Operation Kingfisher (10 page)

Cyrano looked unhappy with the idea, but after a moment he nodded. ‘Yes, it’s the only answer.’

‘Don’t take the main road,’ Pasqier said. ‘Take the old Roman road that runs just north of it. You’re less likely to encounter any checkpoints there.’

Christine watched as one of the bikes was unlashed from its position on the deck, and Cyrano collected the case with his radio and shook hands with Pasquier and Rollo. She felt an unfamiliar
tightness in her throat at the thought that in a few minutes he would be gone and they would probably never meet again. As a talisman against that probability, she repeated to herself the address he had given her. Maybe if she was accepted by this mysterious organisation they would bump into each other, somewhere. Meanwhile, he was about to vanish from her life and she found the prospect unexpectedly painful.

‘I’ll come with you, to Corbigny,’ she said.

He smiled at her and shook his head. ‘Better not. It’s like the
réseau
. The fewer people who know the next link in the chain, the better.’

She wanted to assure him that no power on earth would force her to betray his secret, but she remembered what Pasquier had said and knew that it would be an empty assertion. She tugged her brother’s sleeve.

‘Don’t leave me here alone with these two!’

‘You heard Cyrano,’ he replied. ‘Besides, one of us needs to stay behind. What’s to stop Pasquier shoving off and leaving us stranded if we both go?’

She bit back tears. ‘I don’t like it. I don’t trust either of them, especially not that creep Rollo.’

‘You’ll be all right. There are plenty of people around. Just stay on the deck where you can be seen and don’t let him get you alone.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Cyrano finished strapping his case onto the bicycle rack and turned to them.

‘Time to go. Take care of yourself, Chris. And thanks again for your help.’

She took a deep breath and held out her hand.

‘Goodbye. And good luck!’

‘Thank you.’ He kept her hand in his a moment longer than a formal handshake required. ‘Don’t forget that address.’

‘I won’t!’

Luke had lifted the bike onto the towpath and returned to help. He and Rollo half lifted the injured man off the barge and perched
him on the saddle and then, with a final salute, he pushed off and wobbled uncertainly along the dock, Luke trotting at his side.

They found the old road without difficulty and Luke found the chance to say something he had been mentally preparing.

‘You know, if it wasn’t for Christine I’d have told Pasquier not to wait. I’d stay with you and join the
Maquis
.’

Cyrano glanced sideways at him. ‘But, as you say, your first duty is to make sure your sister gets home safely. That’s the most important thing.’

‘I know,’ Luke said regretfully. He had put aside his romantic notion of joining the
Maquis
in favour of his mother’s plan for a return to England, but the encounter with Cyrano had revived it as an all-too-present possibility. ‘The thing is, I really want to do my bit, make a contribution towards getting rid of the Nazis.…’

‘And you will,’ Cyrano assured him. ‘Believe me, you will be far more use as a pilot with the RAF than you would be hiding out in the forest with a bunch of amateurs.’

‘But it’s what you’re going to do,’ Luke objected.

Cyrano gave a brief laugh.

‘
Touché
! But I’m only following orders – and I do have a definite contribution to make.’ He jerked his head to indicate the suitcase strapped to the rear carrier. ‘Hopefully, I can help to turn this lot into something more useful than amateurs. But I still say you will be more use as a pilot. You’ll be up there, dropping bombs or fighting off the Luftwaffe, while I’m still lurking in the woods hoping the Gestapo aren’t picking up my transmissions.’

They had reached the top of the hill and found themselves by the railway line. From here, there was no option but to join the main road where it passed over a level crossing. A German sentry leaned in the doorway of a small cabin, yawning, and took no notice of them as they passed.

Luke asked, ‘Where do we have to go?’

‘There is a pharmacist’s shop, in the Rue du Vézelay. That’s where I should be able to make contact.’

‘How do we find it?’

Cyrano tapped his forehead.

‘I was shown it on a map. I just hope I’ve memorized it correctly.’

There were people about in the streets of the little town, shopping, or making their way home from work, but Luke knew they could not risk asking their way. After all, Cyrano was supposed to be a resident.

The swastika flew outside the town hall, and a German motorcycle patrol overtook them as they reached the main crossroads, but no one queried their presence. On the far side, a green-cross hung outside a small shop.

‘There?’ Luke said.

‘Looks like it,’ Cyrano agreed.

