Claire watched Mitch run across the yard to the barn and disappear inside. A second later he reappeared and, with his back flat against the wall of the farmhouse, he waved at her to come. As Mitch had, Claire kept low and ran like a hare until she was standing next to him. Panting with fear and exertion, but not daring to make a sound, she flattened her body against the wall. Mitch touched his nose and whispered, ‘Fire.’ Claire sniffed and nodded. She could smell it now; gasoline and burnt wood. She tapped Mitch on the shoulder and pointed to the kitchen window ledge on which she had been leaning. He ran the palm of his hand along it and charred paint chipped off. ‘Come on, let’s have a look.’
Inside, the smell of gasoline wasn’t as strong. Carefully, cupping it in his hand, Mitch struck a match. Its pale glow was enough to show the damage the fire had done. Someone had put the fire out, or the rain had got in, because the floor was wet. Mitch blew out the flame, spat on his finger, and held the match between finger and thumb before putting it into his pocket. He rubbed the stone floor with his other hand and sniffed. ‘Water,’ he said with relief. He led the way along the plastered wall of the passage to Édith Belland’s front room and lit another match. ‘Not as much fire damage in here,’ he said. ‘Odd that this room has hardly been touched when the kitchen is half gutted. The kitchen window ledge outside is so blistered, you’d think…’
‘The fire was started outside, by one of the thugs who were here earlier.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I heard him bragging about it to the others. He threw a bomb through the window.’ Claire felt tears threaten. Édith’s front room, her best room, stank of smoke and the settee was rotting with damp. She followed Mitch upstairs. The fire hadn’t touched the first floor, but the German soldiers had. The beds were a jumble of ripped and stained sheets and blankets. Empty beer bottles and half-eaten scraps of food littered the floors. ‘I’m tired,’ Claire said, yawning. ‘Would it hurt if we had a rest? We could take it in turns to keep watch.’
‘No, it wouldn’t hurt. We should get some sleep, but not in the house. I wouldn’t put it past those horny jackasses to pick up a couple of girls and bring them back here. Come on. Let’s get out.’
Claire followed Mitch downstairs and after checking that there was no one outside, he led the way to the barn. Claire stopped as soon as they were inside. ‘You said you wouldn’t put it past them to come back tonight. Won’t they drive through here as they did earlier?’
‘Yes, but they won’t know we’re here, because we’ll be up there.’ Mitch pointed to the store loft. ‘We’ll have the advantage because we’ll be able to see and hear them.’
‘What if they set fire to the place again?’
‘Why would they? What would be the point?’ He took the ladder from behind a stack of hay and leant it against the floor of the loft. Claire climbed up. ‘Get the bedding from the secret store while I fetch the bags.’
‘At least it’s dry up here,’ she said, when Mitch returned.
After passing up the cases and Claire’s basket and handbag, Mitch took the ladder two rungs at a time, and then pulled it up. Claire made up two makeshift beds while Mitch unbolted the door to the rope-pulley. He pushed it open a few inches. ‘In case we have to leave in a hurry.’ Claire smelled the pillows and grimaced. ‘You can’t afford to be fussy, China,’ Mitch said, taking the pillows and placing them next to each other. ‘We might not be warm, but we will be safe. No one will suspect we’re up here.’ He lay down. ‘Let’s get some shut-eye. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours. We need to be on the road before dawn.’
Claire lay uneasily between the itchy blankets. She looked across the loft, through the ill-fitting pulley door, and out into the night. The clouds had cleared. She could see stars glinting in the sapphire sky. She sighed.
‘Can’t you sleep?’ Mitch whispered.
‘No.’ Claire turned over and Mitch put his arms around her.
‘Try, China. Tomorrow is going to be a long one.’
Claire lifted her face and looked into Mitch’s eyes. He kissed her and she became aroused. ‘Make love to me, Mitch. Make love to me and make me forget the horridness of all this.’
Claire opened her eyes. Mitch was watching her. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost four-thirty.’
‘I could just drink a lovely cup of coffee,’ she said, yawning.
Mitch laughed. ‘You hate French coffee. You said it tastes like tar.’
