by Rosie Clarke
Well, at least he’d achieved a part of what he’d hoped for. The Oberst was dead, shot as a traitor in disgrace for losing important papers. According to Pierre’s source, the verdict was that even if he had not passed them on, he was guilty because he had not properly protected vital information.
At last, the tunnel ended at the bottom of a winding stair. Pierre led the way up into the small, windowless room at the top – a room used for storing vestments, chairs and other objects used in the church.
‘Someone will bring us food for the journey,’ Pierre told him as he lit a candle. ‘We’ll wait until night and then we’ll leave. They will let us know when the coast is clear – and if we’re lucky, they will have transport of some kind. Otherwise, we walk.’
‘You took a big risk for me,’ Marco said and frowned. ‘The Germans are not fools – whatever else they are. They will work it out that several of the villagers must have helped my escape. You realise what might happen?’
Pierre looked him in the eyes. ‘We know the risks, my friend, as you do – but this is our home and we do what we have to, to survive, and we look after our friends. You didn’t have to come here.’ His teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness. ‘Besides, you know too much. I either had to save you or kill you – and I decided I like you too much to shoot you.’
Marco looked at him and knew he wasn’t jesting. Pierre would do whatever he had to do to protect the comrades who were resisting the enemy trying to subdue his homeland.
28
Marco lay hidden in the ditch as the patrol passed them by. As far as he knew the Germans were unaware of them and merely on a routine sortie, but it still made his heart pound as he kept his head down and prayed. It had been touch-and-go getting away from the village three hours ago. The Germans had still been searching for him and they’d heard shots. A roadblock had made it impossible for them to use any kind of transport, so they’d had to walk across the fields behind the church, using the ditches as hiding places. Fortunately, most were dry because of the warm weather, but some had stagnant water in them, which had soaked into their shoes and the legs of their trousers. Already regretting the extra clothes he’d left behind, Marco was cold, hungry and tired.
Pierre was blessed with being able to sleep for a few hours in the church vault, but Marco had been too restless. They’d picked a few apples from a tree and Pierre had bought milk and bread from a French farmer, but hot food was out of the question.
A sudden shout alerted the passing patrol and one of the Germans advanced towards where Marco was lying, his rifle primed ready. Marco could see his long boots and the breeches he wore when Pierre spoke softly in his ear.
‘I’ll try to draw them away. When it’s safe, make your way to the coast as we arranged. You’re only ten kilometres from the rendezvous, so you should make it tonight and you know where you’re going.’
‘What about you?’
‘This is my job and my country,’ Pierre said. ‘Good luck, my friend.’
Without waiting for an answer, Pierre sprang up and fired at the patrol, taking down two of the men before they realised what had happened. He then began to run away in the opposite direction to the one Marco needed to take.
The German trooper shouted and started to run after him, firing into the night. His shot missed and Pierre kept on running. Now three others had joined the hunt and they all fired at the back of the fleeing man.
Marco saw the bullet strike, saw Pierre fall face down on the field. The Germans gathered round him, looking down at him. One of them kicked him and then another bent and turned him over. He laughed and said something that Marco recognised. Pierre was dead. The officer ordered them to pick Pierre’s body up and they carried it off with them.
Feeling sick, hardly daring to move yet wanting to kill them all, Marco lay where he was until the sound of their laughter had faded into the distance. And then he cursed. Why had Pierre done that? It was a waste of life. Perhaps if he’d stopped where he was, the patrol would have passed them by – and yet he knew why his friend had taken the risk. He’d wanted to give Marco the best chance of getting away.
Tears stung his eyes as he forced himself up and started to walk and then to jog and finally to run. He needed the release of running to ease the shame and tension inside him. Marco was ashamed that he’d stayed put and let Pierre sacrifice his own life to save him and he was filled with rage at the stupidity of the men who had laughed when they’d killed him. He was burning with anger and it had formed into a hard knot in his stomach.
Two men he’d admired for their courage had died recently, one of them admittedly had brought it on himself by choosing to take revenge on a man he hated, but Pierre had been trying to save him. Marco just hoped the information he’d given was worth the deaths of two men – and there would probably be more. The Germans might take reprisals for his escape amongst the village men.
Gritting his teeth, he ran through the pain. His legs burned and his chest hurt, but it was good; he wanted to hurt; he needed the pain to stop him weeping. He wasn’t sure whether he would make it to England, but if he did, he wanted to be sent back – and this time to fight. He wanted to kill, because Pierre had been killed for him and he needed to avenge him. He couldn’t bear another death on his conscience.
‘Queer sort,’ one of the sailors remarked as they passed Marco lying in the hammock – they’d strung for him on deck, because he didn’t want to go below. ‘Said he didn’t fancy being trapped below decks if we were hit, wouldn’t have thought he was a coward.’
‘He must be worth getting back if they sent us in for him,’ the other man said and hawked, spitting over the side. ‘It’s all hush-hush – but I thought there was supposed to be two of them.’
‘The Frenchie was killed,’ the first voice said as they moved away.
Marco opened his eyes and looked up at the stars. He smiled to himself because they couldn’t understand that he needed to be able to breathe the fresh salt air, to know that he was himself again and no longer the decadent nightclub performer he’d pretended to be for the past few months.