They stopped outside and Luke helped his companion off the bike and into the doorway. He was about to push the door open, when the pressure of Cyrano’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

‘I think this is where we say goodbye,
mon ami
. I’m more than grateful for your help. But the fewer people you can recognize and identify the better. You understand?’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Luke said unwillingly. He had been imagining being introduced to other members of the
Maquis
, perhaps being congratulated and thanked, even invited to join them. He would have to have refused the offer of course, but even so.… ‘Yes, you’re right, of course. But are you sure you can manage on your own?’

‘I can hop inside, and after that I’m sure someone will give me a hand.’ He squeezed Luke’s shoulder. ‘Good luck! Take care of that sister of yours. She’s a great kid. You’re both great. You will be a real asset to the allied war effort when you get back. Take care.’

‘You too,’ Luke said, feeling a sudden constriction in his throat. ‘I’m really glad we were able to help.’

Cyrano let go of his shoulder and gripped the door handle.

‘Bye now.’

The door swung open and Luke had a brief glimpse of the interior,
with its flasks of coloured liquid on the shelves. Then it closed and he turned away, oppressed by the thought that this was probably the closest he would ever come to joining the
Maquis
.

A
s soon as Luke and Cyrano were out of sight, Pasquier thrust two ration cards into Christine’s hand.

‘You’d better go and see what you can find for dinner.’

Christine hesitated for a moment; Luke had told her to stay close to the boat, in case Pasquier and his son decided to leave without them. Then it occurred to her that she had both their ration cards; as long as she held them, they could go nowhere.

She collected her own card and set off into the village. It was a tiny place. She wondered how it had earned the soubriquet ‘les mines’; it certainly didn’t look like a mining village. At first, she felt nervous knowing that the locals must recognize her as a stranger, and afraid of being stopped and questioned. But before long she realized that this was a place used to transient characters, moving up and down the canal, so no one queried her presence. She relaxed and began to enjoy the sense of normality. Shopping for food was something she had always done with her mother and some of her earliest memories were of Isabelle’s instructions about how to choose the freshest produce or the best value as they wandered through the local market.

Since the capitulation of France, it had become an exercise in eking out the scant supplies provided by the rations. She had complained about being made to go along at the time, but now she recognized the value of the experience. There was little choice in the few small shops but she returned to the
Madeleine
with a shopping basket stocked with items she knew she could turn into simple but palatable meals.

By the time Luke got back, the lock-keeper had gone off duty for the day, so they had no option but to moor up for the night and Rollo had taken the opportunity to do some fishing. They ate a meal of salad followed by freshly caught carp and finished with a small piece of Camembert cheese. Afterwards, Pasquier went off to a local bar and she and Luke sat with Rollo in the open cockpit, while he told them tales of close brushes with the Germans while they had escapees hidden on board – the dangers of which, they both guessed, had become more acute in the telling.

‘I’ve just remembered something I wanted to ask,’ Christine said. ‘Why is this place called Chitry-les-Mines?’

‘It’s not coal mines, if that’s what you’re thinking. They used to mine silver round here, once upon a time.’

Later, as she settled to sleep in the tiny cabin concealed in the hold, Christine called softly to her brother, ‘Luke?’

‘What?’

‘I bet you wanted to go with Cyrano, didn’t you?’

‘Don’t be daft. I had to come back to you, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, but I bet you wished you could stay.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have minded – if things had been different.’

‘I’d have come with you – but I don’t think he’d have let me.’

‘He wouldn’t have let either of us.’

‘I’ll miss him.’

‘So will I. Now go to sleep!’

The day had been hot and waking next morning in the stuffy little cabin, Christine was more aware than ever that she had not had a bath since leaving home. She wriggled back into her overalls and went up to the cabin, keeping a wary eye out for Pasquier and Rollo. She had not been uneasy on the
Bourdon
, reassured by Marie’s presence, but in the close confines of the
Madeleine
, she felt awkward at being the only female on board. Pasquier was shaving in the stern cockpit and Rollo was sitting on deck smoking, so Luke was alone in the main cabin.

‘Luke, I need a bath – or at least a good wash. Do you think there’s any chance?’

‘I could do with one, too,’ he agreed. ‘But somehow I get the impression it’s not something that our hosts put a high priority on.’

She wrinkled her nose.

‘I know what you mean.’

‘I’ll have a word with Rollo and see if he can suggest anything.’

Rollo, approached with the problem, laughed. ‘No problem,
mon ami
. Wait until we moor up for lunch and we’ll have a dip in the canal.’

