Chasing Ghosts

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘Then if you’ll excuse me?’ Édith said, leaning on the sink and peering out of the window. ‘It has begun to snow and my bicycle is in the yard. I must put it in the shed. The temperature drops to below zero in these parts, and if the tyres freeze and the rubber hardens--’ Édith clicked her tongue, ‘they puncture.’

  ‘I’ll put your bike away,’ André said, jumping up. He grabbed the keys from the window ledge and his coat from the hook on the back of the door. Putting on his coat he left, closing the door behind him.

  Freezing air gusted into the room and Édith shivered. From the window, she and the man watched André take her bicycle from the far wall and wheel it across the yard. He held the bike with one hand, while he unlocked and opened the shed door with the other. Then, taking hold of the handlebar and saddle, he lifted the front of the bike and rolled it into the shed on its back wheel.

  For a moment it appeared that André had disappeared into the small wooden structure with the bike. Out of the corner of her eye, Édith saw the man’s body stiffen. He leant forward and squinted. A second later André came out of the shed, closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Édith watched her son go back to where she had left the bike and lock the door in the wall. She turned on the tap and filled the kettle.

  ‘It is already freezing,’ André said, blustering into the kitchen and blowing hot breath into his cupped hands. He closed the back door as the man who had been upstairs using the toilet opened the door opposite. ‘All locked up,’ André said, turning the key and smiling at his mother.

  ‘Thank you, son. You can’t be too careful these days,’ Édith explained, looking first at one of the men and then the other. ‘It wasn’t so long ago that you could leave the gate to your yard open. You could even leave the door to your house open. My mother never locked her back door. No one did in those days. But,’ she said, throwing her arms up in the air before taking the coffee pot from the table, tipping out the used coffee and rinsing it out under the tap, ‘times have changed. I can remember--’

  The kettle whistled and the man looking out of the window jumped. ‘They have,’ he cut in. He looked at his associate. ‘It is time we were on our way.’

  ‘André? Show the gentlemen out, please,’ Édith said.

  ‘Goodbye, Madame.’ The man standing next to her offered Édith his hand and she shook it.

  ‘Monsieur.’ Édith looked across the room to the man standing in the doorway and nodded. After wishing them a safe journey to wherever they were going, she set about making another pot of coffee.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘Where is Claire?’ André asked, flustered.

  ‘She left,’ Therese said, ‘when you went to answer the front door she went out the back door. Did you not see her in the yard?’ she asked, ‘or in the shed?’

  ‘No!’

  Therese joined Édith at the sink and stared out of the window. ‘She must be out there somewhere.’

  ‘Unless she went out of the door in the wall. If she did, she won’t be able to get back in because André locked it.’ Édith made for the kitchen door, but André put out his arm and barred her way. ‘I must unlock it, André. The girl will freeze to death if she stays out there much longer.’

  ‘It isn’t locked, Maman.’

  Édith looked up at her son. ‘But I saw you lock it.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. You saw what I wanted you to see, or rather, what I wanted the intelligence guy to see. I put the key in the lock, but I did not turn it. I loosened my grip and turned my hand. I made it look as if I was locking it, but when I realised Claire was not in the yard or the shed, I guessed she had left by the door in the wall so I pretended to lock it.’

  Worry was etched on Édith’s face. ‘She’ll catch her death out there in this weather. Could you not take a look along the avenue, see if you can see her?’

  ‘No. We don’t know who those men are, or the real reason they want to speak to Claire. We must be cautious. They might still be outside, so let us go through to the front room as we would on any other night. I shall go in first and switch on the light. You and Therese come in a couple of minutes after me. If they are watching the front of the house, we need them to see there are only three of us here. I shall add coal to the fire while you turn on the wireless, Maman, and Therese closes the curtains.’

  André switched off the kitchen light and escorted his mother and wife into the hall. ‘If the men are watching the back of the house, I want them to think we have retired to the sitting room for the evening.’

  ‘And Claire?’ Édith said. ‘The child--’

  ‘She is not a child, Maman! Claire worked with us in the Resistance for years, or have you forgotten?’ Édith lifted her shoulders and nodded. André put his arm around his mother. ‘Do not worry. Claire will be fine. She will stay out of sight until she is sure the men who are looking for her have gone.’

