by Robert Rigby
“Oh, that. It’s a loom.”
Paul looked up and down the street. It was lined on both sides with small houses. “I don’t see a factory.”
Josette shrugged. “Many people have looms in their homes. Children learn how to operate them when they’re young, so everyone takes a turn and they hardly ever stop. It’s said that wherever you go in Lavelanet you can hear the sound of the looms.”
“Doesn’t the noise drive you mad?”
Josette laughed. “You wait until you get to the factory,” she said. “That’s proper noise.”
Paul nodded and started to walk again. “Maybe that’s why everyone here speaks so loudly.”
“What do you mean?” Josette said, her eyes darkening.
“I noticed it when we bought the bread, and in the other shop where you got the cheese. Everyone speaks so loudly. And the accent here is very…” he paused to find the right word “…harsh.”
Paul hadn’t meant to be critical; he was simply trying to say that the strong accent of south-west France was different from anything he had previously heard. But he didn’t know Josette well enough to watch what he said; he had yet to experience her fiery temper.
Josette stopped and grabbed Paul’s arm. “Oh, so we’re too loud and you don’t like our harsh accent. Anything else?”
“No, I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I said—”
“I suppose you think you’re better than us.”
“I didn’t say that either, and I—”
“With your fancy Parisian accent!”
“I’ve never been to Paris.”
“Just because we sound different, it doesn’t mean we’re not as good as you.”
“I know that,” Paul said, realizing too late that he should have chosen his words more carefully. “I’m not used to your accent, that’s all, and some of the words you use are different.”
“Oh, I see. We haven’t learned to speak properly either,” Josette snapped sarcastically. “Well, I’m sorry we don’t know as many clever words as you. Maybe it’s because we’re busy working out the best way to save your life! And at least I’ve got something to say; you’ve said next to nothing since you arrived!”
Paul looked around. The street was deserted but that didn’t mean no one was listening. “I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut,” he hissed, “unless there’s something that needs to be said.” He glanced around again. A door had opened a little further down the street and a woman was peering in their direction. He moved closer to Josette. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, but don’t you think you should be more careful about what you say too?”
Josette glared, but lowered her voice. “I think I’ll go home now; I wouldn’t want you to have to listen to my harsh voice any more than you absolutely have to!”
She swept away like a whirlwind, leaving Paul staring after her.
Henri Mazet and Gaston Rouzard were sitting beneath the pergola built onto the back wall of the house. The late sunlight, squeezing through the gaps in the tangled vine, was still providing warmth and casting a golden sheen on the stonework.
Henri poured a small amount of pastis into two narrow glasses and then filled them almost to the brim from a jug of water, instantly turning the liquid a dull, milky yellow.
The men lifted their glasses and offered each other a silent toast before sipping their drinks.
“And there’s no doubt,” Henri asked, “that he’s definitely in the Rivel camp?”
“No doubt at all,” Gaston replied, replacing his glass on the table. “And worse than that, he’s already said too much and been put into solitary confinement. The conditions in that cell are not good by all accounts, not good at all.”
“How long must he stay in there?”
“A few days, my contact says, if he behaves. But that camp is the worst possible place for someone like Jean-Pierre; he won’t keep his mouth shut. He’ll stir up trouble among the other prisoners and make it even worse for himself.”
The two friends gazed out onto the large walled garden, almost bare now save for a few roses here and there. On the trees, leaves were already changing colour and starting to drop.
“And my contact also tells me,” Gaston continued, “that pretty soon, the camp at Rivel will be emptied and everyone there will be transferred to Algeria. They’ll stick them in camps over there and leave them to rot until the end of the war. We’ll probably never see Jean-Pierre again.”
Henri considered this for a few moments. “Why is the camp at Rivel being emptied?”
Gaston shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his head. “The rumour is that it’s to make room for the large number of Jews they’re expecting.”
“And who knows where those poor souls will be shipped off to when their turn comes,” Henri said, sighing. “When is this to happen?”
“Not long. A few months, maybe less; it could be weeks. No one has been told yet.”
The sun finally dipped behind the mountains and the evening was suddenly colder.
Henri finished his drink. “You know what I think?”
Gaston picked up his own glass and drained it. “Tell me?”
“We have four weeks at most to get Paul across the mountains into Spain. After that we can’t depend on the weather.”
“Agreed,” Gaston said, nodding. “But what has that to do with Jean-Pierre?”
“Because when Paul goes,” Henri said determinedly, “Jean-Pierre Dilhat is going with him.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Paul watched as Henri gently stroked his bushy moustache with the index finger of his right hand. They were seated at the table in Henri’s dining room, along with Didier Brunet and Gaston Rouzard. Henri looked concerned, and Paul wondered if he was preparing to deliver bad news. But after a few moments he smiled and placed both hands on the table.
“Well, Paul,” he said, “we think it’s only right that you know our plan, which has changed a little because of unforeseen circumstances.”
Paul nodded, eager to hear the plan, even if it had changed.
