Island of Secrets

by Karen Abbott

  Angela laughed.

  “I’m sure you are mistaken. You are very good-looking yourself!”

  Her eyes regarded him frankly, well aware of her own prettiness.

  “Ah! An admirer at last! And one so beautiful!” Charles seized hold of her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes dancing. “I will love you forever!”

  Francine grinned, secretly agreeing with Angela. The three years of absence had matured his looks and he was now the image of what Pierre had been a few years ago. A few strands of his dark hair hung over his forehead and she had the strangest urge to reach out her hand to tidy them away. Her fingers tingled with the intensity of the moment and she swiftly put her hand behind her back out of temptation’s way.

  An unexpected twinge to her heart confused her. She suddenly wasn’t sure that she wanted her friend to attract Charles’ affections after all. He had always shown a fondness for her, even though she had never encouraged him beyond friendship. The thought of becoming second-best to him wasn’t appealing, she realised to her surprise. Perversely, she tossed back her hair.

  “How is Pierre, by the way?” she asked casually. “Is he still around?”

  “You see, Angèlique, she has me in the flesh yet she asks after Pierre! The sooner I get the guy married the better it will be for me!”

  Francine’s heart skipped a beat. Pierre was still unmarried then! She shrugged carelessly. “I just wondered. You can bring me up to date on all our friends. I haven’t heard from any of them since the war started.”

  “Later,” Charles promised. “We must be on our way. It’s getting late.”

  He turned to their hostess.

  “Au revoir, Madame Naud! A bientot! See you soon!”

  He held open the door to allow Francine and Angela to step outside.

  “Wear your shawls and don’t make yourselves look attractive,” he told them as they approached the cart, laden with farm produce ready for market. “You must never draw attention to yourselves. It could mean danger.”

  He handed them up onto the front driving seat, Angela first, to sit in the middle, Francine next to her.

  “The aim is to blend into the background as much as possible,” he continued as he went round to the driver’s side. “If we meet with any patrols pretend to be half-asleep and if we are stopped leave the talking to me. They know me well!”

  He dropped his jaw and made his eyes cross over slightly.

  “The Germans think me an imbecile, of no use to the French army. What do you think?”

  “At least you don’t need to act!” Francine said tartly, but her grin softened her words. He had always acted the fool and had been in constant trouble in his schooldays!

  Charles tried to look affronted but failed miserably. He looked at Angela, but also glanced towards Francine to register the effect of his next words, beginning to grin.

  “It is Francine who will have to act. Oleronais women don’t usually push themselves forward. They know their place!”

  He laughed at the outraged expression on Francine’s face and flicked his long switch onto the ox’s rump, jerking the cart into motion so that Francine had to grab hold of the metal bar at the end of the seat.

  “I can remember the old fashioned ways!” Francine asserted hotly, deciding after all that Angela could have him if she wanted him! “I will act the part when necessary!”

  But she had to admit to herself, it wouldn’t be easy! For the past three years she had lived in a world where women were expected to take on responsibilities.

  They travelled in silence for a few minutes and Francine temporarily forgot about the war … the fighting … the killing.

  She was back on her beloved island! That was all that mattered for now!

  She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of the mimosa blossom that continually drifted over the island at this time of the year. The rapidly warming sun seemed to heat the small yellow buds, causing them to explode their fragrance into the air.

  Feeling almost drunk with the heady perfume, she flung back her shawl and lifted up her face towards the sun that was already burning through the morning mist and light clouds.

  “Beautiful!” she breathed.

  The rays of the sun felt deliciously warm upon her skin, reminding her of her carefree days as a child, running barelegged along the shore and through the cornfields. The larks were singing high in the sky, unmindful of the human misery that held the islanders in bondage upon their own soil.

  The thought brought Francine back to the present and she bobbed her head around Angela, longing to learn more about Pierre.

  “Go on, then! Tell me about … about our friends. Who’s doing what?”

  Charles met her eyes briefly but turned back to concentrate on the road before answering.

  “It is not good. Most of the lads are in the army. Guillaume was killed in action. Also Thierry and Vincent. Many of the girls, like you, were drafted into the army … though some remained behind. A number of us guys were drafted back to the island soon after the occupation, supposedly medically unfit for service. Do you remember Alexie and Denis, a couple of years older than us? And Robert and Marcel? And many others. Pierre soon joined us.”

  Francine caught her breath. So, he was here!

  A faint flicker of Charles’ eyes showed he had noted her reaction … but he continued without a break.

  “We were smuggled in, as you have been, and gradually integrated back into the island society. In reality, we were an underground unit, divided amongst a dozen or so groups of older patriots.”

  His attention sharpened and he hissed a swift command.

  “Put your shawl back on, Francine!”

  Francine bristled. He really was the bossiest man she had ever met! No wonder she had always favoured Pierre! Her eyes flashed a fiery refusal.

  “Do it now!” he said sharply.

  Within seconds they heard a vehicle approaching and, as Francine hastily pulled her shawl over her head, a German army vehicle swung round the corner a hundred yards or so ahead of them.