  André gave his mother’s shoulder a squeeze, went into the sitting room and flicked on the light. The women followed two minutes later. When Therese had drawn the curtains, André went back to the kitchen. He stood in the dark, stared out of the window, and scanned the yard for movement. There was none.

  An hour passed before he heard a faint tap on the back door. He opened it without putting on the light and Claire stumbled in. ‘I thought they would never leave,’ she hissed, from between chattering teeth. André closed the door, turned the key in the lock and slid the bolts at the top and bottom of the door into place. ‘God, I’m freezing,’ Claire said, her voice hoarse, and her throat sore from being outside in the freezing air for so long.

  André took her suitcase out of her hand and put it in the scullery, before guiding her out of the dark kitchen and into the sitting room.

  ‘Good Lord, child,’ Édith exclaimed when she saw Claire. ‘Your clothes are soaked, you’ll catch pneumonia. Come here and warm yourself.’

  Shaking from being so cold, Claire fell to her knees in front of the fire. She put out her hands, but quickly pulled them back. ‘They’re too cold,’ she croaked, ‘I must warm them slowly.’

  ‘I’ll get Claire a blanket, then make her a hot drink,’ Therese said. ‘Maman?’

  Édith shook her head. ‘Not for me, but Claire must have something.’ Therese looked at André.

  ‘Yes, but first I need to take a look around outside. And I must lock the back gate. I won’t be long.’ Therese followed her husband out of the room.

  Claire fell sideways against the settee where Édith was sitting and Édith put her arm around her. When Therese returned, it was with a winter skirt, a blouse and a thick woollen cardigan. The two women helped Claire out of her wet clothes, replacing them with the dry ones - and Therese wrapped a knitted blanket around Claire’s shoulders.

  When André came back he was smiling. ‘No sign of them,’ he said, ‘and this time I have locked the gate.

  ‘Then I shall make coffee and we shall all relax.’ Therese jumped up. ‘And we should eat. If someone is watching the house, and we don’t eat, they’ll think it abnormal.’

  ‘You are right. I made soup this morning. It’s in the larder. I shall heat it through,’ Édith said, pushing herself up from the low settee. ‘We won’t be long, my dear,’ Édith called over her shoulder to Claire as she and Therese left.

  Claire smiled her thanks. She crossed her arms, put her hands under her armpits, and scrunched up her shoulders. ‘Argh! The pain,’ she said. ‘In England, when our hands are so cold that they hurt when they get warm, we call it the hot-aches.’

  ‘In France we say, hot-throbs,’ André said. ‘Not heartthrobs, but hot-throbs.’ Unable to help herself, Claire chuckled.

  ‘Coffee?’ Therese called, carrying in a tray with a pot of coffee and cups and saucers. ‘Pour Claire a coffee, darling. I’ll fetch the cream.’ Therese was back a second later with a small jug which she placed next to her husband, before returning to Édith in the kitchen.

  ‘Mm…’ Claire held the coffee cup with both
hands and sipped. ‘This is good,’ she said, and closing her eyes breathed in the coffee’s rich earthy aroma. The two old friends drank their coffee in silence.

  ‘Maman is bringing in the soup,’ Therese said, nudging the sitting room door open with her knee. She carried a tray with soup dishes, spoons, and a basket of bread rolls, over to the table.

  Édith followed her daughter-in-law into the room carrying a tureen of soup. ‘Come now,’ she said to André and Claire, as she spooned soup into the four bowls that Therese had placed on the table, ‘eat it while it’s hot.’

  Claire pulled herself up, stumbled, and held onto the arm of the sofa. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, as André spun round to help her. ‘I’m just a bit stiff after sitting in one position for too long.’ She shook out her shoulders and bent her ankles and knees. ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Have you thawed?’ Therese asked.

  ‘Just about. Oh?’ Claire said with surprise, ‘I’ve got my voice back.’

  ‘And here was I thinking we were going to have some peace and quiet while we ate,’ André said.

