There was a knock at the door. ‘Claire? I have brought you water,’ Édith Belland called from the landing. ‘I shall leave it outside your room. Breakfast is ready when you are.’
‘Thank you, Madame.’ Claire skipped to the door and opened it, but Édith Belland had gone. Claire threw the towel over her shoulder and lifted the bowl. Placing it on the tiled washstand at the side of the window, she washed and dried her face. She dressed quickly, brushed her hair and ran downstairs.
As she entered the kitchen, Claire was greeted by four smiling faces. ‘Good morning, China.’ Mitch looked at his wristwatch. ‘Or is it afternoon?’
‘French, Alain! While we are here, we must only speak French. Bonjour, Alain.’
André smiled. ‘Claire is right, Alain. What is it that you say in England? The walls, they have ears? They have ears in France also.’
‘I stand corrected,’ Alain said in perfect French.
Madame Belland pulled out a chair. ‘Sit, please,’ she said, pouring Claire a small cup of coffee.
‘Thank you, Madame.’ Claire took a sip. It was too strong. She added milk to the dark brown liquid until the cup was full to the brim. Lifting it carefully, she drank again. It tasted better. It was still potent, with a slightly burnt aftertaste, but it was preferable to Camp coffee, which didn’t taste like coffee at all. She didn’t take sugar, but a little might take the edge off. She looked at the condiments on the table. Two small glass bowls – one with salt, the other pepper – a dish with butter and several bottles of different coloured oils, but no sugar. Oh well... when in Rome, she thought, and, drinking the coffee, she tucked into croissants and bread spread with soft cheese.
When they had finished eating, Édith Belland cleared the dishes, leaving the cups. Placing a refreshed pot of coffee in the middle of the table, she sat down. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘if you are the children of my brothers,’ she looked at Claire and Alain, ‘you will have known me all your lives – and so you would not address me as Madame, you would call me Aunt Édith. Of course now you are grown up, you might have dropped the title aunt and just call me Édith, but you would not call me Madame.’
‘Édith it is,’ agreed Alain.
‘I shall call you Aunt Édith,’ Claire said, squeezing Édith Belland’s hand and smiling at Alain.
‘May I have another cup of coffee, Édith?’ Alain said.
‘Of course you may.’ Édith Belland laughed and filled Alain’s cup, before pouring coffee for everyone else.
When they had finished their coffee, Frédéric left the table. Taking his work overalls from the back of the door, he began to step into them. ‘Can I see the animals?’ Claire asked.
‘Of course,’ Frédéric said.
‘Frédéric will show you round the farm, while Alain and I go to the barn. We must check that the package for Jacques is in one piece.’
‘What time will we be taking it to Jacques, Alain?’ Claire asked.
It was André who answered. ‘I think the first time Jacques meets new agents it should be with me, someone he already knows and trusts. He is passionate about a free France and a loyal Resistance member, but he is suspicious of people he doesn’t know. There will be plenty of time to meet Jacques in the future.’
‘Coming, Claire?’ Frédéric called, before Claire had time to argue about being left behind. She thanked Édith for breakfast and ran out to join Frédéric, who was sitting on the wall of the well smoking a cigarette. Skipping across the cobbled yard, she sat next to him.
‘You’ll need these,’ he said, handing her a pair of wellingtons. ‘It can get muddy in the cowshed.
Claire took off her shoes and put on the wellingtons. ‘It’s a big well,’ she said, jumping down and picking up her shoes. She took them to the house and dropped them at the side of the kitchen door. On her return she picked up a pebble and dropped it into the well. She heard a hollow plop as it hit the water, but not another sound. ‘It must be very deep,’ she said, leaning over and peering into the dark water.