“To begin with,” Henri continued, “for everyone’s safety, it was not my intention that you meet all the members of our group here in Lavelanet. My daughter’s vivid imagination changed that part.”
Josette, much to her frustration, had been excluded from the discussion and ordered from the room when Didier and Gaston had arrived. But she was resourceful as well as determined. Her bedroom was directly above the dining room and she had long ago learned that if she lay on the floor with one ear pressed flat against a gap in the oak boards she could hear most of what was being said in the room below.
Now she was doing just that, and scowling at her father’s comment. “He should have told me the truth in the first place,” she murmured.
In the room below, Paul was considering Henri’s remark about meeting all the members of the Lavelanet Resistance group. “All?” he said to Henri. “You mean, this is it? There’s just three of you?”
Gaston Rouzard gave a philosophical shrug of his broad shoulders. “It’s early days and I have a strong feeling this will be a long war. There will be more of us, many more.”
“And there was…” Henri stopped to correct himself. “There is … one more. Jean-Pierre Dilhat. But as you know, he’s been arrested. We’ve learned that he’s being held at an internment camp not far from here; a place called Rivel.”
In the room above, Josette gasped.
“It’s always been the plan to get you across the mountains to Spain and then to England,” Henri told Paul. “There are men living in the mountains, French patriots like us, who will lead you across. Our contacts tell us they are reliable and trustworthy.”
Gaston grunted. “And they charge plenty for their services.”
“They’re taking a huge risk,” Henri said. “And, anyway, what’s the point of my owning a factory if I don’t make good use of the money it brings in?” He turned back to Paul. “A friend in Foix is in contact with them and
will let me know when they are ready to make the crossing. Now, this is where our original plan changes…”
Henri’s voice dropped, and as Paul leaned closer, in the room above, Josette pressed her ear harder to the floorboards, straining to pick up what was being said.
“We’re going to get Jean-Pierre out.”
Paul couldn’t stop himself from asking, “But how will you do that?”
Gaston took over. “I have a contact on the inside; he will help. For money, of course.”
“And that’s as much as you need to know, Paul,” Henri said. “Except that when you cross the mountains, Jean-Pierre will be going with you.”
“To Spain?” Paul asked.
Henri shook his head. “To England.”
“England? Why England?”
“You know of General de Gaulle, of course?”
Paul had a vague recollection of hearing the name at some time, but nothing more than that. “I … I’m not sure.”
Didier had been silent until then, but now he clicked his tongue in irritation at Paul’s ignorance. “He’s our greatest soldier, one of the few to give the Germans a taste of their own medicine before our surrender. Surely you’ve heard of the battles at Montcornet and Abbeville?”
“I’m sorry, no,” Paul replied, his face reddening.
Henri lifted a hand to stop Didier from continuing. “It doesn’t really matter,” he said. “The point is that he rejected France’s surrender and escaped to England. Now he’s organizing a new French army over there, preparing to fight when the time comes. As it will be impossible for Jean-Pierre to stay here after his escape, we are sending him to England to join de Gaulle’s Free French Forces.”
Gaston laughed. “And if I know Jean-Pierre, he’ll be telling them all what to do within a few weeks, even the General himself.”
“All this will take a little while to organize, Paul,” Henri continued, “and we can’t keep you shut away here all that time. People will start asking questions. So for now you’re coming to work at the factory. If anyone asks – and some are bound to – our families have been friends for years and you’re here to learn the business, to see if you like it. When you disappear we’ll spread the story that you couldn’t settle and have gone home.”
Paul sat back; there was a lot to take in. “But what will I actually do?”
Didier leaned across the table. “You’re going to be my assistant.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The noise was like rolling thunder or a tumultuous waterfall. Paul had no idea how the factory workers coped with it every day. He felt as though his head would explode with the din of looms and loaders and winders. It was deafening. No wonder everyone in Lavelanet shouted most of the time.
Paul’s arrival at the factory that first morning had caused quite a stir and set tongues wagging. Not that he’d heard much of what was being said over the constant racket of the machines.
Dressed in a pair of blue overalls, he accompanied his new boss, Didier, on a tour of the factory floor, gazing in awe at the machines, all constantly in motion. Many of them resembled old war machines.
Didier explained the function of each one and Paul heard only a fraction of what was said. He felt like telling Didier he needn’t bother with so much detail as he wasn’t going to be at the factory for long. But Didier was obviously proud of his machines, so Paul did his best to listen and understand. And when he couldn’t quite hear, he nodded seriously, or shook his head, or raised his eyebrows to signify he was impressed, hoping each time he was giving the right response.
The smells of the factory were as powerful and overwhelming as the sounds. Pungent aromas of plant extracts cooking in huge open vats to make dye were heavy in the air.
After an hour Paul was relieved to return to Didier’s workshop. But there was no time to settle.
“Do you think you can you find your way around now?” Didier asked.
“Yes, I think so. But my ears are buzzing.”