  Édith looked up at the ceiling and rolled her eyes, Therese wagged her finger at her husband and Claire laughed. ‘It is good to be back,’ she said, looking around the table at her friends.

  ‘It’s good to have you back, Claire,’ Édith said. And after placing a bread roll on each side plate, Édith put her hands together, closed her eyes and thanked God for the food they were about to eat, and for bringing Claire safely back to them.

  When they finished eating, Édith and Therese cleared the table and took the dirty dishes to the kitchen, returning with a refreshed pot of coffee and a galette. Édith poured the coffee while Therese cut the cake.

  ‘Is that a king cake? A galette des rois?’ Claire asked.

  ‘She remembers,’ Édith said, beaming a smile to the others at the table. ‘You remembered, Ma chère,’ she said to Claire.

  ‘Of course. But did you remember to put a bean in it?’

  ‘Yes, child, I always put a bean in the galette - for luck.’

  ‘What a good memory you have,’ André said.

  ‘I haven’t really. It’s just that in the war, when I lived here, king cake reminded me of English Christmas puddings. When I was a child my father used to drop a silver threepenny bit into the Christmas pudding while my mother was mixing it, in the same way that you put a bean in your galette.’ Smiling at the memory, Claire picked up her coffee and took a sip. It was hot, but not so hot that she didn’t enjoy it. She took another sip, relieved to feel warmth in the palms of her hands without the pain of hot-aches.

  ‘I owe you an explanation,’ she said, doing her best to swallow the emotion that threatened to erupt inside her. Édith put her hand on Claire’s hand. ‘I’m fine Édith,’ she said. Grateful for her friend’s support she inhaled deeply. ‘I need to tell you why the men who were here earlier are looking for me, and why I need to find Alain before they do.

  ‘The two men who came here today were either Canadian military or British government intelligence officers. Whoever they work for, they were intelligence. I was met by a similar pair when I returned from Canada and taken to RAF Brize Norton and interviewed. I took Aimée to my sister for Christmas and when I got home my house had been searched. They searched Alain’s grandmother’s house too and took Alain’s university books away.

  ‘It was Alain’s grandmother who helped me to evade RCAF intelligence in England. I didn’t fly to France, which I normally would have done, and which I’m sure they’d expect me to do. Instead, I took a ship across the Channel and several trains.’ Claire looked from Édith to André. ‘I wasn’t followed here, of that I am certain.

  ‘I am sorry they came here, but I couldn’t risk using my English passport and papers. If I had they’d have stopped me before I left England. I had no choice but to use my French passport, and the name and travel permit that I used in the Resistance.’ André lifted his shoulders and held up his hands as if to say it didn’t matter. Claire was family. More importantly, she had been a member of the Gisoir Resistance cell during the war.

  Claire knew she would always be loved and supported by the Belland family. Even so, she had brought the intelligence services to their door. Something she had not wanted to do. ‘I knew it was only a matter of time before Alain’s commander got in touch with the SOE, the organisation that sent me to France to work with the Resistance in forty-one, but I had hoped Mr Smith, the head of the organisation, would refuse to give the commander my Resistance name and address--’

  ‘But the men who came here knew both, so he did,’ André said.

  ‘Yes.’ Claire took a tired breath and let it out slowly. ‘They might know I am in France, they might think I would come here at some point, but they can’t be sure of anything.’

  ‘Has your boss in the SOE betrayed you, Ma chère?’ Édith asked.

  ‘He wouldn’t have wanted to, but the intelligence services would have made it clear to him that he had no choice, given the importance of the situation.’

  ‘Which is?’ André asked.

  ‘Alain has been accused of spying for the Germans in the war.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Silence hung in the air like a dead weight. It was Édith who broke it. ‘Alain a spy? He is no more a spy than I am.’

  André and Therese agreed. ‘Is there any evidence to back up this accusation?’ André asked.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Claire said, ‘Alain has been ill. He has what the doctor at Brize Norton called shell shock.’ She looked at Édith. ‘We went to Canada so he could have specialist treatment.’ Édith smiled sympathetically and nodded. ‘Part of the treatment was hypnosis and the professor, Lucien Puel, an eminent Swiss psychiatrist, sent Alain’s medical report and his findings to Alain’s base commander.’

