"Well?"
"Don't you recognise me, Jean-Paul?" Tony smiled warmly. "I used to spend the summers at the big house with Grandmamma."
Recognition flooded Jean-Paul’s features. He threw the door wide, his face incredulous.
"Monsieur Tony? It is! Monsieur Tony! What are you doing here?"
"Can I come in, Jean-Paul? It will be safer for us. Then I can tell you everything."
Jean-Paul nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course, Monsieur Tony. My home is yours!"
"Thank you, Jean-Paul. But please don't call me by my real name. Call me Albert."
“Yes, Monsieur...Albert."
Jean-Paul closed the door behind them, then lit a small oil lamp and placed it on the table. He smiled warmly.
"It’s good to see you. But what are you doing here, and dressed as a peasant too?"
"May I sit down, Jean-Paul? It's been a long night."
"Of course! Please forgive me! It’s just that it was such a shock to find you knocking at my door!" He went over to the cupboard and rummaged inside for a moment before returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Now tell me all about it."
The two men sat down, and as Jean-Paul poured the wine Tony began to talk. He told his companion how he had put his grandmother onto a boat bound for England, before heading east towards the evacuating army at Dunkirk.
"Then Madame is safe?"
“Yes, Jean-Paul. She's with my parents and will remain with them until we have driven the Germans out of France."
"What about Monsieur David? When you came to take Madame away you said that he was in the Air Force."
Tony nodded. "He flew Spitfires through most of the air battles last summer, until he was shot down. He was killed."
"I’m so sorry, Monsieur...Albert. How are your parents taking it?"
"As you might expect."
Jean-Paul was quiet for a moment, sharing the sorrow of Madame de Thierry’s grandson then, "What about you? What are you doing here?"
"I'm working for a secret section of the army. Trying to fight the enemy behind their lines."
"A spy?"
“Yes, Jean-Paul. A spy. What I want to know is, are you willing to help me? If not, I’ll leave now so as not to implicate you."
"Leave? My family has worked for your mother’s family for generations. I hate to see the Germans living in your mother’s home. I hate to see them walking the streets of my country. I have felt so useless, unable to protect my country and my family from the enemy. It will be an honour for me to work with you."
"What about your family? I don't want to endanger them."
Jean-Paul raised his eyes towards the ceiling.
“They’re sleeping at the moment, but I know they will feel as I do. We are willing to take the risk. After all, we are at war."
Jean-Paul refilled their glasses, and raised his high in a toast.
"To the day when France is free once more."
Tony raised his glass. "To a free France."
The two men drank their wine, Jean-Paul deep in thought. After a moment he spoke again.
"Do you have papers?" Tony produced the forged papers which Jean-Paul perused critically. "These are very good. You can stay here. I’ll tell the authorities you have been employed to work on the estate. I have friends who will be willing to help with your work, whatever it is."
"I'm looking for U-boat bases on the coast. When I have found them, I’ll call in a bombing raid."
"How?"
"I have a wireless set. It must be hidden safely away."
Tony watched the swarthy Frenchman while he sat deep in thought. He was in his mid-thirties, a strong man used to working on the land. Tony knew he would be useful. Jean-Paul’s face broke into a broad grin.
"I have just the place to hide your radio, Albert. Where is it?"
"I left it in the trees."
"Then let’s get it now, and hide it before daylight." Jean-Paul led the way outside. "You get the radio while I get the other things we need."
Tony retraced his steps to the trees and retrieved his two suitcases. By the time he had returned to the cottage, Jean-Paul was waiting for him with a pitchfork, planks of wood and a sheet of rubber. Tony raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"What's all this for?"
"Come with me and see."
Jean-Paul led Tony to an enclosed space. Tony knew before they reached it what it was used for. The stench hung thick and heavy in the air, and he wrinkled his nose.
"A manure pile?"
"Of course. I don't think the Germans will look there. Do you?"
Tony laughed. "Not if their noses are as sensitive as mine!"
Jean-Paul climbed the low wall and used the pitchfork to clear a space which he then lined with the boards.
"The radio, please."
Tony passed the suitcase containing the radio to Jean-Paul, who wrapped it in the rubber sheeting and put it in the space he had created. Tony passed him another small package from the other suitcase.
"Bury this as well."
Asking no questions, Jean-Paul placed the package next to the wireless. More boards were placed on top to protect them, then Jean-Paul used the pitchfork to cover the hiding place with the noxious contents of the manure pile. When he climbed out of the heap, it looked untouched. Tony smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, Jean-Paul."
The Frenchman looked towards the rising sun.
"Come inside now, and let’s have some breakfast. I’ll then show you your duties around the estate, so that you are able to answer any questions the authorities might put to you."
They re-entered the cottage to find Marie Boues preparing breakfast. She had heard Jean-Paul talking to someone and, although curious, had refrained from going to see who it was. Now that she recognised their visitor, her eyes widened in surprise.
"Monsieur Tony!"
"My name is now Albert Fouquet, Marie. Jean-Paul says I may live and work here, if that’s all right with you."
