“You are right, it was nothing. I agree,” he said. A sense of caring contradicted the flat look in his eyes.
His words cut her, though she had no right to feel hurt. “Great.” She cast her gaze to her feet.
The roar of a car engine broke the tension between them. The vehicle entered the square and whizzed around the fountain toward them. As it passed them by a hand shot out from the window.
A gun? Yvette stood frozen, unable to process the thought until André threw his arms around her shielding her with his body.
“Down”, he ordered, bringing her down beside him. Crouched at the foot of the fountain, she couldn’t see the car, but she could hear the screech of brakes as the vehicle rounded the corner at a fast pace. Her pulse pounded her ears as she listened to the fading roar of the engine. Despite her jittered nerves, she was keenly aware of André’s strong muscled arm around her waist and that his hip pressed intimately into her.
After a few silent moments they stood. Her legs trembled and if he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have collapsed. After what seemed like an eternity, André relaxed his stance, but his arms still circled her. Intense concern stared down into her eyes.
“Are you all right?” He asked.
She nodded, unable to find her voice, unable to keep her heart from bouncing off her ribs.
“Are you sure?” His arms tightened slightly.
She didn’t want him to let go, didn’t want to say yes. They fit so perfectly. The thought disturbing, her gaze fell. “There’s a rat at my feet.”
“So there is.” He let her go, picked the rodent up and studied it.
“I guess that is what the message meant when it said a flying rat.” She forced a smile.
He looked at the rat’s belly and she noticed the stitches.
“I believed our message is inside,” André said. He turned his back to her and she saw him take out a small knife. She cringed thinking about what he was doing next. Finished, he tossed the rat across the street.
“Is it a new list?” she asked as she dragged her gaze back to him.
“Yes. We’d better go.”
The streets were filling with people as they started walking toward their next stop. Shops began to open, waiters placed tablecloths on outdoor tables and people pedaled their bicycles to their destination.
André received many a hostile or cautious stare and Yvette realized it was because of the uniform he wore. Disturbed by the reactions, concerned for his feelings, she wanted to tell them they were wrong and not to judge him. But hadn’t she reacted the same way upon first meeting him? André knew the consequences and, she reasoned, by now, he didn’t let what others thought, bother him.
“Don’t let them upset you,” he said softly beside her.
She wasn’t sure what he was talking about until a woman walked past her with hostility directed at her. They thought she was keeping company with one of Vichy’s police puppets. Yvette nearly burst out laughing. Little did they know.
She straightened her shoulders. “They don’t bother me in the least.” She took his hand and they walked together in silence.
***
Despite numerous cups of bad coffee, André couldn’t shake the grumpiness that followed him until he saw the desire in Yvette’s eyes, though she tried her best to hide her feelings. He knew she was lying when she said that kiss meant nothing. She had been just as aroused as he had been. There was no denying she regarded him favorably. Her eyes had been focused on his mouth; the charming flush upon her cheeks let him know exactly what she’d been thinking. He knew in his gut that kiss was her foremost thought.
Damn it. He long ago put aside the drama a relationship stirred up. His life after marriage had been orderly; his single life to his satisfaction. Now his focus was on the war and freeing his country from dictatorship. After that he planned on… hell, he didn’t have any plans. There was no victory without the threat of death and when that day came, he would embrace it, satisfied he gave it his all. So, feelings like the ones tormenting him all morning were fruitless.
His pulse still thud wildly by his initial thought that a gun had been pointed at her. If they hadn’t been in a hurry to get to the hotel, he would have gathered her into his arms and God help him, threat of arrest aside, those around him would have gotten an eye full. To hell with the public decree!
Annoyed people judged Yvette because of keeping his company, he wanted to let go of her hand, but didn’t want to diminish her confidence. He knew what she was doing. She cared about his well-being. The thought warmed a cold spot in his heart.
He’d dreamt of her sweet lips, of making love to her and waking up in her arms the next morning. He hadn’t. Wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type of gal made for one night of pleasure. No, she was the dangerous type, the type that got into your blood until you fed off a need for her. Dangerous. Defiantly dangerous.
Not dwelling on that kiss was fine with him— better for both of them. In fact, it was downright perfect. No strings. No female drama. Just a moment shared between two people who didn’t know if they would live to see tomorrow. Just perfect.
Walking hand in hand, he pushed her out of his thoughts and replayed the near plane crash over and over, racking his brain for the person, or persons, responsible for giving away their location; then he settled on the thought that if they had deciphered the coded message, perhaps others had too.
As they entered the hotel lobby, all eyes were upon him. People hurried outside, walked briskly to the elevator or cast their gaze to the floor.
A fleeting look around confirmed what he suspected. “I don’t think our contact is a waiter.”
“Do you see the shoe shine?” she whispered.
“Down the corridor, near the back.”
A man, who André judged to be about forty, wiped his hands on his smudged white apron. “Shine?” he asked.
André nodded, sat in a black raised chair and put his foot on the small stool.
