China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3)

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘Thank you,’ Claire said, grateful for the information. ‘And thank you for calling to tell me Captain Mitchell is alive.’ Vera Halliday put her arms round Claire and hugged her. When she left, Claire watched her walk down the street and fade into the night. Then she turned and went back to her apartment. At the door the emotion she had suppressed throughout Miss Halliday’s visit gushed from her like an open faucet. She cried with fear and laughed with happiness. When she calmed down, she wiped the back of her hand across her face, shook out her shoulders, and opened the door.

  ‘Brandy?’

  Claire jumped. Looking up, she saw Eddie making her way down the stairs. With a torch in one hand, pointing its slim yellow beam on the edge of each stair, and a bottle in the other, she arrived at Claire’s door.

  In the sitting room Claire went to the sideboard cupboard and took out two glasses. Emotionally drained, she put them on the table, dropped onto the settee and put her head in her hands.

  ‘My God, Dudley, I thought Miss Halliday had brought good news. Here!’ She handed Claire a glass of brandy. ‘Get this down you. It’ll make you feel better.’

  With tears running down her face, Claire told her, ‘She did bring good news, Ed. Mitch is alive. He was shot in the leg somewhere in the Pyrenees and survived.’ Claire whooped, took a drink, and choked when the strong spirit hit the back of her throat.

  Eddie knocked her brandy back, replenished both glasses and made a toast. ‘To the beefcake Canuck.’ They both drank.

  ‘To my beefcake Canuck,’ Claire said, and they emptied their glasses. She told Eddie what Miss Halliday had told her.

  ‘That’s great news, Dudley,’ Eddie said, putting her arms round Claire. Exhausted from emotion and alcohol, the two friends fell backwards onto the settee. ‘And you gave her your uniform?’

  Claire groaned. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘Oh Dudley!’ The two friends looked at each other, lifted their empty glasses, and roared with laughter.

  Knowing Colonel Smith wouldn’t send her back to France until she was fully fit, Claire went up to RAF Coltishall. She was there on June 6, D-Day, until the end of the summer, when she was summoned back to London without leave, which meant she wasn’t able to visit her parents and sisters at Foxden as she had promised.

  The train was late getting into Euston. Claire looked at her wristwatch. It was twenty-past two. She was expected at three at the new SOE offices, St. Michael’s House in Oxford Street. She didn’t have time to go to the apartment to drop off her suitcase, so she arrived early and sat with Miss Halliday until the time of her appointment.

  ‘We haven’t received any news of Captain Mitchell,’ Vera Halliday said. ‘Because of the German wireless detecting equipment, the telegraphy operators are only sending urgent messages. They arrive at all hours of the day and night, so the Germans can’t track them. Some operators have abandoned their equipment and moved away. Sadly some have been caught.’ She spread her fingers on the top of the desk, a sorrowful expression on her face.

  ‘I understand,’ Claire said. ‘He’s alive, that’s all that matters.’ That she intended to find him as soon as she was able, she didn’t share with Vera Halliday. After a couple of minutes Claire went up to the office of the psychiatrist for what she hoped would be her last assessment. The session went well, she thought. She didn’t like the man, which he picked up on, turning her lack of “connection” with him into concern about her general happiness. Claire assured him that she was, and had always been, a happy and optimistic person, but there was a war on in which she should be doing her job. The only worry she had was whether he was going to sign her off as fit enough to do that job. The psychiatrist said he was reluctant, because in his opinion she had anger issues. Claire wanted to slap him and tell him he was talking rubbish. Instead she thanked him and asked him to consider recommending her return to France. With clenched fists, she left his office to keep her appointment with Colonel Smith.

  The colonel was on the telephone when she entered, so Claire stood just inside the door and waited. Finally he put the telephone down and motioned to her to come over. ‘That was the doctor,’ he said. ‘You are officially signed fit for duty and will be going back to France during the next full moon cycle – or the one after, depending on the weather.’

  ‘We’re in the middle of a full moon cycle now, sir,’ Claire said. ‘I thought you had brought me back to London to fly out this month. The sooner I start training the new Maquis groups in Paris--’

  ‘Miss Mountjoy has replaced you on that.’