‘So you had better be careful. If you fall in you might disappear forever,’ Frédéric said, pretending to push Claire while holding the top of her arms securely. She squealed and Frédéric lessened his grip to allow her to move away. ‘Come on,’ he said, turning the handle at the side of the well’s ornate roof until the bucket disappeared into the water. Hauling up a full bucket, he said, ‘One more to fill. Will you pass it, please?’ Claire turned and saw a metal pail on the ground. She lifted it as Frédéric swung the well’s bucket over the wall. After filling the pail he lowered the bucket back into the well until it was a couple of feet below the top. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we have work to do in the cowshed.’
‘Are we going to milk the cows?’
‘We?’ Frédéric hooted. ‘You’ve milked cows before, have you?’
‘Not exactly, but I was brought up on a country estate.’ Frédéric raised his eyebrows. ‘And one of the estate farms had a herd of cows.’ Claire could see Frédéric was trying not to laugh. ‘I have seen cows being milked, many times,’ she lied, ‘and I’m a quick learner.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Claire, but we are going to wash the floor of the cowshed, not milk the cows. The cowman and I did that at six o’clock this morning, while you were sleeping. But then, with your vast knowledge of dairy farming, you will know that by this time of day the milking has been done.’
Claire pushed Frédéric playfully and he spilt water on his feet. ‘Sorry,’ she said, running ahead of him to the first of the wooden structures.
‘The next building,’ Frédéric shouted, ‘and pick up a bucket of water before you go in.’ Frédéric took his large pail inside and, holding the rim at the top with one hand, he gripped the bottom of the pail with the other. Claire watched as he swung the pail back before hurling it forward, forcing the water out of it and across the floor. Dropping her bucket, Claire jumped out of the way as cow dung and straw went swimming past her and out of the door. Frédéric followed the water with a wide brush on a long handle. ‘Mind your feet,’ he shouted as he almost swept her out of the cowshed.
Claire picked up another bucket and copied Frédéric. He stood to one side and leant on the brush, nodding. When they finished in the cowshed they brushed the yard, making sure the waste from the shed was in a drainage ditch away from the well.
‘I’ll teach you how to milk the cows if you want,’ Frédéric said, as they put the pails and brushes in the smallest of the sheds.
‘All right,’ Claire said, half-heartedly. ‘I suppose if I’m staying with my aunt and cousins on their farm, I ought to know something about farming – and cows.’ She screwed up her face.
‘And horses? We have two plough horses.’ Claire followed Frédéric past the barn to the stables. ‘Working horses with no work to do,’ Frédéric sighed, opening the stable door. ‘Come on, girls.’ He clicked his tongue and the horses plodded out of the dark stalls into the sunshine. ‘In the winter I take them to the field for exercise – and to eat, as fodder is hard to come by – and bring them back before it is dark. Now spring is here the fields are their home for four, maybe five, months.’
The horses clip-clopped across the cobbles to a field bordering the farmyard. Whinnying and shaking their manes, when Frédéric opened the five-bar gate they skittered through. He closed the gate after them and, with Claire standing on the bottom rung, watched as the horses trotted down to the small brook.
‘Why aren’t you working them?’ Claire asked.
‘The Germans have forbidden us to till the land. They informed us after last year’s harvest; after the corn fires. They took our produce, saying the land belonged to them, therefore what it yields also belongs to them.’
They walked back to the house in silence. Frédéric looked about her age, she thought, his older brother André a similar age to Alain. ‘André wears a ring on his wedding finger. Is he married?’ Claire asked.
‘Yes, to Thérèse. She is good for André, keeps his fee
t in the earth. Being the oldest brother, he can be…’
‘Bossy?’ Claire offered.
‘You could say that. Since my father died, André takes being the head of the family very seriously.’
‘But he doesn’t live here, does he?’
‘No, he and Thérèse live with her parents. They have a farm north of Gisoir, the nearest town to them, and to us,’ Frédéric said. ‘They are old and depend on Thérèse to help in the house.’
‘And André works the farm?’
‘No, André spends his days here. They employ labourers to do the farm work. You met some of them last night. They were part of the reception committee.’ Claire recalled each one of them. ‘They work as farm labourers, but they are engineers, architects and electricians.’