‘I don’t have bathing trunks.’

‘Who needs them?’

‘There’s something else. It’s a bit delicate.… What about Christine?’

‘Tell her to turn her back, if you’re shy.’

‘No. I mean, she’d like a dip too.’

‘Well, that’s OK. Tell her we’ll turn our backs. We’ll send the old man off to the café.’

This seemed the only solution, so he relayed the idea to Christine. She grimaced and shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose it’ll have to do.’

They moored just below a lock for lunch and when the meal was over, Pasquier, as predicted, took himself off with the lock-keeper to the nearby café. With the lock closed for the lunch hour, there was no danger of other boats passing, and any locals who might have been about were closeted in their houses for the sacred
midi
. Christine sat on deck with her eyes carefully averted, while the two boys stripped and jumped into the water. They splashed about happily for a while and then Luke shouted, ‘We’re coming out. Turn your back!’

When they were dressed he said, ‘OK. Your turn.’

Rollo sniggered. ‘You should have come in with us. What is there to be shy about?’

Christine ignored him and made her way to the stern cockpit.
The boys sat on the roof of the wheelhouse with their backs to her and she undressed quickly, with frequent glances over her shoulder to make sure they were still looking the other way. Then she lowered herself over the side and gasped with pleasure as the cool water enveloped her. She swam around for a few minutes, feeling the sweat washing off her body, but she worried that Pasquier might return from the café, or that Rollo would get fed up with sitting with his back to her, so she soon hauled herself out. She dried herself as quickly as she could, and pulled on her only set of clean underwear. It was then that she noticed that Luke was alone.

‘Where’s Rollo?’ she demanded anxiously.

‘It’s OK. He’s down below, tinkering with the engine.’

‘Why? There’s nothing wrong with the engine.’

‘He said it wasn’t ticking over properly.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘Well, anyway, he’s not anywhere where he could see you. So you don’t need to worry.’

Later, while Christine was preparing the evening meal and Pasquier was steering, Luke and Rollo sat in the bows sipping a pre-prandial
pastis
.

‘Tell me something,’ Rollo said. ‘Why does your sister dress like a boy?’

Luke looked at him, taken slightly by surprise.

‘Well, those overalls are borrowed from the people who owned the first boat we were on. We had lost all our luggage, and the clothes we were wearing weren’t really suitable for jumping on and off boats – especially for Chris. I mean, a skirt wouldn’t be very practical, would it? So we had to borrow things their son had left behind.’ He paused, then added with a grin, ‘But actually, she’s always preferred boy’s clothes. When she was a kid, she used to read these books by an English author called Enid Blyton. One of the main characters was a girl who really wanted to be a boy. Her name was Georgina but she insisted on being called George. I think Chris has always modelled herself on her.’

Rollo gave him one of the sly, sideways looks that he was beginning to recognize.

‘Pity. She’s got a nice little figure, under those dungarees.’

‘How would you…’ Luke began. Then he understood. ‘You little shit! You watched her, didn’t you? You told me you were going to do something to the engine.’

Rollo shrugged and winked.

‘So I did. But when I finished … well, where’s the harm? I’ve seen it all before….’

It was the wink that did it. Luke felt anger and embarrassment rise up like a hot tide and Rollo’s sentence came to an abrupt end as Luke’s fist made contact with his nose. He staggered back, staring at Luke wide-eyed for a fraction of a second. Then, he launched himself and the two of them crashed to the deck in a whirl of fists and feet. Rollo was solid muscle, but Luke was bigger and heavier, and back in England he had studied judo. By the time Christine came panting up from the galley, demanding ‘What on earth is going on?’, he had Rollo face down on the deck with one arm twisted painfully behind him.

Putting his lips close to his adversary’s ear he muttered, ‘Don’t say a word! Understand?’

Rollo groaned and nodded and Luke let him get up.

‘What was that all about?’ his sister asked.

‘Nothing much,’ he replied, trying to be casual. Then, seeing he couldn’t get away with that as an explanation, he added. ‘He said something insulting.’

Christine met his gaze and his eyes said plainly, ‘
Don’t ask
!’ So she shrugged and turned away with a muttered, ‘Boys!’

Luke looked around at Rollo and was surprised to be met with a shamefaced grin and a two-handed gesture, which he took to indicate an apology.

