The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  “I will go,” Gabrielle volunteered.

  “It is too dangerous,” Odile objected.

  “It is not dangerous at all, Mama. I will merely go to Monsieur Vlabon’s bar, and tell him…” she looked at Liane.

  “That I need to see Gaston, here, as quickly as possible.”

  “I still think it is too dangerous,” Odile said.

  “How can it be dangerous, Mama? No one in Aumont save Monsieur Vlabon knows, or cares, who I am. I will go shopping, deliver the message and return here.”

  “I will go,” Philipe said.

  “Ah…” Liane said. “I think it would be better if Gabrielle went, with respect, Odile. I do not believe that there is any risk in it.” She was too aware of Philipe’s dislike for Gaston.

  “Then that is settled,” Gabrielle said. “I will go tomorrow morning.”

  *

  It was a fifteen-kilometre walk into Aumont, but Gabrielle relished the prospect. Just to get off the farm was exciting, and to go into the little town was more exciting yet, even if she could not shake off the memory of that terrifying day, over two months ago now, when she had stood outside the bar and watched Monsieur Moulin being dragged away. She had been petrified but, as everyone else in the crowd had also been petrified, she had remained just a horrified spectator; only Vlabon had known who she was, and he had not been going to betray her.

  That day would remain etched in her memory for the rest of her life. But returning to Aumont had to be exciting, and her life sadly lacked excitement. Nor did she have to walk the whole way, as she had covered no more than two kilometres when she heard the rumble of wheels and a farm cart drew up beside her.

  “Mademoiselle Gabrielle,” said the young driver. “Where are you going?”

  His name was Armand Dragout and he was the son of a neighbouring farmer. Gabrielle did not know him very well, as over the past couple of years there had been little socializing between the farms in the district, but he was a personable young man. “I am going in to Aumont,” she said.

  “That is a long way. Will you not accept a ride, for at least part of it?”

  Gabrielle hesitated, then said, “That would be very kind of you.”

  Armand extended his hand and she grasped it to swing herself up on to the seat beside him, while he moved the axe that lay there. “I have been chopping wood,” he explained.

  She looked over her shoulder at the back of the cart, while the mule resumed its slow gait. “It is a lot of wood.”

  “Well, it will soon be winter again. One needs a lot of wood.” They drove in silence for a while, then he asked, “Do you think the War will have ended by then?”

  “I do not think so.”

  “It depends on the Allies, eh? When do you think they will come?”

  “It is better not to think about things like that,” Gabrielle said, is this not the lane to your farm? I will get down now.”

  “It is still five kilometres to Aumont. I could drive you a little further.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are a pretty girl.” Gabrielle wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she made no further objection as he drove past the turn-off. “I would like to come to see you,” he said. “I would like to be your friend.”

  “Would you like to be my friend if I were an ugly girl?”

  “Well…”

  “You have driven me far enough out of you way. I can walk the rest.”

  He pulled on the rein and the mule willingly stopped. “I have angered you.”

  “Not at all. I am flattered.”

  “Then can I come to call?”

  “No, no. You cannot.”

  “Why not? My family is as good as yours.”

  “I know that. But it is not possible.” She jumped down from the seat, her satchel banging on her back, her skirts flying.

  “You have another friend,” he said.

  Gabrielle straightened herself. “I have no other friend.”

  “But you do not like me.”

  “I like you very much.”

  “But you do not wish me to call on you.”

  “I have said, it is impossible.” She made sure her hat was firmly on her head and set off along the road, refusing to look back but half hoping he would come after her. Of course, it was not possible for him to come to the farm while Mademoiselle de Gruchy and her sister were there; as far as she knew neither Armand nor his father were members of the Resistance. But it might be possible to meet away from the farm… only he would have to propose that, with its suggestion of illicitness. How she would love to have an illicit boyfriend, someone with whom she could tryst, with whom she could share secrets, be exciting.

  But he was turning the cart to return to his home. She sighed and trudged on.

  *

  It was late morning when she reached the town, which was crowded as it was market day. As she was very much a stranger here, no one greeted her, although one or two young men whistled at her. What did surprise her was the number of German soldiers in the town; there seemed one at every street corner. Talk about shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, she thought. She ignored them and went straight to the bar. At least there were no soldiers in here, although it was crowded. She wriggled through the throng, again attracting admiring glances from the mainly male customers, and reached the counter. Monsieur Vlabon, a bluff, cheerful man, blinked at her.

  “Gabrielle? What are you doing here?”

  “I have a message for you, monsieur.”

  Vlabon glanced right and left, but no one seemed very interested. “Go into the back room.”

  He lifted the flap for her, and she ducked into the bar and through the door at the rear.

  “Gabrielle?” Madame Vlabon was a match of her husband. “You should not be here. It is too dangerous.”

  “No one knows who I am.”

  “But did you not see the soldiers? They are everywhere. They are stopping everyone they do not know. You are fortunate they have not stopped you, yet.”

  “Why are they doing this?”

  Madame Vlabon shrugged. “Because Monsieur Moulin was arrested here, and they still think Mademoiselle de Gruchy may come back. If they were to arrest you…”

  “Why should they arrest me? I have said, they do not know who I am.” She turned to the door as it opened.