"Of course it is!" She studied him for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. "I won’t ask what it’s all about, though I’m sure I can make a guess."
Before Tony could reply, the door to the kitchen opened to admit Jean-Paul’s two daughters. Theresa was eleven , while Jeanne was just nine years old. They smiled in welcome.
“Hello, Monsieur."
“Hello, girls."
Jean-Paul stepped forward.
"This is Albert Fouquet. He will be living and working with us for a while."
Theresa made as though to say something, then frowned. After a moment her face cleared, and her eyes widened questioningly. Tony caught a strange look in her eyes as she opened her mouth to speak then turned quickly away, and the moment was lost.
"Did the Germans send him?" Jeanne frowned thoughtfully as she spoke.
Jean-Paul smiled at his younger daughter. "No Jeanne. They did not."
The young girl smiled brightly. "That’s all right then. Welcome to our home, Monsieur Fouquet."
58
Tony worked on the estate during the day and was glad to have something to keep him occupied until he could make contact with the Resistance. His tasks took him near his grandmother’s home, and he could not help stopping to look at the house that held such a special place in his heart. The great old house looked as beautiful as ever. Tony stood in silent contemplation for a time, remembering the happy times he had spent there during his childhood. The old mansion house stretched its wings wide around the edges of the gravel courtyard lined with rose bushes. But to Tony’s eyes the beauty, and the memories, were marred by the huge swastika which flew above the roof, flapping in the gentle breeze, and the row of army vehicles which stood in front of the sweeping curve of the steps. As in many other places the conquering Germans had taken over the best properties for the officers to use, and they had settled in well. Tony bit his lower lip angrily as he thought of the enemy using his grandmother’s precious possessions. He wanted to rush down
there and throw the invaders out, but he knew that was impossible. Still, when the war was over the Germans would leave and he would be able to restore the house to his grandmother’s possession once more.
“Hey, you! What are you doing!"
Tony spun hurriedly around at the sound of the heavily accented French. A young German soldier stood, rifle levelled at Tony’s chest.
"Me?"
"Yes. Of course you! What are you doing here?"
"Working."
"I do not recognise you. Do you work on the estate?"
"Yes. Monsieur Boues employed me this morning."
"Papers.
Tony hurriedly produced his forged papers which the German perused carefully.
"Name?"
"Albert Fouquet."
"Address?"
"22 Rue Blanc. Saint Nazaire. But I’ll be staying with Monsieur Boues while I’m working here."
"Why?"
"It saves travelling time. I can work right up to curfew."
Tony’s nerves were on edge at his first close encounter with a German, but he tried to appear calm. The questions were frighteningly similar to the time when he had been interrogated during training. But this time it was for real. A mistake could cost him his life. The young soldier stared at him thoughtfully.
"If you are working for Monsieur Boues, why are you standing here looking at the house?"
"This is my first day on the estate, the first time I’ve seen this house. It’s beautiful. I just wanted to look at it."
The soldier frowned for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds reasonable. I too found it a beautiful place on first sight. But I shall be watching you, Monsieur Albert Fouquet."
Tony nodded. "May I go now?"
"Yes." The German handed back Tony’s papers and lowered his rifle. "Now get back to work and do nothing else to draw my attention to you. Understand?"
Tony nodded, turned and walked away. He knew things would be different in Occupied France, but this was worse than he imagined. Jean-Paul had told him that German officers were using the big house but he had not expected a guard to challenge him for just looking. Although the experience had shaken him, he realised it was a good thing. It had brought home to him in no uncertain terms that the Germans really were everywhere and he must be constantly on his guard if he was to survive. At least his papers had passed inspection, and he had not stumbled over his cover story. The meeting with the young German soldier instilled a feeling of cautious confidence which Tony felt sure would see him through the difficult days, and weeks, ahead.
Dinner was ready on the table when he returned to the Boues' cottage after his day’s work. He had been able to survey the estate, and the changes which had taken place since the Occupation began. Tony breathed deeply the aroma of cooking, and smiled at Marie.
"This smells good."
She smiled in return. "It’s the best we can do. The Germans take all of the best food. Though we are better off than those who live in the city."
Tony was washing himself at the sink when Jean-Paul entered. He turned and picked up the towel, drying himself briskly.
"How was your day, Albert?"
"I was questioned by a German soldier, but there was no problem. When it’s dark, I must make radio contact to let my superiors know I’ve settled in safely."
Jean-Paul nodded. "I understand. But before that, I would like you to meet some people. A Resistance organisation is being formed in France at the moment. Our aim is sabotage and anything else that will help to get rid of the Germans. So far we have done little other than get ourselves organised, but we should be able to help you. I’d like you to meet the other three members of my group and have set up a meeting for tonight."
Tony grinned broadly. "Jean-Paul! You’re a marvel! I had been wondering how I could make contact with the Resistance, and here you are, already a member! I didn't know just how lucky I was, choosing you as my contact!"
Jean-Paul smiled. "Good. Now eat your dinner before it gets cold."