His thoughts turned to the man he’d loved – Julien. His young lover had taken his own life when his father discovered his relationship with Marco. It had been hard to come to terms with that knowledge and though he’d blamed Julien’s father he blamed himself too. Kurt had reminded him a little of Julien, but it was only a surface thing – underneath they were very different.
Some of the anger had gone now. The killing rage had faded, but he still wanted revenge for Pierre and for the others he knew would suffer because he’d escaped. It was more than likely that other villagers would be shot for helping a British spy escape.
Marco tried to ease the guilt inside him. He was doing the job he’d been asked to do – but it didn’t help knowing that Pierre had been in love. He’d talked about a young woman – an English nurse called Sadie. She was pretty and funny and Pierre had intended to ask her to marry him one day. Now that could never happen and it was Marco’s fault.
Marie told Sadie the news when they visited the village just over two weeks later. Pierre’s home was some twenty-five kilometres away from Marie’s village of Saint-Angelus on the borders of France and Belgium. He’d been shot by a German patrol while helping a British spy escape and after his body was returned to the village, six villagers were executed in the square for harbouring a known enemy.
Sadie stared at her in stunned silence and then shook her head. ‘No, it can’t be true,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t believe you – not Pierre… not my Pierre…’ She turned, looking wildly at Maggie. ‘She’s lying, please tell me it isn’t true…’
Maggie moved to take her in her arms and hold her as she shook with the force of her weeping. She kissed her head and held her tightly, looking at Marie over her head apologetically, but Marie needed no apology. Her eyes were filled with sympathy and sadness. She had been fond of Pierre, as were all the family.
‘He died bravely, my li
ttle one,’ Marie said. ‘You must be brave too. Pierre was a good Frenchman and he did what needed to be done – it was a selfless act to help another brave man.’
‘No – he shouldn’t,’ Sadie denied, her sobs increasing as Maggie soothed her. ‘We were going to marry… he loved me…’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Maggie murmured against her hair. ‘I know how it feels. I know it hurts so badly, Sadie.’
She couldn’t tell Sadie it would get better, because so far it hadn’t got much better for her. Yes, the sharp pain had eased a little, but the ache and the emptiness inside were still there. Maggie wasn’t sure that it would ever get better and she wouldn’t lie to her friend. ‘I’m here for you, love, just as you were for me.’
Sadie pulled back and looked at her, her eyes dark with distress. ‘You don’t understand… Pierre… we were both a little drunk one night and he said we would marry soon…’ She gave a strangled sob. ‘I’m pregnant, Maggie. I’m having Pierre’s baby…’
‘Sadie!’ Maggie stared at her in shock. If Sadie was pregnant, she would be dismissed from the service, sent home in disgrace – and her parents might not accept her if she had no one to marry her. ‘Oh, Sadie, I don’t know what to say…’
‘The little one has the baby?’ Marie exclaimed and went to embrace Sadie. ‘You will come to us when they send you away from the hospital – you belong with us now.’
Sadie stared at her in silence, looking from her to Maggie.
Maggie nodded. It was perhaps the best thing for Sadie, if Marie was willing to take her in and look after her while she had the child.
‘You needn’t tell anyone just yet,’ she said. ‘It will be our secret – and then you can come here to have the baby. Afterwards…’ She shook her head, because they would talk about that when they were alone. Sadie had to make up her mind whether she wanted to keep her baby or leave it with Pierre’s family and go back to England alone.
Marie was smiling and patting Sadie’s arm. It was a good thing, she told them. All Pierre’s family would welcome the news that he had a child. They would all want to help Sadie and to help bring up her baby.
Sadie let Marie chatter on. She was numbed, thoughtful, her eyes dark with sadness. Maggie knew that she would talk when they were alone, but her thoughts were perhaps not to be shared with Pierre’s cousin.
She felt sad for her friend, but inside Maggie envied her a little. At least Sadie had lain in her lover’s arms and known the joy of making love. She would have Pierre’s baby and perhaps in time she would realise how lucky she was to have a part of her lover left to her.
‘I shan’t keep the child,’ Sadie said when they were alone in their hut that evening. ‘I’ll go to Marie and have the baby – but then I’ll give it to the family if they want it or to the nuns.’
‘Are you sure?’ Maggie asked. ‘It is Pierre’s baby – surely you must want to keep it?’
‘No, not now,’ Sadie said and she sounded angry, a little bitter. ‘He promised me we would marry – why did he do something so dangerous? Why didn’t he think of me? He must have known I might have a child…’
‘He didn’t know you were pregnant?’
‘No, I wasn’t sure at first – but we made love a few times; he must have known it could happen.’ She caught back a sob. ‘He should have thought of me – of what could happen. I’ve worked so hard.’
‘But surely a baby—’
‘No!’ Sadie was determined. ‘I’ll talk to Sister Mayhew. She might know a way I can come back once I’ve had the baby.’ She hit her pillows hard. ‘I worked so hard for this – I can’t lose it all now. If Pierre had lived, I would’ve been happy to leave, but now…’ She sobbed in the darkness. ‘I can’t bear it, Maggie – why should I lose everything because he threw his life away?’
