by Lily Baxter
‘Where?’ Elsie put down the stocking and leaned across the table. ‘I can’t see anyone.’
‘In the shop doorway on the other side of the street, directly opposite. Wait until he takes a drag and you can just make out the glowing tip of the cigarette.’
Elsie peered into the darkness. ‘Why would anyone be watching this building?’
‘I think it’s us he’s watching.’ Marianne’s voice throbbed with suppressed excitement. ‘We’re agents of the British government. He could be a German spy.’
‘Or maybe he’s got a girlfriend living here, or perhaps he’s a client of the girls on the first floor that Jeanne-Marie mentioned.’
‘There,’ Marianne said, pointing excitedly. ‘The cigarette. Did you see it?’
‘No, but a man stopping for a smoke doesn’t mean he’s spying on us.’
‘I wish I had some cigarettes left, but I can’t stand the French tobacco.’ Marianne rose to her feet and limped over to her bed. ‘My ankle aches and I’m chilled to the marrow. I’m going to bed.’
Elsie abandoned her darning. ‘I can’t see well enough to finish this. I’m going to the bathroom, and hopefully when I get back the water in the kettle will be hot enough for a cup of cocoa.’ She stood up, taking one last look out of the window. ‘Whoever it was seems to have gone, Marianne. You can rest easy.’
‘I won’t sleep a wink,’ Marianne said, yawning.
Elsie left the room and headed for the lavatory. She longed for a hot bath, but there was no chance of that. She had not properly understood Felicia’s desire for such a luxury when she returned from entertaining the troops, but now she could sympathise. Wallowing in hot, scented water was one of the things she missed the most, as well as freshly laundered sheets and clothes, not to mention a nice cup of tea. These headed a long list that she added to mentally each day.
There was only one person waiting outside the bathroom and Elsie exchanged nods and pleasantries with the middle-aged woman, who apparently worked as a cleaner at the Louvre, but then the occupant emerged and Elsie was left on her own. She heard approaching footsteps and glanced over her shoulder to see Raoul wearing his heavy greatcoat and a fur hat which made him look even more bear-like than usual. He raised his hand in a salute. ‘Good evening.’
She smiled in acknowledgement. ‘You’re home late.’
‘I’ve only just finished my shift at the Gare du Nord.’
‘What do you do there, Raoul?’
‘I’m a signalman. I’ve worked for the railway for twenty years, man and boy.’ He was about to walk off when the bathroom door opened and the cleaning lady emerged. She scuttled off, swinging her wash bag. Elsie was about to enter when she had a sudden thought and called out to Raoul. ‘Just a minute.’
He paused, turning his head. ‘You wanted something?’
‘Were you watching our window from the street just now?’
His deep laugh reverberated off the walls in the narrow corridor. ‘Why would I do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe we were mistaken, but you always seem to be popping up in the most unexpected places.’
‘A coincidence,’ he said casually. ‘You make too much of it.’ He strolled off, leaving Elsie staring after him. There was something about Raoul Dubroc that did not add up – but they were living in the twilight world of the secret service – sometimes nothing made sense. She must not allow herself to become so entangled in its web that she could not tell the difference between fact and fiction.
When she returned to the room she found that the kettle had almost boiled and she was able to make cocoa, but Marianne had fallen asleep beneath a pile of blankets and clothing and it seemed a pity to wake her. Elsie went to sit by the window, sipping the cocoa, which she had sweetened with condensed milk. She watched the street for some time, but there were only a few passers-by and there was no sign of anyone loitering below. Perhaps Marianne had imagined it after all, or else it had been a completely innocent person simply stopping to enjoy a smoke before going on his way. She went to bed and slept soundly, exhausted both emotionally and physically.
