Hearts of Resistance

by Soraya M. Lane

  ‘They’re out working in small groups. Something about following orders and causing mayhem,’ he said.

  Hazel took a deep breath and patted the satchel that was still over her arm. She looked up at Harry and something inside of her warmed all over again.

  ‘I have to get back to work,’ she said.

  Harry nodded. ‘I’ll fix you something to eat.’ And then he stepped forward, oblivious to the fact Rose and Sophia were in the same room. Harry dropped a warm, slow kiss to her forehead and squeezed her arm, not saying another word as they stared at each other for a long moment, before she reluctantly pulled away to dash upstairs.

  Sophia and Rose both followed her, but neither said a word about the way Harry had welcomed her. She was pleased, because she had no idea how she felt about what had just happened between them, let alone what to say in response.

  ‘It’s no use,’ Hazel muttered, cursing herself for ever climbing on that old roof to start with as she fiddled with her set. ‘It was damaged in the fall, and maybe it banged into a tree or something when I was running as well, because I can’t get it working.’

  Her frustration was making her top lip damp with sweat, and her heart was thumping loud. She took a deep breath and then started all over again, tinkering with her machine. This was why they’d been given suitcases to transport them in. If she hadn’t put the thing in a satchel, then it might not have become so damaged.

  ‘Someone’s back,’ Sophia said, frowning and disappearing.

  Hazel kept working, letting Rose watch her back as she sat in the attic. But within minutes there was the heavy footfall of a man, and then Mathieu appeared with Sophia behind him. Hazel stopped what she was doing when she saw the unusual expression on Sophia’s face, her eyes wide and her bottom lip tucked beneath her teeth.

  ‘Rose, I need to speak to you,’ Sophia said. Mathieu stood, still and silent as stone beside her.

  ‘What is it?’ Rose asked.

  Hazel went cold, waiting, dreading what she was about to say.

  ‘Mathieu would like you to do a solo courier operation.’

  ‘What?’ Hazel all but hissed. ‘I thought we were supposed to be working together? Why does he need her?’

  Sophia looked as worried as she felt, but it was Mathieu who spoke.

  ‘There was another woman, an agent,’ he said in a low voice. ‘She was preparing to go undercover as a cosmetics representative, but she was taken out recently. Rose is a good match for her. She can use her identity.’

  ‘Taken out?’ Hazel asked, her voice barely a whisper, and she glanced worriedly at Rose. Her friend had stayed silent, her expression impossible to read.

  ‘The others believe she took her pill, the one issued to you before your parachute jump,’ Sophia said.

  Hazel’s hand instantly went to her pocket, feeling the bump of the pill she had sewn in there in case of an emergency. She couldn’t imagine deciding to swallow that, but then the idea of being tortured and losing the opportunity to live, giving up others when you couldn’t survive another moment of it . . . She breathed deeply, worried for Rose. ‘So you want Rose to take her place? Using her cover?’ she asked Mathieu.

  ‘She’s going to get you the part you need from another cell, and take money and codes with her,’ Mathieu said. ‘She’ll fit the role perfectly.’

  ‘The identity has already been created,’ Sophia explained. ‘I would have been the logical choice for courier work in the past, but the Germans are more suspicious than they’ve ever been. She’s the right age, she fits the description, and most importantly she’s actually French. There is nothing she can do or say that would make them suspicious.’

  Hazel knew it made absolute sense, but it was hard not to think of Rose as her old friend from their old lives. When she was training, it was about looking after herself and doing her job, taking calculated risks and understanding the consequences. The problem here was that she knew Rose and cared deeply for her. Hazel was going to have to use that to fuel her work, to make sure she didn’t make a mistake that could cost her friend her life.

  The room suddenly felt too small and stuffy for Hazel, and even though she wanted to scream at Rose that it was too dangerous, she didn’t say a word.

  ‘I’ll rest for a few hours, then make myself up and get going. I suppose I need to move fast?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mathieu said. ‘I’ll leave you a moment, then report to me downstairs.’

