Claire nodded. ‘I won’t be long,’ she whispered, kissing Antoinette on both cheeks. ‘Yes, see you later,’ she called, running down the steps and through the gate.
She took a long breath. It felt good to be out of the house. She walked towards Boulevard Victor Hugo, sitting for a second on the base of the nineteenth century statue of the Duke of Orléans on his horse. She pondered going back in case Frédéric arrived. Instead she walked on. On either side of a narrow road that cut through the tree-lined avenue where the post office was situated were boarded-up flats. She stopped and looked through the railings of a two-storey block of what had once been elegant apartments. They reminded her of a dolls’ house with its front open, except the front of this building had been blown off. She could see into the halls and sitting rooms, bathrooms and bedrooms where people had once lived. As she turned to leave she saw a speck of blue out of the corner of her eye. She knelt down. A single bluebell had forced its way through the broken concrete façade. She felt the backs of her eyes tingle. She was more tired than she thought.
At the post office Claire asked for two stamps and while the postmistress took them from the post-book she sighed and said in a flat disappointed tone, ‘I was expecting a letter from my brother, but it seems he has forgotten my birthday.’
The postmistress looked over her shoulder at the large round clock that hung on the wall. ‘It’s still early,’ she said. ‘I expect it’s on its way.’ Claire handed her a franc in payment for the stamps. ‘It may have been a little delayed because of the trains. Another was blown up last night,’ she said, tutting. Claire saw a twinkle in her eyes, and knew it was a German troop train and not a passenger train. If Frédéric had made the train, he was safe. She gave a little cough to hide her relief. The postmistress gave Claire her change, pressing it into the palm of her hand for a second longer than necessary. ‘If I was you I would go home. By now the postman should have delivered to your house.’
Wishing the postmistress a good day, Claire stepped away from the counter to allow the next customer to take her place. She put the stamps safely in her purse, walked to the door and out onto the pavement. So Frédéric was in Paris and on his way to Antoinette’s. She walked quickly, stopping momentarily at the apartments where she had seen the bluebell. She thought about picking it, but decided it looked better where it was, however broken and sorry the surroundings.
As she mounted the steps to the house the door opened. ‘Eddie?’
‘Come in quickly,’ she whispered, ‘in case I was followed.’
A momentary glance as she closed the door showed Claire they were safe. Unable to contain her excitement, Claire threw her arms round her friend. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve brought you something.’ Taking off her coat, Eddie picked at the loose stitching of its lining until there was enough space to slip her thumb and finger inside. Grinning, she said, ‘Ta dah!’ and handed Claire a manila envelope.
Thrilled at last to have her WAAF papers, Claire tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter. ‘What?’
‘Congratulations, Leading Aircraftwoman Dudley.’
Claire’s heart sank. ‘Promotion, and I’m not even there,’ she said, attempting a joke to cover her disappointment. ‘Manders is getting soft in her old age.’ She returned the letter to its envelope. ‘Where are my papers? And where’s Frédéric?’
‘Frédéric couldn’t get away. Some last minute Resistance thing came up’, Eddie said, ‘but he sent this.’
Claire unfolded a second sheet of paper to reveal a pencil sketch of Aimée. ‘My daughter,’ she said, moving closer to Eddie so she could see the sketch.
‘I know. I met her. André and Thérèse were part of my reception committee. They took me to Édith’s – who, by the way, sends her love. Aimée is beautiful, Claire, like her mummy.’
‘I don’t know about that, but she is beautiful,’ Claire said, her voice cracking with emotion. She cleared her throat. ‘Now, tell me about you?’
‘Well, I came top of the class in combat and firearms.’
‘Firearms?’
‘Yes,’ Eddie laughed. ‘I’m aristocracy darling, remember. I could shoot with the best of Daddy’s cronies before I went up to Oxford.’
‘And how long have you been working for the colonel?’
‘Since the autumn of forty-three, but this is my first drop. I’ve been sitting by the telephone, watching the full moon come and go for months. I was back at Coltishall when you requested your papers, so the FO suggested I took them down to London. The day I arrived I was briefed on the drop, and a couple of days later I was parachuted into France.’
