Those in Peril

by Margaret Mayhew

  He lit their cigarettes. ‘Simone has a German lover. A high-ranking SS officer.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you ran into him at the apartment?’

  ‘Fortunately not. The concierge warned me in time.’

  ‘Well, you can’t be too surprised. Simone was always the practical type. And what better protection could she have?’ Gerard brushed some ash from his waistcoat. ‘Some of us could do with the same. You know, I’d been thinking of sending Celeste and the children down to the south – that is until I heard how the Vichy government is treating Jews. They frighten me, almost more than the Germans.’

  ‘How are you treated here in Paris?’

  ‘Like Jews are always treated, my dear Louis. There is a special police branch now for Jewish affairs. We are identified and counted like sheep; property is confiscated on flimsy excuses; if we go to the south we may not return, and naturally we are blamed for everything – but one is quite used to that. Perhaps Celeste and I should have done what you did and fled to England with the children. But it’s too late now. Have you been back there since we last met?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re crazy, Louis – I told you that before. How is your mad scheme going?’

  ‘It’s better we don’t discuss it. Let’s talk of other things.’ He smiled. ‘For instance, tell me where in Paris one can still buy perfume.’

  ‘Good evening, Mademoiselle Citron.’ He nodded as he passed her in the hallway.

  ‘You are quite recovered, monsieur?’

  Her concern for his health was feigned, naturally. Perhaps she was hoping that if he stayed ill enough for long enough he would end up in hospital, in which case she could sublet his apartment to a German officer for double the rent. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Is that your bicycle?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘It looks different.’

  ‘It has been undergoing repairs.’

  ‘You wish to keep it there?’

  ‘Unless you have strong objections.’

  ‘It gets in the way, you see . . . when the hallway is being cleaned.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll remove it.’

  He carried the bicycle up to the top floor – a considerable effort – but, on the whole, he thought it was better to keep it where it would be safe, and where it was not under her inquisitive and observant nose. At four o’clock that evening – two hours before the autumn curfew time began – he left the building again and walked out of Pont-Aven, following the road that led along the river estuary to Kerdruc. At Kerdruc he hitched a lift from a farmer driving a horse and cart piled high with muddy swedes – a bulbous orange vegetable that he had only known of as cattle food, but which the farmer was now selling for humans to eat. He left the swedes and the farmer two kilometres or so from the rendezvous at Rospico to walk the rest of the way.

  By the time he reached the beach it was almost dark and he settled down for several hours of cold and discomfort, huddled in the shelter of a large rock. Cigarettes helped to pass the time and he shielded the lighted tip with his hand and buried each butt deep as it was finished. Occasional nips from a flask of brandy kept up his spirits. Every so often he checked his watch with the aid of his pocket torch. At the appointed hour he went down to the water’s edge to give the arranged signal with the torch. He would see no lights from the boat, even supposing it was there. He waited on the shore, straining his ears until he heard the scrape of something broaching the shingle twenty metres or so from where he was standing. He walked in the direction of the sound. As he got closer, the familiarly insouciant voice of Lieutenant Smythson called out softly in English.

  ‘One more for the Skylark, sir?’

  Mrs Lamprey had cornered her in the kitchen and was recounting her memories of Ellen Terry. ‘One of the greatest actresses ever, in my humble opinion. Such a beautiful voice, such command of language. I saw her with Sir Henry Irving in Olivia at the Lyceum once, long ago – 1885,I think it was, if I remember correctly. They were lovers offstage, of course. I heard her do the Mercy speech from The Merchant many times. You’re familiar with the one, Mrs Hillyard – in the Trial scene?’

  Before Barbara could answer, she had launched into it.

  The quality of mercy is not strain’d,

  It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

  Upon the place beneath . . .

