The Darkest Hour

by Roberta Kagan

  ‘Your ruse will be that you have just recently married, and René has volunteered to go to work in Germany on behalf of the French government. He has volunteered to work for the betterment of Vichy France and the Fatherland because the factory where he worked on the outskirts of Paris was bombed by Allied Aircraft, killing his comrades. You are both travelling to Tours because you want him to meet your parents before he goes away.’ He studied her face. ‘Any questions?’

  She leafed through the IDs and several pages of notes.

  ‘Study the information with the IDs and then destroy it. One more thing, the name, Camille, is also your code name. It will only be used when you come in contact with one of our agents. At some time during your stay in Tours, someone will direct you to a place where you will meet one of them. The message will be carefully worded, so please be on the lookout for it. Follow the instructions carefully and the agent will meet up with you. This person will not address you as Nathalie, only Camille. If he does not address you as such, he will not be one of our own. In which case, you must consider you could be compromised and act accordingly.’

  Paul finished his cigarette and glanced towards Mme Reynaud. ‘There’s one other thing. This new job of yours, I applaud you for getting it, but I am in agreement with Madeleine. De Rossier is a collaborator. However, if we take great care, we can turn that to our advantage. Think of it as another little assignment,’ he said.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Make a note of everyone you come in contact with – a mental note, you understand. Under no circumstances are you to write anything down. I want to know who his clients are, and anyone else – including the mysterious man from Café Voltaire who helped you to get the job.’

  Nathalie looked at the Reynauds.

  Mme Reynaud shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Nathalie. We have to be careful. We have a responsibility to your father to take care of you. I know the proprietor of Café Voltaire well and I checked with him. He’d never seen the man before so he couldn’t possibly live around here.’

  ‘The café was packed,’ Nathalie replied, with a tinge of annoyance. ‘Surely you can’t expect him to remember everyone who goes there? He probably doesn’t even remember me?’

  ‘His café is in this street. We all know each other. He knew who you were from the moment you moved in. The street has eyes. Every street has eyes. It will pay you to remember that.’

  Nathalie felt her cheeks redden. Mme Reynaud was an enigma. On the one hand she could be the motherly, gentle type, and on the other – like now – as tough as any man, chastising her for letting her guard down.

  ‘That’s it then,’ Paul said. ‘Now, no more talk about work. Let’s enjoy our dinner.’

  Mme Reynaud excelled herself that evening. She had managed to acquire a fat hen in exchange for several bunches of roses, and roasted it to perfection. Yet, try as she might, Nathalie could not take her mind off the events of the day. The thought of doing a little modelling for a famous couturier was appealing, but she didn’t want to be labelled a collaborator.

  When she retired to her room, she looked at the documents Paul had given her, going over them in her mind until she was satisfied she’d committed them to memory. Then she struck a match and let the notes burn in the empty wood burner.

  On Saturday morning, Nathalie walked into a bar across the road from Gare Montparnasse with her suitcase, and looked for the man who was now her husband. René was sitting at a far table drinking a coffee. When he saw her, he came over.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, planting a kiss on her lips. ‘I was worried about you.’

  He called the waiter over, ordered two Vermouths, and asked if she would like a bite to eat before the departure. Nathalie was too nervous to think about eating. René reached across the table and took both her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing them tenderly.

  ‘You look beautiful, my darling.’

  She was wearing one of the new outfits Mme Lefort had given her, a figure-hugging apricot rayon dress, with a cross-over bodice that emphasized her bust and small waist. Around her neck, she wore her pearls. They made her think of Pierre. She wondered if he had any idea of what she was doing and if he would approve. Underneath the dress, she wore the luxurious pale blue lace and silk underwear. De Rossier was right when he said good lingerie transformed a woman. She did indeed feel like a goddess.

  René continued to talk to her in an endearing way, but he could see she was slightly uncomfortable. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  ‘Those men on that table are Gestapo. They’ve been here a while now and I believe they are looking for someone. So please, my darling, do pretend to love me.’

  Before she could answer, he kissed her again and this time she responded more warmly. In just five minutes of being in his company, he had managed to put her at ease. She even managed a smile, which pleased him enormously.

  René was an attractive man with chestnut hair and dark eyes which shone when he smiled. Paul had said he was someone important to their network and she was intrigued. Hopefully there would be time enough to get to know him a little more over the weekend, although she knew they were both bound to a code of silence.

  They finished the aperitif and left for the station. Knowing the difficulty they would have to face before they got on the train, Nathalie’s heart started to beat fiercely, and she found herself looping her arm through his and rubbing her body close to him. Acting as naturally as possible, they stopped to buy a newspaper from a kiosk, right under the noses of the French police. She looked at his face and he gave her a reassuring smile. They were checked three times before finally boarding the train. Paul’s forger had done an excellent job.

  They were travelling on first-class tickets, which meant that they would not have to spend the trip in cramped conditions. On the other hand, German officers travelled first class. It was a risk Paul had been prepared to take. René placed their suitcases on the luggage rack and they took their seat next to the window. Nathalie would not be able to relax until they had left the station. Until then, anything could go wrong. She looked at the bustling crowd on the platform and surveyed their faces, a habit she had become accustomed to. Random searches were still taking place, and she half expected the Gestapo to open the door and haul them outside at any moment.