Claire looked at Eddie expectantly. ‘So where are they? Obviously you couldn’t risk travelling with the uniform, but you’ve brought my papers, haven’t you?’
Eddie shook her head. ‘Sorry, Dudley, the colonel has them. My orders are to take you back to London for a debriefing.’
‘But the colonel said Paris was nice at this time of year, which meant he’d given me permission to look for Mitch.’
‘You still can, when you come back. Sorry, Dudley, but you don’t have a choice. Colonel Smith is miffed with you for not keeping in touch, so you’d better not ruffle his feathers further by sending me home on my own.’
‘Oh well,’ Claire said, overwhelmed by a feeling of defeat, ‘without my WAAF uniform and papers the Americans won’t take me anyway.’
‘The Americans? Take you where?’
‘To find Mitch. The Americans and Canadians are gearing up to go into prisons and POW camps to get their citizens out. I had an appointment with them next week, but without my papers to prove I was – am – with the WAAF they wouldn’t take me. Since forty-two, when Hitler ordered all Allied commandos, agents, the Resistance – anyone who was not wearing a full uniform – to be killed without trial, the military has become very strict.’ Claire put her head in her hands.
At that moment Antoinette brought in a tray with a pot of coffee, cups, saucers, plates and a cake. She placed them on an elegant but unpolished and distressed occasional table between the settee and armchairs. ‘Let me know if you need anything else.’
Claire thanked her and asked her to join them, but Antoinette said she would first prepare a bedroom for Edwina and would be back shortly. Claire poured the coffee, handed a cup to Eddie, and sliced the cake. Eddie’s eyes lit up. ‘I’m pleased you met Aimée. How is she?’
‘She is darling and Édith is in her element looking after her.’
‘Spoiling her, no doubt,’ Claire said, fighting back her tears. ‘And André and Thérèse? You said they were part of your reception committee. Are they well?’
‘Yes. They are staying with Édith.’
‘Staying with Édith? Why?’
‘Oh … I don’t know. It’s a temporary thing, I think.’ Eddie took a sip of her coffee.
‘Eddie? I know when you’re hiding something. What is it?’
‘Nothing. They didn’t say why they were staying at Édith’s. I mean, they wouldn’t, would they? They don’t know me--’
‘I’m sorry to grill you. It’s just that Édith has been like a mother to me – and Aimée adores her. André is like a big brother, and Frédéric...’ Claire laughed. ‘When I first met Frédéric I think he was sweet on me. Then he met a local girl, Monique, and fell head over heels in love. He talked about her all the time, wrote her endless letters-- Poor Frédéric. He thought – well, everyone did – that Monique was visiting her grandmother near Tours, but she never got there. Mitch and I found her at the farm, dead. She’d been killed by German soldiers.’
Eddie grimaced and shook her head slowly. ‘Poor girl… And poor Frédéric.’
‘He doesn’t know how Monique died, thank goodness. It would kill him if he knew she’d been raped and murdered. I’m sorry,’ Claire said, ‘let’s talk about something more cheerful.’
‘No need to apologise. I know the Belland family mean a lot to you. You mean a lot
to them too.’ Eddie laughed. ‘Aimée is a real little French mademoiselle.’ Claire listened to what Eddie told her about her daughter, laughing one minute and crying the next. ‘They are looking forward to you going home to Gisoir. When do you think that will be?’ Eddie asked.
‘I’ve nothing to stay for in Paris now, so the sooner the better. I’d rather spend the time I have left in France with Aimée.’
At that moment Antoinette popped her head round the door. ‘Your room is ready, Edwina.’
‘Thank you, Antoinette, I’ll take Eddie up. She is lovely,’ Claire said when Antoinette had gone. ‘She’s the wife of the professor I stayed with in Newcastle when we did our French family training.’
‘That’s why London has lost track of you. This address isn’t on the safe house list, is it?’
