stood up and held out his hand to Meg. ‘Good luck.’

  Next day Meg went straight to the largest greenhouse where Billy should have been working, but to her dismay he was not there. Joe met her in the doorway, hunched over and looking like an old man as he hefted two cans of water over to the tomato plants.

  ‘Joe, have you seen Billy this morning?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘No, Miss Meg.’

  She was alarmed to see him looking so exhausted this early in the day, and so thin that his hands seemed too large for his skinny wrists. She hurried over to help him lift the cans. ‘Do you know where he might be, Joe?’

  ‘He should be here helping me, but I haven’t seen him since yesterday tea time.’

  Meg felt a cold iron hand grip at her heart as she feared the worst. She had left the men in the crypt and made her way home uneventfully, entering the house unseen. But supposing they had been discovered after she had left? The thought was too awful to contemplate. She helped Joe to water the plants, and leaving him munching his breakfast of a slice of dry bread she made her way to Billy’s cottage on the edge of the estate. She knocked on the door and after a few moments it opened and Billy’s wife came out, wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth.

  ‘Miss Meg. Sorry to keep you waiting, but I was doing the washing out the back.’

  Meg forced a smile and tried to sound casual. ‘Is Billy around?’

  ‘No, miss, he’s gone to the hospital. Cut his hand badly trying to chop up an old chair for firewood. I’ve never known him be so clumsy.’

  ‘What a thing to happen.’ Meg’s mind whirled around the possibility of Billy having done it on purpose as an excuse to go into St Peter Port. She managed a sympathetic smile and backed away. ‘Tell him I’m sorry and to come up to the house to see me when he feels up to it.’

  That evening Meg was bringing the cows in when she heard someone calling her name. Looking over her shoulder she saw Billy hurrying across the field towards her.

  ‘How is the hand?’ Meg said, swishing a stick at a cow that had stopped to munch the grass.

  ‘Worth a couple of stitches,’ Billy said, grinning. ‘I had to have an excuse to go into Peter Port.’

  ‘Did you find out where he is?’

  ‘He’s in the prison with the rest of them that’s going to be shipped off to France tomorrow. The ship is there in the harbour waiting to be loaded.’

  ‘It could sail at any time; it might be too late to do anything.’

  ‘Can’t sail until the tide’s right. That’ll be six thirty tomorrow morning. They won’t be going anywhere until then.’

  Meg had just sunk into the deep sleep of sheer exhaustion when a loud droning noise awakened her. She almost fell out of bed and threw up the sash window, sticking her head out into the cool, rose-scented air. Above her she could see strings of lights as planes flew overhead towing huge gliders. She listened to the throbbing of the engines with hope surging through her veins. When the Allies landed in France surely the war must come to an end soon and then they would be free? She cupped her chin on her hands and prayed for Rayner’s safe delivery wherever he was.

  She slept fitfully and woke up as the first light of dawn cracked the sky. There was no time to worry about the danger of breaking the curfew and Meg dressed hurriedly, slipping out of the house before the soldiers had begun to go about their daily routine. It was a strange and unnerving experience to walk the distance into St Peter Port in the cool morning light with the constant sound of aircraft engines droning overhead. By the time she reached the outskirts of the town people were coming out of their houses and looking skyward, their faces alight with hope for the first time in the long years of the occupation. Meg did not stop to chat. She knew exactly what she had to do and that was to wait outside the prison. What she would do if she saw Gerald she had no clear idea, but she had reasoned that there would be fewer guards than normal, as most of the soldiers would have been sent to man the fortifications. There was just a slim chance that she might be able to create a diversion, allowing Gerald to slip away from the other prisoners. She knew it was a feeble plan but it was worth a try.

  The prison walls loomed dark and forbidding, vertical cliffs of impenetrable grey stone. Meg tried to make herself inconspicuous as she lolled against a tree trunk on the opposite side of the street. She glanced down at her faded cotton frock and skinny bare legs burned to a deep tan from long hours of working outdoors. Very few people seeing her now would recognise her as Marguerite Colivet of Colivet Manor, or even stop to wonder why she was loitering outside the prison gates at this ungodly hour of the morning. Her hand automatically flew to her hair. It felt like tow and the strands that blew across her face were bleached almost white by the sun. She had not been to a hairdresser for so long that she could barely remember what it felt like to be shampooed, set and pampered like a pet poodle. She grinned ruefully. What would Mother and Aunt Josie say if they could see her now?

  The prison doors opened and Meg darted behind the tree. Her heart was pounding against her ribs as adrenalin coursed through her veins. She was ready for anything, although she did not have the slightest idea what lay before her.

  But she realised that something was wrong, or at least things were not happening as she had thought they might. A German soldier came out first and stood back as a straggly line of prisoners trickled out through the gateway, shuffling, stumbling, blinking in the first rays of the morning sun and looking bewildered. The soldier became impatient and began to shove and push, shouting in rapid German. Meg’s un
derstanding of the language was fairly basic but it sounded as if he was telling them to get on their way. She held her breath, biting her lip and digging her fingernails into the bark of the tree. Then, stifling a cry of relief, she saw him. ‘Gerald.’ She pushed her way through the crowd of confused men and seized him by the arm. He looked and smelled terrible. He had lost even more weight and obviously had not shaved for days. His clothes were crumpled and filthy and Meg suspected that he was running with fleas and probably lice too.

  ‘Meg? What are you doing here?’ He stared at her blankly with the dazed look of someone awakened suddenly from a deep sleep.

  ‘Never mind that. I’m going to take you home.’ She linked her arm through his and led him up the hill and away from the grim exterior of the prison. He swayed and almost fell at they reached St James’s Church on the corner of College Street.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gerald said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘So stupid.’

  ‘Don’t worry; I’ll soon have you home.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s no use, Meg. I wouldn’t be able to make it that far.’

  People were hurrying about their daily business and if they looked anywhere today it was upwards as the constant roar of aeroplane engines continued to fill the sky. What she needed now was some kind of transport or a safe place to leave Gerald until he was strong enough to walk home. The hospital was not far away but Meg abandoned that idea in case it put Simone in danger. There was only one place she could take him and she hoisted his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Come on, it’s not too far to walk. We’ll go to the Tostevins’ house on the Grange.’

  Wrapped in her dressing gown with her hair set in snail-like curls fastened with kirby grips, Pearl stood in the open doorway, staring at them in amazement. ‘My God! What’s happened to you, Gerald?’

  ‘Can we come in?’

  ‘Of course,’ Pearl said, stepping aside to let them into the house. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘What’s that God-awful smell?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Meg said, propping Gerald up against the wall. ‘But it might be a good idea to stick him in the bath with some Lysol if you’ve got any.’