Didier smiled. “You’ll get used to it. Take a walk to the loading bay, tell Erneste I’ll be over this afternoon to check out the machine that’s running hot.”
The loading bay was on the far side of the factory. The brief errand should have taken Paul five minutes at the most, but after more than ten he had still not returned. Didier wasn’t worried; his new assistant would be back in due course.
Paul was experiencing his first encounter with Yvette Bigou. She had been questioning him for the past five minutes. She spoke loudly and clearly, obviously accustomed to topping the ferocious roar of machinery.
“Oh, so your father and Henri have been friends for years?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And where did you say you’re from?”
“I didn’t say, but we live quite close to Lyon.”
“How do they know each other then? Lyon’s a long way away.”
“They were friends in the army, and they’ve stayed in contact ever since.”
“Oh, that’s nice. It’s good to have old friends; we all need friends. And how long will you be staying, Paul?”
“Sorry?” Paul said, the looms thundering in his ears. He leaned closer. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“How long will you be staying with us?” Yvette mouthed slowly and deliberately.
“I don’t know,” Paul answered with a shake of his head. “My dad wants me to learn all about the business, to see if I want to make a career in it. So Henri said I should work everywhere in the factory, starting with Didier’s area.”
Yvette nodded slowly. “Yes, Didier’s a good lad; he’ll start you off in the right direction. But you make sure that when it’s time to learn about operating a loom you come to me, all right?”
“I will.”
“Don’t forget now; you tell them you want Yvette to teach you the loom.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you.”
Yvette grinned and pinched Paul’s cheek. “What a nice polite young man. It’ll be a pleasure having you here, Paul.”
Paul smiled and strolled back to Didier’s workshop. He was still smiling as he went inside and closed the door.
“Well?” Didier asked.
“It was exactly as you and Henri said. Yvette cornered me the moment she saw I was alone. Then she asked me every question you’d thought of, and a few more.”
“Anything that had you worried?”
Paul thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, it was all pretty harmless, I think.”
“Good. As Henri always says, one conversation with Yvette Bigou is better than a whole-page story in the local newspaper. Everyone in the factory and half the town will know all about you by this evening. At least, they’ll know what we want them to know, and that’s better than dangerous wild guesses.”
Or not so wild, Paul thought to himself, imagining the trek across the mountains to Spain he was soon to make.
“We can’t be too careful,” Didier went on, “and we don’t want any rumours circulating. We don’t know who betrayed Jean-Pierre, but whoever he is, he’s still out there.”
“Perhaps it’s a woman,” Paul answered, suddenly reminded of a conversation from earlier in his journey. Back on the Marina he and Albert had wondered about the identity of the traitor in Antwerp; now here in Lavelanet, he and Didier were doing the same thing. In both north and south it appeared that treachery was never far away.
“Come on, there’s work to be done,” Didier said, breaking in on Paul’s thoughts. He pointed to a large metal drum on one side of the workshop. “That’s grease and next to it is a bucket full of nuts and bolts that need greasing. It’s about time you got your hands dirty. And those new overalls too.”
Paul set about his task, working steadily, the thick grease coating his fingers. He felt a bit like a kid playing in the mud and realized that he hadn’t felt like a kid for a long time.
“I’ve been wanting to apologize to you,” he said, looking over at Didier.
“For wh
at?”
“For being so ignorant about General de Gaulle, and the battles, and the Free French Forces in England. I should have known.”
Didier shrugged. “I guess you didn’t hear his broadcast on the BBC radio, the appeal of the eighteenth of June?”
Paul shook his head.
“It was the most stirring speech I’ve ever heard,” Didier said. “He appealed to all true French patriots, and told us to resist the Nazis and continue the struggle.” He fell silent, lost in thoughts of his own. Then he smiled. “One day he will be back, leading the Free French Forces. I’m certain we’ll see him in France again.”
“And is he the reason you’ve joined with Henri and the others?”
“He’s not the reason,” Didier said. “Just the inspiration.”
Paul slowly screwed a freshly greased nut onto a bolt before answering. “There’s so much I didn’t think about until little more than a week ago,” he said, tossing the nut and bolt into the bucket. “But I do now, and I’d like to help.”
“So how is the young gentleman from the north getting on?” Josette asked Didier. “I bet he wasn’t very happy at getting dirt under his fingernails.”
“To be fair, he’s doing all right,” Didier replied. “And he’s not so bad, once you get to know him.”
“After the past few days I know enough,” Josette said, frown lines creasing her forehead. “He thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”
“No, you’re wrong there. This is all very different for him; it takes time to adjust. Give him a chance.”
Josette didn’t reply.
“Anyway,” Didier said, “I’m taking him for a ride on the bike later on. I thought I’d show him some of the countryside.”
Work was over for the day and they were sitting on a low wall close to the factory, catching the late-afternoon sun. Josette tilted her head back so that its rays could warm her cheeks. “He didn’t even wait to walk home with me.”
“Did you ask him to wait?”
“Why should I ask him?” Josette said, frowning again.