  Hazel let the words sink in and exchanged glances with Sophia. She knew Sophia would be just as worried, but she’d probably never think to stop either of them from partaking in an important mission.

  ‘Take this,’ Hazel said, holding out a part for a radio that she’d found in the attic but that was of no use to her repairs. ‘It might help someone else in the other cell.’

  Rose opened her arms and hugged her tight, and then held on for some time, standing silently in the room while Sophia watched on.

  ‘There’s been news of Sebastian,’ Sophia suddenly said, wiping at her eyes, at tears that Hazel knew were mirrored in her own eyes. ‘Mathieu said that Sebastian was asking questions, trying to find you.’ She was staring at Rose as she spoke. ‘It’s so good to know that he’s still alive, but there was no mention of his wife. The others passed him when they were blowing up petrol tankers, but he had to return to his own cell.’

  ‘You’ll all make it home. We have to believe that,’ Hazel replied, not knowing what else to say. ‘You and Sebastian and his wife, you’ll survive, Rose. You will.’

  Sophia gestured that it was time to go downstairs, and Hazel took one last look at Rose before sitting back at her desk. Tears burnt her eyes. If only she hadn’t broken the radio, then perhaps Rose wouldn’t have been sent at all. She thought of Harry downstairs; suddenly all she wanted was to run to him and hold him and sob against his shoulder again. But she was stronger than that.

  She was an undercover agent, and she wasn’t going to let this or anything else crack her.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Hazel said, admiring Rose as she stood before her three hours later. ‘Ravishing in fact.’

  Rose laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘If only I had someone to be ravishing for, hmm?’

  She joked, but Hazel knew the truth of the pain beneath her easy words. ‘I’d tell you to be careful, but I know you will.’

  ‘Come here,’ Rose said, her case discarded as she opened her arms and stepped forward. They were all so tired, but Rose suddenly looked a million dollars, certainly not the same woman who’d woken in a barn with goats earlier in the day.

  They embraced and Hazel held her tight, not wanting to let go. ‘We still have so much to share. You make sure you come back as quickly as you can.’

  The trip was important, they all knew that, and Rose’s mission was vital to their success. Without Hazel radioing, all the small cells around them would become invisible, cut off from the others, because she was the only highly trained operator at the chateau – or within miles, from what she’d been told.

  ‘Your red lipstick is amazing,’ Hazel told her, admiring how it accentuated her full mouth when she pulled back.

  ‘It’s Elizabeth Arden,’ Rose told her with a wink. ‘I had one too many in the bag I was given, so I left it here for you and Sophia. But I don’t take Sophia for the red-lip kind of woman.’

  They both smiled. Sophia was amazing, but she was probably too focused on her job to be overly worried about lipstick. Hazel, on the other hand, was more than happy to receive the gift.

  ‘I’ll wear it every day and think of you.’

  Rose gathered her things and Hazel watched her go. She had a long walk ahead of her to the train station, and from there it would be a dangerous journey that made Hazel shudder to think about. But Rose was a Frenchwoman; she had nothing to hide about her lineage, and the fewer lies being told, the less likely anyone would be caught.

  ‘We’ll miss you,’ Hazel said as Rose walked out the front door.


  Hazel held her hand up and watched her go. When she turned she saw Sophia standing not very far behind her. She’d been watching their exchange, perhaps the whole time.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Sophia said. ‘Rose is as good as they get. And besides, she’s fearless. Nothing and nobody will rattle her.’

  Hazel wondered if Sophia felt like an outsider sometimes to the history Rose and she had, but if she did, she didn’t say anything.

  Sophia smiled and took her hand. ‘I’m putting you to bed. You need some sleep before you start staring at that blasted radio again.’

