‘No trains to Paris tonight,’ he said sharply. ‘Trains to Paris are at 9am and 3pm.’ He took a timetable from beneath the counter and ran a shaky finger down it. He’s nervous, Claire thought. ‘The nine o’clock train stops at--’ A man standing directly behind her stamped his foot and sighed loudly.
‘There is no need to explain further,’ Claire said politely, and, without looking at the man, stomped out. At the door she looked back and her pulse quickened. The man was a Wehrmacht officer – and he and the ticket attendant were laughing. You didn’t know who was a German sympathiser these days. The French railwaymen – many of whom were communists – were some of the bravest of the Resistance, sabotaging tracks, derailing carriages, and sending German troop trains miles out of their way. Gisoir station’s ticket collector did not look like one of them. She would tell Édith about him when she got home.
Walking through the park, she began to tremble. She sat on the bench she’d sat on earlier and took the pastry from its wrapping. Her stomach turned at the sight of it. She was hungry, but feared she wouldn’t keep even simple pastry down. Shredding it, she fed the pigeons before going to the Café La Ronde and ordering coffee.
She sat at the back of the room and when the waiter brought her coffee she asked him if he’d heard anything about the man the Germans took to their headquarters the day before. He hadn’t, but said he didn’t expect he’d be there long.
‘If he is French they will release him soon. But if he is English...’ the proprietor tutted.
‘He is not English,’ Claire said, ‘he is my cousin. I swear to you, on my life, he is not English.’ The waiter nodded sympathetically and began to wipe the table. ‘But if the Germans think he is English,’ she whispered, ‘what will happen to him?’
The proprietor shrugged. ‘They will put him in prison, or…’
‘Or what? Please?’ Claire fought back the tears and asked him again. ‘Or what?’
The proprietor put his hand up and shushed her. ‘Take him to Germany,’ he hissed.
‘Where in Germany?’
‘I don’t know… A camp. A prisoner of war camp, or a work camp. Please, we should not be speaking of such things. There are too many uniforms.’ The door opened and German voices boomed in. The waiter spun round. ‘Enjoy your coffee, Miss,’ he said over his shoulder, and dashed to attend to three German officers.
Claire looked at her watch. It was after six and the café was getting busy. It had become increasingly popular with the Germans, which was why she and Alain went there. Today it was uncomfortably overpopulated. She looked over the rim of her coffee cup but didn’t recognise any of them. She hoped they didn’t recognise her. If they did they might remember that she and Alain were regular visitors to the café. She got up to leave. Keeping her head down, she walked unhurriedly to the door.
‘No book today?’ she heard someone say.
She looked to her left and saw the Gestapo officer who had asked her about the book she was reading on her first tour to France walking towards her. Did he remember on that occasion she had told him Alain was her cousin? If he did, did he know Alain had been taken to headquarters for questioning? ‘No. No book today.’
He lifted the checked cloth on the top of her basket and looked inside. ‘No book and,’ he turned up his nose, ‘hardly enough food to feed a bird. In that case,’ he said, dropping the cloth, ‘I shall take you to dinner tonight.’
Claire smiled, not with pleasure but with relief, because the German had looked in her basket after she had paid Jacques and not before. ‘I’m afraid I cannot tonight. Maybe another time?’
‘I look forward to it.’ The German opened the door and Claire smiled her thanks as she went out. Dinner with him, however unpalatable, might be a way of finding out if Alain was still at headquarters, and if he was how long they were likely to keep him. But not today. He had caught her off guard. She didn’t trust herself not to say something stupid and give herself away.
At the end of the road she looked back to where Alain had been beaten up the day before and saw the German officer coming out of the café. Pretending she was looking at him, she waved goodbye and turned the corner.
