Those in Peril

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I sleep with her, just to be on the safe side?’

  ‘I don’t know of any man in Pont-Aven who has yet had the stomach to do that. Seriously, though, Louis, take care. These are early days. The Germans are not yet completely organized and there is some disorder in their control, but it won’t be so for much longer. Then nothing and nobody will be safe.’

  He found Jean-Claude Vauclin at home in his small cottage high up on the hillside – a younger man than he had expected, perhaps not more than thirty-eight. Young to have a disease that clearly threatened his life. He was sitting outside his front door in the sunshine, working away at an old bike upturned onto its saddle and flanked by a veritable scrap heap of old spare parts: wheels, chains, handlebars, mudguards, brakes . . . all piled high in a rusting heap. As Duval approached, Vauclin glanced up. His thin face had the yellow-grey look of chronic ill health, and every breath that he took sounded a painful effort. ‘I have no more bikes for sale, monsieur, if that’s what you’ve come for. It’s impossible to find them these days.’

  ‘I’m not after a bike. Maurice Masseron sent me.’

  ‘What for? Unless you are looking for a bike or have one that needs mending, I can do nothing for you.’

  Duval indicated another chair close by. ‘May I sit down for a moment, nonetheless?’

  ‘If you wish. Forgive me if I carry on working. I’m very busy. Also, it’s tiring for me to speak much.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Let me do the talking, then. My name is Louis Duval. I am an artist and I have lived in Pont-Aven for several years.’

  Vauclin looked up again. ‘I know. The mayor has one of your paintings in his office. The one of the standing stones.’

  ‘That’s so.’ Duval shaded his eyes to study the view of the river better as it raced and tumbled down towards the town. He had painted it many times, but not from this precise vantage point. ‘He tells me that you admire General de Gaulle.’

  ‘Certainly. He will be the saviour of France. The Free French forces will return one day to liberate us, you may depend on that.’

  ‘The English may have to lend a hand, perhaps.’

  ‘Of course. They stand alone now against the Nazis. We will need their help. And their island as a vantage point.’

  ‘Still, they have sunk our fleet . . . Not so good, eh?’

  ‘It was necessary. The General himself will agree, I’m sure. If not, our warships would have been commandeered and used by the Germans. They could not be trusted to keep their word.’

  ‘Does your wife feel the same?’

  ‘Certainly. Marthe thinks like I do. In every way.’

  ‘So we must help the English – if only to help us. Would you be willing to do that?’

  ‘I wish I could, but I’m a sick man, as you see. Quite useless.’

  Duval turned his head away from the view. He looked at Vauclin. ‘On the contrary, my friend, I think you could be very useful indeed. You were a commercial traveller, isn’t that so? You know people all over Brittany. People that you could ask to keep their eyes and ears open and report what they learn about the activities of the Germans.’

  Vauclin said, ‘Some of them might be willing – some not. It would be very risky.’

  ‘You could perhaps find out?’

  He shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, monsieur. It would be impossible for me to travel any more – my health is too bad. I can barely walk up the stairs. My spirit is willing, but my flesh is too weak.’

  Duval nodded. ‘I understand, my friend. And I am sorry to have troubled you.’ He stood up. ‘Well, I shan’t keep you from your work any longer.’

  ‘A moment, monsieur.’ Vauclin looked up at him. ‘As I said, I myself could not go, but my wife, Marthe, could. I still have a great many lace samples, all kept safe in boxes. It would be easy for her to pass herself off as a traveller. She could call on the people I used to visit, find out everything she can and see who would be brave enough to help.’

  ‘She would do that?’

  ‘Of course. I told you. She and I think the same. We are as one.’

  ‘And you would be willing for her to go – to take the risk?’

  ‘That will be her decision. She has gone to the market but when she learns that you were here she will want to know why and when I tell her – as I must because we never hide anything from each other – I don’t believe that anything will stop her. She could take the horse and cart and follow my old route.’ Vauclin smiled. ‘Perhaps you have come to the right place, after all.’

