by Karen Abbott
Francine felt furious about what Charles had said about Pierre. How dare he accuse her of jealousy and then act like that towards his brother? How two-faced could he get?
Her parents were having their mid-day siesta when she returned to her home but, as soon as they were awake, she asked about Pierre.
Her father looked uncomfortable.
“We do not talk of it,” he reproved her.
“Just tell me what it is about. If I am to be working with him, I need to know.”
Beatrice agreed. “You must tell her, Jacques.”
“You don’t need to know all the details. Just that only the team who were to go out that night knew where they were going. André, Hubert, Paul and Pierre had all been stopped for questioning earlier in the day and Pierre was seen returning later, after some details had been changed.”
“That proves nothing!”
“Maybe not! But information was given and lives were lost! Is it any easier to believe it was André or Paul or Hubert?”
“No … but I feel like a traitor just talking about it.”
“That is what war does to people, Francine. It makes us all suspicious of our neighbours. So, take care who you speak to and what you say!”
“And who might be listening!” Beatrice added. She touched the tip of her tongue. “We learn to watch it!”
Francine had the grace to blush. She had her lapse of carelessness still to answer for at the meeting with some of the island’s appointed leaders. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
The meeting, later that night, wasn’t as bad as she feared. Charles came as promised and, dressed in her darkest clothes, she followed him in silence through the dark streets and down a narrow alleyway.
They met no enemy soldiers but her heart was pounding as they slipped from shadow to shadow. Charles scratched quietly on the wooden door and it opened silently to admit them inside. Only three men were present besides Charles. Francine had known them all her life.
One of them, Clément Videau, the leader of the group at Le Chateau, spoke gravely to her about the dangers of careless talk and then, amidst nods of agreement from the others, agreed to overlook her lapse with a cautionary warning.
“You will not forget again, mademoiselle.”
“No, monsieur. I won’t.”
“Then, we will say no more. Charles, we want you to take Mademoiselle Devreux on some night-time exercises to initiate her into the work of our unit.”
He turned back to Francine.
“You must take heed of what he tells you, mademoiselle. The most dangerous time for you will be these next few weeks. If you get through these, you will stand a good chance of getting through the rest of the war! Charles is one of our most experienced men.”
Francine refused to meet Charles’ eyes. She was sure he would be smirking triumphantly. Still, she had to agree to the logic of it. His activities of the previous night showed his proficiency in the task. This was no time to announce petty grievances about him and his mistreatment of her. Unbidden, the memory of their kiss on the seashore leapt into her mind. Her lips tingled at the remembrance and the fingers of her right hand involuntarily touched them.
She was startled when Charles touched her arm, wondering if he had been aware of her thoughts.
He hadn’t … but his thoughts weren’t too dissimilar. From where he stood, slightly behind her, he could see the elegant line of her neck and the upward tilt of her chin. He could imagine the velvet smoothness of her lips, their softness still imprinted in his mind and he longed to lean over her shoulder and take a line of kisses down her throat to where it entered her serviceable jumper. Feeling shaken by his thoughts, he tore his glance away and took strict control of himself. His voice was quite brusque when he spoke.
“Come on, then. You may as well start at once. We have some reconnoitring to do.”
Francine pulled herself together.
“Where are we going?”
“For tonight we’ll work around the citadel. There’s something going on there and we need to know what it is. Are you willing to work under my terms?”
Francine bristled.
“Yes. This is warfare. Personal feelings don’t come into it.”
“Good. Then let’s see if you can live up to those three stripes I believe you have earned!”
One of the men handed her a pair of black trousers and a balaclava to put on.
“These will better for you to wear, mademoiselle Francine. Go behind the screen to change.”
She did as she was bidden and, when she re-emerged, Charles had already pulled another balaclava over his own head.
“Come.”
Once outside again, Francine could hardly see Charles in order to follow him. She hesitated, unsure of her bearings. Charles realised this and reached backwards to take hold of her hand.
His touch seemed to send an electric current through her arm and she instinctively jerked her hand away from him. Just what did he think he was up to!
“Get hold of me!” he hissed in her ear. “How else can you follow me? We can’t hang around until your eyes are accustomed to the dark! Oh, hang on to my jacket then!”
Finding that more acceptable, she did so and they silently slipped through the streets of the town heading towards the walled area of the citadel, a fortified bastion dating from the seventeenth century that had given the town its name. It had fallen into a state of semi-disrepair long since but was still a usable building.
By the time they reached its outer walls, Francine could vaguely see their shape looming high above them. She tried to remember the lay-out from her childhood days of playing in the area, knowing that the moat was still filled with water in some places. If the Germans ever took the place over, they would find the metre-thick walls to be a strong defence. Her heart felt troubled. Was that possibility about to become a reality?
