Hearts of Resistance

by Soraya M. Lane

  She felt a line of sweat bead across her forehead.

  ‘Hatred,’ she said simply. ‘Evil men who must be stopped no matter what the cost.’

  ‘Do you resent your fiancé being sent to war?’

  ‘Well, I did resent the fact he signed up so quickly.’

  ‘So you don’t want him to serve our great country?’

  She gasped. ‘That’s not what I said! But we had planned to be married and . . .’

  ‘Your marriage is more important than fighting this battle?’

  Hazel shook her head, ignoring the tears that had sprung to her eyes. He was trying to get under her skin, and she wasn’t going to let him. This was her one chance to prove that she was strong, that she could do something more to help bring the Nazis down. She wasn’t some pathetic woman more worried about a pretty wedding gown than fighting for what was right!

  ‘I am willing to sacrifice my own life for the people of our country,’ she said firmly. ‘Do I miss my fiancé? Of course. I would prefer him to be at home, but once and only once this war is won.’

  He nodded. ‘You lied to me in the lobby. Is this something you do often?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Where did you learn to speak the language fluently?’ he asked in French.

  She smiled. ‘When I lived abroad in Paris,’ she replied in the same language.

  ‘Who did you live with there?’ he asked, in English this time.

  She took his lead, answering in her native tongue. ‘I lived with a family. The daughter, Rose, was a close friend of mine when they lived in London, and when her family returned to Paris my parents arranged for me to go with them to broaden my language skills.’

  ‘Who is this Rose?’ he asked, switching languages again.

  Hazel replied immediately in French. ‘She is from a nice family, and I had the most wonderful time there. She married a businessman who unfortunately passed away recently.’

  ‘Do you know anything about her husband?’

  ‘Nothing that I imagine would interest you.’

  Smith chuckled. ‘You’d be surprised. Were you aware that he was affiliated with the Resistance? That he was a passionate supporter of this underground movement?’

  Hazel considered his question. ‘No, I was not aware. But it doesn’t surprise me. He was a very wealthy man, but he was also very cultured and had a strong sense of humanity. I attended their wedding and I very much approved of Rose’s choice of husband.’

  ‘Do you feel that you know Paris well?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How well do you know other parts of France?’

  She gulped, not used to answering such intense, rapid-fire questions. ‘Well, I know Paris very well, as well as I know London in fact. And yes,’ Hazel said, trying to stay calm and answer the questions without racing, ‘I did explore other parts of France. Rose and her husband had a beautiful home on the coast, near Brest, and I was fortunate enough to have an extended holiday there with them after they were married.’

  ‘What would you do if a Nazi was running towards you?’ he asked in English.

  ‘Do I have a gun in this hypothetical situation?’ she asked back.

  He smiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it’s a simple answer. I’d shoot him,’ Hazel said bluntly. ‘Make no mistake, I hate the Nazis with all my heart, and as unskilled as I might be in the field, I’d do my best to shoot him dead.’ She was pleased not to hear a quiver in her voice, because the truth was that she’d hate to be put in a situation that required her to take another person’s life, Nazi or not.

  Smith stood and walked around the room, no longer looking at her. He kept firing questions at her, tirelessly over and over, as if he had a hundred things ready to ask her. He was relentless. When he stopped pacing and stared at her, she took a deep breath and waited.

  ‘And what would you do if I asked you to leave here with me and disappear tonight? Would you come with me?’ His gaze was cold.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Because I don’t know who you are. All I know is that you’re asking me all sorts of questions, that I have no idea who you work for or what you do, and I still don’t know what role I’m auditioning for, or if one even exists.’

  He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Maybe my sources were right about you.’

  She had no idea what sources he could be talking about. She sat still, staring at him, pretending to be more confident than she was.

  ‘Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch if I need to be.’

  He crossed the room and opened the door, beckoning for her to walk out. Hazel stood and tried to walk as slowly as she could, head held high. She had no idea if the interview had been a dismal failure or if she was still in with a chance, so she stopped and looked him directly in the eye.

  ‘Goodbye, Hazel.’

  He smiled and shut the door behind her, leaving her alone outside the room. She breathed a sigh of relief, realising how long she must have been holding her breath. There was a clock in the lobby, and when she passed it she saw she’d been in the room for at least forty minutes.

  She could only hope that this elusive Smith, whoever he was, had liked what she’d said. Because she had a feeling this was the kind of job you got only one chance of securing, and either she’d blown it or managed to impress the person deciding her fate.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROSE

  BREST, FRANCE

  1943

  Rose stood at the window and stared out. She’d always imagined coming back here with Peter when the war was over. Naively, she’d expected everything to return to normal – for her husband to return unscathed, for them to retire to their home near the coast at Brest so he could rest. And she’d also expected the fighting to be well and truly finished by now.

  How wrong she’d been. She shook her head. His role as a soldier might have been over, but Peter had continued to fight, and his bravery and dedication to their country had ended up costing him his life.