‘Why do they work as labourers when they have professions and trades?’
‘To continue working with the Resistance. The Germans send qualified men to work for the Fatherland. They think farm labourers are stupid, so they ignore them.’ Frédéric laughed bitterly. ‘These so-called labourers are brave fighters, and saboteurs.’
At the back door Claire took off her wellingtons and put on her shoes. ‘I’ll wash the mud off these when I do mine,’ Frédéric said. ‘Tell Mama I’ll be in for coffee shortly.’
The smell of fresh coffee and newly baked bread met Claire as she entered the kitchen. Édith Belland was at the stove. She turned as Claire entered. ‘Can I do anything to help, Édith?’
‘No, my dear, it was only a stir of the soup that was needed.’ Édith took the coffee pot from the stove. ‘André and Alain are in the front room. They will be through in a minute, or perhaps you would like to join them?’
‘I’m fine. It’s nice and warm in here. It’s homely too,’ Claire observed, ‘for such a big kitchen.’
‘The kitchen is where friends meet and drink coffee – and gossip,’ Édith whispered. ‘In the evenings we sit and listen to the wireless, and drink a glass of wine by the fire in the front room – and always formal occasions take place in there – but the kitchen is, as you say, homely.’
CHAPTER TEN
Claire, playing the part of visiting younger cousin, trailed behind André and Alain as they strolled into Gisoir. ‘I’ll meet you back here at one o’clock,’ Alain said to Claire when they arrived in the town square. He looked around. ‘In Café La Ronde,’ he said, pointing to a double-fronted café a few shops along from where they were standing.
Claire nodded. ‘Aunt Édith has given me a shopping list. There isn’t much on it, so I shouldn’t be long,’ she said, taking in her surroundings and making a mental note of everything she saw. The cafés and bars around the square were teeming with Gestapo. ‘It is turning into a very grey day. Greyer than we were led to expect, don’t you think?’
‘Much greyer,’ Alain agreed.
‘Be careful what you say, cousins, in case any of them speak French,’ André warned. They walked along the pavement past dozens of German officers sitting outside bistros and cafés. Lounging arrogantly in their chairs, legs outstretched, ignoring anyone who wanted to pass, they told jokes and laughed loudly – and threw cigarette butts in the path of passers-by.
‘There are a hell of a lot more than I thought there would be,’ Alain said, when they were out of earshot.
‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ André said. ‘There’s easily twice as many Gestapo here this week than there was last.’
‘The influx must be recent, or London would have said something.’
‘While you buy provisions, Claire, Alain and I will call on Jacques, see if there are any messages. Afterwards, I shall go home to Thérèse. What will you do, Alain?’
‘Buy a newspaper and sit outside one of the bars. I’ll have a beer, watch the world go by, and listen to a few conversations. Frenchmen are still allowed to frequent the cafés and bars, I hope?’
‘Yes, but I needn’t tell you to keep a low profile. You too, Claire, try not to attract attention,’ André said, before walking on slowly.
‘Not easy with legs like yours,’ Alain whispered.
Claire felt the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘See you in Café La Ronde at one,’ she said, looking back at the café so Alain couldn’t see her blush.
They parted company on the west side of the square. Alain followed André, and Claire crossed the road and walked along the north side until she came to a parade of shops. There was as little in the shops of Gisoir as there had been in Morecambe and London. She stepped into the doorway of a grocery shop as someone was coming out. When he drew level, Claire saw it was a Gestapo officer. He smiled and her stomach lurched. She smiled briefly and walked to the meat counter.
‘Hello, Miss. What can I do for you?’
Looking down and concentrating on the meagre slices of pale meat alongside a dozen sausages, Claire heard the door close. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath and exhaled noisily. The shop owner nodded.
‘He took most of my produce,’ he said. ‘This is all I have left.’
‘I’ll take five slices of meat. And can you spare five sausages?’