  She walked about the kitchen, waving her arms – unstoppable to the end. ‘She was John Gielgud’s great-aunt, you know. Acting so often runs in the blood. Her sister, Marion, was also an actress but, like myself, she gave it all up to marry. And there were several other Terrys, as well . . . I remember that they all had terrible memories and were always drying up – even dear Ellen. I saw her as the Nurse when she was getting rather old and she could hardly remember a word. Romeo and Mercutio had to keep whispering every line in her ear. Fortunately, I never had any trouble myself. What is it for dinner tonight, Mrs Hillyard?’

  ‘It’s chicken.’

  ‘Chicken! What a treat.’

  One of the hens had grown too old to lay any more eggs and she had had to steel herself to do the deed, or rather to ask the butcher to do it. She had carried the bird down there in Fifi’s carrier basket and it had squawked and flapped indignantly every step of the way. Collecting the pathetic and unrecognizable result later had been even worse and she had wept all the way back. The Rhode Island Red had been a good and faithful servant for a long time and it seemed a poor reward for it to end up in the pot and be eaten by Mrs Lamprey.

  Mrs Lamprey had by no means finished her reminiscing. ‘Of course, Eleonora Duse was generally considered to be the finest actress of her generation. I well remember her in Ghosts . . .’ There was a quiet knock at the door. Mrs Lamprey halted in mid-sentence, turning. ‘Monsieur Duval! Comme je suis heureuse de vous revoir.’

  ‘I also am happy to see you again, madame. And you, Madame Hillyard.’

  Mrs Lamprey was clapping her hands. ‘Quelle chance pour vous! Nous allons manger un poulet pour le dîner ce soir.’

  ‘And I have brought some wine that we can drink with the chicken. I have also brought a small present for you, Madame Lamprey.’

  ‘Pour moi?’ Mrs Lamprey opened the package at once and shrieked with delight. ‘L’Heure Bleue! Quelle surprise! Merci beaucoup, monsieur.’

  There were more expressions of gratitude and pleasure, and enquiries from her about his trip to London. At last, he stemmed the flow politely.

  ‘I have some business to discuss with Madame Hillyard. If you would excuse us.’

  ‘Oh?’ Her eyes darted to and fro. ‘In that case, I’ll leave you two alone.’

  ‘Please, if you would, madame.’ He held the door open.

  She nudged him with her elbow. ‘I know when I’m not wanted.’

  He shut the door firmly after her. ‘Eh bien, Madame Hillyard . . .’

  She was suddenly shy. Not sure what to say or what to do. Rooted to the spot.

  ‘Well?’

  She said softly, ‘I’m so glad you’re back.’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘That won’t do at all. Come here and show me exactly how glad you are.’

  Later on, she told him about Freddie and began to weep yet more tears for her brother. He held her close.

  ‘My poor one. Is there no hope for him?’

  ‘They say there were no survivors. I suppose it was a U-boat.’

  ‘It’s very easy for them now that they can use the ports in France.’

  She said sadly, ‘Freddie was so dear to me. And all I had.’

  ‘Not all,’ he corrected her. ‘Now you have me.’

  He had brought her scent, too. Not Mrs Lamprey’s kind but something else that he told her would suit her far better. But what risks had he taken to get it? Some black market deal, almost certainly, that could have got him into serious trouble.

  At dinner that evening, he produced the bottles of wine and insisted that she join them in a glass. Mrs Lamp
rey, well doused in L’Heure Bleue and well fortified earlier with Stone’s Original Green Ginger wine, had downed several in quick succession before getting unsteadily to her feet. She brandished her glass in the general direction of his table. For once, her French had completely deserted her.

  ‘Here’s looking at you, Monsieur Duval,’ she cackled. ‘Mud in your eye!’

  The rear admiral and Miss Tindall had also risen. Miss Tindall lifted her glass high with great dignity and a small, triumphant glance at Mrs Lamprey.

  ‘Vive la France!’

  Thirteen

  Harry telephoned from London.

  ‘I’d like to come down and meet this chap Duval. Go over everything. Can you set up a meeting, Alan?’

  ‘When do you want it?’

  ‘Friday. And let’s have some time for you and I to have a bit of a chat privately together beforehand. We need to catch up.’