  “Ignore them!” Charles muttered sharply. “If they want to investigate, they must find somewhere to turn their vehicle around.”

  He allowed the beast to solidly plod on its way, hunching his shoulders in indolent fashion. The girls were slouched against each other as though half asleep. As they drew level, a sudden movement from Charles caused Francine to glance sideways past Angela to him. He was grinning idiotically at the soldiers as their vehicle passed by and she marvelled at his audacity.

  They could tell that the vehicle had halted a few yards behind them and held their breath, expecting a command to halt … but it didn’t come.

  “They see me every day,” Charles reminded them in undertones. “They call me ‘Stupid Oaf! At least, that’s what I think their words mean!”

  A fleeting grin gave way to a more serious expression.

  “There will be more soldiers about,” he warned. “They come to the market and make their presence felt. Don’t do anything to encourage them to challenge you. You must always look defeated, dejected. It is better that way!”

  The track was narrow and meandering, wending its way past the beds of the old salt marshes where the salt-farmers used to allow the sea to flood the dug-out rectangular plots and then block the exit. The hot sun would then evaporate the water, leaving behind the salt deposits, ready to be collected.

  “The trade has revived,” Charles commented, noticing her glance. “It’s one less thing to import or smuggle over … and it gives us ready access to the marshes. The more we have reason to move about the island, the easier it is for us to keep track of all they are doing. There isn’t much going on that we don’t know about!”

  “What has been happening here?” Francine asked. “Has there been much fighting? I haven’t heard any details.”

  “Not much. The Germans swiftly swarmed over the island, taking each town in turn and leaving a group of soldiers in charge. They pu
t batteries all around the Atlantic coast… at Le Grand Village, Vert-bois, Domino, Boyardville … everywhere!”

  His voice was bitter, as he rhymed off the familiar place-names.

  “That’s why we brought you in from the mainland. So far, they seem to think they are safe from there.”

  Francine pondered what he had said, trying to imagine the beaches she had loved now decorated with concrete bunkers and barbed-wire.

  “Did people not resist?”

  “They didn’t have much chance. They were mainly too old or too young. It was different, of course, after we had been smuggled back in. Once we had got organised, we aimed to cause as much inconveniences and delays as we could. We succeeded … until 11 October last year, when the Gestapo arrived! Being under an occupation army was bad enough … but things became decidedly worse after the Gestapo came. Then …”

  His face changed. His lips tightened and his eyes lost their sparkle.

  Francine thought he wasn’t going to continue, but after a deep sigh, he did.

  “… an operation went wrong. The Gestapo were waiting for us. There was a battle. Alexie, Thomas and Claude were killed. Denis was wounded. The rest of us fled … but they knew where to find our leaders. Robert Etchebarne, Pierre Weihn, Pierre Balluret and Clotaire Perdriaux were arrested; others, later. The first two leaders were shot at Bordeaux on 11 January this year. The other two died in transit.”

  Uncharacteristically, he lashed his whip at the ox’s back, his mouth set in a grim line as he recalled the events that had caused much heartache and recriminations.

  Both girls had listened with heavy hearts. Francine had known most of the people Charles had mentioned. It was hard to think that some were now dead. But, wasn’t that the same all over France? And other European countries, wherever the war had touched?

  “We were betrayed,” Charles said at length. “That was the hardest thing to bear! Betrayed by one of our own people!”

  Francine could understand his bitterness.

  “Yes, they said so at our briefing … but who would do that? What reason would they have?”

  Charles laughed bitterly. “Money! Protection! Immunity! Fear! Who knows?”

  “Someone must know! Has no-one tried to find out?” Francine leaned forward, looking around Angela, who had listened to all this in silence.

  Charles’ eyes were bleak as he returned her gaze … but he did not speak. Somehow, Francine knew there was more to come … but not yet.

  They were on the outskirts of Le Chateau now, passing through one of the former gateways of the historic town walls that had been breached in battles of long ago, heading for the daily market where they were taking the farm produce. Very few islanders had anywhere cool enough to keep perishable foodstuffs out of the heat of the mid-day sun so the market was a daily meeting place. Goods and money changed hands … as did information.

  “Do not mention what we have been talking about in the market,” Charles warned quietly. “It is a very sore subject and has caused much division amongst us.”

  They had turned into the town square, merging with other carts and people on foot, exchanging greetings. Francine recognised many of them. Those whose eyes met hers, merely nodded a greeting—they had been tutored well; none showed any surprise at her presence. It was as if she had never been away.

  The main market hall was a square building made of stone. There was a wide entrance on all of the four sides, with market stalls set around the edges and in the centre. It was to one of the centre stalls that Charles directed Francine and Angèlique to carry the heavy woven baskets filled with fruit and vegetables.

  Stalls vending oysters, mussels and a variety of fish and other shellfish were being filled by some of the local fishermen. Francine looked around, noticing many empty stalls … the butcher’s stall, the cheeses, the wines and …

  “Papa!”

  There he was, watching her with a bemused smile on his face … waiting for her to notice him. With a swift glance around to make sure no soldiers were about, he held wide his arms and she flew into them. He crushed her to him.