  Claire felt panic beating in her chest. The Allies hadn’t liberated Paris yet. There was fighting in the streets. Hitler had given a general called von Choltitz power of life and death over anyone who lived in the city. That, coupled with the Resistance cells becoming more active and therefore their work becoming more dangerous, meant Paris was a hazardous place to be. ‘It’s a dangerous assignment, sir. It’s one that needs an experienced agent and Miss Mountjoy isn’t experienced.’

  ‘You didn’t have experience once, Miss Dudley.’

  ‘No, sir.’ Claire gritted her teeth. ‘Excuse me for asking, but wasn’t Miss Mountjoy assigned to go back to France next month?’

  ‘She was, but Paris became urgent, and as you weren’t here--’

  ‘I was a train journey away, sir.’

  ‘Well it’s done now! Miss Mountjoy was happy to go to Paris. She said you had a closer relationship with the Resistance group at Gisoir--’

  ‘Gisoir?’

  ‘Yes, Gisoir. But it’s academic in any event. Miss Mountjoy flew out last night.’

  Claire was still angry when she got home. She wasn’t angry with Eddie for taking her drop. She understood why she’d done it and, however foolish, she would have done the same if the situation had been reversed. She was angry with the colonel for letting Eddie persuade him to send her to Paris.

  Arriving home, she picked up two unstamped pieces of post that had been pushed under the door. One was a badly printed leaflet reminding residents that they must use the shelter in the basement when there was an air raid and the other, when Claire pulled it out of the envelope, was a letter from Eddie. She took off her coat, went into the sitting room and read Eddie’s letter.

  Dearest D,

  By now you’ll know I am in F. Don’t be angry with me for taking your place. I didn’t actually ask for P, although if my plan hadn’t worked I would have. No, I suggested to Miss H that if the handsome C was able to travel, it would be to G that he went – and she did the rest. She’s a love, isn’t she? I shall try to get up to G to see A and the B clan. Be a hoot if I can get there when you’re there. I shall do my best, but if I don’t see you in G, I’ll see you back here when the game is won.

  Until then, chin up, my friend. You’ll soon be with A.

  Look after yourself.

  Love, E. x

  P.S. Almost forgot. I sweet-talked Mr S to let me into your place. There’s a bottle of brandy in the cupboard. Cheers!

  Claire missed Aimée so much she thought her heart would break. She missed Eddie too, as much as she would have done any of her sisters. In October she counted the days around the full moon and listened to the BBC’s nightly news broadcasts, which were becoming more and more disheartening.

  ‘Although there have been many airborne successes,’ the news reader said, ‘the Allied advance to the German frontier is not sustainable and the Germans are regrouping. With winter approaching,’ he concluded, ‘it appears the Allied campaign is slowing down.’

  Claire switched off the wireless, put out the light and went to bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The thrust as she was swept up took Claire by surprise, and she felt breathless until she dropped. Looking up, she watched the dome of the parachute open and bloom into the familiar mushroom. She felt it tilt and pulled on a riser until it levelled. As she floated down the old feeling of excitement and exhilaration flooded back. She landed well and began to run, but s
he stopped too soon and, with the wind at her back, folds of silk billowed up around her. She unbuckled the harness and batted the ballooning silk, finally controlling it. The excitement of the jump and the prospect of seeing her daughter had overwhelmed her – and she hadn’t watched what she was doing.

  She had almost finished folding the parachute when André and the men and women of the reception committee arrived. Each of them shook her hand, kissed her, and welcomed her warmly. Claire returned their greetings. ‘Édith!’ she exclaimed, delighted yet surprised to see her old friend. ‘What are you doing here?’ She threw her arms around her. ‘Are you part of the reception committee now?’

  ‘Only for tonight,’ Édith laughed. ‘And do not worry about the little one. Thérèse is at home in case she wakes.’

  ‘I didn’t think for a second that you would leave her on her own.’ Claire took Édith’s hand and together they trudged across the field to the Belland Farm. It was still uninhabited, but it was no longer being used as a whore house by drunken German soldiers. They were better employed trying to stop the Allies and the Resistance groups from kicking them out of France.