  The Wren put her head round the door. ‘Lieutenant Reeves is here to see you, sir.’

  Powell said, ‘Thank you. Send him in.’

  The lieutenant came straight to the point. ‘I thought you’d like to know, sir, that the Admiralty orders we received have been followed to the letter. We’ve impounded every French vessel that has taken refuge in the port and their crews have been put ashore.’

  ‘We can’t be very popular with them at the moment.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Reeves agreed. ‘But it’s left us with some rather handy boats. Several very useful tugs and, even better, a couple of brand new MTBs. They were actually built over here at Hythe for the French Navy. The Free French naval chaps have their covetous eyes on them, unfortunately, and so have our Coastal Forces. I just wondered if you might like to declare an interest, as it were.’

  ‘I appreciate the thought, Lieutenant. Thank you.’

  Lieutenant Reeves’s brief from London, Powell knew, had been to make himself as helpful as possible to the organization – to smooth paths, provide ways and means, to solve problems. They were to operate independently from de Gaulle’s Deuxième Bureau, while maintaining a cordial relationship so that their French personnel could be pinched, if necessary. The prospect of getting his hands on two high-speed surface vessels that could cross the Channel overnight was certainly appealing, even if it upset the cordiality somewhat. Sardine fishing boats, and the like, had their advantages but there were also big snags, the main one being that they were desperately slow. Another drawback, to his way of thinking, was the use of Breton fishing crews. Their courage was not in question, but their discipline was. They could do as they pleased with impunity – get drunk, fall asleep, go off when they felt like it – and since they didn’t officially come under naval control, there wasn’t much that could be done about it.

  The lieutenant said, ‘How’s Duval shaping up, sir?’

  ‘Early days. We’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘I was rather impressed by him actually, sir. The old boy at Mrs Hillyard’s place has been keeping a close watch on him, by the way.’

  ‘What old boy?’

  ‘I must have forgotten to mention him. Rear Admiral Foster. He’s out to grass officially but he worked with Naval Intelligence in his day. We’ve sent one or two odds and sods to stay at the Bellevue who just turned up out of the blue – same sort as Duval. People we’re not too sure of and want to keep an eye on while we find out more about them. Poles, Czechs, Belgians . . . all the ragtag and bobtail.’

  He frowned. ‘Doesn’t Mrs Hillyard mind your sending those sort of people to her?’

  ‘They’re just lodgers to her. We don’t tell her anything else and we do ask her very nicely. Our tame rear admiral gives them the once-over, watches them, listens to them, takes a peek in their rooms, that sort of thing. He’s a very quiet, retiring sort of chap but he doesn’t miss a trick, I can tell you. Warned us off one of the Poles – quite rightly.’

  Powell thought of his pointless search of the room which, presumably, would already have been thoroughly gone over. ‘I see. And what does he make of Louis Duval?’

  ‘He thinks he’s all right.’

  He said grimly, ‘That’s a comfort.’

  The lieutenant grinned. ‘Actually, we have a file on Mrs Hillyard, too. Did a spot of checking up just to make sure that she was in the clear. Can’t be too careful these days. Would y
ou like to see it, sir?’

  ‘Will you give Fifi her supper, Esme? There’s some fish in that saucepan ready for her.’

  Big sigh. ‘I’ve just gone and got the eggs.’

  ‘Well, now you can do this for me, please. I’m rather busy at the moment and she’s waiting very patiently to be fed.’

  Another big sigh. ‘Oh, all right.’

  Barbara watched the child out of the corner of her eye as she plonked the cooked fish into the tin dish and banged it down for the cat. ‘You could give her a brush when she’s finished, if you like. It would do her coat good.’

  ‘I don’t want to. She’s still got that horrid place on her neck.’

  ‘It’s getting much better. It’ll be gone soon.’

  ‘I still don’t want to.’ Esme hauled herself up on a kitchen stool and sat slouched over and kicking her heels against the legs. Kick, kick. Kick, kick. ‘When’s Mum going to come and get me?’