  She was too tired to disagree, and having Sophia so obviously looking out for her was a nice change.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ROSE

  Rose held her head high and kept her shoulders straight. She knew she looked glamourous, more like she might have before the war, or at least before Peter had been taken from her, and it gave her the confidence to play her character. The red lipstick had transformed her in front of the mirror, and she’d taken one look at the face staring back at her and known she could do it. It was like looking at the old her, the Parisian her. Only she’d not expected to see that face again any time soon.

  ‘I’m a confident sales representative for cosmetics,’ she murmured to herself, her lips barely moving. ‘I love make-up. It’s my passion.’

  She needed to live and breathe her new legend. She’d always loved fashion and make-up, like any of her friends with money to spend. But that life seemed, well, a lifetime ago, and since then the closest she’d come to being the glamourous woman she’d once been was brushing her hair out at night and twisting it up off her face before bed.

  Rose clutched her bag tighter, not thinking about what was inside. She had codes written into her silk underskirt and two small parts in her case that could be used to build a new radio or repair an old one, as well as money. If she was caught, she’d be killed. It was as simple as that. Which was why she wasn’t going to get caught, because she wasn’t going to let herself get put in that position.

  She had a special pass, since her work meant she had to travel, so the Gestapo shouldn’t bother searching her like they would most others. Besides, she had the advantage of creamy white skin and bright blue eyes, features the Germans seemed to like well enough even though her hair was brown and not blonde, and something shared by the original agent whose place she had taken. It was the reason why she’d been unfortunate enough to be earmarked for the role in the first place. She only had to hope none of them took too much of a liking and tried anything on. The thought alone made her stomach turn.

  It was never going to get easier however often she did this, she knew that, but she had to remember why she was doing it. She and she alone could keep the various cells working. If the Normandy landings went ahead and they were able to keep disrupting the Germans, then they might actually win this godforsaken war.

  Rose reached the station and looked around. There were Gestapo waiting, watching, laughing amongst themselves. But this time she didn’t have to fear them. She straightened her shoulders and pinned a bright smile firmly on her face. She was Roseanne DuBois and she was the best make-up representative in the country!

  Rose tried to sit up straight but her body kept slumping forward every time she fell asleep. She’d been on the train for some time, and now that it was dark she was trying to let herself sleep, only it was almost impossible to do sitting upright. There were no private sleeping cars, so Rose had to sleep in her seat, freezing cold and uncomfortable, rather than sleep in a car with men. There were few women on board and she didn’t want to put herself in that position.

  She rubbed at her eyes and then realised she’d probably ruined her make-up. Rose wiped more carefully across her skin, clearing her throat as she shifted and trying to make herself more comfortable. Surely the journey was almost over? She wanted to get rid of the package, dispose of the message she had to relay and then breathe a huge sigh of relief. She was wishing she hadn’t brought their spare parts with her.

  Rose sat and listened to her own breath going in and out, trying to enjoy the motion of the train and the solitude of her journey. She’d hardly spoken to anyone since she’d left the chateau. A nod to the Gestapo man who’d asked to check her papers, followed by a brisk thank you as she’d boarded the train. Then another nod to yet another German, before finding her seat and refusing to make eye contact with any of the other passengers. Given how long she’d lived with Sophia, and how often she’d had a house guest waiting to be rescued, she’d become used to having someone to talk to, or simply with her, at all times, so solitude was an unusual notion now.

  It was also the first time she’d truly let herself think about what she’d left behind when they’d fled her house by the coast.

  My baby. She let the words move slowly through her mind, mentally grasping them and replaying them over and over. My baby. My baby.

  Sophia had helped her bury the baby she’d delivered, so early that he hadn’t had a hope of surviving. He’d been months too soon, but still, he’d been perfectly formed. His head and body tiny, small enough to fit easily in the palm of her hand. Her heart had broken in a way that couldn’t even compare to losing Peter when she’d looked at that little human who had come too early to join the land of the living. Her body had been wracked with pain, the blood had covered the bed she’d managed to crawl up on, and then she’d managed to pull herself together and wrap her tiny, unviable child in a towel. All night she’d held him, sobbing, stopping only to crawl over to Sophia on the bed beside her and make sure she hadn’t died. And then she’d realised that her new guest wouldn’t survive without her help, and she’d placed the baby down and pushed her own pain aside to save another.

