The Sisters of St. Croix (49 page)

“I wonder how they came to crash,” Hartmann said, studying the remains of the Citroën. “I suppose this is Colonel Hoch’s car.”

“Of course it is,” snapped Thielen. “We’ve seen him in it a hundred times. Please see to the removal of the bodies, Hartmann, and arrange for the burial of the remains. I will report back to SS Headquarters in Amiens.”

Hartmann appeared to be about to speak, but thinking better of it he snapped a salute and turned to give the orders to his men. Hoch had been feared almost as much by his own men as he had by the local population. A sadistic and ambitious man, he would be mourned by no one.

Thielen realised that the knowledge Hoch had gained from the torture of his most recent prisoners had died with him, but even so, he didn’t despair of catching the
résistants
. Braun had actually seen them, so he could give a description, and Thielen himself already had one contact in the locality. He could be tapped for more information. No, Thielen didn’t despair of catching them at all… and the credit would be his.

“Get the road cleared,” he ordered Hartmann, “then report to me at HQ.”

Unaware that pursuit, for the time being, was over, Adelaide and Marcel turned off the road to Albert, and, with Marcel navigating, took the lanes and by-ways, travelling across country until they bumped along a dirt track and through the gate into a farmyard. As they turned in, Adelaide recognised it as the farm Marcel had taken her to on the night she had landed. She pulled up in the yard and the elderly woman, Maman, who had looked after her the last time, came out. When Maman saw Marcel slumped in the front seat of the car, she began issuing orders to Adelaide, and between them they managed to get him out of the car and into the house.

“Put the car in the barn for now,” Maman said as she took hot water from the kettle on the range and set about removing Marcel’s shirt. “We’ll hide it properly later. Now,” she said, turning her attention to Marcel, “let’s have a look at you.”

Adelaide did as she was told, driving the car into the open-ended barn so that it was not immediately apparent to anyone who came into the yard. The front seat was covered in blood, and she realised that Marcel had been bleeding steadily ever since they had made their break. His wound was worse than she had realised, and the effort he had put into moving the two German soldiers into the wrecked car, and his determination to get them both to a safe house, had made it worse. She found a bucket in the yard and filling it at the pump set about trying to remove the bloodstains from the leather seat. She got the worst off, but the stain needed more than clean water and a cloth to remove it completely. Next, she found a screwdriver in a box of tools and carefully removed the number plates. There was no point in making identification of the car easy. Someone had lost his car; the German staff car was almost identical; with a little careful work it might be a replacement.

When she finally went back into the kitchen she found Maman bandaging Marcel’s shoulder. Marcel was pale, his face drawn with pain, but he managed a weak smile as she came into the room.

“Where’s the car?” he asked.

“Taken care of, for now,” she replied, putting the number plates on the table beside him. “All we have to do is get rid of these and replace them.” She spoke to Maman. “How bad?”

“Not good,” replied the old lady, tipping the bowl of bloodied water down the sink. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’ll live. Now, what about you?”

“Me?” Adelaide sounded surprised.

“Sit down and let me look.” Maman poured clean water into the bowl, and taking Adelaide’s hands washed them thoroughly. The water made the cuts from the flying glass sting, but none was very deep, and Adelaide had been almost unaware of them in their flight.

“And your face. Hold back your hair.”

Adelaide did as she was told and the old lady washed and anointed the cuts to her face and neck. “You’re lucky, there’s only one bad one here on your chin. It really needs stitching or you’ll have a scar.” She turned to Marcel. “Perhaps when the doctor comes…?”

“No doctor until we’ve got Adèle away,” Marcel said firmly. “Too risky.”

“But you…” began Maman.

“I will wait until Adèle has gone.”

“Surely you can trust Dr Clabot.”

“Of course, I still have his car…” he laughed, “well, one just like it. But there are other eyes and ears, and I won’t take any unnecessary risks until Adèle is safely away.” He tried to stand up, but his legs seemed to buckle under him and he sank back onto the chair. “I have to contact the reception group,” he said. “There’s another drop coming in tomorrow night, and we have to be ready. The same plane will take Adèle out. Will you contact Rousseau for me? I need to talk to him.”