  The same question was asked repeatedly and Barbara always gave the same answer. ‘As soon as she’s sure it’s safe.’

  ‘The others went back when their mum came for them.’

  ‘Well, it really would have been better if they’d stayed. The Germans have started to drop bombs over here. They could easily bomb London.’

  Kick, kick. ‘I wouldn’t care if they did.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly, of course you would. Your mother doesn’t want you to be in danger, and nor would your father.’

  ‘Dad doesn’t know anything about it – he’s away at sea all the time.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want you to be somewhere safe. Why don’t you write him a letter? Tell him all your news?’

  ‘I haven’t got any. And there’s not much point writing if he’s at sea, is there?’

  ‘Yes, there is. My brother is in the Navy and I write to him all the time. The letters always reach them eventually.’

  ‘Dad’s probably forgotten all about me.’

  ‘He’d never do that, Esme.’

  ‘Well, Mum has, hasn’t she?’

  ‘No, of course she hasn’t.’

  At supper Mrs Lamprey lamented the absence of Monsieur Duval.

  ‘Such an interesting man. Will he be back soon, do you think, Mrs Hillyard?’

  It was a day for being asked questions she couldn’t answer. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’

  ‘He’s in London, you say?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what he told me. Some liaison work – for the Free French forces there.’

  ‘It must have been dreadful for them to have to abandon their country. The French did their best, don’t you think, Rear Admiral?’

  As always, the rear admiral agreed with her politely. If he ever held different views – and Barbara suspected that he quite often did – they were never expressed. Miss Tindall, as a relative newcomer, knew her place and rarely offered opinions.

  Later on, Barbara went upstairs to Monsieur Duval’s room to check once again that everything was in order – clean towels ready for him, clean sheets on the bed, the furniture dust-free. She had aired the room daily but there was still a smell of oil paints and, very faintly too, the smell of the cigarettes he smoked. Not that she minded either of those things. There was an open packet of Gauloises, lying crumpled on the bedside table, and she picked it up and breathed in the foreignness of the tobacco. Then, for a while, she stood at the window, looking at the sea and at the sun going down, thinking of the Frenchman.

  After visiting Vauclin, Duval had gone in search of the other three men named by Maurice Masseron. Paul Leblond, a shoemender, and Jacques Thomine, a greengrocer, proved very willing to help. The third, Robert Comby, had also been willing but he had wanted to know how much he would be paid. ‘Nothing whatever, my friend,’ Duval had told him, striking him from the list. Those who demanded payment were, in his view, those who could never be trusted. In the morning, he returned to the mairie, as arranged, and Masseron gave him copies of all the permits and papers that he had been able to lay his hands on.

  He went straight from the mairie to his studio to wait for Major Winter. To occupy himself he did a pencil sketch, from memory, of the garden at Bellevue – the shrubs and the ferns and the roses, the palm tree and the wrought-iron bench. He added the figure of Madame Hillyard, putting her at one end of the seat with a flower basket on her lap. He spent some time trying to recapture her just as she had appeared to him that day – seated on the edge, head half-turned away, as though poised for flight. He was putting the finishing touches to the sketch when, at last, the major knocked at the door.

  ‘I am pleased to say that I have been able to obtain an Ausweis for you, monsieur, as well as the military exemption papers and the driving permit. All is in order now and there should be no difficulty for you travelling in France in future. So far, I have had no success with the gasoline coupons but I will continue to try.’

  ‘I am obliged.’

  ‘And here is your identity card as well, safely returned.’

  When it came to returning things, the Wehrmacht were a definite improvement on the Royal Navy. Duval said pleasantly, far more pleasantly than at their last meeting, ‘A glass of your cognac, Major?’

  The offer was accepted, the glasses raised politely to good health. The major noticed the sketch on the table and picked it up. ‘Where is this?’

  He shrugged. It had been careless to leave it there. ‘Nowhere particular. I imagined it.’