‘That was a lifetime ago. I’m used to it now.’
‘Well, the sooner you’re up and dressed, the sooner we can find you a café and buy you some. So jump to it.’
‘I need to use the toilet and have a wash,’ she said shyly.
‘You can use the outside toilet, but you can’t wash in the kitchen. We need to leave it as the Germans left it. Wash in the river at the back of the house. Go upstream a way, you won’t be seen.’ Mitch kissed her on the cheek. He then kissed her on the lips. Sighing, he kissed her again and Claire pushed him away playfully. ‘Okay, let’s make this place look as it did when we arrived. The Germans are bound to come back.’
Claire folded the blankets and dropped them into the hiding place, lowered the trap-door and covered it with straw. While she gathered her belongings, Mitch bolted the rope-pulley door and roughed up the straw where they had lain. With all evidence that they had been there eradicated, Claire climbed down, leaving Mitch to bring down the bags and hide the ladder.
‘Why can’t we use the well?’ Claire called. Kneeling beside it, she picked up a shiny object.
‘It isn’t clean,’ Mitch shouted, running across the yard to her.
‘What’s this?’ Claire held up a pretty silver hair slide. ‘These little stones look like real diamonds and sapphires,’ she said, running her finger along the spine of the slide. ‘I wonder who it belongs to?’ She turned, put the hair slide on the low wall surrounding the well, and froze.
Mitch grabbed her by her upper arms and roughly swung her round until she was facing him. ‘I said the water isn’t clean,’ he hollered. ‘Wash in the river. That’s an order!’
‘Mitch, stop!’ Claire shouted, twisting free of his grip. ‘It’s too late. I’ve seen her. I’ve seen the girl in the well.’
Mitch closed his eyes and lowered his head. ‘I saw her earlier, but I didn’t want you to--’
‘I know.’ Claire turned back to the girl. ‘She looks like marble. And her head… Do you think she’s the girl the German soldier was talking about?’
Mitch nodded. ‘Looks as if one of them broke the poor kid’s neck.’
‘What? We need to report it to the authorities.’
‘We don’t. We’re fighting a war. We need to walk away and forget what we’ve seen.’
‘How can we? Killing that girl wasn’t war. It was murder.’
‘We don’t know that. It could have been an accident. She might have been running in the dark, slipped and fell.’
‘But you said--’
‘Whatever happened to her, we can’t report it. We’ll be putting ourselves, the Belland family, the Resistance group and everyone who has ever helped us in danger. No, Claire, we walk away. We’ll tell Édith when we find her. She’ll know what to do.’
‘If we find her.’
‘We will find her. But until then, we forget what we’ve seen.’ Mitch put his hand under Claire’s chin and lifted her face to his. ‘Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’ After using the toilet Claire went back to the well. She took the hair slide from the wall and put it in her coat pocket. Then she closed her eyes and said a prayer.
It only took her a few seconds to walk to the back of the house. She heard the splash and tumble of the river falling like a waterfall over the rocks beneath the bridge as soon as she turned the corner. Running to the river’s edge, she fell to her knees, plunged her hands into the water and rubbed them vigorously. Then she cupped a handful and splashed it on her face. She gasped. It was so col
d it took her breath away. It was May, almost summer, but the water coming from the hills was icy. She braced herself and washed as much of her body as she was able, without undressing.
‘Are you ready, China?’ Mitch shouted.
‘Yes, I’m coming.’ Mitch acknowledged her reply with a wave and walked on. Taking a small towel from her case, Claire began to dry herself. She lifted her arms. Her skin was white and mottled from the cold, like the girl in the well. She shook her head in an attempt to shake away the image of the dead girl, and returned the towel to her case. It was wet, but there was nothing she could do about it. She rolled it up and placed it as far away from her second set of clothes as she could. It would eventually make them damp. She looked up at the sky, at the dark and gloomy clouds; she would probably be as wet as the towel before she arrived in Gisoir. She quickly closed the case and got to her feet. Running along the lane, she caught up with Mitch. ‘From now on, I don’t think you should call me China,’ she said.
‘Désolé, mademoiselle,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Are you all right?’