“In the morning,” Maman promised. “What you need now is some hot food and a good sleep… and no argument,” she said fiercely as he began to protest. “Time enough for Rousseau then.”

Adelaide was given the same bedroom she’d occupied before. As she lay in bed trying to sleep, she considered all that had happened since she was last in that bed ten weeks ago. Ten weeks! Was it really only ten weeks since she had parachuted into France, into the war of occupation? She thought of the people she would be leaving behind, everyday people who were trying to live normal lives; and the others who were living anything but normal lives as they fought against those who had taken over their towns, their homes, and in some cases their families. She thought of Sarah, quietly courageous, and the valiant little Sister Marie-Marc. She thought of Sister St Bruno, hiding a fugitive Jew under her bed; of Father Bernard sheltering those hiding from the Germans, those on the run and in fear of their lives. She thought of the Auclons, the parents prepared to give up their children in an effort to save them; of the twin boys so wary of anyone but each other. Madame Juliette, the Launays and the Charbonniers, simple folk prepared to put their own lives at risk to fight against the evil that had overtaken their country.

And then she thought of Colonel Hoch, the embodiment of that evil. She had plunged her knife into him without compunction. The memory of Sarah, battered and bruised, and of Sister Marie-Marc, almost unable to stand, flooded through her, and the tears streamed down her cheeks. She had made sure that the monster would never torture and murder again, but for so many that was too late. She had been trained to kill, to be prepared to kill, and she had done so. Fernand, rotting at the bottom of the Launays’ old well, and Hoch, whose eyes gleamed as he inflicted pain; Adelaide felt no more remorse than she would have destroying any other vermin.

Next day Marcel, though still pale and weak from loss of blood, seemed a little better. Adelaide was sitting with him in the farm kitchen when a young man arrived. He was introduced to Adelaide as Rousseau.

“We have to be prepared for a landing tonight,” Marcel told him. “Incoming, another wireless operator, outgoing, Antoinette. Can you make the arrangements?”

Rousseau nodded. “Of course, leave them to me.” He looked gravely across at Marcel. “I must tell you though, Marcel, I am concerned about young Benoit. He’s been acting very strangely these last few days. I think I won’t include him in the reception party. You need to talk to him. To find out what’s wrong.” Rousseau grinned suddenly. “I saw him today. He came into the café and gave me one bit of news to brighten my day.”

“Oh?” Marcel looked up with interest. “And what was that?”

“He said two German officers were killed yesterday in a road accident over St Croix way.” He laughed. “Don’t care how they die as long as they do!”

“How did he hear that?” asked Marcel sharply.

Rousseau shrugged. “He didn’t say, just said he’d heard it. May not be true of course.”

“Keep an eye on that young man,” Marcel warned. “He’s too free with his tongue. Does he know about the drop tonight?”

“I haven’t told him, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know. To be honest, Marcel, the whole group chat too much among themselves. You should talk to them all.”

Marcel nodded. “I’ll have a word,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

“Surely you’re not coming tonight!” exclaimed Rousseau. “Not with your arm useless and in a sling. You won’t be any help and it’s an added risk.”

“I shall be there,” Marcel said in a voice that brooked no argument, and Rousseau shrugged:

“You’re the boss,” he said and took his leave to go and make the arrangements.

When he had gone Adelaide asked, “Who is this Benoit? Is he a security risk?”

Marcel shrugged. “Everyone is a security risk,” he said. “Benoit is probably no worse than anyone else, except that he’s young and can be careless.” Marcel smiled across at her. “Don’t worry,
chérie
, the risks are there every time, they are no greater tonight than any other.”

The night was dark with only patchy moonlight between the scudding clouds. Adelaide stood with Marcel in the shelter of a hedgerow at the side of the field that would be the landing strip for the incoming aircraft. His arm was in a sling, but he insisted, as he had to Rousseau earlier, that he was coming with her to see her safely away.

During the afternoon they had talked, sitting side by side at the big kitchen table, left on their own as Maman had made a discreet withdrawal.