The weeks went by and Elsie’s days fell into a strict routine centred on work at 41 rue Saint-Roch. She and Marianne went to the Café Goulet every day for their lunch, as it was near enough to make it the most convenient place to eat, and Raimond always made them welcome. The formidable Honorine greeted them warmly whenever she happened to be in the bar, but more often than not she was at the hospital. The locals seemed to accept them without question, and Elsie was convinced that this was thanks to Raoul, who occasionally breezed in for a drink and a chat with Raimond. Elsie was still slightly suspicious of Raoul, and her fertile imagination had him alternately as a German spy or a Russian émigré. His shifts at the railway station seemed to vary, which might explain his sudden and unexpected appearances, but on the rare occasions when she ventured out alone she could not shake off the feeling she was being followed.
One evening Jeanne-Marie took them to the bar where she worked, but it was gloomy, damp and smoky in the cellar and the customers were mostly men who were too old to enlist or exempt on medical grounds. Elsie sat in a corner sipping a glass of red wine while Marianne chatted to a young soldier who had been badly wounded and sent home to recuperate. Elsie tried not to stare at the empty sleeve where his left arm should have been, but Marianne did not seem perturbed by that or the livid scars on the soldier’s face. Elsie could only admire her friend for being able to cope with such obvious disabilities without being patronising or overly sympathetic, but she herself felt like crying every time she looked at him.
After the first visit Marianne went to the bar on several occasions, but Elsie chose to stay in the lodging house and keep up to date by reading the English newspapers which had been discarded in the rue Saint-Roch. She tried not to think about either Henri or Guy, and to distance herself from the terrifying accounts of the fighting at Verdun. Terrible losses were reported, with hundreds of thousands of casualties, and although the battle had begun in February there seemed to be no end in sight. The advance of the German army might have been halted, but Paris was by no means immune to terror from the skies, although according to the newspapers, the French capital fared better than London when it came to death and casualties caused by incendiary bombs.
Life grew a little easier when winter finally lost its grip and a warm spring heralded the balmy days of summer. Elsie began to feel more at home in Paris and she used her free time to explore and admire the sights or to walk in the Tuileries gardens or the Place du Carrousel. She sometimes found herself walking past Henri’s bank but she did not go in, although she had a vague hope that perhaps he might be on leave and they would suddenly come face to face. She imagined their reunion in a hundred different ways, but it always ended in a passionate embrace and they walked arm in arm along the Quai des Tuileries, into the future, together forever. He had never given her any reason to suppose that he might feel the same, but she had built a dream world around him, and it was here she chose to escape from the monotony of her work.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon, madame.’ Elsie had been miles away when she collided with a woman who had stepped out of the Bellaires’ bank onto the pavement. She stared at the lined but still beautiful face. ‘Madame Bellaire. I am so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you all right?’ She knew she was gabbling, but the shock of seeing Henri’s mother was too much for her. ‘Are you hurt?’
Selene Bellaire stared at her blankly. ‘I’m sorry. Do I know you?’
Elsie realised her mistake too late. She dared not break her cover. ‘N-no. I’ve seen your photograph in a fashion magazine, madame. I’m so sorry.’ She backed away, panicked. ‘Please excuse me.’
‘Who are you?’ Selene stared at her, frowning. ‘You do look familiar and yet I can’t quite place you.’
‘You wouldn’t know me, madame. I apologise for not looking where I was going.’ Elsie turned to go but Selene caught her by the slee
ve.
‘I never forget a face. What is your name?’
‘Denise Michaud,’ Elsie said in desperation. ‘You must have mistaken me for someone else, madame.’
‘You remind me of someone very dear to me.’
‘Excuse me, madame. I have to get back to work.’
‘I have it at last. You are Marianne’s maidservant. I’ll never forget that evening in Darcy Hall when my son mistook you for Marianne, and the embarrassing debacle of the dinner party.’
It was strictly against the rules and Elsie knew that she should leave now before things became even more complicated, but she was desperate for news of Henri and who better to tell her than his own mother. ‘I can’t reveal my identity, madame.’
‘These are difficult times,’ Selene said slowly. ‘Assure me that you are doing nothing wrong and we will say no more.’
