Darkest Longings (71 page)

disappear, I will know, so I can warn the postmaster.’

‘And if I tell them about you?’

‘What can you tell them? You have no idea where I’m

going from here.’

‘La Fleche.’

‘That’s what I’ve told you.’

She grinned. ‘I’m with you.’

‘Good. So all you need now is a cover-story, and a cable.’

‘The cable is easy enough. I’ll simply address it to some

friends in the south and tell them how sorry I am to learn

their grandfather is sick.’

‘And sign it with a fictitious name. The last thing the

postmaster will want to know is who you really are.’

She nodded. ‘And the reason I’m going to Lemere, if I’m

stopped along the way? I know, Liliane has a friend in

Lemere, I’ll say I’m taking her some eggs because Liliane

can’t ride a bicycle.’

‘Pretty thin,’ Lucien said.

‘You know, we spend half our time pedalling round the

countryside delivering farm produce to old folk.’

‘All right. But keep to the back roads, and if there’s a

German anywhere near the post office, don’t go in. Just

deliver the eggs and come home. If you succeed in passing

the message, then black-out your bedroom window at

curfew as normal, but leave the shutters open. If you fail,

close the shutters. That way, I’ll know.’

‘So you’re going to be passing through the forest. Should

you really be telling me that?’

Lucien laughed and got up. ‘I can see you’re going to

make an excellent agent! But even agents have to tell one

another something. Now, I’m going to make my way back to

La Fleche,’ he gave her a comical look, ‘and you should go

to see Liliane and tell her you’re taking eggs to her friend.

And you’ll have to do it, too.’

Claudine walked with him to the bridge door.

‘One other thing before I go,’ he said, pulling the door

closed behind them. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to get

here again, but if I need you to relay another message,

Jacques will come. It’s not his real name, of course, and you

should think of a pseudonym too, by the way. Do it now.’

‘Antoinette,’ she said, immediately giving her mother’s

name.

‘Good. I’ll tell him to give an owl hoot from the forest if he

needs to contact you. When you hear it, go to the edge of the

bridge and wait. When he’s sure you haven’t been followed

and aren’t being watched, he’ll come out of hiding. Then

he’ll give you a password. It is snowing in Paris. You answer

with, it often does in spring. If you hear anything but that,

scream! Make it look as though you were waiting for a lover

or something - but if you have to, kill him. Do you have a

gun?’

Claudine shook her head.

‘I’ll get one to you.’ He grinned. ‘Do you think you’re up

to it?’

‘Killing?’

He nodded.

‘Yes,’ she answered without hesitation, thinking of

Blomberg.

Laughing, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and

loped off into the forest. She waited until he had disappeared,

then turned back inside. Just as she was closing

the door she saw him come back through the trees. She

waved, and he blew her kiss, mouthing the words, ‘Bonne

chance!’

Several days later, Claudine was in the library reading the

newspaper Gustave had slipped her that morning. It was by

now three months old, the date at the top of the page was

December 1940; but the clandestine newspapers often

were well out of date by the time they received them.

Circulating newspapers like Resistance - the one she was

reading now - was an extremely risky business, and if the

publishers, or indeed the readers, were caught, they would

almost certainly be delivered into the hands of the Gestapo.

Particularly if the paper carried a message on its front page

like this one: ‘Resist! This is the cry that comes from the

hearts of all of you who suffer from our country’s disaster.

This is the wish of all of you who want to do your duty.’

A few minutes later Claudine pushed the newspaper back

into the drawer of Louis’ desk and locked it. Then, resting

her chin on her hands, she started to think. Her little

venture for Lucien the other day, which had passed without

incident, had sharpened her appetite for action. She hadn’t

heard from him since, so she had no idea if he had managed

to get the pilots to their next safe-house or not. But either

way, she knew she couldn’t just sit around waiting for him to

make contact. The time had come for a more organized

resistance, and instead of talking about it she must actually do something about it.

The problems were manifold, that much was clear. To

begin with, though there were obviously plenty of people

who would be willing to help, there were many more who wouldn’t, and who would even betray those who did.

Nevertheless, she made a mental list of those she felt sure

she could rely on. Armand, naturally. Then there was his

mother, who could possibly be persuaded into making her

home a safe-house. And of course the cottage in the forest

could be used too. There was also Gertrude Reinberg, who

would undoubtedly be willing to make clothes for the pilots.

And Doctor Lebrun, who had already volunteered the

information that the telephone operator in Chinon was

listening into German telephone calls, and said how

frustrated he felt at having no one to pass the intelligence on

to. So what they needed was to coordinate and extend this

little network in such a way that it would not only help Lucien and the pilots, but would to some degree harass and thwart the Germans.

She must begin with a recruitment programme. Potential

resisters should be given a rigorous interview and various

tests of loyalty, and must be initially recommended by

someone already known to be trustworthy. What then?

Defacing German posters, cutting telephone lines, re

hoisting French flags and slashing tyres was hardly going to

send the Germans scuttling back to the Fatherland. Annoyance

wasn’t enough; they must be inconvenienced. But

how? They, the resisters, had no weapons, no training, no

underground experience …

Claudine’s eye suddenly widened, and she couldn’t

imagine why the idea hadn’t occurred to her before.

Corinne. She would know exactly how to go about this, she

could even help train the recruits in unarmed combat.