Damn! She had broken the first two rules. Walk with purpose, especially if it is getting dark, the security instructor had told her, and don’t look back, it looks suspicious. She ran through the rules in her head. If anyone speaks to you nod, don’t let them involve you in conversation. If they persist, politely make your excuses and walk on. If it is cold, use it. Shiver and say you think you have a cold, or influenza. Or say you’ll be in trouble if you are late home for dinner. If they suggest they walk with you, say your father is very strict and would be angry if he saw you with a man. If you are followed into a restaurant or café, order something to drink. When the waiter brings it, take a couple of sips before casually getting up and going to the toilet. There will be a back door you can slip out of, or a window you can climb through. If there is neither, go back to your drink, finish it and leave as if you haven’t a care in the world. Walk without attracting attention, and don’t look back. Whatever you do you must not let the man or woman following you know you’re aware of them.
Claire walked briskly and at last arrived at the tree-lined avenue where Édith and Frédéric lived. A few yards more and she would be safe. She stopped, put her foot up on a low wall, and took off her shoe. Wielding it in the air as if it had taken in a stone and she was shaking it out, Claire glanced along the avenue. Her heart sank. For a second she saw the back of a man wearing a military hat disappear into a doorway. She looked ahead. The Belland house was close, too close. She blew out her cheeks in frustration and walked on. As she passed the alley that ran along the side of the house she saw a shadowy figure, followed by the dim glow of a lighted cigarette. She pulled on the collar of her coat and crossed the road.
There was a café opposite the church where the Belland family worshipped. It was getting dark, so the café may have closed by now, but she would go there anyway. She had to go somewhere – and the further away from the Belland house the safer they would be. She turned the corner and exhaled with relief. A narrow shaft of light escaped into the street as the café’s door opened. A young man and woman left and Claire slipped in.
Inside she waved to the man behind the counter as if she knew him. He put up his hand in a tired but welcoming gesture. She spotted a vacant table and made her way to it. As she sat down, she heard the door open. The waiter sauntered over with his notebook in one hand, taking his pencil from his waistcoat pocket with the other.
‘I won’t be eating tonight,’ Claire said, glancing sideways at the lunch board above the counter. ‘Lunch was wonderful, but so filling, I don’t think I’ll need to eat again until breakfast,’ she laughed. ‘Just a cup of your delicious coffee, please.’ The café owner puffed out his chest and nodded. When he brought her coffee, Claire continued to chat in a familiar way. ‘You look tired. Have you had another busy day?’ Before the café owner had time to reply, Claire took a sip of her coffee. ‘Mmm, she crooned, closing her eyes, ‘lovely.’ The café owner smiled his thanks through a yawn.
Claire sipped her coffee and watched as customers finished their meals, paid and left. Of the half dozen Germans still lounging about drinking, she wondered which of them had followed her. She couldn’t be sure he had even come into the café. She heard the door open just after she entered, but it could have been anyone. The coffee was good; she would come here again. She picked up a newspaper from the table next to hers and began to read. She must act normally. Soon she would go to the ladies’, and see if there was a back door, or window she could climb out of. She absentmindedly took a sip of her coffee. It was hot. She put the cup down and got up, taking her handbag with her, but leaving her basket, so it looked like she was coming back. She walked to the back of the café. There was a sign above an alcove saying Toilet, and an arrow pointing to the left. She followed the arrow, but instead of turning into the toilet, she walked on to
a door marked Exit. She pushed on it, but it was locked. She turned and opened the toilet door. There was no window. So much for making her escape, she thought. She pulled the piece of string that doubled for a chain and returned to her seat.
The café owner met her as she sat down. ‘I will be closing in ten minutes. Would like another cup of the coffee you love so much, before you leave?’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ As he poured the coffee, Claire looked up at him, wondering if he had guessed she was being followed.
‘I will also have another cup before you close,’ Claire heard someone with a German accent say.
‘Certainly, sir,’ the owner sighed.
