by Hilary Green
He had never forgotten the warning. He knew that ideas about relations between men and women were still strict, almost Victorian, among the local bourgeoisie and it would be all too easy to find himself trapped into a marriage. It had put him very much on his guard in his dealings with the opposite sex.
He took a deep breath and told himself that it was stupid to let himself be upset by a boy who was obsessed with sex – and whose conquests, he had enough experience to guess, were probably largely a matter of fantasy.
Christine’s lunch was a great success, to her relief and Luke’s barely concealed amazement. The soup should have been garnished with cream and fresh parsley, neither of which was available, but it did not seem to matter. The omelettes were rather small and there was a definite tang of ammonia about the cheese, but when the meal was over, Gregoire Pasquier leaned back in his seat and said grudgingly, ‘Well, Mademoiselle Christine, it looks as though you may earn your keep after all.’
Christine suppressed an angry rejoinder and replied meekly, ‘I’ll do my best, Monsieur.’
After the meal, Roland offered to show Luke how to steer the boat and Christine found herself sitting with Cyrano in the well behind the wheelhouse. The day had turned warm, and it was pleasant to sit in the sun while the banks of the canal drifted slowly past. She had been longing to ask Cyrano more about himself and she seized the chance.
‘Are you really a music teacher?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, that bit was true.’
‘So are you going to be working at a school in Corbigny?’
‘No. The idea is I am supposed to teach privately, going round to people’s houses to give lessons. It gives me a reason to travel around the area.’
‘I suppose your name isn’t really Cyrano. What is it?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not allowed to tell anyone that. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with Cyrano.’
‘That’s all right. I rather like it. It’s quite romantic. Like Cyrano de Bergerac.’
He laughed. ‘That’s how I came to choose it. I read the play at school.’ They were silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘Why didn’t you go back to England with your father?’
‘We stayed to help our mother run the vineyard. It belongs to grandfather but he had a stroke a few years ago and needs to be looked after. That’s why we came to live here, about a year before the war started.’
‘Where did you live before that?’
Christine was beginning to be irritated by this interrogation. It seemed unfair that he could ask her questions while she was not allowed to reciprocate.
‘In a village called Fetcham, close to Leatherhead in Surrey.’
Cyrano’s gaze seemed to become sharper.
‘What did your father do, before the war?’
‘He was a buyer for a firm of wine merchants.’
For a moment he frowned, as if trying to recall a memory. Then the expression faded and he said, ‘Right! Sorry to be so nosy but I have to be careful.’
‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘I understand.’
‘What will you do, when you get home?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I’d like to join up too, but I know they won’t have me until I’m seventeen.’
‘When will that be?’
‘October. I thought I might be able to sign up for some war work until then – in a munitions factory or something.’
‘Where will you live?’
‘With our grandparents, I suppose.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘They will probably want me to go back to school.’
He was looking at her differently, with a thoughtful expression, as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.
Then he said, ‘I think I know an organisation that would be very glad to have someone like you. It’s a Women’s Corps but not attached to any of the regular services. I know they are always on the look-out for practical, sensible girls with a bit of guts. And specially if they are fluent in another language. If I give you a name and an address to go to, can you memorize it?’
She stared at him, wide eyed, feeling her pulse quicken. She was sure that this organisation must be in some way connected to his own activities.
‘Yes!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Of course I can.’
‘OK. When you get back to London, go to 64 Baker Street and ask for Mrs Bingham, and tell them Cyrano sent you. They won’t take you till you are seventeen, either. But there’s no harm in getting your name on the list. Can you remember that?’
‘64 Baker Street, ask for Mrs Bingham.’
‘Again!’
‘64 Baker Street, ask for Mrs Bingham and say you sent me.’
‘Good! I think you will fit in to that crowd very well.’
‘I hope so! Thank you! I’m really, really grateful.’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘I hope you’ll still feel that way once you’re in. It’ll be tough, you know.’
‘I don’t care. As long as I’m doing something useful.’
They reached Chitry-les-Mines in the late afternoon, and moored in a wide basin.
‘Corbigny is up that way, about a kilometre and a half,’ Pasquier said. ‘How are you going to get there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Cyrano responded. ‘I was hoping by now I’d be able to walk, but I still can’t put any weight on this ankle. I did think about borrowing one of the bikes, but you’ll need to hang on to them and there’s no way you’d get it back.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Luke said. ‘You can ride and I’ll bring the bike back.’
Cyrano looked unhappy with the idea, but after a moment he nodded. ‘Yes, it’s the only answer.’
‘Don’t take the main road,’ Pasqier said. ‘Take the old Roman road that runs just north of it. You’re less likely to encounter any checkpoints there.’
Christine watched as one of the bikes was unlashed from its position on the deck, and Cyrano collected the case with his radio and shook hands with Pasquier and Rollo. She felt an unfamiliar tightness in her throat at the thought that in a few minutes he would be gone and they would probably never meet again. As a talisman against that probability, she repeated to herself the address he had given her. Maybe if she was accepted by this mysterious organisation they would bump into each other, somewhere. Meanwhile, he was about to vanish from her life and she found the prospect unexpectedly painful.