  The bicycles were hidden in the small wood, as they had been on the night Édith and Claire cycled to the farm to move Monique’s body from the well. So much had happened since that night. Édith tapped Claire on the arm. ‘Sorry, I was thinking…’

  ‘I thought of her too, and Frédéric, when I arrived.’ In a voice cracking with pain and emotion, Édith said, ‘Are you ready?’

  Pushing her bicycle out of the wood, Claire followed Édith up the muddy bank to the road. As she mounted she wobbled and put her feet to the ground. She pushed off again and this time retained her balance. Side by side, Claire and Édith began the short journey to Gisoir.

  Édith knocked on the kitchen door and waited to give Thérèse time to switch off the light. A minute later her daughter-in-law opened the door. Claire followed Édith into the familiar warm kitchen. ‘My dearest Claire,’ Thérèse cried, clicking the light on.

  Seeing Thérèse wearing a maternity smock, Claire ran to her and held her at arm’s length. ‘Congratulations, my friend,’ she said, looking down at her extended stomach. ‘When is the baby due?’

  ‘Not for months, but André and Mother have been feeding me up,’ she laughed. ‘Come and sit down, you must be tired. Would you like coffee?’ Claire looked at the door leading to the hall and stairs.

  ‘I think Claire would like to see Aimée,’ Édith whispered to her daughter-in-law. ‘You go up, my dear, while Thérèse and I prepare some food. There’s plenty of time for coffee.’

  Claire looked from Édith to Thérèse. ‘Would it be better if one of you came with me? If Aimée wakes she might be frightened if she sees me in her bedroom.’

  Édith laughed. ‘I do not think so. She talks to your picture every day.’

  ‘My picture? But how…?’

  ‘Your friend Edwina left a photograph of you next to Aimée’s bed. It is of you both in uniform, but she folded it down the middle so only your face is seen. I found it just after you left, when I put Aimée down for her afternoon nap. You are the first person she sees in the morning and the last at night.’

  ‘She sometimes puts your photograph in her bed with Dolly and Teddy,’ Thérèse laughed. ‘She has only been in bed a couple of hours. I do not think she will wake. She has worn herself out running to the door every five minutes, ready to open it when you arrived.’

  Claire bit her lip and frowned. ‘I have disappointed her already…’

  ‘What nonsense,’ Thérèse said, crossing to Claire and taking her by the hand. ‘She is not disappointed. We told her when she wakes in the morning she will see her mummy.’

  ‘It is just your daughter’s impatient nature that has had her running around today. Go now, go up to her.’

  Claire took the stairs slowly and at the top took a deep breath before opening the bedroom door. In a single cot at the side of Édith’s bed she saw a mop of golden curls above a pink and white knitted blanket. She tiptoed into the room, knelt beside her daughter and watched her sleep. Aimée lay on her right side, one hand under the covers, the other on the pillow by her face. Claire bit back her tears. Her daughter had changed. She was bigger, longer – and the back of her hands had lost their dimples. Suddenly Aimée’s eyelids flickered and her breathing changed from a calm rhythm to what sounded like a complaining sigh. Leaning away from the bed, Claire sat back on her heels, worried that if Aimée woke she would be frightened seeing someone leaning over her. A second later the child opened her small mouth and smacked her lips as she did when she was a baby and was hungry. Then her thumb found its way to her mouth and she became calm again. Steeling herself from touching her daughter in case she woke her, Claire whispered, ‘Sleep well, my beautiful girl,’ and quietly left the room.

  Back in the kitchen Édith spooned thick aromatic soup into Claire’s bowl. The nerves in her stomach were jumping, sending messages to her brain to say she wasn’t hungry, but Claire knew she needed to keep her strength up for the long nights to come. The packages that were dropped with her contained materials to make explosives. She was capable of putting them together, but hadn’t had experience. Since Frédéric’s death it had become Pierre Ruban’s brother Marcel’s job – André’s if Marcel wasn’t there – and she was part of the lookout team.

  Claire ate enthusiastically and when she had finished she took the loaf, broke off a sizeable chunk and mopped up the dish. ‘Isn’t André coming for supper?’

  ‘No, he and two of the men are hiding the drop. They can’t transport it in daylight and with the train due in just a few days, they must prepare early.’

  ‘It is a dangerous mission,’ Thérèse said, caressing her stomach.

