by Karen Abbott
“It’s a question we have to ask ourselves,” he said quietly. “How is it the Germans were there at exactly the right time? Was it purely by chance or had they had a tip-off? It’s not the first time your brother has been connected with an operation that has gone wrong!”
“No … and he’s not the only one! I knew about it! Do you suspect me? Victor knew about it and so did Denis and Paul. Are they under suspicion, too?”
Raoul calmly met Charles’s gaze but his eyes were icy cold.
“That is the insidious nature of any betrayal—we are all under suspicion! Every one of us who knew about it! But Pierre has been under suspicion before! How many coincidences do we need before we take action?”
“But Pierre was supposed to be part of the operation!” Francine burst in. “He wouldn’t put himself into danger, would he? He isn’t stupid!”
“No, he isn’t stupid, mademoiselle. He might have expected the last-minute change.” Nicolas suggested. “Or maybe he was planning to drop out at the last moment? Who knows? Why exactly was the change made? And under whose authority?”
The question was directed at Charles.
Francine swiftly turned and looked at Charles, trying to will him to take the spotlight away from Pierre. Pierre wasn’t the traitor. He wasn’t! ‘Let the reason be nothing to do with Pierre!’ she pleaded silently.
Her heart began to sink heavily. She could detect an unwillingness in Charles to speak. He would be wanting to protect her reputation, she guessed … and not wanting to implicate her in his decision—but issues far more important than her reputation were at stake. Pierre’s honour was in question! Maybe, even his life!
Francine cast down her eyes.
“It was my fault,” she admitted quietly, drawing the attention back to herself … away from Charles’ obvious reluctance to tell the truth and implicate his brother. “Charles knows that I have always idolised Pierre … imagined myself in love with him, even. And now he is engaged to be married to my best friend.”
She raised her head again, her eyes sorrowful.
“Charles obviously feared that I would use the occasion to flirt with Pierre … and, perhaps, endanger the operation.”
“And would you have done so?” Raoul asked sharply.
Francine thought quickly. She knew that she wouldn’t have done so. She was no longer idealistically captivated by the hero of her teenage years—but, if she admitted such, it would possibly weaken Charles’s motive in removing him from the operation.
She spread her hands helplessly.
“I do not know. I think I would have acted professionally. I hope so! But, I do not know.” She stared miserably at the ground, hating to let Charles go on thinking that she still cared for Pierre in a romantic fashion but she knew that was why he had acted as he had.
“Is that so, Charles?” Raoul asked.
Francine flickered her gaze at Charles, willing him to agree in order to give Pierre the best benefit of the doubt.
Charles glanced at her coolly.
“It might have been the case … if the decision had been mine—but it wasn’t! René Cailloleau made the decision to send Pierre to Boyardville instead of on this operation. You will have to ask him what his reason was. All I know is that it was at the very last-minute and Pierre set off to Boyardville immediately! He would have had no time to pass on any information to the enemy … nor to anyone else.”
Francine listened in dismay. She felt herself washed by mixed emotions. Relief that Pierre truly had been diverted for a genuine reason … and dismay that she had let Charles think that she was still enamoured by his brother. He was looking at her in derision and it suddenly mattered to her very much that didn’t think badly of her—but what could she say? She couldn’t suddenly change her story … at least, not in front of Raoul and Victor.
She would have to tell Charles of her changed feelings towards Pierre as soon as they were on their way back to Le Chateau. She would tell him of Pierre and Angela’s wedding plans and that she was going to be Angela’s bridesmaid … and maybe he would know of someone who might have a wedding gown that would fit Angela.
Satisfied that she would be able to sort things out satisfactorily, she smiled disarmingly at Raoul Dandonneau.
“I knew Pierre would not have betrayed us!” she said. “I think he would prefer to die rather than be dishonoured.”
“The men who died tonight did not have the choice, Madeoiselle Devreux! Whether or not tonight’s tragedy was the result of betrayal, I fear we have a traitor in our midst and I would urge you not to treat my words lightly! I have personally known every member of our island’s resistance movement for many years and I wish I could say ‘amen’ to your naïve judgement! Unfortunately, most men have a price—even an honourable price! Just pray that you are never called upon to declare yours!”
“An honourable price?” Francine queried. “How can the price of betrayal ever be called honourable?”
Raoul regarded her puzzled face sympathetically.
“If a man’s family are held to ransom for the price of betrayal, who does the man betray? … His family or his comrades? Either way, he has betrayed. Who is to say which is the more dishonourable? A man must make his own decision and live with the consequences … if he can. But we must still identify that man and remove him from our midst. Otherwise, we can trust no-one … and our work will cease to be effective. We have sworn to lay aside personal affections and strive for the liberation of our island. Do not allow yourself to be drawn away from that goal, mademoiselle, unless you wish to resign right now. We are playing no games. We deal with life and death. ”
Francine listened in silence, sensing a rebuke couched within his words. She nodded slowly, accepting the censure. He was right. Who would Pierre choose? His comrades or Angela? It reinforced her earlier conviction—love was best left until after the war was over. It made people vulnerable and likely to make wrong choices.
