Behind The Mask

by Marianne Petit

  Yvette jut up her chin and met his gaze.

  “Your cousin’s arrest has something to do with the tracts plastered around town. That means she is being held and will be questioned as a political prisoner. Since she is family, the chance that your name will be brought up is very likely.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Anger clouded André’s eyes. “You should care. If they want they can arrest you just for being associated with her.”

  Yvette stepped back breaking his hold and picked up her gloves and hat. “First off, the interrogations will not be finished by tomorrow and unless they have my picture, I highly doubt they will know who I am.”

  “Just asking to see her puts you in danger.”

  “Then do it quietly. I am going. What about the children?”

  André let out an exasperated sigh. “They can’t stay here. In a few hours mass will be said.”

  “Are there any safe houses available?” Lack of sleep, worry and now the burden, of knowing of Louise’s arrest, was taking its toll and Yvette suddenly felt overtired.

  “I put the word out. No one seems to know of any availability. But I do know of a few north of here.”

  “We can take them.” She put up her hand. “And before you tell me I can’t go, a family driving together is a better cover than one man going it alone.”

  His expression one of displeasure, his gaze intense, he shook his head and remained quiet for a minute as though he couldn’t decide whether to protest or give up. “We’ll head toward Arles. Get some sleep. You can see if Bingham will supply us with American sauf conduits for the children in the morning.”

  “It will be quicker if I forge them,” she insisted. She knew she was pushing his tolerance and added before he could open his mouth, “where will they go from there?”

  “Annecy. It is about thirty-five kilometers south of Geneva. From there they will cross the border to Switzerland. If all goes well they will go to England through Spain and Portugal. Now enough.” He pointed to the stairs. “You need to get some sleep. I’ll take you back to your hotel. Everything will fine,” André said, but the reassurance in his tone lacking conviction.

  She hoped so. She really hoped so.

  ***

  Damn! Géry kicked the table leg as André entered the basement.

  What the hell? He was supposed to be rotting in jail with Fry not planning a jaunt into the country with Eva. When he overheard André tell Bayard where he was going, he put the word out. It was well known Fry was a troublemaker. It didn’t take any effort for his contact to convince the local police to pay them a visit.

  Géry clenched his jaw, nipped the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.

  That bastard had the luck of the Irish.

  How was he to spend time with Eva if golden boy over there kept getting in the way? Was it unreasonable to want to spend a little time alone with her? Ever since that kiss, thoughts of getting more invaded his dreams. Hell the things they could do together got him hot, sweaty and hard.

  His jaw clenched, Géry glared over at the two of them deep in conversation.

  How am I to win her over with competition like that hovering over her day and night?

  André placed his hand on Eva’s arm and Géry’s nails gripped the table. It took all the effort he could muster not to jump from his seat and cut off that groping hand.

  What was that bastard thinking? Crossing the demarcation line with refugees placed Eva in danger.

  Géry picked his cuticle peeling away the rough skin, then cracked his knuckles.

  André had to be taken out of the picture. There were no two ways about it.

  ***

  By nine a.m. word had gotten to Bingham and he agreed to meet them at the docks with the proper paperwork. Through underground contacts, he passed on the names of those in his truck with the promise they would find their relatives. Father François agreed to hide the children in the cellar while mass was in progress until they got back from the S.S. Sinaïa where Louise and Fry were being held.

  André knew Yvette had to talk with Louise before they set out on their journey or she’d be too worried to stay focused. But he didn’t like it. Not one bit. And no amount of arguing would change her mind. Hell, if it was his cousin he’d insist on going as well.

  He learned Louise had been arrested after tracks were found in an apartment she and a few roommates were sharing. That in itself wasn’t damning, but plans were also found detailing the derailment of a train. He’d been right, she was being held as a political prisoner and, at this point, there was little he could do.

  The pain on Yvette’s face broke his heart, and he swore he would come up with a plan to free Louise if it took the rest of the war to accomplish the task.