Yvette sat on a bench against the wall opposite him.
Joseph, or so it read on his name badge, took out a tin of black polish and dropped a glob on his shoe. “So what brings you to town?” With a steady rhythm, he rubbed a cloth back and forth against André’s foot.
On the backside of the list of names, André recalled a line he figured was a coded response. “I came for the concert.”
“What are they playing?” Without looking up, he polished the other shoe.
“Beethoven’s fifth.” The first few notes of Beethoven’s fifth were sometimes blasted on a train horn as three short notes and a long lower tone as a Morse code for victory. It seemed an appropriate choice for today’s code.
A clean cloth slid across his foot, then with a snap the job was done.
Joseph stood. “Follow me.”
André paid for the shine, gestured Yvette follow him and they walked in silence to stairs leading to the basement of the hotel. The wooden stairs creaked as they descended and the earthy smell of mold accosted his nostrils. They entered the boiler room.
Oppressive heat and the sight of a group of children stopped him in his tracts. No. This can’t be right… He counted thirteen. What was he to do with thirteen kids? Slack-jawed, he stared, unable to push past his shock.
After a moment of silence, Joseph cleared his throat. “They were brought over by a nun. Seems their parents are on the list.”
André knew the list held the names of those wanted by the Nazis for crimes Hitler deemed punishable.
Yvette glanced several times at him, then back at the children and he knew she was looking to him for answers; answers and a plan, at the moment, he didn’t have.
“They’re all yours.” Joseph turned. “I’ll show you the way out.”
André stroked his chin, trying to think; he had to think fast or they were all in danger. “Is there a back way?”
Marching through the lobby was not an option. He could just imagine the scene they’d cause, he dressed like the enemy, ha
uling a group of children away.
“There is a delivery entrance, but I’m afraid you won’t go unnoticed. This is a busy time of day.”
“It seems we have no choice.”
“Come children,” Yvette’s tone took on the authoritative quality of a mother as she began to usher them through the door. “Step quickly.”
They filed up the stairs. As they entered the hall, André scanned the area. A jumble of voices resounded from the lobby. An occasional door slammed shut and he could hear the squeak of wheels from what sounded like a rolling cart. A thought popped into his mind and a plan began to unfold. His palms sweaty, he forced his voice to remain calm. “Where’s the restaurant supply closet?”
“Why?” Joseph’s brows arched with confusion.
“If I can get a few large carts and cover them, maybe I can hide a few kids underneath.” Crazy. Yes. Dangerous. Without a doubt. But he couldn’t think of anything else.
Joseph nodded and they all followed the leader like a pack of frightened mice.
André found two large carts with a ledge beneath.
Yvette confiscated tablecloths and together they packed the smaller children underneath, knees hooked around the child in front, arms wrapped around each other.
They found some dishes and cups and arranged the china on top.
“Yvette you’re in charge of the remaining five children.” André grabbed a large waiter’s jacket and covered his uniform. “Just walk a short distance behind me.”
“I understand.”
Did she really? Did she really understand the consequences? If they got caught…
He jerked his gaze from her and handed Joseph a clean white apron, then he bent, picked up the tablecloth and handed his hat to a small boy. André put his finger to his lips, straightened and dropped the cloth in place.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
Everyone nodded and André prayed no one fell out.
***
“André, do you have a plan?” Yvette’s voice felt dry. She could barely ask the question for fear of being overheard, but she had to ask; had to know so she could prepare herself.
“I’m thinking.”
She wanted to say, “think fast”, but her nervous quip would only make the situation more stressful. “Give me a signal or something.”
He nodded.
The hallway seemed endless. Their silence, amid the chatter of filtered conversation, could dice through the sack of potatoes, they passed propped up against the wall. Men hauled bagged goods through large double doors, then handed their wares to others who stacked the boxes and bags onto dollies. Wouldn’t someone wonder why they were wheeling dishes out of the building? Would they question why a guest was leaving the hotel with a pack of children through the back exit? The lights were too bright, shining over them like beacons shouting; look at us. The air felt stifling. Yvette kept her gaze on André’s back.
To her relief, no one paid them any mind as they made their way one step closer to freedom. But it was far from over. Fearful thoughts began to churn in her mind. What happens if they made it outside? Where were they to go? Was anyone meeting them? Had André come up with a plan?
Perspiration pooled between her breasts. She glanced to the children beside her who ranged from about ten to fifteen years of age. They seemed so calm as though they were used to being ushered from person to person, as though they faced fear countless times before. She wondered about their parents, whose hearts had to be sick with worry and broken by the thought they might never see their child again. She thought about the little girl she had given her locket to and wondered how she and her mother fared. She tried to think of anything to keep her mind off the fact that at any moment, someone would challenge their motives.
Did fear show on her face? Would her clammy hands and wide-eyed glances betray her?
Joseph rolled his cart out the door. No one questioned him.
André moved forward rolling his cart with ease toward the door. Looking at his relaxed and confident demeanor one would think whisking away children was a normal occurrence.