  ‘Look,’ René said, ‘over there. It’s the same men who were in the café.’

  Nathalie took a quick look. ‘You’re right, and they’re coming this way.’ She slumped back into her seat. ‘I can’t look. What if they were on to us all the time?’

  René drew his face away from the window and opened up his newspaper, glancing outside each time he turned a page. The men walked past each compartment, casting an eye up at the windows and occasionally stopping to talk to a guard. Eventually, they disappeared and the pair breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘I feel as though I have “guilty” stamped across my forehead,’ Nathalie said.

  René laughed. ‘I can see you’re a novice at this sort of thing, but you’re doing fine.’

  Nathalie wondered if the escapes she’d taken part in, along with the many drop-offs she’d made as a courier for Mme Reynaud, still made her a novice. Not to mention that she was now able to use a firearm. When the train departed, they were relieved to find they were alone and they passed the time in small talk like old friends. She was beginning to like her husband.

  The hotel in Tours was within walking distance from the railway station. It had been booked for two nights. The concierge looked at their documents and showed them to their room. It was small and cramped with only one bed, but it did have a bath which they were thankful for.

  ‘We serve breakfast from seven onwards,’ the man told them. ‘As we have no restaurant, my wife will bring it to your room.’

  When he’d gone, Nathalie sank down on the bed. It was as hard as nails.

  ‘What are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?’ she asked, looking rather em
barrassed. ‘Shall we take it in turns to use the bed; you one night, me the other?’

  She looked in the cupboard and saw there was an extra blanket and pillow.

  ‘I will take the chair,’ René said. ‘You are welcome to the bed.’

  Nathalie had little to hang up. She had brought the second dress Madame Lefort gave her and that was all. René decided to have a bath and Nathalie settled down on the bed to read a book. It was going to be a long two days. At the end of that time, someone was to meet them and René would be gone – a mere flash in her life. He left the bathroom door partially open and she could hear the splashing of water. She couldn’t concentrate and put the book down. He seemed so carefree.

  After a while, he returned to the room wrapped in a towel. She was about to tell him he could stop the play acting now and get dressed until he put his finger on his lips and moved closer to the door, turning the key in the lock and listening carefully.

  ‘How about we go and find a nice restaurant, my darling?’ he asked, in a raised voice. ‘We must make the most of our few days together. Soon I will be in Germany and who knows when we will see each other again. There’s a restaurant across the road. Let’s ask the concierge if it’s any good.’

  ‘I would like that,’ Nathalie replied.

  When he was sure all was fine, he stepped away from the door.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Nathalie asked. ‘You scared me.’

  He sat on the side of the bed. He smelt of cheap soap and eau-de-cologne.

  ‘I thought I heard footsteps in the corridor. The Gestapo will want to know who is staying here, and it’s likely the manager will be giving them our details right now. We must act like a married couple or we will attract suspicion.’ He lifted her chin towards him with his finger. ‘And besides, I like you... too much, I’m afraid.’

  Nathalie moved her head to the side to avoid looking into his eyes, but he pulled her face back and kissed her hard on the lips. Whether it was the warm sun streaming through the window, the smell of fresh eau-de-cologne, the lace and silk lingerie she was wearing, or simply a frisson of excitement at being a part of something so dangerous, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was, she was attracted to this stranger and his touch excited her. This is what she had longed for with Pierre. Over the past few months, those pent-up emotions had consumed her. And now, here she was with a stranger, reciprocating his affections without a second thought, allowing them to spill over in a deluge of lust.

  As their passion increased, he stood up and pulled off her dress, revealing the luxurious lingerie on her slender body. The look and feel of it excited him all the more, until in the end, he removed that also. When she was completely naked, he pulled her on top of him. Nathalie had never experienced such passion as this before. Wild and soft at the same time, she gave herself to him as if she had known him for ages. When it was over, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms. There were no apologies, no regrets, just a warm sensation of belonging to someone else for however precious time they had together.

  René propped himself up on the pillow and watched her dress.

  ‘Well, Monsieur Hubert,’ Nathalie said, with a cheeky smile, ‘your wife is famished. What are you going to do about it?’

  He pulled her back on to the bed and smothered her neck in kisses. ‘I am going to eat her, that’s what.’

  Nathalie slapped him playfully. ‘Do you treat all your wives in this manner?’ she laughed.

  ‘I’ve only been married once and I’m beginning to like it.’

  It was in this happy and playful mood that the pair went out to dine, keeping up the pretence of being happy newlyweds. The weather was beautiful and the setting romantic. Soft lights and small vases of wildflowers decorated the tables, which had been laid with crisp white tablecloths. The menu was sparse and what it lacked in food, it provided in atmosphere. Nathalie ordered the omelette and a salad, and René ordered chicken. The waiter recommended a good local wine which they were only too happy to try. Seeing that the couple were very much in love, he told them it was on the house. It took them all their time not to burst out laughing.