They crept up to the wall and flattened themselves against it. She had long since let go of Charles’ jacket and now both her black-gloved hands were spread behind her on the rough stonework. After glancing quickly to both sides, they swiftly moved to the right. Francine could remember that, through an archway along there, some stone steps led down to a lower level that they had pretended was a dungeon in their childhood games. It had always felt scary then … and now was no different—except it was now for real!
Some stones rattled above them. Had a night bird landed on the wall or was there someone on the higher level? Were the Germans also reconnoitring it? They waited to see if the sound was repeated … but all was now silent. Francine felt herself relax. It was most likely some night-time creature out hunting ... but they couldn’t be sure!
They moved carefully … creeping, crouching, dodging from cover to cover, all senses alert. Her heart was pounding as adrenalin surged through her and she was thankful that her training in the British Forces had equipped her for the task.
If there were any German soldiers present, they were neither there in force nor in a settled capacity. A slight sound here ... another sound there! Someone was there!
Whoever it was, they were doing the same as she and Charles, playing a game of cat and mouse … but why didn’t they challenge them? It must be that they weren’t sure who they were! Or that they were out on exercise, with more than one group participating?
Were she and Charles about to get caught in the middle? Whoever it was, must surely be German. Charles would know if they were of the resistance.
Silently, they investigated the stairways to some underground cells overlooking the moat and some other passages that led up to the outer walls on the inland side of the citadel.
Charles signalled Francine to stay where she was whilst he slipped up the stairway to check it out. It was eerie left alone in the darkness. Her ears strained to detect any sound but apart from her own fast beating heart, there was none.
She was thankful when Charles rejoined her. The touch of his hand sent a tremor of relief coursing through her … but the depth of
her reaction startled her, intensified when the warmth of his breath fanned across her cheek as he breathed, “Okay,” in her ear, signalling that they moved on.
She was no longer sure whether her heart was pounding with pent-up tension or her reaction to Charles’ close presence and it took all of her concentration to push the troublesome thoughts away and concentrate on the task in hand. They swiftly crossed the southern entrance and flattened themselves against the wall again—anticipating a challenge that never came.
Next they came to a strongly fortified underground cell that she remembered as having only two narrow slits in its outer wall. Charles indicated that they exchanged roles and, holding her breath, she slipped into the total darkness. Freezing her body, she flattened herself against the wall and listened intently for the sound of breathing, aware that, if anyone else were present, he or she would know that she had entered the small space.
Detecting nothing, she relaxed slightly and slowly crept around the perimeter of the cell. It was empty. She reached the doorway and slipped into the passageway.
Charles was not there!
Damn the man! Where had he gone? Her brain slipped into active alert mode. He had either moved on to investigate further … or had been totally overpowered by persons unknown and taken away. Her commonsense told her that the latter was unlikely. She would have heard something. No-one could have overpowered him in total silence! He must have moved on to investigate something.
Carefully controlling her breathing, she silently moved forward. She was near the main building now. It was a long double-storey building that had originally housed the governor and all of his entourage. There were three such buildings in the inner court-yard. This one was built against the seawall, so she had to either pass in front of it or go up onto the seawall and traverse over it. Because of the open aspect in front of the building, she chose the latter.
Keeping close to the wall, she silently mounted the external stone steps, neither seeing anyone nor hearing anything. Her mind continually envisaged the layout of the citadel as she ran in a stooped position to the far side of the building. There she paused again, listening intently. It served no purpose to stay up on the wall. Dark though it was, there was a slight lightening of the sky and a person would be faintly silhouetted against it. She silently descended a staircase to ground level and paused again.
There was still neither sight nor sound of Charles. Where had he got to? Was he deliberately testing her? What did he expect her to do? Give up and go home? Or try to find him? She smiled faintly to herself. Maybe he expected the former … and, for two pins, she would do so, just to serve him right! But, what if it weren’t so simple? What if he really had been apprehended by enemy hands? She couldn’t risk it!
There were more cells to her right. They needed to be investigated before she could double back to check on those already done. She moved silently and systematically around that section of the citadel, carefully checking each aperture and cell, detecting nothing.
She had almost circumnavigated the whole inner structure. There was just another internal staircase that led down to a lower level under the gatehouse. There was an inner cell off the main one … but there was no other way out. Once inside, she could be trapped! Would it be better to get out in safety herself … or to continue in the hope of finding out what had happened to Charles?
All she knew was that she couldn’t simply abandon him. Whether he was testing her or whether there really was an enemy presence, she had to persist.
She slipped inside the first narrow stone archway and listened. Was that a sound? She listened again. A stone rattled softly behind her. She half-turned, the hairs on her neck standing out. She knew that there was an alcove a few steps ahead and silently slid into it. Only someone who knew the citadel well would know it was there. She held her breath, sensing rather than hearing that someone was approaching.
