by Jan Harvey
‘Quickly!’ Pollo was at the door. ‘Upstairs with him.’ They both fled up the flight of stairs to floor five and ran along the corridor, Pollo was carrying the bag. Claudette was tightly holding the boy, her heart was thumping, he was white with fear. The first door was open and the key was in the lock. They shut and locked it behind them and then continued through the second door. The room smelt foul. It was dark, drear and abandoned.
‘What do we do?’ asked Claudette, realising she was with the one person she disliked most in the world. ‘What will they do?’
‘If we stay here as quiet as we can they might not find us.’ Pollo was looking for any break in the walls, an indication there was space behind them, but there was nothing. There was the sound, very far off, of shattering glass and then the blast of a shotgun. Claudette felt her heart lurch, she tightened her grip on Daniel without realising. He squirmed and tried to break free from her.
‘Hush now, baby,’ she said, placing him on the floor. He stood up and wobbled over to Pollo who had sat on the bed. He laid his tiny fingers on her arm.
‘Look at you in your little sailor suit, you gorgeous little man,’ said Pollo and Claudette watched, fascinated, as they interacted for the first time. Pollo leant down and picked up a ball that was wedged under the bed. She rolled it across the floor and Daniel, half walking, half crawling followed it like a dog to fetch it.
There was a sudden sound of screaming, shrill and clear, from the floor below and then banging sounds. ‘Babette,’ said Pollo, ‘I think that’s Babette. They’ve got her!’ There was a long silence, well over half an hour, Pollo crept to the door listening. ‘I think they’ve gone.’ Claudette, who was sitting on the floor with Daniel, stood up and came to listen. Everything was still. Pollo put her hand on the door and stepped outside into the small room, tiptoeing across the floorboards. Daniel let out a little shriek, so Claudette ran back and picked him up. Still there was silence.
Pollo turned the handle of the outer door, it clicked open, the corridor outside was empty. There was an eery silence.
Just at that moment Daniel decided to howl.
Chapter Fifty One
The package had arrived, it was on my desk in front of the window. It was an old-fashioned brown paper parcel tied up with string, I had to find my kitchen scissors to open it. The rain had been incessant all day and now rivulets of water were running down the glass making the whole room shimmer.
I pulled open the paper and saw that there was a handwritten note in English on top, it was folded neatly in two. Under it were three pages typed on foolscap paper, all in French and beneath them was a small box with a ribbon tied round it.
I opened the note, it was from Louis.
Connie,
How lovely to hear from you and please forgive my tardy reply. I am literally between flights. I work for Médecins Sans Frontières and I have to leave for West Africa in four hours. I was in Syria only yesterday! I would have very much liked to meet you. Samuel explained in an email that you had been uncovering information about Claudette Bourvil and, as I’m sure he told you, I have been trying to trace her son or daughter for a long time. She came to Vacily to see my father but he was working in the Dordogne and they missed each other. The tragedy of what happened to her upset him very much, he thought the world of her. She wrote this letter to him whilst she was in Vacily, (her parents had been killed in the war) she wanted him to know that although she was treated like a collaborator she had never done it intentionally.
Alas, in life, the circle is not often squared, as you Brits say, how lovely it would have been for them to meet, especially as my mother died the following year, Claudette could have been a great comfort to him.
I was sad to hear that Freddy died recently, but pleased that Daniel is still with us too. It would make a good novel, such interweaving of life stories.
If I can be of further help please do not hesitate to ask. In the meantime, I feel I have returned Claudette’s letter and, I know you will look after it or do with it what you think fit.
With all good wishes
Louis
I read it over again. Claudette was in love with Yves, that’s why she had gone back to see him and to clear her name. I wished she had seen him. And then there was poor Giselle who died so soon afterwards.