  André glanced at his watch. It read eleven o’clock. H. Bingham was due to arrive at any minute.

  Cold wind chafed his cheeks and brought the exhilarating scent of the sea. Seagulls cawed and dive-bombed into the water in search of food. No one would give a second look to the ships in the harbor unless they knew their cargo. No one would think this day was far from ordinary or that the two of them weren’t out for a leisurely stroll along the docks. It was better that way. Better they stood under the radar.

  André glanced to his side. Yvette stood on the dock beside him. Her gloved hands were clasped and she fiddled with her thumbs. Lack of sleep had pressed dark circles under her eyes. Guilt pricked at him. He hated seeing her so distraught and knew his words of caution last night added to her insomnia. Though he wished there was something he could do to ease her mind, he wouldn’t have done any differently. Even though he’d taken precautions and came up with a plan to protect her, she had to know the risks in case something went wrong. They were at war and he was not going to lie to her, or gloss over the ugly truth. Getting arrested could mean her death, or worse.

  Hiram walked up the docks toward them, carrying a big basket covered with a checkered cloth. “Good morning.” He stopped in front of Yvette. “Would you like a sandwich?”

  “No, thank you.”

  André was tempted to insist she take Bingham’s offering, knowing she probably hadn’t eaten since learning of her cousin’s arrest.

  “You?” He turned to André.

  “Sure. Thanks.” He tucked the sandwich in his pocket. Eventually she’d be hungry.

  “Right, then I guess we should get started. I made numerous phone calls this morning, but was unable to learn what charges had been brought against Fry and his companions. I assure you, I will continue to call until I get an answer. I did hear Marshal Pétain is in the city, so the police have been rounding up large groups of people they think pose a threat.”

  “Oui. André agreed. “The police are jumpy. If your papers aren’t in order, you can’t relax at a café without looking for an exit route.”

  Bingham nodded, then indicated toward the gangplank. “They are expecting us. Yvette, I convinced an official on board to let you have a few minutes with your cousin.”

  At the word cousin, fear flashed, widening Yvette’s eyes.

  “Don’t worry. As per André’s instructions, I didn’t tell them you were related.”

  She nodded, looking a bit relieved, but he could see the nervous energy in her rapid breathing and bouncing glances.

  “Are you ready?” André took a hold of her arm.

  What Bingham and Yvette didn’t know was that he’d already secured her a visitation with her cousin earlier this morning. He knew she would insist on going. After his release, thanks to a note from Elbert, he paid the captain a large sum of money to allow Yvette onboard under the guise that she was working with the police.

  She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, “Yes,” then glanced at him with thankfulness.

  As they ascended the steep walkway, André worried about her, not just about her safety, but the strain of saying goodbye, of not knowing if or when she would see Louise again, would not be pleasant. He knew what it was like to be una
ble to stop bad things from happening to family. He wished he could spare her the guilt and helplessness that came when someone’s fate was not in your hands.

  “No signs of affection. They can’t know you are related,” André whispered.

  “I understand.”

  They were met by the captain of the ship. Yvette’s stance tightened when her gaze met the devious looking individual, with the scruffy black, graying beard and weathered pocked-face. He ordered Bingham to go below ship, barked orders she go to the third-class cabins where the women were being held. André insisted he go with her and helped her cross the deck. Her hands shook as they made their way below. She chewed her lip, like she did when her nerves got the better of her.

  When she hesitated on the bottom step, he gently placed his hand over hers. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I must.”

  “Then know I’ll be watching. The minute you want to leave, the minute you feel you are in danger, or if I feel you are in danger, we are leaving.”

  “I understand.”

  At the bottom of the stairs stood the guard who had arrested him last night. André looked him straight in the eyes and walked past him. Yesterday, he told the guard, he’d be back with a woman who would quietly gather Intel from the women. He figured Yvette’s cover, as a spy for the police, would protect her from suspicion.