‘I promise you that I am not doing anything that would harm your country or mine.’
Selene inclined her head slightly. ‘Then I wish you well.’ She was about to walk away but Elsie could not allow her to leave without asking the question that was uppermost in her mind.
‘Madame Bellaire. A moment, please.’
‘What is it?’
‘Have you news of Henri? Is he safe and well?’
A flicker of emotion crossed Selene’s classical features. ‘He is at the front, fighting for his country.’
‘But he is alive.’
‘Yes, thank God. I saw him briefly in January and he was in good spirits, but very thin.’ Selene’s dark eyes brimmed with tears. ‘He was so tired that he slept for most of his leave, and I used to creep into his bedroom just to look at him and to reassure myself that he was real and not a figment of my imagination.’ She dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘When you become a mother you will understand.’
Elsie realised that she was crying too. Whether it was sympathy or the sheer relief of knowing for certain that Henri had survived thus far she did not know, but the guilt she had felt on betraying her own identity was a small price to pay for peace of mind. She would return to the office and continue her mission with at least a small hope that Henri would be spared the fate of so many good men. She laid her hand on Selene’s arm in a mute attempt to comfort her, and then hurried away. If she stayed a moment longer she would give herself away.
She returned to the rue Saint-Roch and took her place behind her desk. Marianne and Andrée had not yet returned from their lunch break and for that Elsie was grateful. It gave her time to compose herself, but she had reckoned without Marianne’s sharp eyes and intuitive response to her moods. ‘What’s up with you?’ she demanded as she took her seat. ‘You were happy as a sandboy earlier and now look at you.’
Elsie turned her head away. ‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not. You’ve been crying and the tip of your nose is red. Something or someone has upset you.’
‘I made a big mistake,’ Elsie whispered, gazing anxiously around although there was no one else in the room. ‘I didn’t mean to tell her but she knew me, Marianne. She actually recognised me.’
‘Stop talking in riddles. Who recognised you and what did you tell her?’
‘I literally bumped into her as she came out of the bank.’
‘Who?’ Marianne took her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Tell me quickly before Andrée gets back from lunch.’
‘Madame Bellaire. I almost knocked her down.’
‘And she recognised you?’
‘Not at first, but she kept on saying that she never forgot a face and she wanted to know my name.’
‘You didn’t tell her?’
‘I didn’t mean to but it just slipped out.’
‘You idiot,’ Marianne said, frowning. ‘But you didn’t tell her your real name?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘And you didn’t tell her what you were doing here?’
‘No. Although I think she guessed. She’s not stupid.’
‘I suppose you asked her about Henri and completely gave the game away?’
‘He’s alive. I was going to tell you when I had the opportunity.’
Marianne cocked her head on one side. ‘Shh. Someone’s coming. We’ll talk about this later, but I think you’ll have to warn our friend Andrée that there’s been a breach of security. Heaven help us both.’
Andrée Dorgebray went straight to Major Kirke, the head of operations, and Elsie was summoned to his office. In an interview that made her feel like a silly schoolgirl she was compelled to admit her connection with the Bellaire family. She gave him an exact account of what was said outside the bank in the rue de Rivoli and Major Kirke sat in silence, his unwavering stare seeming to bore into her soul. She finished with an apology, but she could see that he was unmoved. He leaned across his desk. ‘You are a danger to us all while you remain here. You will be moved on.’
‘Are you sending me home, sir?’
‘I haven’t decided what course to take.’
‘You mustn’t blame Marianne, I mean Aimée. She had nothing to do with it.’
‘If you are to have an alias you should think of yourself as that person. You eat, sleep and breathe as that person. You, it seems, cannot put your personal feelings aside and that’s dangerous.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Elsie raised her chin and looked him squarely in the eyes. ‘But I want to serve my country. I don’t care what you ask me to do. I know I made a mess of things but I’ll go anywhere and do anything you want so that I can make up for what I’ve done.’