‘Yes. When the food is gone, it is gone!’ he said in a tired and resigned voice.
Claire smiled sympathetically. She took out several food tickets and put them on the counter. She knew the Gestapo didn’t pay for their goods and wished she could buy more. She walked over to the patisserie counter and gazed at a couple of sticky fruit buns. Her mouth watered, but she didn’t have enough coupons for cakes. She had money, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself so she thanked the shopkeeper and made for the door.
‘Miss?’ he called after her. As she turned she saw he was bending down. He stood up with a bounce and beckoned her conspiratorially. Claire walked back to the counter and the baker held up a sultana loaf with a sweet glaze on the top. ‘My wife made it. Try it and tell me what you think.’ He put the loaf on the counter, sliced off a chunk, and handed it to her. ‘Well?’ he said when she had taken a bite.
‘It is wonderful,’ Claire mumbled with her mouth full. ‘I haven’t tasted anything like it since before--’ The shopkeeper nodded that he understood and shrugged his shoulders. When she had eaten the delicious bread she licked her fingers.
The shopkeeper cut off another slice, wrapped it in greaseproof paper and said, ‘Put it in the bottom of your shopping basket.’ He wagged his podgy forefinger. ‘Do not let anyone see.’
Claire stood, open-mouthed. Dare she offer him money? He appeared to dislike the German officer who had just left his shop, but it wasn’t wise to trust anyone. Deciding against it she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t pay you.’
The rosy-cheeked retailer shook his head and leaned forward. ‘Enjoy.’
Claire looked into the man’s kind eyes. The French were proud people. He would probably be insulted if she gave him money now. She bit her lip. Professor Marron had told her when she was in Cullercoats that such generosity had once been commonplace in small market towns like Gisoir. He said people used to greet you in the street, pass the time of day, and smile when they served you in shops and cafés. Now there were so many Germans in France that people didn’t speak unless they were spoken to – and who could blame them? ‘Thank you very much,’ Claire said. Smiling her gratitude, she stowed the treat under her shopping, put her purse on top, and left.
Café La Ronde, like all the other cafés on the square, was packed with Germans, mostly officers. Claire greeted the manager with a smile when she entered, and he nodded towards the back of the café where Alain sat in a booth.
‘It’s busy in here today,’ Alain said, as she sat down.
‘Too busy for comfort. Learned anything?’
‘Yes! I’ll tell you later. You?’
Claire patted her shopping basket. ‘I’ll show you later,’ she laughed. ‘Damn!’
‘What?’
‘Three stripes at ten o’clock. Must have followed me from the shop. He was coming out as I was going in. Sorry,
I shouldn’t have laughed so loud.’
‘Don’t worry about him. He’s a man doing what men do.’ The frown lines on Claire’s forehead deepened and she tutted. ‘What’s a guy supposed to do when a pretty girl catches his eye, look the other way?’ Alain beckoned the waiter for Claire’s coffee. ‘He’s bound to look, it’s only natural.’
‘Even so--’
‘You worry too much.’
‘Apologies for the delay, Miss.’ The waiter wiped the table before putting the coffee down. ‘This week we have suddenly become very busy.’ He flashed a sideways glance to the table nearest the door, where half a dozen Gestapo officers sat drinking beer and talking loudly. ‘The Hun on the left has been watching you,’ he whispered. Then in his normal voice he said, ‘Enjoy your coffee.’ Smiling, he collected the dirty crockery from the table next to theirs and made his way back to the counter.
‘So the influx of Boche happened a week ago?’
‘By the number of vehicles parked outside the hotels, they’ve taken them over. I’m going to check the back of the café, see if there’s an escape route,’ he whispered. ‘Will you be okay if I go to the toilet, China?’
Claire tutted. ‘Of course I will, but stop calling me China,’ she whispered. ‘I am Claire! Are you listening?’ She elbowed Alain in the ribs and he nodded. ‘If you’re overheard-- Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Page 10