She was watching him pour the German officer’s coffee when the door burst open. Claire’s jaw dropped at the sight of a woman she recognised from a photograph on Édith’s mantle as André Belland’s wife, Thérèse. Bustling into the café and expounding how sorry she was to have kept her best friend waiting, Thérèse said, ‘I had to make Father’s dinner. You know mother and the little ones have the chicken pox? Covered in weeping sores, they are.’ Thérèse shivered. Trying to hide her surprise, Claire nodded vigorously. ‘Well, because it’s so contagious Father won’t allow them downstairs when he is home, in case he catches it. Did I say it was contagious? Oh yes. Well, it isn’t fair, I have to do all the housework and look after Mother and the children.’ Waving to the café owner, Thérèse pulled Claire to her feet. ‘I feel itchy myself,’ she said, scratching her head and the top of her arm, before opening the door.
The two women hurried off in the direction of the town. ‘How did you know where to find me?’ Claire whispered.
‘Frédéric saw you in the avenue. When you kept walking after he’d given the all clear signal, he knew something was wrong and he followed you. When he came back, Mother-in-law said I was to come to the café and get you out.’
‘That was brave of you, Thérèse, thank you.’
‘Not really. Frédéric and André were behind me. They were waiting outside the café to make sure we weren’t followed when we left.’ When they had walked along several streets, Thérèse looked back. ‘All the talk about chicken pox has put your stalker off,’ she laughed. Linking her arm though Claire’s, she said, ‘I think it’s safe to go home now.’
‘After the day I’ve had, I can’t think of anything better.’
Thérèse laughed. ‘I’m not sure you’ll feel that way after you’ve seen Mother-in-law. She is furious with you for going off without telling anyone.’
Claire knew she had broken the rules. She had put herself and Thérèse in danger, Frédéric and André too. They walked in silence until they arrived at the alley that ran alongside the short row of houses. A cigarette glowed and brightened. Thérèse opened the door in the wall and Claire followed her into the yard. ‘I’m sorry I put you in danger, Thérèse. I just needed to check out a few things in town on my own.’
‘Save it for Édith. I appreciate how worried you are. Mother-in-law is not as understanding.’
Claire followed Thérèse into the house. The kitchen table was set for two. Thérèse went to the cooker, looked in the oven and wrinkled her nose. ‘Mmmm… Garlic sausage and potatoes.’ The potatoes were dry and looked like cardboard. The sausages were brown and the skins more wrinkled than Édith’s neighbour Madame Oran’s face. ‘We are going to have to eat this,’ Thérèse said.
‘I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’ll have yours if you don’t want it,’ Claire said. Thérèse laughed and dished up two helpings. With gravy, it was edible.
When they had finished eating and were washing the dishes, André and Édith entered the kitchen. ‘Thank you, Édith,’ Claire said over her shoulder, ‘the food was lovely.’ She dried the plates and hung the tea towel on the rack at the side of the fire.
André held Thérèse’s coat. She put it on and thanked Édith for the food, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Claire. And don’t worry about Alain. I’m sure he will be back with us soon.’ Claire kissed Thérèse and André goodbye, and watched them leave.
Édith sat in the chair that Thérèse had vacated. Claire could feel Édith watching her. She turned with the coffee pot, placed it on the table and took two cups and saucers from the dresser. After fetching the jug of milk from the larder she poured coffee for both of them and added a little milk. ‘I’m sorry, Édith,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have been in the streets after curfew. I don’t know what I’d have done if Thérèse hadn’t come into the café.’
‘Were you aware that you were followed from the railway station?’
Claire gasped. ‘How do you know I went to the station?’
‘The ticket attendant is one of the leaders of the railwaymen; a member of Resistance Fer. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is going off on your own, asking questions about Alain the day after he was taken to Gestapo headquarters for questioning.’
Claire hadn’t mentioned Alain to the ticket attendant, but she had to the baker and the proprietor of Café La Ronde. Édith had ears all over Gisoir. ‘I wanted to find out if he was still here. They take political prisoners, or those they think are communists or spies, to a jail near Paris. I wanted to know if they had taken Alain there.’