Excitedly, Claudine got up from her chair and began to

pace the room. She must think this through a little more,

because Corinne’s job was to protect Louis, and that must

come first. But Corinne could act as an adviser; the training

she, Claudine, would carry out herself. She would need

someone to head their little group, too, once it was under

way. Most of their members would probably be men, and

knowing the French as she did, it would be fatuous of her to

expect them to take orders from a woman. Lucien’s visits

were going to be erratic, but Armand was both liked and

respected and, as she had pointed out to Lucien, he had the

perfect excuse for travelling about the countryside, and bona ride documents that would even take him over the demarcation line and into Vichy France if necessary.

Yes, it was all beginning to shape up nicely. There was no

point in thinking about the danger, if she did that she would

become one of the Attentistes she accused Tante Celine of

being. Sitting around waiting to see what would happen

wasn’t good enough. They had to make things happen, and

the sooner they started the better. Armand was due back

later that day, so she would cycle into the village, return the

newspaper to Gustave … Gustave! There was another

recruit. A cafe was the perfect place to pass on information.

‘Ah! I was just coming to see you,’ Armand said as she

walked out of the cafe an hour later.

‘And I you,’ Claudine said. ‘How was Blois?’

‘Successful.’

‘Good. Did Estelle enjoy her trip?’

‘I think so.’

His face had turned slightly pink at the mention of

Estelle, but if he hadn’t told her himself that he was taking

Estelle to Blois she would never have mentioned it. ‘And

what were you coming to see me about?’ she asked, as they

turned to walk across the square.

‘Two things. First, I wanted to know that you were all

right.’ He grinned. That the big bad wolf hadn’t come out

of the forest to get you.’

They often joked about Halunke now, it was probably one

of the best ways of dealing with it, she’d decided. ‘As a matter

of fact,’ she said, smiling, ‘someone did come out of the forest.’

Immediately he was angry. ‘I’ve told you time and time

again that I shouldn’t be leaving you to go and sell wine. We

should employ someone else to do it…’

‘Oh, do be quiet, Armand, and stop fussing,’ she laughed.

‘Now, don’t you want to know who it was?’

‘Well?’ he said.

She put her head to one side, caught her scarf as it took

off in the wind, and said, ‘Lucien.’

‘What!’

‘Yes, our very own Lucien. Alive and kicking and in need

of our help. Which is why I was coming to see you.’

‘Help? What kind of help?’

Claudine glanced about her, and seeing that there was no

one in sight decided that here was as good a place as any.

She perched herself on the edge of the well, and began.

‘… So what d’you think?’ she said, when she had

finished. ‘It’ll be risky, I know, but…’

‘Risky! It’ll be downright dangerous,’ he cried. ‘We might

just as well go and put ourselves in front of a firing squad

now.’

‘Oh, Armand,’ she groaned. ‘Please don’t…’

‘Count me in,’ he laughed. ‘When are you seeing Lucien

again?’

Resisting the urge to hug him, she said, ‘I don’t know. He

didn’t say. But that’s no reason for us to wait. We can have

everything organized by the time he returns.’

‘All right. I’ll make a start by going to ask my mother

about this safe-house business, and you can talk to Gustave.

Then I want you to meet me on the bridge at eleven thirty

tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh?’ she said curiously.

‘It’s the second reason I was coming to see you this

afternoon. But it can wait until then.’

Claudine shivered and pulled her waterproof hat tighter

onto her head. It was a horrible, dreary day, the sky was

leaden grey and the wind bitingly cold. Armand was leading

the way through the forest, and though she was trying to

concentrate on what he was saying, the fact that they were

clearly heading towards the old cottage was unsettling her.

He had so far refused to tell her why they were going there,

except to say that he had something to show her.

They reached a dip in the path and she slipped in the

slimy undergrowth, her scarf getting hooked on the spiky

branches of a low-hanging tree.

‘Armand, I do wish you would tell me what’s going on,’

she said, exasperated.

‘You’ll see soon enough,’ he answered, helping her to

untangle her scarf, then winding it about her neck. ‘Now

come along, we’re almost there.’

A few minutes later they approached the clearing in front

of the cottage, and Claudine saw straightaway that there was

smoke coming from the chimney. Her heart sank. It was

days like this that she and Armand had found so romantic,

making love in front of the fire and huddling into the coarse

blankets they took from the bed …

‘Wait!’ Armand put out a hand to stop her going any

further. ‘Wait here,’ he whispered, and hunching his

shoulders against the rain, he crept quietly across the

clearing.

She watched, not a little irritated, as he pressed himself

against the wall of the cottage and edged towards the

window. He peered inside, then looked back to where she

was standing and signalled her to join him.

‘What is it?’ she whispered as she walked into the circle of

his arm. But he only put a finger over his lips then pushed

her towards the window.

At first she couldn’t see anything through the steam on

the glass, but Armand pointed to a clear patch near the

bottom and she stooped to look through.

Her eyes scanned the room. It hadn’t changed a bit since

she was last there; even her amateurish portrait of Armand

still hung over the fireplace. The table was laid for lunch,

with pieces of broken bread, a half-empty bottle of wine and

- considering the ration per person per day was a quarter of

an ounce - a surprisingly generous wedge of cheese. She!

could hear voices, but she couldn’t actually see anyone until she re-positioned herself and looked over into the far corner where the old bed was pushed up against the wall. On it were two naked figures in the final throes of making love. Immediately Claudine drew back and turned an angry face to Armand.

He shook his head. ‘Look closer,’ he hissed.

Her face was taut with disapproval, but she dragged her

eyes back to the window, and as she looked in again the man

rolled over onto his back. Claudine’s stomach gave a