by Hilary Green
‘He must have been hiding. I saw him coming out of the forest.’
‘Look, you don’t understand!’ Luke said. ‘I’m French. I’m with the Maquis. I’ve been wounded somehow. Can you help me please?’
‘Oh yes!’ the man said. ‘How come you’re in German uniform then? If you expect me to swallow that story you must think I’m stupid.’
‘But it’s true! I’m in disguise….’
‘What shall we do with him, Papa?’ the boy asked. ‘Shall I shoot him?’
His father frowned, obviously at a loss. ‘No, no. We can’t do that, not in cold blood. We’ll take him with us, give ourselves time to think. Give me that.’ He reached for the pistol.
‘But Papa…’ the boy protested.
‘I said give it here!’ He snatched the gun and jerked it at Luke. ‘Move! Not that way! Up!’
Luke’s head was swimming and he thought he was going to be sick again. Argument seemed useless, so he turned and began to plod up the road, the farmer and the boy close behind him. How he stayed on his feet for the kilometre or so between there and the farm, he did not know. Every step made him feel as if his head was going to split open and set the nerves in his broken arm jangling. Finally, he found himself outside a darkened building.
‘What shall we do with him?’ the boy asked.
‘Lock him up with the goats until morning. Then we’ll decide the best thing to do.’
‘I tell you I’m with the Maquis,’ Luke croaked. ‘Contact Xavier. He’ll vouch for me.’
A door was opened in what appeared to be a shed of some sort. ‘Get in there! Move!’
‘Water, please! At least give me a drink of water!’ His pleas fell on deaf ears. He was thrust through a low door into a noisome darkness. He tripped on something, fell and lost consciousness again.
Christine hardly slept at all. After leaving Cyrano the night before, she had cycled back to the hotel as if she was doing it in her sleep. She had said nothing to Mme Bolu or Jeanette. They were not Maquis after all and the less they knew the better, or so she told herself. The truth was that some instinct told her that once she talked about Luke, she would have to confront the reality that he might be dead.
She went through the motions of her job behind the bar and in the dining room, and when people asked her if she was all right, she told them she had a headache. As soon as she could, she escaped to her room, but there was no respite. One thought churned over and over in her mind: she had to find out if her brother had been taken prisoner.
She could not eat at breakfast. The bread tasted even more like sawdust than usual and the ersatz coffee turned her stomach. Mme Bolu wanted her to go back to bed, but she insisted on going into Montsauche. There, she searched the streets for German soldiers, someone who might be able to get a message to Franz. If she could find him, she felt sure he would tell her if any prisoners had been taken. But today there were none drinking in the cafés or loitering on street corners. All leave, it seemed, had been cancelled.
At last she saw a solitary figure sitting at a table outside the café owned by the man who was one of her regular contacts. He was a young officer, and she recognized him as one of the men who had started to frequent the bar in the Beau Rivage. She had always found him polite and she knew he spoke a little French.
She slipped into the café by the back door and found the proprietor pouring a glass of beer.
‘Is that for the German officer?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Let me take it to him. I want an excuse to talk to him.’
When she set the beer on the table, the officer looked up with a puzzled frown.
‘Hello. You’re the girl from the hotel, aren’t you. Do you work here as well?’
‘I’m just helping out,’ Christine said. She hesitated, her mind working overtime. She couldn’t come straight out with her question, as she might have done with Franz, but there must be a way to introduce the subject. She said, ‘Can I talk to you for a moment?’
‘What about?’
‘It’s difficult. I heard there was some fighting yesterday.’
His expression was bitter. ‘A massacre, not a fair fight. Your so-called freedom fighters ambushed a convoy. But what has it got to do with you?’
‘I’m worried. You see, I’ve got a friend – a German soldier. We’ve been … well, seeing each other.’
His eyebrows went up. ‘I thought your people took a dim view of that kind of fraternisation.’
‘Yes, they do. That’s why I’ve kept it secret. But now – I keep wondering if he might have been caught up in the fighting yesterday.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Franz – Franz Weber.’
He frowned. ‘Weber? I’m sorry. I’m afraid it’s bad news. Weber was one of the men escorting the convoy. There were no survivors.’
Christine gasped. Her shock was genuine. It was a development that had never crossed her mind.
The officer looked at her.
‘If you are going to tell me that he’s got you into trouble, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it.’
She felt herself blush. ‘No! No, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to know … I suppose he could have been taken prisoner?’
‘No chance! The Maquis don’t take prisoners.’
‘Did you … did you catch any of them?’
‘Not yet. By the time we found the convoy, they were long gone. But we will find them, and when we do.…’ He broke off and looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘You ask too many questions. What are you after, really?’
‘Nothing!’ She felt panic rising in her throat. ‘I just wanted to know about Franz, that’s all. I’m sorry.’ She looked behind her into the café. ‘I’d better get on. The boss will be wondering what I’m doing.’
She hurried back into the shop and slipped out by the back door. A few minutes later, she was cycling back towards the hotel.