  Claire was only too aware of the danger and hoped it wasn’t André who was going into the tunnel to place the explosives. He and Thérèse had been trying for a baby since before Aimée was born. Claire smiled at Thérèse. ‘Try not to worry about André. He is experienced and professional. He will not take unnecessary risks.’

  Édith took hold of Thérèse and Claire’s hands and gently squeezed them. ‘A glass of wine I think, to welcome you home.’ She poured wine for herself and Claire, and milk for Thérèse, who pulled a face.

  Claire sipped her wine in the warm kitchen, with its familiar smells of parsley, thyme and garlic. She felt at home in the Belland house – and although it was where Mitch had been stopped and taken to German headquarters, she felt safe in the streets and avenues of Gisoir – a lot safer than she did in Orléans or Paris.

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘Sorry, Édith, I was miles away.’

  ‘Look at the door. It stands ajar and a little girl is peeping at you from behind her dolly. She really should be in bed. What do you think?’

  Claire’s heart leapt in her chest. Aimée half smiled, stepped back, and the gap between door and frame narrowed. ‘I think we should invite her to join us? What do you think, Aunt Thérèse?’

  ‘I think that would be lovely. Since she’s awake, it cannot hurt.’

  Édith raised her eyebrows. ‘Aimée, would you like to come in and see your mummy?’

  Aimée pushed the door with both hands, squashing her doll. Édith held it so it didn’t swing shut while the little girl made up her mind. Claire smiled at her again. She wanted to run to her, pick her up and hold her tightly, but she didn’t want to frighten her. It had been six months since Aimée had seen her, a very long time to a child.

  ‘Mama?’ Claire looked down. Aimée was at her knee. With big blue eyes, the little girl looked up and offered Claire her doll.

  ‘For me?’ Claire said. ‘Thank you, Aimée. Oh but,’ Claire put her hand to her mouth, ‘what shall I call her?’

  ‘Twicoté,’ Aimée said. Then, craning her neck to look over the table at Édith, she lifted her arms. Claire wished it was her that Aimée wanted to go to, and swallowed. Édith picked Aimée up and sat her on her knee.
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br />   Claire did the same with the doll. ‘Hello, Tricoté. What a lovely little one you are.’ She couldn’t help laughing because tricot meant knitted. ‘What a lovely name.’

  Without taking her eyes off Claire, Aimée put her hands out for the doll, and Claire gave it to her. She then gave it to Édith, put her hands up to Claire and said: ‘Me.’ Claire lifted her daughter out of Édith’s arms, hugged her to her chest, and in no time Aimée was asleep.

  Édith took hot bricks from the oven and wrapped them in clean rags. ‘Do you want to take her up, dear?’ Édith whispered. Claire nodded.

  Édith put the hot bricks in Claire’s bed while Claire put Aimée in her small cot. The little girl stirred but didn’t wake. Claire stepped back and watched her daughter turn this way and that before settling down. After a sleepy sigh, Aimée put her thumb in her mouth. A second later she was fast asleep. Claire pulled the blankets up and tucked her in. Édith watched from the doorway and when Claire left the bedroom, she switched off the light. ‘She is beautiful,’ Claire said, taking a last quick look at her daughter before Édith closed the door.

  ‘You are doing a wonderful job of bringing Aimée up, Édith,’ Claire said, when she and Édith were back in the kitchen. ‘She is a lovely little girl,’ she continued, giving in to the tears that had threatened since she arrived in Gisoir.

  ‘Shhhhhh child.’ Thérèse passed Édith a clean handkerchief and she knelt before Claire and wiped her tears. ‘She is a lovely child, yes. She takes after her mother.’

  Thérèse agreed as she eased herself out of her chair. ‘I cannot keep my eyes open. Forgive me, I am tired and should go to bed,’ she said, holding her side with one hand and her stomach with the other. ‘It is good to have you home,’ she said, giving Claire’s shoulder a squeeze as she passed her. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Thérèse.’

  ‘Until the morning, daughter,’ Édith said, as Thérèse left. She pushed a strand of hair from Claire’s face. ‘You look exhausted, child. I think you too should go to bed.’ Édith looked at Claire questioningly. ‘Would you like to sleep in my room tonight, to be near Aimée?’