Claire sighed. ‘As I’ll ever be.’ She was used to being called mademoiselle. She liked it, especially when Mitch said it. She liked her code name too, China Blue. When she told Mitch someone had said her eyes were the colour of Wedgwood, he’d said, “Yeah? Who’s Wedgwood?” Being a Canadian, she wasn’t surprised that Mitch didn’t know Wedgwood was the name of a maker of fine china, but she was disappointed that he hadn’t noticed her blue eyes. Everybody did, even Colonel Smith. She sighed.
‘Come on, dreamer, we need to get going,’ he said, taking her case and walking away.
‘Yes. Sorry.’ Claire fell into step at his side. ‘Give me something to carry.’
‘Take your shopping basket. I’ll give you your suitcase when we get to Gisoir, in case we get split up.’
Claire shuddered at the thought and put the notion out of her mind. She had been trained to compartmentalise things. Though a compartment where she could put the girl in the well, she was yet to find out. With Mitch carrying her case, Claire was able to walk faster. ‘From now on, we should only speak French. You must only call me Claire, and I shall only call you Alain. Are you listening, Alain?’
‘What?’
‘French! We should--’
‘OK, China,’ Mitch winked.
‘I’m serious, Alain. I am your cousin,’ Claire said, in French.
‘What? My kissing cousin?’
‘Hey!’ She clipped him across the shoulder. ‘Less of the sauce.’
Side by side they walked along, chatting in French. The heavy drizzle turned into rain – and with the rain came a feeling of uncertainty. On the outskirts of Gisoir, they stopped to discuss what they were going to do once they were in the town.
‘You pick up some food from the market while I deliver the wireless crystals to Jacques. I’ll ask him about the fire at the farm and where the Belland family are living.’
‘Will you tell him about the girl?’
‘No. I shall only mention the fire – say we were passing and noticed it. He’s bound to know something. If he doesn’t I’ll ask around.’
‘Is that wise? You never know who you’re talking to these days.’ She stopped speaking and checked herself. Alain was not a novice; he would be discreet. ‘Right! Where shall we meet?’
‘I’ll see you in Café La Ronde at twelve. Don’t worry if I’m a bit late. If I get an address for Édith, and it’s near, I might call on her.’ Alain looked at his wristwatch. ‘It’s almost eleven. That gives you enough time to buy food, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, plenty.’ Claire shivered. She pulled her coat around her and buttoned it up to the neck. ‘I’ve got coins for the market, but only enough tokens for a loaf and some cheese.’
‘Keep an eye on the road,’ Alain said, taking off his right shoe. He took several notes from it and handed them to Claire. ‘Get a decent bottle of wine and some cakes, if you can. On second thoughts, take the lot.’ He took off his other shoe. ‘It’s what the colonel gave us for weapons and bribes and stuff.’ Claire’s mouth fell open. ‘Men are stopped more often than women – and if I’m stopped with this amount of money on me, I’ll be arrested. You, on the other hand, can bat your eyelashes and say it’s your parents’ life savings that they have given you to take to your grandparents in Paris. Keep a couple of notes in your purse for food and wine and put a wad in the compartment in the bottom of your shopping basket, the rest in your shoes.’ Claire looked questioningly at Alain. ‘If you’re searched they’ll find it in your basket, and won’t check your shoes.’ When Claire had done as Alain instructed she put her shoes back on, taking care not to scrunch up the notes, buckled them and stood up. ‘You’d better take your case too, in case we get separated.’
Claire hated the thought of them being separated, but took the case. ‘I suppose if I was going all the way to Paris to visit Granny, I’d have a change of clothes with me.’ She looked into Alain’s eyes and fought back the tears.
‘Don’t worry, China, it’s only to be on the safe side. Yes?’
‘Yes,’ she said, reluctantly.
‘Good. And remember, if one of us gets stopped by the Gestapo, or any member of their puppet show, the other one keeps walking. We walk and we don’t look back for anything. Claire? Is that clear?’ Alain put his hand under her chin and lifted her face. She looked up. ‘Is that clear?’
‘Yes!’ she snapped. ‘Of course it is!’