It was well after dark when Jean-Paul led Tony through the trees at the back of the house, to the small clearing where he had arranged to meet the other three members of his group. There was a thin sliver of moon in the sky which gave a little light to help them on their way, and illumined the leaf-strewn floor of the glade. As they crouched in the undergrowth which concealed them from any prying eyes, the Frenchman carefully observed the open space, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
"Everything looks normal."
He whistled softly, and seconds later an answering whistle came from the other side of the clearing.
"All right. Let's go."
Jean-Paul rose to his feet and, with Tony following close behind, made his way into the empty clearing. Three shadows detached themselves from the trees and came forward. Jean-Paul smiled warmly.
"Bonsoir. This is Albert Fouquet, who has come here to help us fight the Germans. Albert, this is Claude Corver. He owns a garage, so he could be useful in providing transport."
The man, in his late thirties and losing some of his hair, smiled and held out his hand.
"Bonsoir, Albert."
Tony shook the proffered hand warmly.
“Bonsoir, Claude. I’m pleased to meet you and hope that we can work together."
A young man, much the same age as Tony, stepped forward with a welcoming smile.
"Bonsoir Albert. My name is Charles Durand. I have no specific skills like Claude, but I’ll do anything to get rid of the Germans." His face clouded, anger flashing in his eyes. "You have no idea how much I hate to see the invaders in my city, walking down the streets as though they own them."
Tony smiled. "Bonsoir Charles. I can see we’ll get on well. We think in the same way."
The third person stepped forward, a slim figure whom Tony took to be another young man, until the moonlight caught the features. He realised it was a woman in her late twenties.
"Bonsoir. I’m Madeleine Thibault and I’ll do anything I can to help." Her face was harsh, though Tony felt it looked like the result of suppressed anger and that if she were to relax, she could be beautiful. "My husband was killed during the invasion. I intend to pay the Germans back for what they’ve done."
Tony nodded.
"I understand. I too have lost a loved one in this war. But we must not let our feelings get the better of us. If we allow our anger to take too big a hold, it could cost us our lives too. Are you prepared to follow my orders, even if you don't think it’s the best way to fight the enemy? If not, if you think that your feelings will interfere with my work, then I can’t use you."
Madeleine frowned, deep in thought, then nodded.
"I understand what you are trying to say. I’ll do my best to keep my feelings under control." A slight smile touched her lips. "I know I’ll find it difficult, so please tell me if you think I’m overstepping the mark. I have to work with you. Do you understand?"
Tony nodded. "Yes, and your honesty convinces me that we can work together."
"Right." Jean-Paul led the way over to a log and sat down. "Now the introductions are over, let's get down to business. The less time we spend here together, the less danger there will be."
The others sat down and Tony began to explain what he was doing there.
"You will know me as Albert Fouquet, but that’s not my real name. I’m an Englishman, and I’m here to find some submarine pens on the coast, then to call in an air strike to destroy them."
"You have a radio?”
Tony nodded at Claude’s question. "Yes. It’s in a safe place. I’ll only use it when necessary. The German detection system is bound to be good."
"What can we do to help?"
“Well, Charles, we need to check the coast carefully. Every crack in the cliffs must be investigated. There may be underwater entrances to caves or hidden passageways. Jean-Paul and I will take the coast north of the city, while you and Claude check the south."
"What about me?"
"I nee
d you to keep us in touch, Madeleine. You’re to make arrangements to be at a certain place at a certain time each day. If Claude and Charles find anything, they are to meet you there and you must bring the news to us. Jean-Paul will come to you if we find anything. The important thing is for us not to meet together again, until we have found something. The more times we meet, the greater the danger of the Germans finding out about us."
Madeleine frowned and Tony smiled.
"You’re thinking that this is not the work you had in mind. But it’s the best job you can do for us at the moment."
Madeleine nodded. "All right."
Tony stood up. "Now we had better split up again. I hope I’ll be seeing you all again soon, with some good news. Good luck."
The others stood too. "Bon chance."
As the words of encouragement hung in the air, the five figures slid into the trees and the clearing was empty once more.
After leaving their fellow conspirators and making their way back through the trees to Jean-Paul’s cottage, Tony helped his companion to uncover the radio and his other, smaller, package. They lifted it carefully from its hiding place in the manure pile.
"Will you transmit from here?"
Tony shook his head. "No. The Germans will be monitoring constantly. They would soon be able to track us down, especially if we transmit from the same place more than once. I shall go some two or three miles east of here. Next time I’ll go in a completely different direction."
Jean-Paul nodded thoughtfully. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No. There’s no need for both of us to risk being caught. It’s dangerous enough breaking curfew, without being found in possession of a wireless set."
Jean-Paul nodded. "I’ll wait for you in the cottage, and help you to rebury the wireless when you return." He turned and walked away, his confident step masking his fears for his young friend.
Tony unwrapped the smaller package and checked it over carefully. A Bren light machine gun, which could fire off five hundred rounds per minute and was accurate up to eight hundred yards. It was clean, well-oiled and working smoothly. Fitting a full magazine into the clip, and a spare into his jacket pocket, Tony picked up the suitcase containing the radio and made his way into the trees.
Heronfield Page 29