‘I’ll come with you, to Corbigny,’ she said.
He smiled at her and shook his head. ‘Better not. It’s like the réseau. The fewer people who know the next link in the chain, the better.’
She wanted to assure him that no power on earth would force her to betray his secret, but she remembered what Pasquier had said and knew that it would be an empty assertion. She tugged her brother’s sleeve.
‘Don’t leave me here alone with these two!’
‘You heard Cyrano,’ he replied. ‘Besides, one of us needs to stay behind. What’s to stop Pasquier shoving off and leaving us stranded if we both go?’
She bit back tears. ‘I don’t like it. I don’t trust either of them, especially not that creep Rollo.’
‘You’ll be all right. There are plenty of people around. Just stay on the deck where you can be seen and don’t let him get you alone.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Cyrano finished strapping his case onto the bicycle rack and turned to them.
‘Time to go. Take care of yourself, Chris. And thanks again for your help.’
She took a deep breath and held out her hand.
‘Goodbye. And good luck!’
‘Thank you.’ He kept her hand in his a moment longer than a formal handshake required. ‘Don’t forget that address.’
‘I won’t!’
Luke had lifted the bike onto the towpath and returned to help. He and Rollo half lifted the injured man off the barge and perched him on the saddle and then, with a final salute, he pushed off and wobbled uncertainly along the dock, Luke trotting at his side.
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They found the old road without difficulty and Luke found the chance to say something he had been mentally preparing.
‘You know, if it wasn’t for Christine I’d have told Pasquier not to wait. I’d stay with you and join the Maquis.’
Cyrano glanced sideways at him. ‘But, as you say, your first duty is to make sure your sister gets home safely. That’s the most important thing.’
‘I know,’ Luke said regretfully. He had put aside his romantic notion of joining the Maquis in favour of his mother’s plan for a return to England, but the encounter with Cyrano had revived it as an all-too-present possibility. ‘The thing is, I really want to do my bit, make a contribution towards getting rid of the Nazis.…’
‘And you will,’ Cyrano assured him. ‘Believe me, you will be far more use as a pilot with the RAF than you would be hiding out in the forest with a bunch of amateurs.’
‘But it’s what you’re going to do,’ Luke objected.
Cyrano gave a brief laugh.
‘Touché! But I’m only following orders – and I do have a definite contribution to make.’ He jerked his head to indicate the suitcase strapped to the rear carrier. ‘Hopefully, I can help to turn this lot into something more useful than amateurs. But I still say you will be more use as a pilot. You’ll be up there, dropping bombs or fighting off the Luftwaffe, while I’m still lurking in the woods hoping the Gestapo aren’t picking up my transmissions.’
They had reached the top of the hill and found themselves by the railway line. From here, there was no option but to join the main road where it passed over a level crossing. A German sentry leaned in the doorway of a small cabin, yawning, and took no notice of them as they passed.
Luke asked, ‘Where do we have to go?’
‘There is a pharmacist’s shop, in the Rue du Vézelay. That’s where I should be able to make contact.’
‘How do we find it?’
Cyrano tapped his forehead.
‘I was shown it on a map. I just hope I’ve memorized it correctly.’
There were people about in the streets of the little town, shopping, or making their way home from work, but Luke knew they could not risk asking their way. After all, Cyrano was supposed to be a resident.
The swastika flew outside the town hall, and a German motorcycle patrol overtook them as they reached the main crossroads, but no one queried their presence. On the far side, a green-cross hung outside a small shop.
‘There?’ Luke said.
‘Looks like it,’ Cyrano agreed.
They stopped outside and Luke helped his companion off the bike and into the doorway. He was about to push the door open, when the pressure of Cyrano’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.
‘I think this is where we say goodbye, mon ami. I’m more than grateful for your help. But the fewer people you can recognize and identify the better. You understand?’
‘Yes, I understand,’ Luke said unwillingly. He had been imagining being introduced to other members of the Maquis, perhaps being congratulated and thanked, even invited to join them. He would have to have refused the offer of course, but even so.… ‘Yes, you’re right, of course. But are you sure you can manage on your own?’
‘I can hop inside, and after that I’m sure someone will give me a hand.’ He squeezed Luke’s shoulder. ‘Good luck! Take care of that sister of yours. She’s a great kid. You’re both great. You will be a real asset to the allied war effort when you get back. Take care.’
‘You too,’ Luke said, feeling a sudden constriction in his throat. ‘I’m really glad we were able to help.’
Cyrano let go of his shoulder and gripped the door handle.
‘Bye now.’
The door swung open and Luke had a brief glimpse of the interior, with its flasks of coloured liquid on the shelves. Then it closed and he turned away, oppressed by the thought that this was probably the closest he would ever come to joining the Maquis.