The knot in her chest felt like Mount Vesuvius.
Yvette grabbed the cold hand of a boy, who in turn took the hand of the child beside him. They formed a uniformed line.
André made it to the door and Yvette managed to breathe. They were almost there, almost there, she told herself as she tried to keep her heart at a normal pace. He had one foot out the door. Almost there…
“Hey you,” a stern voice yelled. “You at the door.”
Yvette felt the blood drain from her face.
André didn’t turn around.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
A burly man, red-faced, bald-headed, swaggered in André’s direction.
André turned, his stance relaxed, his demeanor like one out on an evening stroll.
How did he do that? Stay so calm when her heart felt like it was about to leap from her chest like a pop-up toy.
Yvette halted her group a short distance behind him, but close enough to hear what André was saying.
“I was told to bring two carts of dishes to the hotel down the street. We have an overstock and they are short. I have been assured they will be returned tomorrow.” His even tone sounded matter-of-fact, without a bit of tension.
“By whose authority?”
“I guess I am not important enough to warrant a name. I was just given orders.”
“Well, I’ll just see about that.”
André shrugged. “Fine by me. But upper management won’t be happy with you when I tell them why I was delayed and this didn’t arrive on time. They’re having a bigwig party across the street. A bunch of Pétain’s major players.” André leisurely leaned against the wall. “No skin off my nose if I take a break.”
The big man hesitated and Yvette feared he didn’t give a fig about repercussions from some manager.
“Stay put,” he ordered and turned his back on André.
Yvette’s frightened gaze met André’s steady stare. Then, his gaze darted twice to the left and she knew he wanted her to leave them and make her way toward the front of the building. She shook her head, just a quick jerk, refusing his directions. He pressed his lips together with annoyance.
The hotel manager stopped, in the hallway, mid-stride and pivoted. “Get out of here,” he said with an emphatic wave.
He changed his mind? Why?
Yvette watched him stomp away and relief lessened the tight knot between her breasts.
André glanced at her, nodded toward the door and she hurried toward him.
Once she was outside, he followed and Yvette’s exhaled breath seemed to explode from her chest.
***
Now what?
André eyed the pickup truck filled with burlap bags marked onions and boxes of turnips and bags of barley and chicory, a substitute for coffee he was growing to hate.
The line of men had thinned; most were taking a break inside where it was warmer, but a few lingered outside.
He rolled his cart around the truck where he found Joseph hiding out of sight from the workers.
Yvette walked over with her group and stopped beside him.
“What’s the plan,” Joseph asked.
“We need a distraction.”
“Well, if you go talk to them, I’ll sneak up and clobber one of them.”
“No. We might bring attention to us.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Yvette asked.
André had already decided she was the only one who could get those two men’s attention. He hated asking her to use her womanly charms on the two guys smoking cigarettes, but the distraction was the only way to get the children onto the truck without being seen.
He scratched his neck. “Yes.”
“Ok, Bon. What do you need me to do?”
His gaze fell to her breasts, then flew back to her eyes.
“What do you have in mind,” she asked.
He tugged at his collar. “You’re a woman.”
“So?” She looked confused and he felt more uncomfortable explaining.
“I need you to get those men over there to focus away from here. Do you think you can do that?”
He could see the wheels turning in her head as she plotted her next move, then, understanding widened her eyes.
“Oh, right.” She tugged on her dress, then with cupped hands pushed up her breasts and smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Joseph’s gaze, he noticed, seemed plastered on her breasts.
André groaned inwardly. He had no doubt she would succeed, but he didn’t like it.
“Ok then. Good luck.”
He watched the sway of her hips as she made her way toward them; watched as she caught the attention of the one man facing her. She asked for a cigarette. Both men reached into their pockets. It wasn’t enough of a distraction, they were still in eye-shot of the truck.
The shorter of the two men, whose back was to the truck, held out a smoke. Yvette reached out, then dropped the cigarette. Her admirer bent over to retrieve it. Quickly she stepped in front of the other man blocking his view of the truck. Her backside was eye level with the fool who forgot all about the cigarette and was staring at her derrière like he struck pay dirt.
André pushed aside the need to punch the bastard and seized the moment to haul the children into the truck with Joseph’s help. The older ones hid the smaller children between boxes and covered them with the burlap bags, then they covered themselves.
Satisfied they were safe, he walked over to Yvette. “Darling, how many times do I have to ask you not to smoke?” He put his arm around her waist. “I hate when you smoke.”
“Sorry.” She shrugged. “Another time gentlemen.” She winked and they walked away.
“Good job.” Feeling possessive, he gave her backside a quick rap, glanced over his shoulder and shot the men a narrowing glare.
Yvette’s shoulders jerked, but she didn’t seem disturbed by his love tap.
“Now what?” she whispered.
Love tap? Just an act, he chided. “Let’s hope they don’t own this truck.”
His attention on the two men now walking back inside, André opened the door and Yvette climbed inside.
Behind The Mask Page 18