  “This must be quick,” Vlabon said. “I cannot be gone long.”

  “I am from Mademoiselle de Gruchy. Does Gaston Ferroux come in here often?”

  “He is a regular customer. He should be in today.”

  “Then will you tell him that Mademoiselle de Gruchy needs to see him, urgently. He should go to the farm, by himself.”

  “I will do that. What will you do now?”

  “If you will give me some lunch, and a glass of wine, I will return to the farm.”

  “Of course. Augustine? Now I must get back to the bar. Give Mademoiselle de Gruchy my regards.”

  He bustled off, and Madame Vlabon laid out bread and cheese and a bottle of wine. “There is something big, eh?”

  “I do not know.” Gabrielle ate hungrily.

  “I understand. You are a brave and loyal girl.”

  Gabrielle finished her meal, embraced Madame Vlabon and was allowed to use the kitchen door. This led through the backyard, past the toilets, into an alleyway. She made her way along this and reached the main street, which ended only a hundred metres away at the road leading into the hills. She turned towards this and heard a shout: “Hey! You!”

  From the accent, she knew it had to be a German and, without thinking, gathered her skirt and began to run. There were more shouts and the drumming of boots on the cobbles, then she tripped and landed on her hands and knees. Before she could recover, her arms were seized and she was pulled to her feet, to find herself between two soldiers, who looked less hostile than amused.

  “Why were you running away, mademoiselle?” one asked in uncertain French.

  Gabrielle had got
her nerves back under control. “My mother told me always to run away from strange men.”

  “I think she has something to hide,” said the other soldier. “I think you are right,” agreed the first.

  “What can I have to hide?” Gabrielle demanded, refusing to panic. “Look inside my satchel. There is nothing there, save a few francs.”

  “It’s not what’s in your satchel that we want to see,” the first soldier said. “It’s what you have in here.” He squeezed the bodice of her dress.

  “Oh,” she cried. No one had ever done that to her before.

  “And here,” said the second soldier, squeezing her buttocks.

  “Oh,” she gasped again.

  “And here most of all.” The first soldier squeezed her groin.

  “Bastard!” she shouted and swung the satchel, catching him a blow across the face that knocked him off his feet.

  Then she tried to twist away from the other man, but he caught her round the waist. “You have struck a German soldier, mademoiselle. Do you not realize that carries an immediate death sentence?”

  Gabrielle panted and tried to kick him, but without success. The first soldier got to his feet, slowly. “I am going to fuck you till it’s coming out of your mouth,” he said and looked left and right. “Bring her over here.”

  “Wait,” Gabrielle gasped. “Please! I am a virgin.”

  “Then we’ll just open you up a little.” He grasped her arm, and the other man half lifted her from the ground.

  “Halt!” snapped a voice. The two soldiers released Gabrielle and stood to attention; they had not noticed the officer coming down the alley. “You are supposed to be on duty in the market place, looking out for guerillas,” the lieutenant said. “Not terrorizing young girls.”

  “We thought she was suspicious, Herr Lieutenant.”

  “You mean you thought she was an easy victim. Get back to your duty.”

  The two soldiers exchanged glances then saluted. “Heil Hitler!”

  The lieutenant watched them march away, then turned back to Gabrielle. “Are you all right, mademoiselle?”

  Gabrielle had got her breath back. Now she was finding the young man rather attractive. He was not very tall but well built, had crisply pleasant features and brown hair. Of course the uniform, so smart, helped, even if it also reminded her that he was a Boche. “They did not harm me, sir. Thanks to you.”

  “It was my duty. But also my pleasure. You are from Aumont? I have not seen you before.”

  “I do not live here, sir. I live on a farm.”

  “In the Massif? Which farm?”

  “My father’s name is Chartrin.”

  “Chartrin. And your name is?”

  “Gabrielle.”

  “Gabrielle. I like that name. How far is this farm of yours?”

  “Fifteen kilometres.”

  “You walked that distance to come into Aumont?”

  “My mother sent me to do some shopping.”

  “She is a hard woman, your mother. Come with me.”

  “Sir?”

  “I will drive you out to your farm. Fifteen kilometres is too far for those pretty feet.”

  “I am used to it, sir.”

  “Nevertheless, it will be my pleasure. And while we drive, you can explain to me why you have walked fifteen kilometres to go shopping for your mother, and are now on your way home, without buying anything.”

  *

  Gabrielle followed him back into the town, her brain tumbling. She was too afraid to think straight. Everyone had heard of the Gestapo’s methods. This man was not a member of the Gestapo, but he had the power to hand her over to them. The thought made her blood run cold. But more important than what might be about to happen to her was the matter of how to get rid of him before they reached the farm. If he was to catch a sight of Liane…

  Yet he was politeness itself as he showed her to his car, watched by everyone in the vicinity. “You will have to tell my driver where to go,” he said, gesturing her into the back of the open tourer.

  “It is the road to the west,” she said. “It is the only one.”