  ‘I’ll arrange it.’

  ‘By the way, General de Gaulle wants to meet him too. I’m in two minds whether to let that happen. What do you think? We don’t want the French pinching him from us.’

  ‘We don’t really have any right to keep him.’

  ‘No, but we don’t need to tell him about it, do we?’

  Harry arrived by train two days later and Powell met him at Kingswear station. As they shook hands on the platform, the vivid image came into his mind of them both standing together on that same platform as raw young cadets years ago. Harry had clearly been thinking along similar lines. As they walked towards the car, he said, ‘Haven’t been down here for years, Alan. It takes me right back to the old days – makes me feel almost young again. Like we were. They were good times, weren’t they?’

  The men that were boys when I was a boy. ‘Very good times.’

  A Wren brought cups of coffee into his office and went out again. Harry stirred his sugar vigorously round and round with the spoon.

  ‘I’ve got some rather splendid news, Alan. We’ll be getting those radio transmitters quite soon.’

  ‘About bloody time.’

  ‘As you so rightly say, about bloody time. Which means that our agents will be able to stay over there for a decent period instead of popping back every so often. That’s partly why I wanted to meet Duval. If we’re going to go on using him, he’ll need to be properly trained how to operate the damn things, as well as all the rest of it. I’d like to see for myself what he’s like – before we go that far. He’s something of an unknown quantity, after all. Bit of a wild card.’

  ‘He’s inexperienced at the job, but I’d say he was completely reliable.’

  ‘He’s certainly done a good job so far, I’ll grant you that. That last little trip of his produced some interesting titbits. And he’s recruiting a few quite useful people. Mostly small fry, of course, but they seem to have their wits about them. And it’s all grist to the mill.’

  ‘The information on the U-boat pens at Lorient was rather better than grist, I thought.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like to ask him a bit more about that.’

  ‘You read what his informant there had to say? He believes the pens should be attacked now, while they’re still being built. That we shouldn’t wait until they’re finished. I think he’s right. If the bunker concrete’s going to be as thick as he says, bombing them later on might be completely useless. Like bouncing peas off a drum.’

  ‘The fellow’s an electrician, isn’t he? With the best will in the world, he can’t know much about the strength of concrete bunkers. He’s not an expert and we need an expert opinion. The RAF can’t just send their chaps off into the blue without a lot more facts and figures.’ The coffee spoon went round and round again. ‘Besides, I happen to know, Alan, that the Foreign Office are saying that on the grounds of humanity we shouldn’t strike the land and people of a defeated France. We couldn’t hit the Germans without hitting some French too. They’re quite persuasive in their argument with the Chiefs of Staff.’

  He said sharply, ‘I think that’s absolute nonsense. France has effectively become our enemy. Even Churchill says so. Look how their Vichy government is behaving.’

  ‘But the Vichy lot don’t represent the views of all the French, do they? By no means, and that’s the sticky problem. Anyway, I’ve got another piece of news that you’ll like. I’ve been pressing hard lately for something a bit faster than your fishing boats for you.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, as we know, submarines are probably the best way of landing and picking up agents, but the difficulty is that they can seldom be spared unless they happen to be in the immediate area and, of course, it’s damned hard to arrange for them to meet up with another boat that’s under sail and dependent on the wind. High-speed motor torpedo boats have many advantages, I know you’ll agree, and I have reason to believe that one may come our way very shortly, on loan from the Admiralty. One big snag, though, is we’d be stuck with using the north coast. The boats still don’t have the speed or range to go further south. Not ideal, I know. Crawling with Germans and seas rough as hell, but there we go.’