  ‘Strange . . . if it were not for the palm tree, it might almost be England.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Oh yes. I know England rather well. My maternal grandmother was English and I spent several summer holidays in Kent as a child.’

  Duval said drily, ‘Perhaps you plan to spend more time there soon?’

  The major smiled. ‘Who knows? It would certainly be very pleasant to see the countryside again. My grandmother had a beautiful garden – and with a seat exactly the same. That is why it reminded me of England. Have you also been there?’

  ‘I did some painting in Cornwall years ago – it’s very similar to Brittany.’

  ‘So I understand. I have never been in that part of the country myself – always the south-east.’ The major was still studying the sketch. ‘And the charming lady – does she also exist only in your imagination?’

  ‘No, she is real.’

  ‘She also looks English – the clothes, the hair, the flat basket made for carrying flowers. My grandmother had such a basket to gather roses.’

  He saw no point in denying it. ‘Yes, she’s English. Someone I met once. For some reason, I was remembering her.’

  ‘I have always admired the English – not just because of my grandmother. It is a great pity that we must now fight them. In that respect it is fortunate that my grandmother is dead. It would have grieved her very much.’

  ‘And does your admiration also extend to the French?’

  ‘Of course, I admire a great deal about your country – your culture, your ancient history, your beautiful language, your cuisine . . .’

  ‘But not our politicians. Or our soldiers.’

  ‘Some of them, it has to be said, are a disappointment. It’s difficult to have respect.’

  ‘You’re not the only one to feel so, Major.’ Duval removed the sketch from the table. ‘I am grateful to you for your help. If there is any one of my paintings that you would like to have, please take it.’ What he would never have sold, he was prepared to give. The major must be cultivated as much as possible.

  ‘That’s extremely generous of you. I should be delighted to possess such a treasure.’

  He indicated the canvases stacked against the walls. ‘Choose whichever you prefer.’ While the German went through them, he smoked a cigarette and drank the cognac, taking a surreptitious glance at his watch. There was less than half an hour before the curfew. All the fishing boats would have returned to port at sunset. The Espérance, if she were still there, could not sail until the
morning, but he should be on board before and ready to go with her at first light. At last, the major reached a decision.

  ‘This I should like very much – if I may be permitted?’

  It was one of his own favourites – a small landscape of the Aven river with two thatched-roof cottages in the background. He would be very sorry to part with it. Especially to the enemy.

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘I thank you. I shall have it framed and on my next leave I shall take it to my home in Dresden to hang on the wall in a place of honour.’ The major finished his cognac. ‘Well, I hope to have the pleasure of meeting with you again. Will you be remaining in Pont-Aven for a while now?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I am always in search of interesting subjects to paint and the hunt can take me anywhere at any time. I act on impulse.’

  ‘I understand. And now that your papers are in order, there should be no problem for you. Please let me know if there is anything else that I can do for you.’

  ‘There is just one thing, Major. If I am away, I should be obliged if you would see to it that Mademoiselle Citron does not billet any of your people in my apartment.’

  ‘Have no fear. I assure you that she will not.’

  When the major had left, he looked at the sketch once again before he tore it into small pieces.

  He waited another ten minutes before leaving. The documents were stowed away in his pockets, a newspaper that he had bought earlier tucked under his arm. The fishing boats were in, the light fading fast and the quayside deserted except for a Wehrmacht soldier who addressed him in clumsy French. ‘A pleasant evening, sir.’ He nodded curtly and walked on. The Espérance was still there, tied up at the far end. He lit a cigarette and stood around for a while smoking until the German had moved off in the other direction. Then he went aboard. Lieutenant Smythson was triumphant. The port Administrator had been more than helpful. He had provided them with a quantity of blank crew and customs clearance forms, already stamped and signed, which they could fill in and retain for future use. ‘How did you get on, sir?’

  ‘Not so bad.’ He felt very tired. The lieutenant had the boundless energy and enthusiasm of youth – something that he had lost long ago.