  Sophia had repaid her that favour a hundred times over. She’d helped her to bury her child, holding her when she’d cried, despite the physical pain it must have caused her to even rise from the bed. And then she’d been her one and only confidante – they had both been to each other – and from then on Rose had vowed to do anything to keep Sophia safe. She would happily take a bullet for her strong-willed, capable friend if it meant ensuring she survived the war and made it home to her Alex. At least Sophia still had someone to return to, could hold on to the hope that she would be in her loved one’s arms again.

  ‘Do you speak German?’

  Rose jumped at the intrusion, the man’s voice shaking her from her thoughts. A tremor of fear circled through her as she collected herself, quickly smoothing down her skirt to make sure it hadn’t risen up.

  She forced herself to smile at the man despite the fact he’d almost made her jump out of her skin as she’d stared out the window into nothing.

  ‘A little,’ she replied, not wanting him to know that in fact she spoke quite excellent German. ‘You . . .’ She smiled, pushing her shoulders up into a little shrug, and switched from German to French, hoping he might understand. ‘Frightened,’ she said. ‘I do not know the word for frightened.’

  He laughed, understanding when she jumped and flapped her hand to her heart. She hated how handsome he was, how easy the smile of this Gestapo man was when he no doubt was as cruel-hearted as the rest of them.

  ‘I understand,’ he said back to her, conversing again in German. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She could see the irony in him apologising to her. If he only knew what she was carrying, he’d be smacking the back of his hand in a practised arc into her cheekbone instead of extending his hand politely. To him she was merely a pretty French girl, nothing more.

  ‘Kurt,’ he said, his smile wide, eyes sparkling at her as if they were two people meeting at a dinner party rather than in her country, which his country had conquered. ‘And you are?’

  She took his hand, slid her palm to his warm, soft one. She was freezing, but he was dressed in a big, warm coat and had no doubt been enjoying a private car.

  ‘Roseanne,’ she replied, holding his hand just long enough before retrieving it and folding
both hands back into her lap.

  ‘You’re freezing,’ he said, frowning. ‘Cold,’ he said again, as if he was unsure of how much she could understand. He rubbed his hands together and then blew on them. ‘Here,’ he said, shrugging out of his overcoat and gesturing for her to lean forward.

  Rose’s skin was crawling at the mere thought of taking his coat, every part of her wanting to rebel against any offer of kindness from a man like him, but she gratefully accepted it and moved over so he could sit beside her. She snuggled into it, knowing that her ice-cold bones would soon start to thaw. It was so big that she was able to ball her hands inside, too.

  She wondered if he would get into trouble for lending it to her, but she supposed he didn’t care what anyone else thought. There were other people around them, but no one dared to look at them, and the other Gestapo on board probably had better things to do than worry about one of their own flirting with a Frenchwoman.

  ‘You are travelling alone?’ he asked.

  Rose nodded and pointed to her case. ‘I sell make-up,’ she said slowly, pointing to her lips for effect and pretending to put on lipstick. ‘I have to travel.’

  He smiled and she wondered if they were actually so different. Sometimes she thought that not every member of the Nazi Party could be so terrible. Surely many of them had joined merely to blend in and save their families, while knowing in their hearts that what was happening was wrong. But then she thought of Sophia, the secrets she’d confided in her about finding her mother that day, the way her father refused to spare even his once-beloved wife when she was found to be keeping Jews safe in their home.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, nodding and gesturing to her face. ‘You are so beautiful, you must be very successful.’

  Rose laughed and raised her hand to hide her mouth, glancing away coyly. She needed to play the game, and Roseanne was single and would surely be attracted to a handsome young German paying her so much attention.

  ‘You must miss home,’ she said, careful to say the words slowly so she didn’t give away her knack for languages. ‘Are you, ah, married?’