‘How can you say that?’ Maggie asked. ‘He was doing important work…’
‘But Marie said he’d done something very brave and foolish.’ Sadie pounded her pillows angrily. ‘He should have been more careful and thought of me. It isn’t fair…’
‘No, it isn’t fair,’ Maggie agreed, because how could she argue about that? It hurt to lose the man you loved and it wasn’t fair that they should die because of this rotten war.
29
Marion knew something was wrong the moment she opened the kitchen door that evening. There was no sign of Sarah and no sign that any preparation for supper had been made. She took off her coat and ran upstairs, hearing the muffled cries as she reached Sarah’s room. Inside, Sarah was sitting in her nightgown on the edge of the bed grimacing, her face screwed up with pain.
‘Is it the baby?’ Marion asked, going to her at once and taking her hand. Sarah gripped it so hard that Marion had to suppress a cry of pain. ‘I thought it wasn’t for another three weeks yet…’
‘So, did I…’ Sarah gasped, suppressing a moan of agony. ‘I heard the postman and hurried to the door this morning and fell down the last steps.’ She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t think anything of it, just a little bruise on my back and elbow, but then just as I was going to start supper this happened.’ She gave a cry of fear. ‘If I lose my baby…’
‘Oh, Sarah love,’ Marion said. ‘You must have brought the labour on early by falling. Something similar happened to my mother when she had Dan – she had a little fall in the back garden and he was born a few weeks early, but he was all right and so was she.’
‘You think I’ll be all right?’ Sarah looked at her hopefully. ‘I’ve been sitting here terrified I was going to lose my baby.’
‘No, I’m sure you won’t.’ Marion heard the kitchen door. ‘That will be Kathy, love. I’m going to send her for the midwife and the doctor – and I’ll put the kettles on.’
‘I could do with a cup of tea. I meant to make a nice pie this evening…’
Marion laughed. ‘I will make a cup of tea, but we’ll be needing hot water for the midwife later and warm water for washing baby.’ She pressed Sarah’s hand. ‘Don’t be afraid to scream out if it hurts too much.’
Kathy was just taking her coat off. She looked scared as Marion told her that Sarah’s baby was coming but put her coat back on and went out immediately.
Marion started filling kettles and saucepans with water and putting them on to boil. They could all have a sandwich that evening and a succession of hot drinks, because she wasn’t going to cook supper when Sarah needed her.
Kathy returned in a panic by the time Marion had the tea made.
‘Doctor’s out with another patient and the midwife isn’t in either…’ she said and looked at Marion in fear. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Go next door and ask Mrs Jackson if Paula is home,’ Marion said. ‘She is a nurse and will have taken midwifery classes; she’ll know what to do.’
Marion carried a tray of tea upstairs. She was encouraging Sarah to drink hers when Kathy came rushing up the stairs.
‘Mrs Jackson says Paula’s not home until nine this evening, but she’s coming – she says not to worry…’
‘Good,’ Marion said and smiled at Sarah. ‘It’s all right, love. I’m here and Mrs Jackson knows what to do. She’s had seven children herself and her daughter is a nurse.’
Sarah looked doubtful and nervous, but when Mrs Jackson arrived, her calm manner made them all feel better. She smiled at Sarah and told her to sit back and relax on the bed.
‘Have your waters broken yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m getting pain every few minutes though.’
‘About how long between?’
‘Ten or fifteen… perhaps a bit more sometimes…’
‘Then we’ve got plenty of time,’ Mrs Jackson said. ‘Either my Paula will be home or the midwife will turn up before you’re in proper labour – it took me twenty-five hours to have my first, though Reggie was here a lot quicker.’
‘Twenty-five hours…’ Sarah looked aghast at the idea and Mrs Jackson smiled. ‘I thought it would be quick – an hour or so…’
‘I was just learning them…’ Sarah breathed deeply. ‘I can’t remember what they told me.’
‘Not to worry, when it starts for real, I’ll sort you out,’ she said. ‘If I were you, I should drink your tea and let Marion get you a nice sandwich. By the look of you, it will be a while yet and you’ll need to keep your strength up.’
‘I thought it would be soon.’ Sarah looked a bit disappointed as Mrs Jackson smiled and shook her head. ‘So, not yet then…’
‘I’ll pop back and serve up my husband’s tea,’ Mrs Jackson said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back – and either Paula or the midwife will be here by the time you need help.’ She went off with a nod and a smile, leaving the two young women to look at each other.
Marion laughed and squeezed Sarah’s hand. ‘She’s right you know – Ma was ages having Milly. The midwife came and went three times before she was born.’
‘Oh dear,’ Sarah said. ‘I wish it was over…’
‘Could you eat a nice ham sandwich? I’ll cut them small and put a little pickle in if you like – and I’ll eat mine up here with you.’
‘Yes, please,’ Sarah agreed. She winced as a pain struck. ‘I think the last one was only ten minutes ago…’
‘Let me get you that sandwich,’ Marion said and went down as Sarah clenched her teeth and muttered something unmentionable.