  Rose touched a hand to her stomach, the action alone making tears burn her eyes. Peter. She let them fall silently, wiping her cheek. When they’d met, at a party with friends, she’d not immediately noticed him. But when he’d insisted they all hear her opinion on the politics of the day, when every other man in the room had rolled his eyes at her, she’d known he was the man she’d one day marry. They’d spent the entire evening from that moment on talking about anything and everything, sipping wine and laughing, heads bent together. The very next day she’d found out that he was the millionaire businessman who’d been hosting the extravagant party they’d attended, and by midday she’d received the biggest bouquet of roses she’d ever seen in her life.

  She smiled thinking of all the dates and gifts, all the ways he’d tried to win her heart. What he hadn’t seemed to understand was that she’d fallen for him because of the way he let her have a voice, the way he listened to her and liked the fact she held her own opinions about the world. That was what had made her love him.

  And now here she was, pregnant with the child they’d desperately hoped for, but with Peter never to return home. She touched her wedding band with her thumb. It somehow gave her comfort knowing he’d placed that ring there and she’d never, ever taken it off.

  Rose turned and almost expected to be standing in her kitchen in Paris. She could see the sparkling bench, the kettle boiling and Maria, her long-time maid, smiling and asking her if she wanted a cup of tea. Only here there was no Maria to keep her company. The kitchen was dark, the fire not set, the house cold. It had been a beautiful retreat for her and Peter, their beloved home on the coast, but without him, and without any help to set about dusting and cleaning and tending to the fire, it seemed forlorn.

  But she needed to pull herself together. Her brother, Sebastian, was coming to stay with his wife the next day, and she didn’t want them feeling sorry for her. Rose touched her stomach once again, the only thing these days that seemed to comfort her. She gave hersel
f one last moment to remember Peter, not wanting to forget his touch, his smell, his larger-than-life personality.

  ‘Darling, it’s time.’

  Rose had been dreading those little words all morning, had been trying to pretend as if Peter was just leaving for work, that he wasn’t leaving her again. It terrified her even more now than it had when he’d left in uniform while he’d served for the French Army.

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’

  He tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up. ‘You’ll be fine. I won’t be so long. Besides, you need to hold the fort here for me – you’ll be too busy to worry.’

  She smiled even though she felt like weeping. This was something he had to do, which meant it was useless making a big fuss. She kept herself together, as she always did, knowing there would be plenty of empty hours to cry and fret to herself once he was gone. She’d not slept a wink all night, and it was making her irrational.

  ‘I love you. More than you’ll ever know,’ she said, staring into the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Those eyes were filled with tears and they made hers prickle right back, but she refused to let one fall. She wanted his lasting memory to be of her smile, not her sobs of emotion. He could be gone for weeks, maybe longer if something unexpected happened.

  ‘You’re certain you don’t want me to come down to the station?’ she asked. ‘I can be there with you until the very last moment.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s only a business trip. You need to think of it as nothing more than me leaving for work. Besides, I want to remember you just like this,’ he said, kissing her and running a hand down her back. ‘In a silk robe, just roused from bed and with your hair all tousled. That’s what got me home last time despite all odds – knowing this was waiting for me.’

  She laughed. ‘It was a lovely last morning,’ she teased, running her hands down his lapels. He looked so handsome in his suit. ‘I’ll think of it every time I go to our bed.’

  They’d made love, then sipped coffee and eaten breakfast together, before he’d bathed and dressed. If he hadn’t been about to leave, it would have been the perfect start to any day.

  ‘Stay safe,’ she murmured against his lips, knowing it wasn’t a promise he could keep but wanting to say it anyway.

  ‘You know I will.’

  Peter waved to her and opened the door. She stood, motionless, and watched him as he left, as he blew her a kiss and shut the door behind him. Rose sank to her knees once he’d gone, sobs making her body heave, her shoulders shaking as she stifled the screams struggling to burst out. She clamped one hand to her mouth, her palm silencing her pain, the other pressed to the floor as she tried not to fall forward.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered, even though he was long gone now. ‘I love you so much.’

  They were words she’d spoken to him so many times, he knew them as deeply as she did herself. But still, she would have given anything to tell him one last time. To hold him just a few minutes longer. Because something felt wrong this time. He’d been so careful, so clever to go undetected until now, but she wasn’t sure how long his luck would last.

  Rose slipped to the ground, sinking against the cool, hard tiles. This couldn’t be happening. He was supposed to stay safe. He was supposed to stay home. They were supposed to have their whole lives ahead of them. Why had she left Paris and thought it best to come here, alone?

  She dropped her hands to her stomach and sobbed. He’d never even know that they had a child.

  ‘Rose?’

  Rose heard Sebastian’s call and stared at herself in the mirror. She had her trademark red lipstick on, and her cheeks were ever so slightly rouged to disguise how hollow they were. She touched her hand to her hair as she studied her reflection, hoping she’d done enough to fool her guests into thinking that she was coping. When he called again she hurried down the hall to the front door. The moment she saw her handsome raven-haired brother standing there, she rushed into his arms, hugging him tight. She stood a moment, indulging in his warm embrace, before pulling back and turning to his wife, Charlotte.