She could not decide whether what she felt was relief or greater anguish. The spectre of her brother in enemy hands, being interrogated and perhaps tortured was banished, but the necessary corollary was that he was probably dead. It was possible, she told herself, that Cyrano was right and he might be hiding out somewhere, but she could not see any reason why he should be; and she refused to allow herself to hope.
For Luke, the hours of the night passed with excruciating slowness. He drifted in and out of consciousness; the pain was so bad that it made his whole body shake and once he heard a high pitched whine, which he did not recognize immediately as his own voice. Eventually, light began to show through the cracks in the wooden walls and he heard the family moving about outside. He shouted, begging to be let out, but no one came. Then, the door opened and the boy, Louis, called the goats out, but he had the pistol in one hand.
‘Stay back! Don’t move or I’ll shoot you!’
Luke remembered how the boy had wanted to shoot him the night before, and anyway he was not at all sure that his legs would carry him if he tried to escape, so he stayed where he was.
After another long wait, he heard a vehicle drive up to the farm and then a familiar voice called, ‘Hey, Gaspard! Got a minute? I need to talk to you.’
Luke wriggled over to the barred door and began to kick at it with all his strength.
‘Jean Claude! It’s me! Luke! I’m in here. Tell them to let me out!’
There was a confused babble of voices, then the door was flung open and Jean Claude leaned in.
‘Luke! What the hell are you doing there? We’ve been searching all over for you. There’s no need to hide.’
‘Not hiding!’ Luke managed to say. ‘Kidnapped by these people!’
Christine arrived at the church that evening with a sickening sense of foreboding. Cyrano would have news, and she thought she knew what that news would be. He was waiting for her just inside the door and before he could speak, she said, ‘He’s not a prisoner. The Boche didn’t take any prisoners.’
Cyrano c
ame to her and took her by the shoulders. He was smiling. ‘It’s all right. We’ve found him. You needn’t worry any more.’
She stared at him, gulping for air. Then, she threw her arms round his neck and burst into tears. ‘Oh, Cyrano, thank you! Thank you!’
He held her tightly and said, half laughing, ‘You don’t have to thank me. I’m just the messenger.’ Then, as she continued to weep, ‘Come on. It’s all right. There’s nothing to cry for now.’
She swallowed and sniffed and lifted her face to look at him.
‘Sorry. It’s stupid, isn’t it? I didn’t cry yesterday, I couldn’t. Now I can’t seem to stop.’
‘It’s shock,’ he said. ‘It does funny things to people.’ He fished in a pocket and produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her wet cheeks. ‘Here. It’s not all that clean, I’m afraid. The laundry service isn’t up to much around here.’
She took the handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘And he’s all right, really?’
‘Yes. He’s injured, but it’s not serious – a broken wrist and concussion. He’s been taken to the château, and Dr Martell says he should be up and about in a few days.’
‘Do you know what happened to him?’
‘He doesn’t remember anything about it, but we found the bike when we went to search this morning and it looks as if the bullet aimed at him hit the bike instead. He was probably pitched over the handlebars into the ditch. It’s just lucky the Boche didn’t stumble across him while they were collecting their own dead.’
‘So where has he been?’
He smiled grimly. ‘It seems a local farmer found him when he was looking for his goats and thought he was a German. When Jean Claude went to the farm to ask if they knew anything, he found Luke shut up in the goats’ pen.’
‘Oh, poor Luke!’ In spite of herself she giggled, then added, sobering again, ‘When can I see him?’
‘Tomorrow. It’s too near curfew now. I’ll take you. Meet me at the ruined cottage at ten. OK?’
‘Yes. Oh, Cyrano, I can’t believe it! I’ve been so worried.’
‘I know.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘When you came in, you said you knew he wasn’t a prisoner. How did you know?’
‘I went and asked, this morning.’
‘You did what?’
‘It’s all right. I didn’t give anything away. I said I was looking for news about a German boy I’ve been seeing.’
‘What do you mean? What boy?’
‘One of the soldiers. His name’s Franz – it was. He died in the ambush.’
‘You’ve been conducting some kind of relationship with a German soldier?’
‘Oh, it’s not like that. I mean, it wasn’t real. He asked me to meet him and I said yes, because I thought it might be a useful way to get information. He’s the one who told me about the requisitioning of the animals.’
‘Where did you meet?’
‘In the grounds of the hotel, down by the lake. I mean,’ she looked up at him and then away, suddenly uncomfortable, ‘we just talked, that’s all. He was quite sweet really. I feel sorry he got killed in the ambush.’
Cyrano sighed. ‘Oh, Chris! Don’t you realize what a risk you were taking? Meeting him secretly, and then going asking after him. Who did you ask?’
‘One of the officers. One that comes to the hotel sometimes. He was having a drink at the Cheval Blanc.’
‘So he knows where you work. Are you sure he didn’t suspect anything?’
‘I … I don’t think so.’
‘Look, I think you should come back to the camp with me. You’ve been out on your own long enough.’
‘No! No, I’m fine, really. I want to go on being useful.’
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I’m going to discuss this with Gregoire. I shall tell him I think we should pull you out.’
‘Please don’t!’
He reached out and touched her face, brushing back a strand of damp hair. ‘I worry about you. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.’