  “You hear that, Hans,” the lieutenant said and sat beside her. “Is it not a nice day for a drive in the country?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are afraid of me. You are trembling.”

  But again she had her nerves under control. “Am I not supposed to be afraid of a German officer, sir?”

  “Not if you are innocent of any desire to harm the Reich.”

  “I have no desire to hurt anyone, sir.” Which was perfectly true. Apart from the machinations of Liane, and these were always carried out at a distance, the only actual contact she had had with the War had been the arrest of Jean Moulin, and even that had had, and retained, a sort of surrealist nightmare quality.

  “Well, then,” he said. “We shall be friends. My name is Dieter. How old are you, Gabrielle?”

  “I am seventeen, sir.”

  “A good age. You are no longer a child, but you are not yet a woman. Are you eager to become a woman, Gabrielle?”

  “I consider myself already a woman, sir.”

  “Well said. You mean you are not a virgin?”

  “Sir?”

  “I am being too forward. But as we are going to be friends, we can also be confidants. So tell me…”

  Gabrielle looked left and right. They were well out of the town now, driving between low hills. There was no one in sight. She was utterly at this man’s mercy, as he would certainly be supported by his driver. On the other hand, if she matched his mood, she might be able to prevent him going right out to the farm; he was obviously far more interested in her than in her family. And it would be an adventure, while he was undoubtedly an attractive man and did not look a vicious one.

  “I do not wish you to take offence,” Dieter said. “I apologize. It is merely that I find you both interesting and attractive. So I wish to know as much as possible about you.”

  “I am not offended, sir. I was just surprised. Yes, I am a virgin.”

  “Does not your boyfriend wish more?”

  “I have no boyfriend, sir.”

  “That is remarkable. Would you not like to have one?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. But…”

  “It has not happened yet. It is sad to see a beautiful young girl wasting her life on a country farm.”

  “Me, beautiful?”

  “Has no one ever told you that you are beautiful, Gabrielle?”

  “Well… no, sir.”

  “Then you live in an unobservant society. I would like to take care of you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Is the idea repulsive?”

  “Oh, no, sir. But…”

  “We have only just met? I am a man of instant decisions, and the moment I saw you I knew I had to hold you in my arms.”

  “Oh, sir. But you are German.”

  “Does that make so much difference?”

  “Not to me, sir. But my family…”

  “Ah. Yes. I understand. Then we shall not tell your family.”

  “But if you take me home…”

  “There is no need for me to take you right home. I can drop you off a kilometre away.”

  “Oh, sir. If you would…”

  “But first we must, how shall I put it… consummate our friendship. Would you like that?”

  Gabrielle was just happy to have escaped the risk of having him come to the farm. “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “Well… that is an attractive little copse over there. Shall we explore it, you and I?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, if you wish.”

  “Good. Stop the car, Hans.” Hans obeyed. “And amuse yourself for half an hour.”

  “As you wish, Herr Lieutenant.”

  Dieter got out and opened the boot to take out a blanket. Gabrielle stepped down, her mind tumbling. She had no idea what was going to happen to her, but she found the prospect more exciting than ever. They walked away from the car towards the trees.<
br />
  “Is it not a lovely afternoon?” Dieter asked. “One wishes that the summer could last forever. But then one would be bored. Do you have severe winters down here?”

  “They can be,” Gabrielle said. “It is because we are high up. Were you not here last winter?”

  “Last winter I was in Russia.”

  “Oh. Was it very bad?”

  “Let me say that it was nothing like this.” They entered the trees. “We do not have to go very far. Just away from prying eyes.”

  “There are no eyes out here.”

  “You mean we could make love out on that pasture, with the sun playing on our naked bodies?”

  Gabrielle gulped. Naked bodies? She had not anticipated that.

  “That sounds entrancing,” Dieter said. “We shall do it. But at the moment there is Hans. He is an inquisitive fellow. Here will do.” He spread the blanket on the ground.

  Gabrielle looked at it. “I do not know what we should do.”

  “The first thing it to undress. Take off your clothes. I wish to look at you.” Gabrielle drew a deep breath and unbuttoned her dress, shrugging it from her shoulders and allowing it to fall to the ground. “Now the petticoat.”

  Gabrielle bit her lip, but she lifted the petticoat over her head and laid it on the dress, fluffing out her hair as she stood before him wearing only her drawers. “Exquisite,” he said, standing against her to finger her breasts. “These are so perfectly formed. Am I the first to touch them? Except yourself, of course.” Gabrielle’s head bobbed up and down. “Now the rest.”

  Although she had discounted the possibility of prying eyes in this mostly lonely part of the country, Gabrielle could not resist a glance to left and right as she slid her drawers down to her ankles and stepped out of them. “Exquisite,” he said again. “Turn round.”

  She obeyed, happy not to have to look at him for a moment, and he fondled her buttocks. “Now lie down. On your back.” The ground, even beneath the trees, was warm and the warmth seeped through the blanket. Gabrielle nestled into the leaves, one hand instinctively resting on her groin, the other arm across her breasts. “You are modest,” Dieter said, unbuttoning his tunic. “I like that. But you must look at me.”