I opened the box. Inside it was a tortoiseshell hair comb. The wavering light of the water shadows caught it and for a moment it gleamed topaz, gold and brown. The letter was in the old typography of the typewriter so unfamiliar these days. The letters sat next to each other unevenly, depending on the key, it looked so strange when you are used to a computer. I remembered Freddy’s keys on his typewriter stuck in mid air, A and S.
I would need Matt to translate and he would want to see it. I tapped his name on my phone and it was ringing. A woman answered.
‘Matt’s in bed at the moment, can he call you back?’
Chapter Fifty Two
‘Stop him, for God’s sake,’ snapped Pollo, pushing the door closed. ‘Get back in the other room, stop him!’ Claudette backed away and, pulling the door closed, she sang to Daniel and bobbed him up and down on her hip.
‘Hush Baby, hush, please hush.’ But Daniel was screaming, his face red, mucus oozing out of his nose. He would not be stopped. Suddenly there was the sound of wood smashing and then Pollo swearing.
‘Take her!’ shouted a man, his voice deep and brusque. ‘I’ll look in the next room.’ He barged in. Claudette gripped Daniel to her as hard as she could, he was bawling, his anxious, terrified screams only equalled by Pollo. Claudette could see her scratching at the face of the man who had his arms around her thin waist.
‘Bastard!’ she screamed. ‘Let me go, damn you!’ but he had the better of her. He flung her against the wall and slapped her hard. She looked completely dazed, the welt of red was visible immediately, her mouth started to bleed and her head drooped. He hit her again, punching her under the chin, making her reel back against the wall.
Claudette watched, frozen to the spot. Two other people arrived, an old woman and a young man, his face was half melted like molten wax. He looked at Pollo and then at Claudette. ‘See what your Boches did to me?’ he was pointing at his face. ‘Now it’s time to get even.’
Daniel stopped crying, as if he was scared into silence by the sight of the face. ‘Please no, I have to look after this little boy.’
‘The whore’s boy.’ The woman spat out the words.
‘His mother is dead, she died not long ago.’
‘Good, one less whore in the world is a good thing,’ said the man who was holding up a dazed and bloody Pollo.
‘She is a maid, just a maid,’ said Pollo, though her eyes were closed, blood running down her silk blouse.
‘Well, we have it on good authority that she’s a collaborator,’ said the woman, ‘And they all have to pay for what they’ve done.’
‘I’m with the Resistance,’ said Claudette, ‘Ask Jacques.’ Pollo opened her eyes in total surprise and then she smiled to herself.
‘He’s dead,’ snapped the woman. ‘He got in the way.’ Claudette felt a shock of pain inside her. Jacques was with the Resistance, he’d been working for these people.
The big man took her by the arm and led her out onto the landing, then forced her roughly downstairs. She couldn’t see her feet on the treads. Daniel was clinging to her, his little fingers digging into her neck.
‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t hurt him.’
‘We make no allowances for the children of Germans and whores.’ There was spittle forming on the side of the man’s mouth.
The house was silent, no sound of anyone else. ‘Where are they?’ Pollo was being pulled along behind, she was talking as if her jaw was injured. ‘What have you done with them?’
‘You’ll soon find out!’ the woman was shoutin
g as she followed them all down the steps. ‘No more than you dirty lying whores deserve.’
Jacques’ body was lying in the hall, his back to Claudette. Daniel pointed at him. ‘He’s only asleep,’ said Claudette, biting back tears. ‘Night, night Jacques.’ The man shoved her through the front door and down the steps, not caring if she fell or not, not thinking at all about the child.
There were crowds outside, they cheered as Claudette appeared and cheered more loudly when Pollo was dragged out, her face bloody and hair bedraggled. The day was grey, overcast, everything was the colour of stone. They were marched along the street. Claudette searched wildly for Madame Odile, surely she could stop this, but she was nowhere to be seen. The man holding her arm shoved her forward and she nearly fell, which made Daniel cry again. His howls were deafening her, the crowd were baying relentlessly like a pack of animals. ‘Whore, whore, whore,’ they chanted in unison.
