Darkest Longings (73 page)

request - and he will take you through to the back of the

shop. Smoke your cigarette, tell him two are coming

through, then when he gives you the three packets, leave. If

he has a message to relay to us it will be in the cigarettes.

Don’t open them, bring them here.’ He took her by the arm

and pulled her into the shadows. ‘Put them there,’ he said,

pointing to a hollow in the bole of a tree, ‘and I will collect

them tomorrow night.’ He bent down and reached inside

the hole. Then standing up again, he pressed something

into her hand. It was a gun.

““Bonne chance!’ he said. Then he pulled his collar up

round his face and sprinted off into the forest.

Claudine returned immediately to her room, secreted the

gun beneath her pillow and went off to find Monique. But

when she tried the door of Monique’s room it was locked,

and nothing Claudine said would persuade her to open it.

The following morning, while Claudine was in her

sitting-room trying to concoct a reason for going to Monts,

Solange came in and told her Monique had gone to stay with

some friends at L’lle Bouchard.

‘For how long?’ Claudine asked, trying to swallow her

frustration.

‘Two weeks. Now, where is that grandson of mine? I

expected to find him here.’

‘He’s in Francois’ bathroom,’ Claudine told her, ‘having

a shave.’

‘What?’ Solange shrilled.

‘It’s all right, there aren’t any blades,’ Claudine laughed,

as Solange hurtled off in the direction of Francois’ room,

‘he’s just pretending.’

Damn it, Claudine thought, what was she going to do

about Monique? It was maddening to think that she was

putting herself through such unnecessary misery. But there

was nothing she could do about it for the moment, Claudine

thought. She would just have to wait for her return.

As it turned out, it was almost five weeks before Monique

came back. And the night before she returned, something

happened to put Monique’s problem, and everything else,

right out of Claudine’s mind.

Exhausted, and never having been quite so eager to climb

into bed, Claudine dragged back the covers. She checked

the time on her watch, snapped off the lamp and snuggled

down into the crisp linen sheets Magaly had only moments before stroked with the warming pan.

It was approaching one in the morning, and three times

during her cycle ride back from Montsoreau she had been

forced to throw herself into a hedge to escape a German

patrol. She had been terrified, not only of the Germans, but

because it was the first time she had been out after curfew

without Armand, and the driving rain, coupled with the

almost solid blackness of the moonless night, had thrown up

all manner of imaginary evils. But Lucien himself had come

to the chateau the night before, to ask her and Armand to

attend a meeting of the local resistance group at an old barn

on the road between Montsoreau and Saumur. Armand had

left for Le Mans that morning and wouldn’t be back until

the following day, so Claudine had gone alone, her gun

tucked safely beneath the blanket in the handlebar basket.

When she arrived at the barn, following the directions

Lucien had made her memorize, she had been amazed to

count as many as twenty-five faces, although apart from

Lucien and the man Jacques - who had come to the bridge

several times now - they were all strangers to her. She was

introduced as Antoinette, and guessed that all the names

she was given in return were also false. The meeting was to

tell them of their successes and failures so far, and to see if

anyone had any suggestions about how they might improve

and expand their network. It seemed that to date they had

seen no fewer than twenty-three airmen through their

escape-line, and suffered only four arrests - one Resistant and three pilots. Lucien had also managed to locate someone with a radio in Saumur, and had made contact

with General de Gaulle’s London headquarters three times

in the past two weeks. He was now looking for a new hideout

for the radio operator, as the detector vans had picked

up their last transmission. Claudine had immediately

offered the cottage, as it was not only secluded but on high

ground, which was vital. So the man would be arriving in the

next few days, and would stay for about a week before he

moved elsewhere.

‘Though we are primarily working for de Gaulle’s

intelligence service,’ Lucien said, ‘I have been informed

that the British have already started parachuting their own

agents into France. I want everyone to dispense with any

prejudice they might have towards the British,’ he added

hastily as several of the men made noises of protest,

‘because it’s essential we work together. They’re bringing

arms with them, small guns, hand grenades and the like,

radio transmitters, canned food and even bicycles, all of

which we need. These agents are going to need safe

houses, though most of them are fixed up before they leave

England. But we must put ourselves at their disposal and

help them in every way we can. They, like us, are working

towards the liberation of France.’

Lucien cleared his throat. ‘For now we need to store the

arms and ammunition, and get as much information as we can back to Britain on troop movements here.’ He turned to Claudine. ‘I want you and the rest of your family to cut all I the labels from your French clothes and give them to me. I’m returning to Britain in a few days, so I can take them with me. Also, being half-English, Antoinette, you will know the kind of things British people do that might give them away as not being French. Write them down and let me have that too. They’re setting up training centres around the British Isles to educate their agents in, amongst other !

things, the habits of the French.’

‘What, you mean like… ?’

‘… pissing on the side of the road,’ Lucien finished for

her, and they all laughed. ‘Precisely,’ he said.

They went on then to discuss the reseaux - which was

what the resistance groups were collectively known as - in

other parts of northern France, and how the British were

planning to send in their own agents to head them. There

were more grunts of disapproval at that, but Lucien let it go;

the agents themselves would have to deal with the discontent

when they arrived. It was a pity, he thought, that the

British had been compelled to blow up the French fleet at

Mers-el-Kabir; it would be a long time before the French

forgave them for that. But the British had had no choice, the

ships would otherwise have fallen into German hands - and

besides, the animosity between the two nations went a lot

further back than July of 1940.