She was conscious of Charles standing at her side, thankful that he couldn’t read her thoughts—saddened that he now despised her … and with good cause. She had carelessly spurned his love and chased after something that wasn’t real.
For a moment, hope burned within her that she could declare her realisation of where her heart lay … but she quenched it at its birth. It was better that he didn’t know—or maybe he would be tempted to betray his comrades for her if the occasion arose. He would fight with a clearer mind without the knowledge of her love ... and so would she.
She raised her eyes and looked at Raoul.
“You are right, monsieur. I am sorry. The liberation of the island comes before everything, even those we love. I will indeed pray that I make the right decision if I ever have to choose.”
“Good! Nicolas will escort you home. Try to have a good sleep. We may need you again tonight. Charles, stay here and make your report about what is going on at Chassiron.”
Francine quietly said her farewell. She needed time to sort out her newly discovered feelings for Charles and was relieved that she could postpone her next time alone with him. By then, she would hopefully feel strong enough to abide by her decision to remain aloof from him—though, right then, she wished she could be enfolded in his arms and wrapped in his love.
When would this ghastly war be over?
Chapter 8
Charles watched Francine leave with mixed emotions. His relief at finding her unharmed was now soured by her unashamed confession that she might have been tempted to flutter her eyes at his brother. How could she be so brazen as to admit her feelings so openly?
Why did he keep hoping she would forget Pierre and turn to him? It obviously wasn’t going to happen and the sooner he accepted that fact, the better it would be!
He needed to get away from her … submerge himself in active mission. Anything that distract him from the gnawing ache deep inside him!
Pushing all thoughts of Francine to the far reaches of his mind, he passed on to his area leader all the information he had disco
vered or received that night. The Germans had drafted in a large number of troops from other areas and were amassing at St. Denis and the outlying hamlets at the northerly end of island near Chassiron and Domino. They were also requisitioning a number of farm carts. Were they expecting an allied attack in that area in the near future?
“If only the allied troops on the mainland could let us know what is happening out there!” Charles burst out bitterly, his own inner torment adding vehemence to his words. “We needed that transmitter! We are so helpless without it! The Germans know more about our troop movements than we do!”
Raoul shook his head. “I don’t think there’s to be an Atlantic attack, not now that the allies have reached Rochefort on the mainland … unless it’s a move to split the Germans’ attention.”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“The allies might be trying to create a diversion. You’re right! We need to know exactly what is happening up there!”
He thumped his clenched fist against the wall in frustration.
“I’ll get straight back there,” Charles volunteered.
It was just what he needed to take him away from Francine … an operation at the other end of the island.
“I’ll take a cart-load of salt to the fisherman at St. Denis. That will get me right in the middle of the action!”
Raoul nodded in agreement. “
Good. Who will you take with you? You need someone fleet of foot who might be able to return to us more quickly than you could manage with your wagon and oxen.”
Charles considered some options.
“There’s Michel … or Georges. No, they’re too well-known. How about Raymond? He’s not been seen around much. He won’t look out of place up there.”
“A woman would be better … less conspicuous than two men together and not posing as great a threat. Take Mademoiselle Devreux. It will do her good to get away from here for a few days … give her a change of scene. And she’s proving to be one of our best of our undercover agents. She learns from her mistakes and is willing to take correction.”
Charles’ heart sank.
Francine was the last person he wanted to work with closely on a mission that might take two or three days.
“She needs to get some sleep,” he objected. “She was awake most of the night … and might be suffering from flashbacks of the explosion.”
“We all need sleep! And we all suffer flashbacks!” Raoul snapped. “She can sleep in the back of your wagon.”
His face softened.
“You are old friends. You will be good for each other. You will be able to comfort her about Philippe.”
His expression resumed his usual briskness. “Load up your wagon. I’ll get word to Mademoiselle Devreux to be at your farm by mid-morning. You should make it to St. Denis before curfew. If not, stable your wagon and animal somewhere and continue on foot … and get word back as soon as you can. We need to know what they’re doing!”
* * * *
Francine felt her heart leap in joyful anticipation when the message came from Raoul that she was to accompany Charles to Chassiron.
It was instantly quelled by the memory of her decision not to let Charles know how she now felt about him in case it led to him making a wrong decision out of divided loyalties. For his safety, she must do her best to continue in that deception. Surely the war must be nearing its end? Then would be the time to let her true feelings show!
Dressed in old clothes, with her face and arms smeared with dust and her hair dulled with grease and dust in an effort to dim her attractiveness, she cycled towards the Dolus gateway that led out of town. She was stopped at the barrier and had to show her papers. It was a keen-eyed young officer who scrutinised her work permit.
“Where are you going?” he curtly demanded, his eyes flickering over her.
“To work on the farm,” she said flatly, keeping her eyes cast down, hoping the work permit looked genuine enough to satisfy his inspection.
“You are due back tonight?”
“Yes.”