It was as if the mob were carrying her as they pushed along the street, she could get no purchase on the ground. They were pinching her and spitting on her, one hand grasped her breast and another plunged between her legs. A trail of saliva landed on Daniel’s arm. There was nothing she could do, she pressed her lips to his cheeks. ‘I love you, baby, don’t be scared.’ She was willing him to stop crying but he was too distressed. At the end of Rue Ercol they turned left into a narrow street. Half way along there were some double gates, grey metal with a Fleur de Lys handle standing proud half way down each one.
‘This whore says she isn’t a collaborator,’ shouted the man, his words echoing off the walls of the houses opposite. ‘Where’s the girl who told us about these women?’
The crowd bunched as they turned their heads and then stepped aside to let someone through. It was Perrine. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon she looked pinched and mean. ‘You, you girl, you told us. Is this one of them?’ Perrine stepped forward until she was standing face to face with Claudette. Claudette’s chin began to quiver, she could feel the tears burning behind her eyes. She had the strange feeling she was being physically pulled down towards the ground.
‘It’s not true.’ Claudette was almost hoarse with nerves. ‘He gave away their plans, he told me what they were doing. I passed them on.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Perrine, her eyes burning with fury. ‘He is as responsible as the next Boche. They all must be punished and the whores that had them in their beds must pay for it now.’ She turned and walked away. They pushed Claudette into the courtyard where a flight of steps rose up to a galleried landing where there were people looking down on her. She glanced up to see if any one of them could help her before she was forced inside a small run-down shop on her right. Pollo was being thrown inside the one next door.
The man had heaved Daniel out of her arms before she had time to think. The baby disappeared into the crowd, his little blond head bobbing between one person after another until his crying stopped.
Inside there were piles of rubbish, old boxes and newspapers, a shop counter pushed against the wall and a single chair. The man flung her down onto the boxes and undid his belt. His eyes were bulging with anticipation and sweat was running down his face. ‘Now it’s time to make up for your Boche fucking.’ He kneeled down and grabbed at her knickers, pulling them off. She tried to squirm away but he pulled her back. Then he rammed his hand between her legs. When she tried to fight him he brought his hand down on top of her left breast, pinning her to the floor, the pain was unbearable.
‘I should make you suck this first,’ he said with a lascivious smirk. He unbuttoned his trousers so she could see he was hard, ready for her. She turned her head away, trying not to look, her face pressed against the hard edges of the boxes. He rammed into her. ‘Take that, whore!’ he shouted. There was a cheer from outside. Claudette realised they could probably hear what was going on, or maybe it was something they were doing to Pollo. She reached out and scraped the baked earth of the floor under her nails, trying to create pain to stop her feeling him inside. He thrust himself into her again and again and on until he was hurting her. Then he released himself and there was a sticky mess between her legs and he was panting as he stood up. She looked at him, the greasy black hair, the dirty skin, a factory worker or street cleaner, or even a tramp. He was dishevelled, much older than her and he was triumphant.
He staggered out and there was another cheer, the same as a few minutes before. It had been for Pollo, they had done the same to her. Claudette pulled up her pants and looked around for a weapon. If he was coming back she would kill him, or anyone else who was coming, there might be more men, ten, twenty more.
There was nothing, then the sound of a man’s voice, a shout of laughter and the women filed inside. They stood looking at her, one held out a pair of heavy black scissors. ‘Time to pay the price, whore.’
Chapter Fifty Three
I had put the phone down and stepped back from the desk. The woman was his mother, or sister, or cleaner, that was it. Why was he in bed? Why was he in bed in the middle of the afternoon? Why did she answer his mobile? I felt sick. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I sipped it, looking at my small patch of a back garden and the hollyhocks growing against the back wall, tinged with rust. Even at the end of their season they were beautiful and even in the driving rain they could cheer me up, but as I stared at them, the pink flowers began swimming before my eyes and suddenly there were tears rolling freely down my cheeks. Hat would have told me what to do but she was no longer here. I felt the bitter pain of being completely alone.