  The small cabin was crammed with wailing horror-struck women standing shoulder to shoulder, making it difficult to cross the room. The overwhelming mix of a dozen different perfume scents and body odor attacked his nostrils.

  A young girl André recognized as Yvette’s cousin threw her arms around Yvette. Damn it. He clenched his hand. Yvette quickly stepped back, breaking contact.

  “I don’t want to die!” Tears streamed down Louise’s face. Her eyes were swollen, her nose red from hours of crying.

  Yvette shook her. “What are you talking about? You’re not going to die.”

  Louise grabbed Yvette’s shoulders and although he wanted to give them privacy André was tempted to step in. “Promise me. Promise me you won’t let me die.”

  Yvette’s face, André noticed, paled. A strong need to tear Louise away and comfort the woman whose courage and determination he admired made him fist his hands.

  “I--I didn’t know about the train--.”

  “Quiet.” Yvette’s nervous gaze skimmed the crowded compartment and he could see the fear in her eyes. “Someone may hear you.”

  Damn. He should have insisted she stay behind. He glanced to the police officer standing in the corner observing the scene, mentally taking notes.

  “I swear. I swear I didn’t know. Where is Vitorio?” Louise spun around like she was going to bolt from the cabin. “I have to talk to Vitorio. Oh my God we’re gonna die!” Her hysterical cries mingled with the sobs and hiccups of the others sharing her fears.

  “Stop crying. We will straighten this out.” Unable to console her, Yvette sent him a pleading glance.

  Feeling the need for air, André glanced to the steps leading up deck. What could he say? Sobbing women made him uncomfortable, feel inadequate. Not that he was cold-hearted, just really at a loss. He shoved his hands in his pockets and fingered the sandwich. He moved closer.

  “No one is going to get hurt. You must calm down.” Yvette shook Louise’s shoulders. “Be careful what you tell them,” she said softly. “You know nothing. That’s what you tell them. Nothing. Do you understand? Do you?”

  André hoped she did understand, because if Louise was found guilty, her family would be under surveillance. If they found out Yvette was working underground…Damn. He couldn’t let that happen.

  Louise nodded. “I’m… I’m never gonna see Vitorio again am I--am I?”

  Yvette brushed hair from Louise’s damp cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Of course you will. He loves you, right?”

  André cringed. So much for showing no affection.

  Louise sniffled, then wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Yes.”

  “Then he’ll find you. Don’t worry.”

  “Yes. He loves me.”

  “Time’s up,” a deep male voice announced.

  Louise threw her arms around Yvette. “Don’t leave me,” she wailed.

  André bolted forward.

  “I don’t want you to go.” Tears burst forth and Louise flung her arms around Yvette like they were shackled. “A man… I saw a man watching me. I don’t want to die. I don’t wanna die!”

  André couldn’t stand the heart wrenching torment on Yvette’s face. He glanced to the guard at the door, fearing Louise was going to blow Yvette’s cover.

  “Louise, look at me.” Gently he loosened one arm free from around Yvette’s waist. “I know you don’t know me, but I am a friend of Yvette’s,” he whispered as he pried her other hand free and held it. “You need to be brave and know this, we will get you free. I can’t tell you when, but you have to believe me. Can you do that?”

  Wide-eyed, she stared at him as though his words didn’t register, then she nodded.

  “Good. I am going to pretend I am interrogating you. Do you understand?”

  Louise nodded.

  “Who did you see? What did he look like?” he said, his tone authoritative.

  “I… I…” she rubbed her temple, then glanced at Yvette with questioned brows.

  “Tell him.”

  “Short, maybe five three… dark wavy hair. He limped, like his foot hurt.” Her eyes widened. “Yes, he had a crutch.”

  Géry. “Good. We will find him. Your information was useful. What was Géry doing watching Louise? André leaned in and whispered. “Now, say goodbye. The sooner we leave here the quicker we can work on your release.”