‘The name of the prison is Périgueux. And no, he is not there, he is still at Gestapo headquarters.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The men and women of the Resistance live locally, work locally, and travel in and out of the town regularly. Some work in shops and cafés, others at the railway station!’ Claire could hear exasperation in Édith’s voice, and she looked down. ‘You know how it works, Claire. When locals enquire about trains to Paris, or talk between themselves about why the Germans took a man in for questioning, it is not thought unusual. The Germans just see local people wondering, as any inquisitive citizen would. But when they hear a stranger ask – a young woman at that – it raises questions. Who is she? Where has she come from? Does she know the man the Germans took away?’
‘I am so sorry, Édith. I was worried and didn’t think.’
‘Then we’ll say no more about it.’ Pushing the coffee pot out of the way, Édith took a bottle of red wine and two glasses from the work surface next to the sink. She poured wine for them both. ‘I understand you and Jacques are meeting in the Café La Ronde tomorrow?’ Édith placed a glass in front of Claire.
‘I want him to confirm he’s sent the message about Alain to London.’
‘Good idea. We shall go together. If that is all right with you?’
‘Of course. I am sorry I put everyone at risk today. Will the Resistance ever forgive me?’
‘They don’t know. I didn’t think it was worth worrying them, since no one has been compromised.’
Claire put her hand on top of Édith’s. ‘Thank you.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Claire watched Jacques shuffle through the door of the Café La Ronde, shopping bag in one hand and umbrella in the other. She nudged Édith. ‘He’s carrying an umbrella – in this heat.’
‘He uses it as a stick,’ Édith whispered, ‘and a parasol.’
Except for the white fedora that made his linen coat look even shabbier than Claire remembered, the multi-coloured cravat at his throat and the brown and white wingtip dance shoes, Jacques was wearing the same clothes that he wore the day before. Unable to help herself, Claire began to giggle. She put her hand up to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Édith, but he looks so--’
‘Flamboyant?’ Édith laughed with her.
‘I thought we were meant to keep a low profile.’
‘It’s best to, yes, but not if it means a sudden change of character. Jacques was a famous impresario in the 1920s. He married a beautiful and very talented dancer – and took dance troupes out on grand tours. He was devastated when she died. Shhh, he will hear us.’
‘Madame Belland,’ Jacques said, bowing theatrically before proffering his podgy white hand. ‘How are you, my de
ar lady?’ Squeezing his bulk into the seat next to Édith, he bumped the table with his knee, sending Édith and Claire’s coffee spilling into their saucers. ‘A million apologies, Madame. Waiter?’ he called. ‘A cloth, if you please?’
Jacques ordered coffee and a pastry with cream, and while the waiter wiped the table he apologised again to Édith and Claire. ‘To business,’ he whispered when the waiter left. ‘You know I have a friend at German headquarters.’ Édith nodded. ‘Well,’ Jacques leaned forward, ‘he told me earlier that the Gestapo took seven men to the station this morning, and your friend may have been among them. Of course he cannot say for sure. Shush,’ he said, as the waiter returned with his coffee and a cake. ‘Thank you, Robert,’ he sang.
‘Does your friend know where the men were taken?’ Édith asked when the waiter was out of earshot.
‘To Périgueux, of course.’ Claire felt numb. Jacques took a bite of his cake, leaving a white sugary substance on the narrow slug of hair above his top lip, and turned his attention to Claire. ‘The message you asked me to send was given as you instructed, Miss,’ he said, with his mouth full. ‘There was no reply to that message, but there is to be a--’ Jacques looked at the door, wiped his hand across his mouth and mumbled, ‘drop!’
‘When?’
‘Monday. One package is to go to Orléans and one to Paris.’
‘I shall deliver the package to Paris. Tell them tonight when you bake, Jacques, that China Blue will deliver to Paris,’ Claire said.
‘Claire dear, there’s almost a week before the drop. I think Jacques should wait until we’ve discussed it with André, don’t you?’
China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Page 16