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said, hugging her sister-in-law with as much love as she’d shown her brother. ‘I’ve only been here two days and I’m like an old lady rattling around alone.’

  Sebastian laughed. ‘You’re hardly an old lady.’ He brought their cases in and Rose led the way through into the drawing room. The fire was blazing, and she was pleased that the house looked so different to when she’d first arrived.

  ‘You’ve settled in?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘I have. It’s taken me all this time to tidy up, but it feels more like home again now.’ Rose kept her smile fixed, not wanting her guests to feel sorry for her. They weren’t long married and she wanted them to enjoy their stay instead of worrying about her. She didn’t mention the fact that on her first night here she’d curled into a ball after crying her eyes out and slept on the cold kitchen floor.

  ‘Show Charlotte the guest room,’ she said to Sebastian. ‘And please, make yourself at home. Anything you need, help yourself.’

  They disappeared, chatting as they went down the hall, and Rose took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check instead of falling back into her grief. It had been only weeks since she’d received the dreadful news, but she’d spent her entire life being headstrong and independent, and she wasn’t about to start cracking beneath her pain now.

  A knock echoed, followed by laughter, and Rose smiled as she listened to her brother and his wife. She remembered what it had been like when she and Peter were first married. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and it had been like that right up until the last time she’d seen him.

  ‘Darling, you’re a wonderful nurse. You haven’t lost your temper in days.’

  Rose smothered a laugh. ‘Careful, my love, or I’ll find some crockery to throw at you.’

  They both chuckled then, Peter’s eyes meeting hers as they stared at one another from across the bedroom. She sat in front of her mirror, applying make-up, while he sat propped in bed watching her. They’d made love all morning, her husband finally over the dreadful flu that had kept him in bed for days, and she felt so close to him after the hours spent tangled, naked, beneath their sheets.

  ‘My parents called you as sweet and delicious as a peach,’ he joked. ‘If only they knew what went on behind closed doors.’

  He was right. She did have a temper with him sometimes and the sweet disposition she usually displayed could easily be turned into anger if Peter did something to annoy her. He’d become particularly careful with the attention he gave to beautiful women after she’d slapped him at a café.

  ‘Speaking of disagreements,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light so she didn’t raise his suspicions, ‘I’ve been hearing a lot about women assisting with the Resistance.’

  Peter sighed. ‘For heaven’s sake, Rose. Can’t you just let a man convalesce in peace?’

  She set down her lipstick and smiled at him. ‘Darling, you’re hardly convalescing now and, besides, it seems ridiculous for me to sit here doing nothing. Can’t I do something to help the war effort?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, darling, you can knit socks and send them to the poor men at the front.’

  She could feel her temperature rising, her cheeks starting to burn. ‘Don’t speak to me as if I’m only capable of knitting,’ she said, fuming, but trying to keep her voice low. ‘I will not be told what I can and can’t do, Peter. I was simply trying to be diplomatic about it instead of going behind your back.’

  ‘You’re my wife,’ he said, voice as calm as could be, as if they were having a simple discussion about the weather. ‘And it seems to me you’re going to do this whether I like it or not. But this is me, for once, Rose, putting my foot down.’

  ‘You don’t have the right to, to . . .’ She grabbed her hairbrush and threw it at him. ‘I’m your wife, not your slave!’

  ‘Oh, Ro
se.’

  ‘Don’t you “oh, Rose” me!’

  ‘But you’re so gorgeous when you’re cross with me,’ he said. ‘That sweet little nurse routine didn’t last for long, did it?’

  Rose took a deep breath, trying to hate him and failing when he winked and beckoned her closer.

  ‘Sweetheart, please,’ he said, circling his arms around her once she had come and settled down beside him.

  She looked up at him. ‘Is it so wrong to want to help?’

  ‘No. But you’re behaving as if I don’t have the right to be worried about you,’ he said gently. ‘I love you, Rose. Is it so wrong that I want to do everything I can to keep you safe? That I want to know you’re here, protected, instead of doing something reckless?’

  She sighed, her frustration mounting. ‘I can’t sleep at night, knowing what’s going on out there right beneath our noses. We need to do more. I need to do more.’

  He nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘You knew who I was when you married me,’ she said softly. ‘If you wanted to marry a society princess with no conscience, then you picked the wrong woman for your wife. I need to feel like I’m doing something that will actually make a difference.’

  Peter laughed. ‘Sweetheart, I know exactly what type of woman I married.’ He dropped a kiss to her lips and ran a hand through her long hair. ‘I love that you want to help, that you’re so passionate and aware, but . . .’

  She looked up into his eyes, knowing that he was telling the truth. One thing she couldn’t fault her husband for was the way he loved her. He looked at her and truly saw her – he always had – and he’d never expected her to change herself for anyone. She’d been brought up by parents who had appreciated her opinions, but they’d always been worried about how a husband would cope with how outspoken she was. The fact they’d sent her to a top finishing school was evidence enough of how much they wanted her to marry well. Peter had more than passed their expectations, but she knew how worried they’d always been about her opinion on everything from politics to a woman’s right to do as she pleased.