  It was a brief reunion. A nudge from a passing shopper reminded them to curb their greetings and they reluctantly parted.

  Oh, it was good to see him! She would see Maman later and would sleep in her own bed tonight. Bliss!

  Just as she was thinking that it was just like the old days, a heavy tramping of boots and a change in people’s demeanour warned of enemy presence. Grey uniformed soldiers entered the market with a swagger and arrogantly shouldered people out of their way. They picked up items of vegetables and tossed them down in disdain, picking up others and eventually choosing what they wanted. Francine saw no money change hands but none of the stall-holders objected.

  She was still standing by her father’s bread stall and was startled to realise that a fresh-faced soldier was addressing her. She didn’t understand the words but his meaning was clear. He was asking for the loaf he held in his hands. Her heart thumped as she surreptitiously glanced at her father. A slight movement of his eyes indicated that she give assent … so she shrugged her shoulders and tried to look unconcerned as she made no move to refuse him.

  A second soldier, standing a pace behind him, said something and laughed crudely and the first soldier seemed embarrassed. He clicked his heels together and bowed stiffly before executing a smart about-turn and strode away. The second soldier laughed again but didn’t impose any further attention on Francine.

  “Come behind the stall, Francine!” her father commanded. “You are in the way out there.”

  Francine was happy to obey, noticing that Angela was already within one of the centre stalls, efficiently arranging the farm produce for sale. She could sense that Charles was watching her severely.

  She flung Charles a defiant glare, resenting his censure of her. It hadn’t been her fault the soldier had addressed her!

  Trading soon became brisk as local people came to buy their daily provisions and it was mid-morning before a slight lull gave Francine the opportunity to glance over to the vegetable stall. She was just in time to see Angela’s eyes widen slightly and a pink blush decorate her cheeks. Francine had never seen her look so beautiful as she did at that moment …

  … but it was the rapt expression in her eyes that caused her to wonder who had caused the facial transformation. She swung her head to follow the direction of Angela’s captivated glance, totally unprepared for the shock to come.

  Angela was looking at a tall, dark-haired young man, who had a similar enraptured expression on his face.

  Francine’s heart flared into life … and just as quickly sank again as her mind made sense of what she was witnessing.

  It was Pierre St. Clare!

  Francine had known of people who said that they had fallen in love at first sight … but she had never given it much credence. How could it be? Love was more than physical attraction. It took time to get to know someone.

  But, from the way Angela and Pierre were looking at each other, Francine knew they had instantaneously and irrevocably fallen in love.

  Chapter 3

  Francine felt desolate.

  Yet she bore no antipathy towards her friend. How could she when she had witnessed that incredulous surge of joy that passed between Pierre and Angela? Pierre had never looked at her like that! Nor at anyone else, as far as she knew. For all she had idolised him, she hadn’t been blind to his arrogance towards the girls who fell at his feet. He took their adulation as his right.

  Now, he looked totally smitten … and slightly vulnerable!

  Francine watched as he moved forward, his eyes never wavering from Angela’s face. She saw him stop in front of her and then glance towards Charles to be introduced. She watched as Pierre’s lips moved to say how enchanted he was to make her acquaintance, adding, “You will always be my special angel,” as his left hand picked up Angela’s hand and drew it to his lips.

  How often she had dreamed of him saying similar wo
rds to her!

  She saw Charles look across in her direction and she forced a smile onto her face, hoping it didn’t look as brittle as it felt. Well, she had told him she was a good actress! Now she would have to prove it! She turned to her father.

  “There is Pierre, Papa. I must go and say hello to him.”

  Jacques Devreux frowned. His eyes flickered anxiously around the market but could see no soldiers. He relaxed slightly but, even so, looked none too pleased.

  “This isn’t the time or place, Francine,” he warned quietly. “And I don’t want you to get too friendly there. It could lead to trouble!”

  “I’m only going to say hello, for heaven’s sake!” she protested. Really, did her father think he had to protect her from Pierre’s womanising ways? She could deal with this herself … and she wanted to get it over and done with! And it would be best to do it here where she could make an early excuse to move away.

  “Besides, he’s an old friend,” she added, which wasn’t as true as she would have liked it to be!

  “I said, ‘not now!’ You are supposed to be quietly reintegrating yourself back into the community, not throwing yourself at the first young man you see!”

  “I’m not! Besides, there are no soldiers here at the moment. I won’t be a minute.”

  Without giving her father the chance to say more, she slipped out from behind the bakery stall and made straight for Pierre and Angela. Her heart was beating fast, a smile fixed on her face. This was not going to be easy but it had to be done. She touched his arm.

  “Hello, Pierre. It’s good to see you. You’ve met Angèlique, I see.”

  She smiled brightly at Angela.

  “I told you he has an eye for a pretty girl. He’s a rogue! Don’t believe a word he says!”

  She said it teasingly and was relieved to see Angela smile happily, having no idea how much Francine had longed for Pierre to notice her.

  All Francine wanted was to get the next few minutes over and done with. She made herself meet Charles’ eyes, determined to convince him of her indifference to Pierre’s preference of her friend.