“When you arrived I wondered why on earth they had sent someone so young and inexperienced,” Marcel admitted. “I reckoned you were a tremendous risk to us all.”

Adelaide grinned at him. “Yes,” she agreed with a smile. “You made that abundantly clear!”

He took her hand in his and held it against his cheek. “How wrong I was! You’re the gutsiest girl I’ve ever come across… and the most beautiful.”

Adelaide felt the colour flood her cheeks and she pulled her hand away. “Come on, Marcel. We both know there’s no future in talk like that.”

“Isn’t there? This bloody war isn’t going to last forever, and when it’s over I’m going to come over to England and find you.” His eyes were intent upon her face. “I love you, Adèle. Didn’t think it could happen to me… falling in love at my age… far too cynical… but it has. I love you and when we’ve kicked the bloody Boche out of France, I shall come and find you.” He reached out to her with his good arm, pulling her to him. Adelaide allowed herself to rest against his heart, for a precious moment feeling safe within his embrace, and each of them had drawn comfort from the closeness of the other.

“I mean it,” he said. “When this war is over, I shall come and find you, wherever you are.” He spoke in English, his accent, as he spoke her language rather than his own, imbuing the words with added depth. “Look for me after the war, for if I survive I will come.” He kissed her then, holding her a little awkwardly with one arm, the passion in his kiss reinforcing the passion in his words.

The sound of the Lysander throbbed in the air and the reception party switched on the bicycle lamps set out to illuminate the makeshift runway.

The pilot made a single pass overhead, and then the engine note changed as he throttled back and made the approach to land. Marcel pulled Adelaide into his arms one more time and kissed her as if he would never let her go, and she, responding, returned his kiss with equal passion.

“Remember,” he said fiercely, “and never doubt it, I shall come and find you,
chérie
.”

The plane touched down, and almost before it had come to a halt the door was opened and the incoming wireless operator was scrambling down the ladder. Reaching back, he heaved his wireless suitcase from the plane.

For a moment Marcel stared down at Adelaide’s face as if to imprint it on his memory forever, and then he gave her a little push. She ran across the grass and scrambled up the ladder into the plane. The moment the door slammed behind her, as she was scrambling into the observer’s seat, the pilot revved the engine and taxied round to take off again.

As he did so, there was a rattle of machine-gun fire from somewhere outside.

“Christ!” bellowed the pilot. “Ambush!”

One glance sideways through the canopy, and the pilot’s face became a mask of grim determination. The plane was gathering speed and Adelaide was flung against the fuselage as the Lysander lumbered across the field before lifting into the air. The sound of gunfire continued, and as the Lysander banked away, Adelaide looked down to see muzzle flashes from the field below. The moon sailed out from behind the clouds, and in its pitiless light Adelaide saw figures running in all directions, some stumbling and falling, others diving for cover in the surrounding woodland. And then they were gone, as cloud enveloped the plane and she could see nothing.

“Just got you out in time,” shouted the pilot above the roar of the engine. “Sorry for the poor bastard we just took in! He’s probably bought it!”

Adelaide huddled against the throbbing fuselage of the plane, the tears flowing, unchecked, down her face. For the first time she allowed herself to acknowledge what Marcel had come to mean to her. Strong and brave, he came to the drop to make sure she got away safely… because he loved her, and she had seen him mown down by machine-gun fire. His words echoed in her ears. “Look for me after the war,
chérie
, for if I survive I will come.”

As the Lysander droned its way home across the Channel, Adelaide knew with a despairing, aching heart that Marcel had not survived and that he would not come.

Summer 2006

Adelaide Talbot leaned back against her pillows and sighed. “So there you have it,” she said. “I came back to England and when I’d been debriefed, I was given wireless training and then sent back. Different area of course, where I was completely unknown. Normandy. I worked with the local resistance as a courier and liaison until the Allies landed.”

She smiled at Rachel Elliott, journalist from the
Belcaster Chronicle
, who had come to interview her. “I was lucky to survive, hundreds of us didn’t.”

The old lady fell silent and closed her eyes. Wondering if she had fallen asleep, Rachel glanced across at James Auckland, sitting on the other side of the bed holding his grandmother’s hand.