‘It will be soon. I don’t know what I’d have done without Antoinette. A dozen or more agents and goodness knows how many Resistance members have been taken prisoner over the last six months – and many of them after staying in Paris. The Gestapo and the SS have got intelligence of some kind. It’s almost as if they know our movements. Anyway, I didn’t know who to trust, so I asked Antoinette if I could stay here. She said yes immediately and asked if there was anything else she could do to help the Resistance. I broached the subject of a safe house and she jumped at the chance to help. She had to ask her parents of course, as it’s their home – and they said yes immediately. So this address will be on the safe house register as soon as I get to a wireless.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was early afternoon by the time Claire and Eddie arrived in Gisoir. The train from Paris to Orléans had stopped at every station, or so it seemed, and at every station the Gestapo and half a dozen gendarmes boarded to check passengers’ identity papers. Claire and Eddie, who travelled in the same carriage but didn’t sit next to each other, kept their identity papers and travel permits on their laps, as did most of the passengers. Halfway through the journey an over-zealous young gendarme ordered everyone to open their cases. Eddie and Claire only carried handbags, which he searched first. Tipping the contents of Eddie’s bag into her lap and finding only a powder compact, comb and lipstick, the gendarme turned to Claire. She glanced at Eddie, saw a look of horror in her eyes, and blinked twice, which was the code for all is well. She had burned the letter from Flight Officer Manders promoting her before leaving Antoinette’s. Finding nothing suspicious, the gendarme ripped open the lining of Claire’s bag before upending it onto her lap.
When the train pulled into Gisoir station, Claire looked out of the window expecting to see Frédéric. He hadn’t made it to Paris, but she felt sure he would be at the station to meet her. He wasn’t. Leaving the train, it crossed her mind that being so near to Jacques’ house she could call on him, introduce Eddie, and ask him if he had any news of Alain. But if she did that, Eddie would ask Jacques to send a message to the colonel and her time in Gisoir with Aimée would be one day less, so she decided against it. If Jacques had heard anything he would have told André or Frédéric. She would know soon enough.
Claire was doubly disappointed that Frédéric wasn’t in the alley at the back of the house to greet them. She looked up at his bedroom window. Eddie followed her gaze. ‘What is it?’
‘The curtains in Frédéric’s room are drawn. That’s why he wasn’t at the station to meet us. The lazy devil’s still in bed. We’ll have to go round the front,’ Claire said, already on the move.
Claire knocked at the front door and waited. There was no reply. She knocked again, this time louder. Still no one answered. She stepped carefully through the flower bed under the front window and peered inside. ‘It doesn’t look as if anyone’s home.’
‘Madame LeBlanc?’ Claire turned to see Édith’s neighbour, Madame Oran, at her front door. ‘You are back. Édith will be pleased to have you home.’
‘We’re pleased to be home,’ Claire said, including Eddie with a gesture of her hand. ‘Do you know where Édith is, Madame?’
‘Yes. She has gone to see Father Albert. She left the key with me, to let Thérèse and Aimée in when they returned from visiting Thérèse’s mother. As you have arrived first, I will get it.’ Knots of love and emotion tightened in Claire’s stomach at the thought of seeing her daughter. Madame Oran gave her Édith’s key and said, ‘Welcome home.’
Claire unlocked the door, stood back to let Eddie enter, and followed her in closing the door behind her. After taking off her coat, she hung it up and went through to the kitchen. A chill washed over her and she shivered. The fire in the range, which Édith never allowed to go out, had died down to a few embers. Claire filled the kettle and put it on the stove. ‘Find a match and light the gas, Eddie, while I get the fire going.’ She took a few dry sticks from the wood pile, laid them carefully on what was left of the fire and fanned them with a newspaper. When the kindling took hold she added a couple of logs. Then she went into the sitting room and did the same to the fire in there.
While Eddie made the tea Claire went upstairs. Édith’s bed was unmade, which was unusual, and Frédéric’s hadn’t been slept in. She looked into André’s old room and saw Thérèse’s nightdress folded neatly on one side of the bed and André’s pyjamas on the other. Her room was much as she had left it. She went downstairs and joined Eddie in the kitchen. ‘I’m going to the church.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Eddie said.