Isabelle was in the cellar, about to remove the radio from its hiding place. She could not take it into the house with the two Germans liable to come in at any minute, but they never came
near the cellar and all the workers had gone home long ago. She no longer bothered much with the
messages personelles
, knowing that there was no chance that her children could have found their way back to England in the short time since that letter had been written; but just listening to the BBC bulletin was a comfort. The Germans were in retreat in North Africa, and Allied air forces controlled the skies over the Mediterranean. At last, the war was turning in their favour.

As she reached into the barrel where the set was hidden, she heard someone come into the cellar behind her. She swung around to see a young man she recognized, through a mass of unkempt hair and beard, as the son of the village cobbler. She had heard rumours that he had gone to the
Maquis
, so she was not surprised at his appearance; but his presence in her cellar set alarm bells ringing.

‘It’s Louis, isn’t it? Louis Beaupaire? What do you want?’

He came down the cellar steps.

‘I’m sorry if I have given you a fright, Madame. But I have been sent with a message.’

‘A message? Who from?’

‘That doesn’t matter. I have to tell you that tomorrow you will receive a delivery of wine casks. Do not ask where they have come from. Just let the men store them safely in here until we need them.’

‘And what is in these casks?’

‘Ammunition, explosives. Stuff we liberated from a
Milice
post two days ago. We need somewhere to keep it until the time is ripe to use it.’

‘Are you mad?’ Isabelle’s heart was pounding. ‘Don’t you know I’ve got Germans billeted on me?’

‘Why should they suspect anything? You have purchased some new casks to replace old ones.’

‘And suppose the Germans search? They must be looking for the stuff you stole.’

‘Not stole, Madame! We are not thieves. It is the spoils of war,
n’est-ce
pas
? And if they were to search – two or three barrels, among so many? And as you say, you have soldiers living here. It is the last place they would suspect.’ He glanced over his shoulder and edged towards the door. ‘I have to go. The barrels will arrive tomorrow afternoon. You will be doing your duty as a patriot, Madame.’

With that, he slipped outside. Isabelle followed him to the door and watched as he loped away into the darkness. When she turned back to the cellar, her hands were shaking, but it was clear that she had no option but to comply; the casks would arrive, whether she wanted them or not.

That evening, Hoffmann had returned, grey-faced and wheezing.

‘His chest is worse,’ Schulz confided to Isabelle in the kitchen. ‘He should be in hospital but the Colonel thinks he is swinging the lead and refuses to allow him to go sick.’

‘Why would he be so inhuman?’ Isabelle asked.

‘I think it is an old family dispute. I don’t know the origins of it.’

All night, she could hear the young lieutenant coughing and in the morning it was obvious that he could not report for duty. Schulz went to the
château
with a message and later on, the medical officer came to visit and signed a note to say that Hoffmann was excused from duties for at least a week. Isabelle was torn between contrary emotions; her maternal instinct responded with relief that this poor boy, enemy or not, was no longer at the mercy of a cruel commander. But she could not forget that later that day, the casks containing the ammunition would be delivered and there was no way she could stop them.

To make matters worse, Hoffmann chose to sit by the open window instead of staying in bed.

‘He finds it easier to breathe sitting up,’ Schulz explained.

In the late afternoon, a horse-drawn wagon rumbled into the yard and two young men Isabelle did not know began to off-load several large casks, and roll them into the cellar. She had managed
to send her foreman into Clermont on a spurious errand and the other workers were down among the vines well away from the house, so there was no one to question the reasons for the delivery. But Hoffmann was looking out of the window and raised a hand in salute as she went out to greet the men.

Later that day, Schulz returned from the
château
carrying a basket, which he proudly emptied on the kitchen table. It contained a
gigot
of lamb and half a kilo of sausages.

‘I told the cook that the lieutenant was too ill to come to the mess, so I persuaded him to send these. I thought perhaps you could cook them, Madame? And then perhaps you and your father would care to share them with us?’

It was a long time since Isabelle had seen a whole leg of lamb. Roasted and accompanied by potatoes from her vegetable patch, and the first broad beans of the season, it made a delicious meal. She set places for herself, her father and Schulz at the table in the kitchen, but when she took a tray into Hoffmann’s room he begged to be allowed to join them.

‘I am feeling so much stronger, and I should appreciate having some company.’

So they all ate together and Isabelle opened a bottle of one of her better wines. She asked herself why she was doing this for two men who were not there by invitation, but by the orders of an occupying power; but she was finding it increasingly hard to think of them as the enemy – and besides, it would be a shame not to complement such a generous gift with an equally generous wine.