Her heart beat rapidly as the officer paused to consider the permit. The failure of the previous night’s mission weighed heavily upon her, knocking her confidence. She had hardly recognised her white-faced, red-eyed reflection in her bedroom mirror when she had arrived home this morning. Philippe’s face continually loomed before her as if in reproof … but she knew she had done her best to persuade him to let her go ahead. It didn’t help her to accept his death, however. Nor that of the boat crew and the loss of the precious transmitter.
It was so frustrating not to able to do the job she and Angela had been sent over to do! They should have been allowed to carry their own transmitter set!
She knew that was unfair of her. The reason had been explained … and orders were orders. The officers knew best!
Was last night’s failed operation the reason why the German officer was taking his time? She was always nervous at roadblocks but had learned not to let it show. The Germans seemed to be tightening up on security. Was their mission to Chassiron connected in some way, she wondered?
A covered wagon entering the town drew the officer’s attention and he abruptly returned her permit and, to her great relief, waved her through. She turned towards the inner coast road, following the edge of the low sand dunes and the gently-lapping water of the narrow channel between the island and the mainland. The sun was warm on her back, making her long for years now seeming long-gone when she and her friends would meet at one of the beaches and run helter-skelter into the rolling waves on the Atlantic side of the island. The present teenagers would never have such memories … the Atlantic beaches, strewn with German armaments of defence, were forbidden territory.
The lane that led to Domaine St. Clare, where Charles’ and Pierre’s family had lived for past generations, was just ahead and she turned into it. She hid her bicycle in a ditch close to the farm entrance and went into the farmyard.
Charles was harnessing an ox to a wagon when she arrived. Her heart filled with longing at the sight of him. He was wearing serge trousers and an open-necked checked shirt, with rolled-up sleeves, showing his tanned skin. His body was lean and strong.
Francine’s mouth felt dry. How lightly she had spurned his embraces! She remembered the kiss they had shared on the beach only a few weeks ... or was it months ... ago. It seemed a lifetime. Her lips tingled as she longed to repeat the experience. Should she at least explain why she had let Raoul think she still had fond feelings for Pierre?
She moved towards him, her face betraying her indecision. “Charles, I want to explain …”
“I think you’ve said enough, Francine!” he said curtly to her. “I don’t think it would be wise to say any more, do you?”
His face looked devoid of emotion as he continued. “You weren’t my first choice for my partner on this mission but Raoul seems to have great faith in you.”
He turned away to pick up his jacket that was laid across the hitching rail.
“You are here in a professional capacity only … and that’s how I want it to remain. Is that understood?”
His words almost broke her heart. How cold he sounded.
Francine swallowed hard. She tightened her lips. If that was how he wanted to play it then it was fine by her! There was no way she was going to beg or plead for forgiveness!
“The same goes for me!” she said lightly, fighting the despair that flowed through her. “I wouldn’t have chosen to come with you but Raoul seemed to think I should get away from … from …” It was almost too much to say. “… from last night.”
She turned away so that he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. The last thing she wanted was an offer of sympathy from him … or derision for her weakness of emotion. Did men stifle the urge to cry, she wondered. Or did they not feel things the same way as women did? Philippe had been Charles’ friend too. Did his death not affect him as it had done to her?
Or was that anothe
r reason for his coolness? Did he think she should have used her intimate knowledge of the area better and prevented the accident? The vivid orange light flashed across her memory … and the black silhouette of Philippe as he was flung spread-eagled into the air.
Her features twisted in agony and she was glad Charles couldn’t see her face at that moment.
“The wagon is ready. You had better get aboard,” she heard Charles say. Her moment of terror passed as she took a grip on herself and she was able to clamber aboard the wagon and seat herself on the wooden driving seat.
After that, it wasn’t very hard for her to keep to her decision to remain aloof from Charles … and Charles treated her with decided coolness as he sat stiffly beside her.
They travelled in silence for a few miles. Never had Francine felt so ill at ease in his company. Eventually, to break the unnatural silence between them, she told him of Angela’s and Pierre’s plans to marry in three weeks time, keeping her voice carefully neutral. She wished she could convince him how pleased she was but knew he wouldn’t believe her. And any protestations to prove her sincerity would probably lead her into admitting how much she now realised she cared for him. How could she have been so blind for all those years?
She had never been under any illusions about Pierre’s feelings towards her. Until he met Angela, Pierre had never loved anyone but himself. But Charles was a naturally warm-hearted person. She had taken his affection for her for granted … until she had lost it, she bitterly reflected.
“Can’t we at least be friends?” she eventually asked Charles, hurt beyond measure by his disdain of her.
“I hope I will always be your friend, Francine,” he quietly replied, barely taking his eyes from the track ahead, “but I think the less we see of each other the better it will be for both of us, apart from when we are assigned on missions together, when I hope we are both professional enough to put our personal feelings aside.”
Francine couldn’t bear to see the bleakness in his eyes and was glad that his glance towards her had been brief. She too stared ahead, though she saw nothing. She just wanted this mission over and done with. Then she would do all that she could to avoid being alone in his presence.