  ‘Did you see the report?’

  ‘I saw a copy of it. I also saw a copy of the letter he sent. The report was a transcript of the sessions Alain had with Professor Puel. The letter was something very different. It was the professor’s personal opinion.’

  ‘I don’t understand how a doctor’s opinion could differ from what is on a medical report, however eminent he is,’ André said.

  Claire blew out her cheeks and looked up at the ceiling. She’d have to tell them about Simone if she was going to tell them everything. She took a deep breath. ‘Alain had bad dreams, which was part of the shell shock. In the dreams, he talked about a woman called Simone. Professor Puel told Alain that he had survivor’s guilt. He said it was because when Alain escaped from the prison he left the woman behind.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ André said.

  Claire didn’t want to tell her friends that she suspected Alain of having an affair with Simone while he was in the prison, and feared they were still lovers. There was no point. They would hate him for it, and she didn’t want that. Besides, she had come to France to prove Alain wasn’t a German spy, not an unfaithful husband. She would find out about Simone later when she had cleared Alain’s name.

  ‘I agree,’ Claire said, ‘but in the letter to Alain’s commander, Professor Puel said Simone was a German agent who had turned Alain while he was in prison.’

  ‘No!’ André slammed his fist down hard on the table. ‘I have met men who have been turned, who have informed on their comrades.’ His eyes flashed with anger as he spoke. ‘These men wear the black shadow of guilt. They saved their own lives, but they live with the blood of their dead comrades on their consciences.’ André shook his head vehemently. ‘These traitors carry the souls of their dead comrades around with them. You can see it in their eyes. Alain Mitchell is not one of these men.’

  The street at the front of Édith’s house was deserted. There was not a car or a pedestrian in sight. Claire, dressed in Therese’s boots, coat and hat, carried her handbag. ‘Good night, belle-mère.’ She kissed Édith and whispered, ‘See you tomorrow.’ André kissed his mother goodbye, then took Claire’s arm, supportin
g her as they walked together along the slippery snow-covered path to the car. Claire turned and waved to Édith while André opened the passenger door. ‘Thank you, darling,’ she said. Sitting in the passenger seat, she lifted her feet. Once they were clear of the door, André closed it.

  Claire noticed André had looked in the rear view mirror several times after they had turned out of the street onto the main road. She took her powder compact from Therese’s handbag, held it a few inches wide of her right shoulder, but at the same height. She twisted her wrist to the left, and then to the right.

  ‘We are not being followed,’ André said.

  ‘Sorry, I’m being paranoid.’ She dropped the compact back into Therese’s handbag.

  ‘Old habits, eh?’ André said.

  ‘Yes.’ Claire inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly.

  ‘That was a loud sigh,’ André said.

  ‘I was thinking about Alain. Wondering where he is and what he’s doing.’

  ‘We’ll find him and bring him back to you as we did in forty-four.’

  ‘No, André, I am not putting you and the family in further danger. I shall find him. You have already done enough. You must stay here and look after Édith and Therese.’ André opened his mouth to protest, but Claire didn’t give him the chance. ‘I have good friends in Paris who I can stay with. Canadian intelligence will be watching the stations so it won’t be safe for me to travel by train, but if I can get someone to take me there by road, I’ll stay with them for a while. I need to find the woman called Simone. They might have heard of her, they might even know her. If they don’t, they’ll know the Gestapo prison Alain was in because he was brought to Paris from a village close to it.’

  Claire woke with a jolt. She had slept so soundly that for a moment she didn’t know where she was. She swung her legs out of bed and left her friend’s spare bedroom. Crossing the landing to the bathroom she heard men’s voices. One was André the other - Claire stained to hear - was friendly but-- She smiled to herself. The other was comrade Pierre Ruban, a fellow Resistance member, who had been part of the group when she had sabotaged a German troop train, and a dear friend, who had risked his life to bring Alain back to Gisoir after he’d escaped from the Gestapo prison.