‘I believe you. Go back to your office.’ He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. ‘Send Mademoiselle Dorgebray to me.’
That evening Elsie and Marianne sat in their room at the lodging house with their bags packed, waiting for orders to move on. ‘I can’t believe that you were so stupid,’ Marianne said angrily. ‘We were just beginning to get somewhere in the rue Saint-Roch and you had to spoil it all.’
‘You don’t have to come with me. I told Major Kirke that it was entirely my fault. I deserve to be sent home in disgrace but you’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Come off it, Elsie. You know we’re a team. We work together and I told Major Kirke so. Perhaps they can find something for both of us back at Room 40. We could be part of Blinker’s Beauty Chorus and live in luxury in Felicia’s flat.’
Elsie was about to reply when someone banged on their door. They both jumped. ‘It’s time to go, Marianne.’ Elsie stood up. ‘But you can still change your mind.’
‘I told you, we’re in this together.’ Marianne rose to her feet and picked up their suitcases. ‘Let’s see what they’ve got in store for us.’
Elsie opened the door and found herself looking up into Raoul’s whiskery face. ‘Not now,’ she said abruptly. ‘We’re going out.’ She made an attempt to close the door but he put his foot over the threshold.
‘Come with me and don’t make a noise. We don’t want to alert the whole building.’
Marianne hurried to Elsie’s side. ‘What do you mean?’
He grinned. ‘Major Kirke sent me.’
‘But you work for the railways,’ Elsie said slowly. ‘You’re a signalman.’
‘Don’t waste time, girls. We have a train to catch.’
‘How do you know Major Kirke?’ Marianne dropped the cases on the floor and stood glaring at Raoul, arms akimbo. ‘Are you a German spy?’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Do you think I’d admit it if I were a spy?’ He was suddenly serious. ‘There’s no time to lose. We have a connection to make and we can’t afford to miss it.’
‘How do we know you’re telling the truth?’ Marianne demanded.
‘All right,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m trusting you with this information because I’ve come to know you quite well since you came to Paris. I’m Belgian and I’m an agent for the British government.’
‘So that’s why you kept popping up every time we were in trouble,’ Elsie said incredulously. ‘That’s
why you took us to the Café Goulet.’
‘We must leave now,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps. He stepped into the room and waited a moment before looking out. ‘It’s all right, they’ve gone. Come along, we’re wasting time.’
‘Where are you taking us?’ Elsie asked nervously.
He snatched up their cases. ‘I’m just following orders, and I only know that I’m taking you to the Gare du Nord. Come.’
Elsie and Marianne exchanged puzzled glances but Raoul had their cases and was disappearing in the direction of the stairs. ‘We haven’t much choice,’ Elsie said in a whisper. ‘We can’t stay here, and if Raoul knows Major Kirke then he must be on our side.’
‘Agreed. Let’s go.’
Elsie took one last look round the shabby room that had been their home for the last six months. They had almost frozen to death in the winter and now, in summer, it was hot and stifling. It was not a memory that she would cherish. She closed the door.
They were not challenged as they walked out of the building. Madame Chausse, who usually sat in her small office like a spider in the middle of its web, was nowhere to be seen as they followed Raoul into the silky dusk of a summer evening. If it had not been for the rumble of guns in the distance, and the muffled sound of a bomb exploding too close for comfort, it might have been the sort of evening when in peacetime people would be promenading after dining out, or making their way to the Paris Opéra. Elsie looked up into the darkening sky and wondered what terror would rain down on the city that night.
‘We’re not travelling in that, are we?’ Marianne pointed at a farm cart with a swayback nag in the shafts. It turned its head at the sound of her voice and gave her a baleful look.
Raoul tossed their bags onto a pile of rotting straw and manure in the back of the cart. ‘Get on,’ he said tersely. ‘The sooner we get away from here the better.’ With surprising agility for such a big man he vaulted onto the driver’s seat, barely waiting for them to climb up beside him before flicking the reins and urging the old horse into an ambling walk.