‘When I return from England,’ Lucien went on, ‘I fully

expect to be asking you to form reception committees. That

means that you’ll be lighting up fields at night so that the

pilots can see where to drop their supplies - and indeed

agents. I don’t have to tell you how risky that will be, but

none of us is in this for the good of his health. In the

meantime, Jacques here is arranging for us to join up with

the Jupiter reseau, and Henri over there has found a printer

willing to help us. We need a new forger, because Madame

Germond has been arrested, As far as we know she’s told the Gestapo nothing yet, but the three men who were in contact with her are now in hiding.’

The meeting broke up soon after that, and Claudine was

one of the first to leave. ‘I’m glad to have this chance to talk

to you,’ she said, as Lucien walked outside with her. ‘I’ve

told Monique that I’ve seen you. She’s away at the moment,

but when she comes back I want to get her involved as a

courier. What do you think?’

‘I don’t know. Armand told me about the business with

the German.’

‘That’s over,’ Claudine said. ‘It was a touch of summer

madness.’

‘In the middle of a wintry spring. Well, you’re the best

judge, you see more of her than the rest of us. But

remember, it’s not only her life you’ll be putting at risk.’

‘I’ll remember. The other thing is, I think Solange should

join us too. She has the perfect cover for going about the

countryside, she’s always visiting someone or other. And these

days she takes Liliane with her in a box Armand attached to

her bicycle. Of course, it takes them hours to get anywhere,

but the Germans are so used to seeing them, they’ve become a

sort of local attraction. And they look so funny that no one

would suspect them of anything but eccentricity!’

Lucien was grinning widely as he pictured the spectacle.

‘And,’ Claudine went on, ‘I hate keeping this from her.

She’s so worried about you, and I think she should know

that at least one of her sons is alive.’

‘All right,’ he said, relenting. ‘But don’t tell her until I’m

back from England. Then I’ll work out a way to see her

myself. I take it there’s still no news from Francois?’

Claudine shook her head, and feeling a sudden and

unexpected rush of tears she had turned quickly to her

bicycle and started to pedal away …

Now, as she lay in the comfort and safety of her bed, the

dreaded tears started to roll down her cheeks. But again she

pushed Francois from her mind, making a mental note to go

and see Gertrude Reinberg in the morning, to find out how

she was getting on with the overalls and berets which were

the uniform of French farm labourers, but were being made

for escaping prisoners and pilots …

She had no idea what time it was when the noise woke her

but she knew it couldn’t yet be dawn because the room was

still in darkness. She was lying on her side, and though her

first instinct was to reach out for the light, she stopped

herself and listened, praying that it had been nothing more

than the wind outside. But there was a cold air in the room

as though someone had left the door open, then she heard

the curtains rustle in the breeze, and the door clicked

quietly closed.

Blind terror galloped through her brain. Her hand moved

silently to her pillow, and as her fingers searched for the gun

she heard the intruder take a breath. He moved about for

some time; then, she suddenly realized, he was standing

right beside the bed. The gun! she panicked. Where was the

gun? Then she remembered she had turned over, it would

be behind her head. Oh, dear God, help me, she prayed.

Then, bracing herself, she jerked herself up in the bed,

jabbed her hand under the pillow and opened her mouth to

scream. But before the breath could leave her body, a hand

closed over her mouth and she was being pushed back

against the pillows. She tried to wrench her hand free

because she now had the gun, but his body was pressing

down on her and she couldn’t move. He gave a low chuckle,

then his hand moved from her mouth and his lips were

there.

‘Francois!’ she whispered.

‘Oui, cherie. C’est moi.’

‘Oh Francois,’ she gasped, and throwing her arms around

him she kissed him savagely. But then she was angry, and

pushing him away, she said, ‘You frightened me half to

death! I could have killed you! What are you doing here?

Where have you been? Oh, my darling, hold me.’

Laughing softly, he took her back into his arms and

pulled her against him. His lips were almost touching hers

as he said, ‘How are you, cherie! Have you missed me?’

She couldn’t speak as the fear and the longing she had

bottled up for so long were suddenly unleashed in huge,

racking sobs. ‘Oh, Francois,’ she choked. ‘Tell me you’re all

right. Tell me everything is all right now. I was so afraid for

you. I didn’t know where you were. No one knew. Let me

turn on the light. Let me look at you.’ But as she made to

reach across him, he pulled her back.

‘Not yet,’ he whispered. ‘I just want to lie here in the dark

and hold you, touch you, breathe you, the way I’ve wanted to

for over a year. Take off your nightdress, let me feel you next

to me.’

It was only then that she realized he was completely

naked, and sitting up, she pulled her nightdress over her

head so she would be too. She was still a little dazed, and

part of her was wondering if this was only a dream, but as his

hands closed over her breasts she no longer cared whether it

was or not.

She had never known herself capable of such passion as

she showed then, but just like her fear, her desire had been

bottled up too, and as it took hold of her she pressed his

hands against her breasts, searched for his lips and buried

her tongue deep inside his mouth. Then she was pulling

him on top of her, her hands on his buttocks, on his thighs,

pushing between his legs and taking him in a firm,

demanding grip. A groan escaped her as she felt the size of

him, and she writhed madly beneath him. As he pushed his

fingers hard into her, she tore his hair, bit his face and