‘Yes, I know that.’
He nodded.
Julie waved briefly, then went to the thick curtain and waited behind it, listening. There was no sound and, tentatively, she pulled the curtain aside until she could see through into the shop. There were no customers: only the proprietor, standing behind the counter.
She stepped out briskly and went round the end of the counter. Near the shop door she paused, as if looking at one of the books on the shelf, then nodding to the proprietor, went casually out into the street.
She resisted the temptation to look over her shoulder. That would never do. Instead she looked at her watch. Her lunch hour was nearly over. She’d have to go straight back to the office. It wasn’t far, only five minutes away.
She walked calmly, not too fast, not too slow. She kept her manner casual, glancing at the occasional shop window, or into the faces of passers-by. She had never realised it was so difficult to look natural. She wondered if she was fooling anyone. Her heart was beating wildly and she felt horribly conspicuous. She decided she’d never get used to this kind of thing.
When she arrived at the office it was quiet: her boss was away for the afternoon. She finished some accounts and typed three letters, then looked at the pile of copy invoices waiting to be filed. She hated filing: it could wait.
Instead she flicked through her diary, trying to work out when the next moonless night would be … That was when he would come …
It was seven months since she had seen him. She’d thought about him constantly, so much so that sometimes she couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like or the exact shape of his nose. Not that those things mattered … But it did make him seem unreal and that frightened her. Sometimes she could even persuade herself that she’d never see him again.
He, his crew, and the stranded airmen had finally been collected in March. The boat had come back four times after that, on routine missions. It was then that she’d expected to see him. But he hadn’t been on board. Instead there had been messages, usually relayed by the leader of the beach party.
Hoping to come soon. Please be careful.
Take care. Don’t know when I’ll be able to come.
In April the nights had got too short and the boats had not come any more. The summer seemed to last for ever – and not just for her but for the people hiding the growing number of airmen. Now it was autumn again and he still hadn’t come. There were messages like the ones before, but no Richard.
Maybe he would never come again. But she’d go to the beach anyway, just in case.
That was why she was helping Maurice – to make sure she got to the beach. She was ashamed of her motives. Either one was committed or one wasn’t. She had to make up her mind.
Immediately, she knew it was impossible. She couldn’t choose between the safety of her son and seeing Richard again. She was greedy; she wanted both.
After. She’d make up her mind after she’d seen Richard. Yes: that was the answer.
She shivered slightly and got up to do the filing.
She left the office early. There was no more work to do and, by getting the five o’clock bus, she could have an extra hour with Peter before bedtime.
It was only a five-minute walk to the bus stop, but she’d still have to hurry. She walked rapidly, head down and arms swinging. She looked at her watch again. There should be enough time … But she hated cutting things fine. She ran a little way until she was out of breath, then walked again. She arrived at the bus stop with four minutes to spare.
She flopped into a seat, breathless and rather hot. Why had she hurried? Because I’m a worrier, she thought with a sigh, and I’ll never change now. She took the morning edition of Ouest-France out of her bag and, unfolding it, started to read. There wasn’t very much of it – only two pages – and it was, she guessed, heavily censored, but some news was better than none at all and, like everyone else, she read what she could.
She was aware of someone sitting down in the seat beside her, then, with a lurch, the bus set off. After so many years Julie knew the route like the back of her hand. She didn’t have to look up to know exactly where they were on the forty-minute journey.
The person next to her shifted in his seat. Suddenly there was a voice in her ear. ‘You left work early!’
Julie started and looked round.
She sighed with relief and laid her hands over her heart. ‘Michel! You gave me a terrible fright!’
He smiled briskly. ‘My apologies.’
The bus drew to a halt at the checkpoint which marked the beginning of the Zone Interdite, the coastal zone restricted to all but those with the necessary permit. Julie got out her papers and glanced at the permit which had appeared in Michel’s hand. She noticed that it was in a false name.
When the Feldgendarmen had glanced at the papers and the bus was on its way again, Julie stole a glance at Michel. ‘Where have you been all this time?’ How long had it been? Months.
‘Morlaix. Mainly.’
‘But I haven’t seen you around. I thought you must have gone away!’
‘No.’ It was a statement.
‘Anyway—’ She took another look at him. ‘What are you doing on this bus?’
‘Going your way.’
‘Ah.’ She didn’t ask why. With Michel, she never liked to enquire too closely. He was probably planning to blow up more Germans.
He read her mind and said quietly, ‘I’ll be behaving myself, don’t worry.’
Julie glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder. Behind, there were two large country women sitting with baskets of vegetables on their laps. In front, there was a girl reading a book. No-one was listening.
Michel whispered, ‘I hear that things have got a bit more organised around Tregasnou.’
Julie stiffened. How dare he! She said calmly, ‘What do you mean, Michel?’
‘There’s a new set-up, isn’t there? A new organisation to get people out?’
‘If there is, I know nothing about it.’
Michel smiled. ‘Of course. I must say your security’s much better. Nobody’s talking. That’s very good.’
Julie said coldly, ‘So how did you hear this story? If security is so good.’