  Yvette looked Louise squarely in the eyes. “No matter what happens, promise me you’ll stay strong. No matter what happens, we will be together again.”

  He knew, when she took a step closer, then held back, that she wanted to wrap her arms around Louise and for a minute, he thought he’d have to step in and entangle them.

  Her chin quivering, Louise bit down on her lip and nodded.

  “Be strong. I will see you soon.” Yvette turned and André saw tears glistening in her eyes.

  ***

  December 1940

  Marseille is changing.

  The Vichy regime’s ruthless rationing is starving the city. Bread, meat, dairy, even wine is scarce. Women and children stand in line for hours in the bitter cold, queuing for meager scraps, while food is shipped out to feed occupying German forces. Some shopkeepers refuse to honor ration tickets.

  Only yesterday, I was in line when a group of Italian women pushed to the front of the line saying “Priority to the victors.” A fight broke out and the police had to break them apart. This is what we have been reduced to, hungry, vicious dogs fighting over bones.

  But there is a change in the wind…

  Finally, people’s eyes are open to just how ruthless the government is.

  Finally, we protest without speaking.

  I have seen the letter V, the symbol of victory, on walls and shop windows. Down at the docks, fisherman carry two rods crisscrossed over their backs.

  And I, like so many, wear, on my lapel, safety pins forming the symbol.

  Graffiti on a public wall reads “A bas le gouvernement de Vichy,” down with the Vichy government.

  We are a people torn between resisting and compliance; both sides praying for a quick end.

  I saw Louise yesterday. She is so frightened and I tried not to mirror her fears. André promised to help her. A man of his word, I know he will do everything in his power to fulfill his promise. I know now, that I can trust him, for he is generally concerned about her well-being— that alone proves his loyalty toward me for there are far greater needs he could see to than my own.

  Yvette paused from writing.

  Trust was like a mirror. Once broken it was hard to put back together. René’s betrayal casts a long shadow. She had to let go. S
he had to trust André. She did trust him. He proved his loyalty to the cause and to those he called comrades over and over. She was one of them and she had to let go of her past. Living without trusting someone was like standing alone with no one on your side. André had not given her any reason to mistrust him. A heavy burden seemed to lift from her shoulders, but as she put her pen to the page and jotted her thoughts, sadness began to squeeze her heart.

  I have come to care deeply for André, even though I know there is no future for us. France is no longer my home and I could not ask him to leave his. To give up family and country to see if there is something that might bloom into more than mutual respect, friendship and the off chance of some deeper emotion that might, or might not, have been spurt by the war, is something I believe neither one of us is willing to consider. So I will curb my what ifs. I will slow my racing heart when I am beside him and hold back desires that, if I let them, in the end, will only weigh me down.

  I cannot believe Christmas is in three days. It is cold, so very cold. The worst cold in decades. It feels like snow and so many are without coal. Pétain asks us to improvise. I doubt he huddles under bridges with a meager fire to keep warm like so many of the homeless. It seems even the weather has turned against us.

  ***

  It was little more than daylight when Yvette, after a long night of forging safe conduct papers, made her way to the church.

  Géry insisted he accompany her and several times during their conversation, he tried to dissuade her from going on their mission. Even now, sitting at the table beside him, he continued his onslaught to the point that she no longer listened.

  The cellar stairs creaked under heavy footsteps. Yvette looked up and hurried over to André, glad to leave Géry behind.

  “The children are preparing to leave.” Dark circles lined his eyes. He’d gotten about as much sleep as she had. “We don’t have enough petrol to cross the demarcation line, and the guards are sure to check the back of the truck, so it is of little use to us.”

  “So how are we going to cross?” she asked.

  He still hadn’t shaved, giving his features a rough, untamed appeal that spurt a pulse beneath her belly. His hair disheveled, she knew he’d run his fingers through those sandy locks one too many times. An unruly strand fell over his forehead and she suppressed the instinct to brush it aside.