She looked up into his eyes; kind, blue eyes, full of concern, and she thought suddenly: he is going to kiss me. At last, he’s going to kiss me. She lifted her face to his and half closed her eyes.
But Cyrano turned away and went to fetch his music case. When he came back, his tone was different.
‘You’d better get going. I don’t want you out after curfew, on top of everything else. Come on.’
He went to the door and opened it for her. She paused a moment beside him.
‘See you tomorrow?’
‘Yes. Ten o’clock. Ride carefully.’
Cycling home, she put aside her momentary disappointment. Luke was safe, that was the important thing. And perhaps Cyrano was shy, or perhaps he felt it would be unprofessional to start a relationship. He was attracted to her, she felt sure of that. Sooner or later, it would happen. She would make it happen.
Cyrano was waiting for her when she arrived at the ruined cottage, with her hair waved and her face carefully made up, and within half an hour they were in the hallway of the château which had been given over for use as a Maquis hospital. Dr Martell met them on the stairs.
‘He’s doing well, but I want him kept quiet for the next few days. There is a possibility of a fractured skull. He needs to lie still and rest, until we can be sure that there is no serious damage. I’ve put him in a private room so that he is not disturbed.’
Luke was lying almost flat. His forearm was in a cast and the flesh around one eye was bruised and yellow. Christine hurried over to the bed and bent to kiss his cheek.
‘Oh, darling, I’m so thankful you’re all right! You poor thing! How are you feeling?’
‘Not too bad. Better than this time yesterday.’ He managed a smile. ‘That’s the first time you’ve called me darling.’
‘Well, don’t get used to it. And don’t make a habit of taking risks like that. Maman would never forgive me if she knew what you were doing.’
‘Talk about pots and kettles! Are you all right? I’m sorry I gave you a scare.’
‘More than a scare! I’ve never been so frightened in my life. But Cyrano has been wonderful. He looks after me.’ She gave the older man a brilliant smile as he came to the other side of the bed.
‘I would, if she’d let me,’ he said. ‘But she’s a very determined girl, your sister.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Luke said. ‘Pig headed, is the word I’d use. Anyway, thanks for trying. By the way, what’s happened to those people who held me prisoner?’
‘Gregoire went to see them yesterday. I don’t think they’ll make the same mistake again. And the idiot who took a pot shot at you has been disciplined by Vincent. Thank God he’s not as good a shot as you are.’
‘I suppose I’ve been lucky, really.’ He shifted restlessly. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got cigarette?’
‘Here.’ Cyrano produced a packet. ‘Want me to light one for you?’
‘Please.’
Cyrano lit the cigarette and put it between Luke’s lips. Then he laid the packet down on the bedside table. ‘There are only a couple left in there. I’ll go and see if I can rustle up any more. I’ll be back to collect you in a while, Chris.’
When he had gone, Christine clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘You never used to smoke.’
‘Well, I do now. And you never used to wear lipstick.’
She felt herself blush. ‘It’s what I wear for working at the hotel.’
‘You’re not at the hotel now. I bet you put it on for Cyrano’s benefit.’
‘Well, why shouldn’t I? Don’t you like me like this?’
He looked at her. ‘Actually, it suits you. And the way you’ve got your hair. I’m just not sure it’s … well, appropriate.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
He shifted uncomfortably and she said, ‘Would you like another pillow?’
‘Not allowed, unfortunately. Martell says I have to lie flat for at least three days. I eve
n have to be spoon-fed and drink from a cup shaped like a teapot. It’s humiliating.’
She leaned over and stroked his hair. ‘Poor thing! But you must do as you’re told. You’ve got to get well again.’
‘I’m OK. I keep telling them that.’
‘Well, you will be back on your feet soon. Try to be patient.’
‘Hey, guess who is here, working as a nurse.’
Christine smiled. ‘Adrienne. I know. I think she was suddenly inspired to “do her bit”. Is she any good?’
‘Yes, actually. She’s very gentle, and she doesn’t seem to mind doing all the … you know, all the less pleasant things that nurses have to do.’
‘Good for her.’
There was a silence. After a moment he said, ‘You like Cyrano, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. So do you, don’t you?’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’
‘Yes, you do.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Chris, he’s years older than you.’
‘So what?’
‘Well, just don’t … don’t expect anything.’
‘Oh, shut up, Luke. Just mind your own business.’
Cyrano returned.
‘I’m sorry, Luke. It seems the hospital has run out of cigarettes. But I know there are plenty at the camp. Some of our lads held up a delivery last week, so we’ve got supplies for the next month, at least. I’ll bring you some this afternoon.’
He returned as promised, with two packets of cigarettes. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, they both fell silent, until Luke said, ‘Cyrano, I want to ask you something.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Is anything going on between you and Chris?’
‘What!’ Cyrano stared at him. ‘I can’t imagine what you’re driving at.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I do not! What do you take me for? She’s just a kid.’
‘Not any more. Haven’t you noticed how she’s changed lately?’
‘She’s certainly grown up a lot over the last few months. But that happens, doesn’t it?’