Not daring to breathe, she froze completely, aware of someone silently passing by. Then, silence. Nothing but inky blackness. She slowly let out her breath and breathed in some more. If she waited until whoever it was had gone down the steps to the inner cell, she would be able to slip back outside and decide what to do next … unless there were more outside!
She had no choice. She couldn’t wait here hoping her follower would pass by her again without detecting her. She eased herself out of the aperture and glided the few steps to the outer archway, keeping her back against the wall, listening intently before easing her body around the right-hand edge of the wall.
A faint scratching sound to her right sent her body into reverse but, instead of swiftly slipping back into the archway, she stepped back into the softness of an upright body. As her arms were pinioned to her sides from behind her, a bright beam shone into her eyes blinding her to everything else ... and a German voice snapped some sort of question.
Francine’s heart felt as if it had stopped beating.
She was caught!
Chapter 5
More low-toned German voices seemed to suddenly surround her. An unseen hand ripped off her balaclava and a number of guttural voices made raucous comment. A hand stroked her cheek and Francine did the only thing at her disposal. She spat in the general direction of where she presumed the hand to have come from.
A harsh exclamation showed her sense of direction to have been near enough to cause offence, followed by a slap across her face. It was all the more a shock because she had been unable to anticipate it, her eyes still blinded by the strong beam of light.
Another sharp command made her captor tighten the grip on her arms, pulling them further behind her. A tight band was fastened around her eyes and she felt herself being propelled forward. Unable to resist, she stumbled along, losing track of how far she was taken, though she knew they were still within the walls of the citadel.
She heard a door being opened and was thrust inside, her arms still tightly held. More German words were spoken but she didn’t recognise any of them. As a voice commanded her to sit, she was pushed onto a hard chair and her arms now bound around the back of it.
There followed a long period of rapid-fire questions, some in German, some translated into broken French ... all demanding information—her name, her reason for being there, her accomplices, where she lived, how long she had been on the island, what she knew about the current activities of all the armed forces.
In addition to the fear and confusion she felt, there was also the ignominy of being captured before she had even started her mission here. What a waste!
She was thankful that she knew nothing! She no longer had an army serial number and there was no way she was going to give the enemy any opportunity to link her name to her parents.
“I know nothing!”
Another voice took over, this time a French voice, speaking more kindly, coaxing her with promises of leniency if she co-operated with their questioning, offering a drink of water and a rest if she wished. The offer was tempting … but, at what cost.
She shook her head and repeated the same sentence.
“I know nothing!”
The same voice praised her beauty, suggesting ways in which it might be marred. A cut here, a slash there … “Such a pity to disfigure her so”, the voice said in silky tones as if he were offering her beauty treatment.
Francine refused to answer. The promises were worthless. She would rather die with honour.
Suddenly, the questioning stopped. Bewildered by the constant darkness and the sudden silence, she listened intently, coming to the conclusion that she was now alone. Her questioners had silently melted away into the darkness. She pulled at her bonds but they held fast. What now?
She tried to keep track of time but lost count. She reckoned it must have been about ten minutes later when the door opened.
“Francine! You poor dear!”
She felt hands tugging at the knots that held her to the chair, trying to loosen them … but failing. “I cannot undo the knots. I need something sharp.”
As it fell away Francine blinked in the dim light from a lantern t fixed on the wall. She turned her head. They were in what seemed like a store-room with bare stone walls and a stone floor. Apart from the chair she was seated upon, there was no other furniture in the room.
“It was terrible!” Angela exclaimed, crouching down in front of her, so that Francine could see her properly. “All those questions! But they said we can go soon.”
“You didn’t tell them anything, did you?” Francine asked sharply.
Angela laughed shakily.
“No of course not … but it was hard not to. Who were you with? You weren’t on your own, were you? What happened?”
Tired though Francine was, she frowned at Angela’s questions and shook her head warningly at her.
“You know I can’t tell you that. We’re not free yet, you know!”
She glanced around and shivered. The room was empty apart from the two of them but others could be listening. She saw a gleam of something in Angela’s eyes but before she could determine what it was Angela was backing away.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ll … er … try to get something to cut through the rope.”
Angela disappeared through the doorway leaving Francine on her own again. Feeling perturbed by Angela’s actions, she tried to figure out what had happened. It didn’t make sense. What was it all about? And where was Charles? Was he all right? Or was he being held somewhere else?
The door opened again.
Her heart leaped. It was Charles.
She almost cried out his name ... but stopped herself in time. This could be a trick.
Charles moved towards her, smiling rather ruefully she noticed.
“That’ll do for the present,” he said, flicking open a small pocket-knife and stepping behind her to saw at her bonds. “You did pretty well … for a beginner!”
She gaped in disbelief.
“Pardon?”