‘Ah. Small things … Guesswork mainly. And the silence.’
‘The silence?’
‘Yes. No-one’s talking. That always means there’s something going on!’ He smiled at her.
Self-satisfied as ever, Julie thought. But he doesn’t know as much as he pretends. That’s the important thing. She said, ‘If there is something going on, I really don’t know. I keep well out of these things nowadays.’
‘I hope so. Whatever they may think, they’re still a bunch of amateurs.’
‘I think not.’
Michel looked at her quizzically. ‘You seem very definite.’
‘I’ve just formed an opinion, that’s all.’
He regarded her for a moment. ‘You’ve changed, Julie—’
She frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘You’re more – self-confident. You never used to be.’
‘You’re making judgements again.’
‘Yes. I think I’m quite good at them.’
Julie sighed with exasperation. ‘But – you’re so sure of yourself. And so intolerant of everyone else, Michel! It’s really very trying.’
‘You mean, like everyone else in your quiet neck of the woods, you think my politics stink! Well, I tell you – after the war you’ll be sorry. You’ll find you’re living in a France run by fascists, just like it was before the Germans came!’
Julie shook her head. ‘There, you see – you immediately turn everything into a political argument. All I meant was you’re very difficult to talk to!’
‘Ah! But how very sure of yourself you have become, Julie. You’re quite a different lady from the one I used to know. What have you been up to? I think you’re busier than you’ll admit to. Yes, a very busy lady!’
How she hated his
games. She said impatiently, ‘I am just the same person, Michel. Nothing’s changed.’
He gave her a mocking glance. ‘If you say so.’
The bus had stopped at a village. More people got on. With a loud roar the bus started again, juddering slowly up through the gears. Like most buses in Brittany, it had seen better days.
Michel leant closer. ‘All right – no more discussions. I’ll tell you. I caught this bus purposely – so that I could see you.’
Julie peered sideways at him. Again, she wasn’t sure what he meant. She smiled and said archly, ‘Oh really? I didn’t know you cared so much, Michel. After all, you’ve managed to keep away from me for at least six months!’
He looked irritated. ‘No … Well, of course it’s nice to see you – but actually it’s about something else.’
‘Yes?’
He said, ‘Whether or not you know who’s involved in … local activities … you must know someone who knows someone. Anyway, I have an important message for them.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘If I give it to you, will it get to its destination?’
‘But why me? Why not send it more … directly?’
‘Directly? You’re joking. There’s undeclared war between your lot and mine. Or didn’t you know? If your lot had their way we’d never touch so much as a hair of a German’s head. Well, that’s not our idea of how to fight.’
‘But when you kill it means reprisals.’
‘I thought we weren’t going to argue … Look, you’re the best contact I have. Are you going to pass this message or not?’
Julie looked him straight in the eye. ‘Well … I can’t promise anything, but …’ She shrugged and pretended to consider. ‘… if it’s that important I’ll do my best.’
‘I thought you might be able to.’
Julie felt like strangling him.
He went on, ‘The message is this: there’s a scientist working in a factory in Brest who wants to get to England. The man’s a German Jew. He used to be in a concentration camp until they dug him out to work on some electronic gadget at this factory. In theory he’s a sort of prisoner, but he’s hardly guarded. It would be easy to spring him. But the point is, he says he has a secret … an invention of some sort … which would be very useful to the British. He would bring all the details with him. Whether or not he really has a secret is another matter … But they say he’s very bright, so he might be of use anyway, secret or not.’
Julie frowned, trying to take it all in.
Michel thought for a moment. ‘Ah, one more thing. He’s not too well. He can’t be shifted for another two weeks or so. They half killed him in the camp in Germany. Mind you, kinder than the way they treat most Jews. Usually they kill them straight away. Did you know that? They’re killing them all, in their thousands. Women, children, babies …’
Julie looked at him in horror. ‘You don’t mean it …’
‘Oh yes. They’re carting French Jews away now, by the train load. They’ll never come back.’
Julie started out of the window at the clean, honest countryside, thinking that it couldn’t possibly be true.
‘So—’ Michel said ‘– do I take it the message has been received?’
‘Yes. Yes. I think I’ve got it.’
‘The point is, if we get him out, will you take him off our hands?’
‘I … I’ll ask.’
‘Good.’
The bus stopped in another village, then started again, bumping slowly along the narrow lanes. Julie looked out of the window and wondered if Michel was holding anything back. Probably. He was a secretive man.
And this scientist – ill. How ill? she wondered. It might be difficult to get him down to the beach … She’d better send a message to Maurice straight away. He would know what to do. He would decide.
They were nearing Tregasnou. Michel nudged her. ‘If you need to contact me I’ll be at my old apartment during the week and at—’ He paused and frowned. ‘No, just at the apartment.’
She nodded. The bus shuddered to a halt in the centre of the village. The remaining passengers stood up and began to shuffle off.
Michel said suddenly, ‘And another thing … If you ever need help – you yourself, I mean – come to me, won’t you?’ He was casual and offhand, as if he were asking her round for a meal, but Julie could tell that he was perfectly serious. He really was the most confusing person. She nodded vaguely and said, ‘Yes … all right.’