‘Good. Come on then, little cousin, I’ll buy you something nice to eat at lunchtime, if you’re a good girl,’ he laughed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Claire sauntered along pretending to be uninterested in her surroundings while taking everything in. A convoy of Field cars and black Mercedes, the car of choice for German officers, passed them on the road going into Gisoir. By the time she arrived in the town centre the vehicles were parked along the main boulevard. Soldiers stood around smoking cigarettes and talking loudly. As she approached them they lowered their voices. As she drew level they whispered. Claire could feel their eyes on her, watching her as she walked past.
There was a sudden burst of laughter and one of them shouted, ‘Here pussy, pussy!’
‘Stupid French bitch,’ another said. ‘She’s got a fat arse.’
‘Good to hang onto when giving it a shag.’ They all laughed.
Claire stopped dead. She recognised two of the voices from the farm the night before. The braggart wasn’t one of them. Even so, she wanted to round on them, tell them what filthy murdering pigs they were – but she didn’t react. She lifted her head, confident in the knowledge that they didn’t know she could understand what they were saying, and walked on. At the bakery, she caught her reflection in the window and pretended to check her appearance. Instead she checked theirs. She committed to memory every strand of hair, every skin tone, eye colour, lip and nose shape. Claire hadn’t always appreciated the photographic memory that she’d had since childhood, but she did now. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and fingered the small silver hair slide she had found by the well. If she ever saw the brute who raped and probably killed the girl, she hoped it would be on a dark night when she had Alain and the Belland brothers with her.
She browsed the produce in the window of the bakery and opened the door. Loud laughter and more rude comments followed her in. She closed the door firmly and asked the baker for a loaf and a couple of buns. ‘I promised my cousin I would try to find something sweet for him,’ she explained. The door opened and Claire could tell by the sudden look of fear in the baker’s eyes that it wasn’t a paying customer. Claire could feel the German soldier’s eyes boring into her. She straightened and watched the baker take a loaf from the shelf behind. Turning back to the counter, he almost dropped it. Claire smiled, trying to reassure him.
The baker took two iced buns from beneath the counter. He wrapped them in a sheet of white paper, did the same to the loaf, and handed them to her.
/> ‘Thank you,’ she said, giving him the food tickets. Putting the white parcels in her basket, Claire turned to leave. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the soldier, but he didn’t move. ‘Please…’ she said politely, looking into his face. While he stood like an arrogant stuffed shirt, she took in every whisker and blemish on his face. In a few seconds she had committed to memory everything he saw in his shaving mirror. It was him. The drunken soldier from the farm – the bastard who, if he hadn’t killed the girl in the well, had raped her – was barring her way. Eventually he moved. ‘Thank you,’ she said, in a voice much higher than usual. She walked out of the shop and into the sunshine, hoping he hadn’t noticed how frightened she was.
Letting the door swing shut behind her, Claire turned towards the town square. Her heart was thumping against her ribs and her legs felt like jelly. If she could make it as far as the market she’d hide among the stalls. At the entrance she looked back and let out a long sigh. The soldier who had followed her into the bakery was nowhere to be seen. Relieved, she walked into the covered market. She bought a small camembert and wedge of brie. She also bought a couple of apples and three tomatoes from an old woman selling produce from a wooden tray. She had tied rope to either end of the tray and hung it round her neck. The rope bit into the old woman’s wrinkled skin. She gave Claire a tired smile, displaying brown teeth from smoking strong tobacco, and offered her a stick of celery.
‘Thank you, Madame.’
‘You are welcome, Miss,’ she said, and shuffled on.
Claire put the food in her basket and set off across the square to the Café La Ronde to meet Alain. As she entered the bell attached to the top of the door jingled. She looked around. Alain wasn’t there. The clock above the counter said five minutes to twelve. She was hungry, but decided to wait until Alain arrived before ordering lunch. She asked for a cup of coffee and found a table for two that had a good view of the door. She would see Alain when he came in – the German too, if he had followed her. She lifted her shopping basket onto the seat of the vacant chair to give the impression it was taken. The café was always busy at lunchtime and Claire didn’t want to risk someone taking the chair before Alain claimed it.
China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Page 13