My phone buzzed, it was him. I was in two minds, part of me said answer it but the other part of me was too scared. I felt my stomach churn so I grabbed my coat and went for a walk. The rain was heavy by then, sheeting across the hillside. I took myself down to the water meadows, past the station and over the bridge where my heart yearned for it all to be as it once was, before Freddy died.
I walked on to the forest where I used to ride. It was beautiful in there, the rain was struggling to break through the canopy of trees and I saw two Roe deer leaping through the undergrowth. Then I was walking back up the hill towards my cottage, my legs heavy, my body aching.
He was standing there, his hands deep in the pockets of his Barbour. I felt like turning and running away, back to the trees and the silence of the forest paths.
‘I’ve been here for ages,’ he said. His hair was wet because he had no hat or hood.
‘Where’s your car?’
‘M.O.T. I was dropped off,’ he said, his teeth were beginning to chatter.
‘Who was she?’
‘Can I explain inside?’ I looked at him, so the answer wasn’t simple, it was going to be bad news. I pushed my key into the lock and opened the door. He followed me in like a lost dog. I took off my coat and hat and he unzipped his. He didn’t sit down and I didn’t offer him coffee.
‘She’s my ex-fiancé. She dropped by out of the blue and we went out for a meal last night for old times and stuff. I imagined we could get on like good friends but she had other plans. It’s no excuse, but I was drunk.’ I just looked at him, dumbfounded, my cheeks set solid, making any attempt to speak impossible. ‘It was a huge mistake and when she answered the phone she was being a bitch.’
I couldn’t fathom it out, how did he think any of this was worth relating? I was out of my depth and worse, every fear I had in being in a relationship was rising inside me. ‘Please go, Matt,’ I said quietly. I stood still, in the middle of my small lounge, the shimmering effect on the window was playing with the shadows on the wall, it felt like everything was moving around me in this awful, stationary moment. He looked forlorn, with hair dripping water onto his face.
‘It was a stupid, idiotic mistake, a one night stand that should never have happened,’ he said. I just stared at him, thinking of all the things we’d done during our short sorry little affair.
‘Please go,’ I said again and eventually he turned away and the next thing I knew the door had closed behind him and I was dialling Hat’s mobile number.
‘Oh, my darling, I wish I was there for you.’ Hat was mortified for me. ‘What a terrible, terrible thing to happen, especially for you.’
‘I should have explained more about my trust issues thing,’ I replied. ‘I never told him everything, it all happened too fast.’
‘My love, he shouldn’t have done it at all, being faithful is part of the package, unless you agree otherwise. If you need to come and see me down here, I’ll cheer you up.’ I thanked her, saying I missed her very much, and then to change the subject I told her about the package I’d received from Louis. ‘Wow! How fascinating to have something that you know was hers. Which means the comb we found in the shed was probably a matching one. I wonder what the story is behind those?’
The letter was still there looking at me on my desk. ‘I have no idea and I can’t very well ask Matt to translate. I don’t understand a word.’ I was feeling grumpy as well as hurt, or maybe grumpy because I was hurt.
‘Haven’t you techy people got a translation thingy on your computers?’
‘No,’ I said miserably. ‘I don’t fancy typing it all into a translation programme, there are three pages… in written French.’ Then a thought occurred to me, I could scan it and download a programme to read and convert it. ‘Hat, my brain’s just clicked into gear, I can do it, and I can translate it.’
Half an hour later, with a free trial of some translation software, the words were appearing on my screen, slowly, but all in English. When it was done I printed it out and suddenly I was holding Claudette’s words and my eyes couldn’t take it in fast enough.
Vacily 19 June 1952
Dear Yves,
I am so upset that I didn’t see you. I must have missed you by only a few hours. Giselle told me you had to go sooner than you had thought. I was glad that she was safe and well and I met your lovely boys.