  They discussed the pros and cons of the high-speed boats for a while until Lieutenant Smythson arrived at the appointed hour with Louis Duval. The Frenchman came into the room and Powell introduced him and watched Harry greet him affably, pumping his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. He sensed, though, that Duval was well aware that he was under close scrutiny of some kind and was, therefore, on his guard. The Wren brought in more cups of coffee and he saw the way she blushed when Duval smiled at her and thanked her for his. He was lighting one of his Gauloises, leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, waiting quietly for whatever came next. For the first time in his life, Powell felt the miserable, gnawing pain of jealousy. Barbara was in love with this man. A Frenchman, with all the powerful attraction they apparently held for women – if Hattie was to be believed. So different. From what? Well . . . from Englishmen.

  Harry was speaking. ‘These people you’ve recruited, Mr Duval . . . admirable, in their limited way, of course, but you’re aware, I’m sure, that we need harder facts.’

  ‘Rome, as they say, was not built in a day, Commander Chilcot.’

  ‘No, indeed.’ Harry cleared his throat. ‘Regarding the Lorient submarine bunker construction – you have another new contact working there now, I understand . . . a plumber by the assumed name of Léon?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘What do you think he might achieve?’

  A shrug that would annoy Harry. ‘Who can say? He’ll try his hardest, that’s all.’

  ‘Quite. You’re of the opinion – it says so very specifically in your last report – that the U-boat bunkers at Lorient, and presumably elsewhere, should be attacked now, before they can be completed.’

  ‘Later may be too late. It may prove quite impossible to destroy them.’

  ‘But your theory is based on the view of an ordinary electrician. Hardly an expert opinion. And you’ve never actually seen the bunkers yourself.’

  ‘What do you expect from me, Commander? That I should go and ask one of the Todt Organization engineers? Do you think the RAF should bomb you now, or later?’

  Harry smiled thinly. ‘I appreciate the difficulties, Monsieur Duval. I’m sure you appreciate ours. We need a lot more technical information.’

  ‘I’ll do my best to get it for you.’

  ‘So, you would be quite willing to return to France to continue your activities?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘And, before you go, to undergo some rather special training here?’

  ‘What sort of training?’

  ‘On the assembly and operation of radio transmitters. How to send messages. How to receive them. Morse, coded messages. As well as various other things.’

  ‘You have these radio transmitters at last?’

  ‘We do. Or rather we will very soon.’

  ‘And the proposal is for me to take one to France next time?’
/>   ‘Assuming you complete the training course satisfactorily. It would mean a much bigger risk for you, of course. Rather tricky to explain away a transmitter to the Germans, if they happen to catch you with one. But, as you have pointed out yourself, considerably more effective than going backwards and forwards across the Channel.’ Harry paused. He said casually, ‘We’d rather like you to go on working for us, rather than for the Free French.’

  ‘So far they haven’t invited me.’

  ‘They may. To speak frankly, before we invest considerable time and trouble in you, Mr Duval, we need to be able to count on your continued loyalty to our organization. You understand?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You can count on it, Commander. I imagine that I’ll serve my country equally well, working for the British.’

  ‘Possibly even better.’ Harry stirred his coffee once again. ‘By the way, General de Gaulle has asked to meet you. Lieutenant Commander Powell will arrange it for you, if you like.’

  To his disappointment Mrs Lamprey opened the front door to him. ‘Mrs Hillyard is out, Lieutenant Commander.’ She opened the door wider, with a coy smile. ‘But you can come in and wait, if you like. I don’t expect she’ll be long.’

  He said briskly, ‘Just for a few minutes.’

  She took him into the sitting room and, to his irritation, showed every sign of staying. The cloying scent she wore smelled even stronger than usual and he thought from her behaviour that she was slightly tipsy.

  ‘Monsieur Duval’s not here either. He’s gone to London to meet General de Gaulle.’

  ‘Really? How interesting.’ It was no surprise since he had set up the meeting himself. The general, it seemed, was quite keen to meet Duval.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it? He’s promised to tell us all about it when he gets back. We’re very fond of him. All of us – especially mrs Hillyard. They’re having an affair, did you know?’

  He said coldly, ‘I hardly think that concerns either of us, Mrs Lamprey.’

  ‘I’ve seen him going to her room at night . . . am I shocking you, Lieutenant Commander?’