‘Do you mind staying, Ed? Someone needs to be here when Thérèse and Aimée get back. I wouldn’t ask, but I’m worried about Édith. It isn’t unusual for Thérèse to take Aimée out, but it is that Édith isn’t here when they are due home. And going out when she knew we were expected is completely out of character.’ Claire looked around the kitchen. ‘She hasn’t even left a note. Something is wrong, Eddie, I can feel it.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather be here when Aimée gets back?’ Eddie asked.
‘Of course, but you don’t know where the church is and I do.’ At the front door, putting on her coat, Claire turned to Eddie. ‘Add a log to the fires will you, Ed, make sure they don’t go out. I’ll be back before you know it.’
She walked quickly. It wasn’t far to the church, but the sooner she got there the sooner she would see Édith and the sooner they could go home. As she neared the beautiful old building she could see the door leading into the church was ajar. Entering the vestibule, she pushed on the door and stepped into the nave. She saw Édith immediately, kneeling before the altar. Holding onto the end of a pew, Claire bobbed down and made the sign of the cross, as Édith always did, before slipping silently onto the nearest seat.
After some time, when Édith hadn’t moved, Claire stood up and walked down the aisle. Passing under the dome of the crossing she entered the chancel, knelt down beside Édith and took hold of her hand. Édith lifted her head, and though Claire could see relief in her eyes, Édith collapsed and began to sob.
Claire held her friend, rocking her as she would a child until the wrenching sobs that came from somewhere deep inside her subsided. When she had worn herself out Claire said, ‘It is cold for you sitting on the stone floor. Shall we sit in the choir stalls?’
Without argument Édith allowed Claire to help her to her feet and together they slowly walked across the apse to where the choir normally sat. Édith flopped down in the first seat and cried silently.
For Édith to be so heartbroken, so despairing, something terrible must have happened. ‘What is it?’ Claire whispered. ‘Won’t you tell me?’
Édith looked up, her red and swollen eyes looking into Claire’s. ‘My beautiful boy, my courageous Frédéric is dead,’ she wailed. Burying her head in her hands, she began to rock backwards and forwards.
Claire’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Her temples throbbed and her head pounded as if a rod of pain was being driven through her skull. ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘When?’ Claire put her hand on Édith’s arm. ‘Édith, stop! Please,’ she begged, ‘you’ll hurt yourself.
Édith stopped rocking and said again, ‘Frédéric is dead.’
Tears fell from Claire’s eyes. She couldn’t keep her feelings in check any longer. ‘I’m sorry,’ she heard a small voice that sounded similar to her own say. Sorry seemed inadequate, was inadequate. She felt Édith’s arms around her. Now it was Claire’s turn to be comforted.
‘He was a good boy, a clever boy,’ Édith said. ‘He did much for the Resistance. André said he did well while they were away.’ Claire nodded through her tears. Frédéric had done more than well. He had done jobs no one else was capable of doing, or wanted to do. ‘And when they came home they spent time together. As children, young men even, they were never close. But after the sabotage of Flurand station, André showed Frédéric respect and it seemed at last they loved each other as brothers should.’ Édith turned back to the altar. Standing next to it was a statue of the Madonna and Child. She smiled. Then her eyes filled with tears again. ‘Father Albert said he bought flowers for Monique.’ She took a shuddering breath and shook her head, too bereft to speak.
‘Take your time.’ Claire held Édith’s trembling hands in hers.
‘Father Albert told me that he heard the confession of a German soldier earlier and was entering the confessional again to hear someone else’s confession when he saw Frédéric. As soon as he was able, Father Albert went to look for Frédéric. He found him at Monique’s grave. The German soldier was also there, begging for forgiveness. Frédéric pulled the soldier up by his coat collar and pushed him away. He then laid the flowers he had brought for Monique at the head of the grave. The German stumbled back, crushing the flowers. “Get away from her,” Frédéric shouted, but the soldier ignored him.
‘Father Albert heard Frédéric ask the German what the hell he thought he was doing, and the soldier told Frédéric that he had killed the girl in the grave at the Belland Farm, and the priest told him to pray for forgiveness. Staggering about drunk, the soldier put his hands together and fell to his knees, begging Monique to forgive him.
China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Page 21