Chapter 9
As soon as Luke and Cyrano were out of sight, Pasquier thrust two ration cards into Christine’s hand.
‘You’d better go and see what you can find for dinner.’
Christine hesitated for a moment; Luke had told her to stay close to the boat, in case Pasquier and his son decided to leave without them. Then it occurred to her that she had both their ration cards; as long as she held them, they could go nowhere.
She collected her own card and set off into the village. It was a tiny place. She wondered how it had earned the soubriquet ‘les mines’; it certainly didn’t look like a mining village. At first, she felt nervous knowing that the locals must recognize her as a stranger, and afraid of being stopped and questioned. But before long she realized that this was a place used to transient characters, moving up and down the canal, so no one queried her presence. She relaxed and began to enjoy the sense of normality. Shopping for food was something she had always done with her mother and some of her earliest memories were of Isabelle’s instructions about how to choose the freshest produce or the best value as they wandered through the local market.
Since the capitulation of France, it had become an exercise in eking out the scant supplies provided by the rations. She had complained about being made to go along at the time, but now she recognized the value of the experience. There was little choice in the few small shops but she returned to the Madeleine with a shopping basket stocked with items she knew she could turn into simple but palatable meals.
By the time Luke got back, the lock-keeper had gone off duty for the day, so they had no option but to moor up for the night and Rollo had taken the opportunity to do some fishing. They ate a meal of salad followed by freshly caught carp and finished with a small piece of Camembert cheese. Afterwards, Pasquier went off to a local bar and she and Luke sat with Rollo in the open cockpit, while he told them tales of close brushes with the Germans while they had escapees hidden on board – the dangers of which, they both guessed, had become more acute in the telling.
‘I’ve just remembered something I wanted to ask,’ Christine said. ‘Why is this place called Chitry-les-Mines?’
‘It’s not coal mines, if that’s what you’re thinking. They used to mine silver round here, once upon a time.’
Later, as she settled to sleep in the tiny cabin concealed in the hold, Christine called softly to her brother, ‘Luke?’
‘What?’
‘I bet you wanted to go with Cyrano, didn’t you?’
‘Don’t be daft. I had to come back to you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but I bet you wished you could stay.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have minded – if things had been different.’
‘I’d have come with you – but I don’t think he’d have let me.’
‘He wouldn’t have let either of us.’
‘I’ll miss him.’
‘So will I. Now go to sleep!’
The day had been hot and waking next morning in the stuffy little cabin, Christine was more aware than ever that she had not had a bath since leaving home. She wriggled back into her overalls and went up to the cabin, keeping a wary eye out for Pasquier and Rollo. She had not been uneasy on the Bourdon, reassured by Marie’s presence, but in the close confines of the Madeleine, she felt awkward at being the only female on board. Pasquier was shaving in the stern cockpit and Rollo was sitting on deck smoking, so Luke was alone in the main cabin.
‘Luke, I need a bath – or at least a good wash. Do you think there’s any chance?’
‘I could do with one, too,’ he agreed. ‘But somehow I get the impression it’s not something that our hosts put a high priority on.’
She wrinkled her nose.
‘I know what you mean.’
‘I’ll have a word with Rollo and see if he can suggest anything.’
Rollo, approached with the problem, laughed. ‘No problem, mon ami. Wait until we moor up for lunch and we’ll have a dip in the canal.’
‘I don’t have bathing trunks.’
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��Who needs them?’
‘There’s something else. It’s a bit delicate.… What about Christine?’
‘Tell her to turn her back, if you’re shy.’
‘No. I mean, she’d like a dip too.’
‘Well, that’s OK. Tell her we’ll turn our backs. We’ll send the old man off to the café.’
This seemed the only solution, so he relayed the idea to Christine. She grimaced and shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose it’ll have to do.’
They moored just below a lock for lunch and when the meal was over, Pasquier, as predicted, took himself off with the lock-keeper to the nearby café. With the lock closed for the lunch hour, there was no danger of other boats passing, and any locals who might have been about were closeted in their houses for the sacred midi. Christine sat on deck with her eyes carefully averted, while the two boys stripped and jumped into the water. They splashed about happily for a while and then Luke shouted, ‘We’re coming out. Turn your back!’
When they were dressed he said, ‘OK. Your turn.’
Rollo sniggered. ‘You should have come in with us. What is there to be shy about?’
Christine ignored him and made her way to the stern cockpit. The boys sat on the roof of the wheelhouse with their backs to her and she undressed quickly, with frequent glances over her shoulder to make sure they were still looking the other way. Then she lowered herself over the side and gasped with pleasure as the cool water enveloped her. She swam around for a few minutes, feeling the sweat washing off her body, but she worried that Pasquier might return from the café, or that Rollo would get fed up with sitting with his back to her, so she soon hauled herself out. She dried herself as quickly as she could, and pulled on her only set of clean underwear. It was then that she noticed that Luke was alone.
‘Where’s Rollo?’ she demanded anxiously.
‘It’s OK. He’s down below, tinkering with the engine.’