  ‘I know nothing about you?’ René said, kissing her hand. ‘Not even your real name? I wish I did.’

  ‘Then we are even,’ Nathalie replied. ‘All I know about you is that you are an important man.’

  He laughed. ‘Let’s say I have an important role to play at the moment. We’ll leave it at that and enjoy our moment together.’

  In the morning, they were woken by a soft knock on the door. The concierge’s wife had brought them breakfast. René threw on some clothes and told her to leave the tray on the table by the window.

  ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day again, I believe,’ she said, glancing towards Nathalie, who had pulled the sheets around her in an attempt at maintaining a little modesty. ‘Do you have any plans to go sightseeing, Mme Camille? Maybe the church would be a good place to start. It’s not too far away.’

  Nathalie let her words sink in. Was this the coded message Paul had told her she would receive? The woman had referred to her as Mme Camille, and she had told her where to go.

  ‘Thank you. That sounds like a good idea,’ she replied.

  The woman smiled at her and left the room. Nathalie sat down to eat her breakfast – a solitary boiled egg and fresh bread. There was no butter, and conserves were scarce. Knowing that the woman would have been standing in a long queue well before dawn, they considered themselves lucky to even to have fresh bread.

  ‘I might go for a walk to the church this morning,’ Nathalie said to René. ‘Maybe we can do something together this afternoon.’

  René looked at her thoughtfully. He was well aware that if she wanted to go alone, then she had a good reason for it.

  Nathalie arrived at the church just as the parishioners were leaving after mass. She took a stroll through the adjoining graveyard until everyone had left and then stepped inside the church. The priest was standing by the altar. When he heard her footsteps, he came over.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I’ve come to confess, Father.’

  The priest closed the church door and ushered her into the confession box. When he addressed her as Camille, she let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘The man you have with you,’ the priest continued. ‘He is to leave Tours in the early hours of the morning.’ He gave her an address of a safe house not far from their hotel. ‘Can you make sure he gets there before curfew?’

  ‘I’ll do my very best.’

  ‘There’s no room for mistakes, Camille. There will be a small plant pot on the windowsill to denote all is well. If it is not there, walk on.’

  ‘How will I know he has left Tours safely?’

  They paused for a moment and heard the church doors open.

  ‘Come to the church before you depart for Paris,’ the priest replied.

  The conversation barely lasted three minutes. When they emerged from the confession box, two well-dressed men in suits had entered the church and were standing in the doorway. Nathalie’s heart missed a beat, but the priest assured her everything was fine.

  ‘They like to pay me a visit every now and then,’ he smiled. ‘I’m used to them.’

  The priest made the sign of the cross over her forehead and said goodbye. Nathalie walked past them, smiling sweetly. They, in turn, lifted their hats and bid her a good day. It never ceased to amaze her how polite and gracious the Gestapo could be when they wanted to.

  René was lying on the bed when Nathalie returned. ‘How was your sight-seeing?’ he asked.

  ‘Fruitful.’ she replied, looking out of the window and trying to hide the emotion in her voice.

  He came over and turned her to face him. ‘I gather by your face, our time has come to an end.’

  She laid her head on his shoulder. ‘We knew what we were getting into.’

  ‘Then let us enjoy our last moments together.’

  They spent one more meal together and
a few hours before curfew, returned to the hotel and made love one last time.

  ‘Time to go,’ Nathalie said after a while. ‘Or we’ll be late.’

  She slipped her dress back on, went over to her suitcase and took out an envelope. ‘One more thing; I have been asked to give you this,’ she said. ‘To tide you over until you get to your final destination.’

  In the envelope was ten thousand francs.

  It was well and truly dark by the time they arrived at the safe house. The plant pot was still on the windowsill. René drew her into his arms and gave her one last kiss.

  ‘I’m proud to have known you, Camille,’ he said, tenderly.

  ‘And I you.’

  ‘You won’t forget me, will you?’

  ‘Never,’ Nathalie replied, trying to hide the emotion in her voice. ‘Now go before somebody sees us. And take care.’

  He picked up his suitcase and knocked on the door whilst Nathalie waited in the shadows to check all was well. Then he was gone. He had disappeared from her life as quickly as he had entered it; a petite affaire by two lonely people who yearned for affection and grabbed it while they could. Fate is cruel, she thought to herself, as she made her way back to the hotel.

  The following morning, she passed by the church on her way to the station.

  The priest gave her a broad smile. ‘All went well, Camille. Our friend will be well and truly on his way by now.’

  Chapter 11

  Mme Lefort gave the finished dress to Nathalie to try on. After a slight adjustment to the waistline, it fitted perfectly.

  ‘Now I want you to walk up and down the room,’ she said, taking a seat. ‘Imagine that I am the customer and you want to please me.’

  Nathalie took a deep breath, lifted her shoulders back, and proceeded to walk towards her. At first she felt stiff and wooden, until the vendeuse quickly put her at ease by telling her to imagine she was going to meet her lover by the Seine. Thoughts of René and Tours flashed through her mind, but after a while René’s face faded and was replaced by Pierre’s. She imagined she was going to meet him and the look on his face told her he had missed her.