‘Good.’ He got up and led the way out of the bus. Then, with a brief wave, he was gone.
Julie hurried up the hill to the farmhouse, feeling despondent. Whatever this thing involved – even if it was as straightforward as Michel had suggested – the idea of joining forces with his friends worried her.
She sighed. At least she wouldn’t have to make the decision. That would be Maurice’s problem.
‘They say he’s not to be trusted.’ Maurice looked at each of them in turn.
There was silence apart from the crackling of wood burning in the stove. Someone said, ‘Yes, but why should he want to plant someone on us? What would be his motive. Eh?’
Jean sighed deeply, took his pipe out of his mouth and said heavily, ‘Who can tell? Michel has always had extreme views. To him, anything is justified if it furthers his cause.’
Julie could bear it no longer. She said to Maurice, ‘But he would not betray us, I’m sure of that. After all, we are his family. He wouldn’t betray us to the Germans, I’m sure …’
‘Family—?’
‘Yes!’ Julie exclaimed. ‘Cousins. He used to come here often …’
There was silence again. Finally Maurice said, ‘It’s what happens before we take delivery of this fellow that’s the problem. There is no way we can be sure he’s authentic. We’re going to have to take their word for that. If they’ve been fooled … well, we’ll have no defence … We’ll get nabbed at the hand-over. When you think about it, it could be the perfect set-up.’
The others nodded slightly. Julie shook her head.
‘But … Why would they make up this story about him being ill, if he’s really a Gestapo agent? It sounds unlikely … Doesn’t it?’ Suddenly she was as uncertain as the other three. It was impossible to be sure.
Maurice grunted and passed a hand over his face. ‘Looking on the black side, the Gestapo might need the extra time to train up their agent. Who knows?’
The fisherman, Gérard, said, ‘But what if this scientist is genuine and he does have this secret, what then?’
Maurice suddenly slapped his hands on his knees and said, ‘Well, I suggest we do this – we ask for as many details about this man as possible. We try to check him out with London. You never know, they might have some information on him – if he really is a top brain. Then … We take as many precautions as possible. We risk only one person at the pick-up, we blindfold this fellow, we guard him twenty-four hours a day …’
‘So we go ahead?’
‘Yes, I think we have to.’ Maurice looked at Julie. ‘Can you ask for more details about this man? And also ask if they guarantee his authenticity.’
Julie nodded. ‘I’ll ask.’
‘Okay. That’s it for the moment then.’
They all got up. Gérard said a quick good night and left immediately. Maurice paused and came up to Julie. He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘May I speak with you one moment?’
‘Of course.’
He led her to the other side of the table and they sat down. He said softly, ‘Look, I’m concerned that you’ve become involved in all this when perhaps you didn’t mean to. If – well, if you should decide to change your mind, that is understood. You only have to tell me. And there’ll be no recriminations.’
He was asking her to choose. She thought of Peter asleep upstairs and instinctively looked upwards. There was no simple answer …
She said, ‘I’ll do what I can for the moment … I’ll deliver the message and bring back the reply and all that. Perhaps when this scientist is
delivered, perhaps then I might … want to be not quite so involved …’ She trailed off, thinking what a half-baked person she was.
But Maurice was nodding. ‘That’s fine, then. We’ll do that. But I do think we shouldn’t be using your real name. I think we must find another for you. Would Marie-Claire suit you?’
The question took Julie by surprise. ‘Er – yes.’
‘Right, Marie-Claire you are then.’
A false name. Julie shivered slightly.
Maurice was getting up. ‘Oh, and the boat. Sunday. It’s coming on Sunday. You’ll help bring parcels to the beach?’
Julie breathed, ‘Oh yes! That’ll be no problem!’
Sunday. It was three days away.
*
The darkness was made up of a million small dots which jumped and danced before your eyes. One moment you could see the outline of a rock against the sea, the next it had gone and there was nothing except the shimmering blackness. If you stared too long you began to see strange indistinct shapes that moved and faded and darted away. Then you had to look away and rest your eyes.
One thing at least, thought Julie, it was a perfect night for the gunboat. The sentries up on the headland wouldn’t be able to see further than the cliff edge. Also, there was hardly any wind. That meant the boat would have a fast passage. They would come, she knew it. The BBC message had said so. It had come at eight. Benedictine is a sweet liqueur.
Whatever happened, it would be a great relief when all the parcels were gone. There were thirty-nine of them, there on the beach at that very moment. It was a terrifying number, but they had been accumulating fast in the last few weeks. Many had been diverted away, to Spain via Bordeaux, but those who had been sent down the line to Brittany – by train from Paris to St Brieuc – had all been hidden, some for as long as a month.
Now, miraculously, they were all on the beach. And restless. Julie could hear them muttering between themselves. She got up and, walking over to the voices, whispered, ‘Please don’t talk. The sound may carry.’
‘But how long do we have to wait?’
‘It’s impossible to say. Just be patient. Please.’
They were quiet and Julie returned to her place. She felt very calm. She was sure everything would be all right. She had a feeling about it.
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