by Hilary Green
‘I wonder what they do about … you know … toilet facilities.’
‘Good point,’ he responded. ‘I’ll go and enquire, shall I?’
She watched him cross the clearing to speak to the man by the fire. Further off, Xavier was talking to two others but there was no sign of Cyrano. Then she remembered, he had a ‘sked’ that morning (she stored the term away in her memory as part of a new life that was just beginning to open up for her).
Luke came back.
‘There are some latrines somewhere down that track. Come on. I’ll keep watch for you.’
The latrines were no more than a trench with a rough plank seat above it and a tarpaulin hung between two branches as a screen. It was smelly and she had to suppress a feeling of nausea, but she told herself that she might have to put up with worse than this in the future.
When they had both done what was necessary, Luke said, ‘There’s a spring somewhere a bit further up the hill. That’s where they get their water from.’
They found it, bubbling out of some rocks and splashing into a clear pool. They rinsed their hands and faces and then drank from their cupped hands.
‘Better?’ Luke said, and Christine nodded.
‘Much better.’
Back at the camp, Xavier hailed them. ‘Aha, our two young heroes! Come and have some breakfast.’
To their surprise, there was fresh bread and creamy goat’s cheese to go with the ersatz coffee.
‘Jacques is a baker by trade,’ Xavier explained, indicating the burly figure by the fire. ‘He puts the loaves in the hot ashes over night and we have bread in the morning – even if it does have a flavour of charcoal sometimes. And Jean-Luc has brought some of his goats with him, so we have milk and cheese.’
‘How do you manage about the flour?’ Luke asked. ‘I thought the Nazis were requisitioning it all.’
‘To hell with that! We’ve distributed leaflets all round the area, telling people to barter among themselves rather than hand their produce over to the enemy. French food for French people! That’s our slogan. Jacques has a mate who owns one of the local mills. He sees we’re all right for flour. For everything else … well, the local villagers are happy to oblige.’
Looking at his piratical grin, Christine wondered just how accurate that last remark was.
They had just finished eating, when they heard the sound of a motorbike approaching along the forest track and a moment later, Cyrano appeared, riding pillion as before. He dismounted, gave his driver a pat on the shoulder and came over to sit facing them on a tree trunk.
‘Good morning. How are you feeling? Recovered from yesterday?’
‘More or less,’ Luke said.
‘I’m fine,’ Christine declared, untruthfully.
‘Well, I sent the information you gave me and it has been acknowledged, but of course we won’t know how it is being dealt with for some time. We may never hear any more about it, but I think you can be sure that it will be acted upon. So, now what? What are your plans?’
Sister and brother exchanged looks and each read in the other’s face an unspoken reluctance.
‘I suppose we must get back to Auxerre and see if M. Pasquier has got a new cargo for the Madeleine,’ Luke said.
‘Is there any chance that he can take you further?’
‘It all depends. If he can find a cargo going towards Montbéliard, he says he will take us and if he can’t he has promised to ask around and see if there is anyone else who would be prepared to help.’
‘And if he can’t?’
Luke shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps we could cycle, if we are allowed to keep hold of the bikes. Do you know what happened to them? We left them at the pharmacy.’
‘I’ll make enquiries. I expect they are safe. But it’s a hell of a long way to cycle.’
‘I know. But the only alternative is to thumb lifts, unless we risk the train again.’
Cyrano pursed his lips.
‘I don’t like to think of you doing any of those things. Let’s hope Pasquier is able to sort something out. But do you need to start back today? You both look pretty exhausted to me, and it’s no wonder after yesterday. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?’
‘Pasquier said he would wait three days,’ Christine put in quickly. ‘Tomorrow would be all right, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, it should be,’ Luke agreed.
‘You’ll need transport back into Corbigny,’ Cyrano said. ‘I’ll see what I can arrange. I’m glad you can hang on for today. There’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘Who?’ Christine asked.
‘You’ll see. He’ll be here shortly.’ He rose. ‘I must get on. I’ve got some decoding to do.’
‘Can I help?’ Christine asked eagerly.
Cyrano shook his head with a smile.
‘Sorry, no. It’s something I have to do on my own and it requires complete concentration. Just relax. Rest while you can.’
He walked away, to where an open-sided tent sheltered a table and a couple of folding chairs. There, he sat down with his back to the rest of the camp and remained hunched over his papers, apparently oblivious to everything else. Around them men were sitting in small groups, chatting, while some of them cleaned an assortment of shotguns and old rifles.
Christine slid off the log she was sitting on and leaned her back against it, closing her eyes. The sun shone through the canopy of leaves and the only sounds were the murmur of voices and the cooing of wood pigeons. It was hard to believe they were sitting in the middle of an outlaws’ camp.
‘I wish we could do something useful,’ Luke said restlessly.
She opened her eyes. ‘Nobody seems to be doing anything much. It isn’t quite what you imagined, is it?’
He shrugged.
‘I suppose they have to have rest days, like us.’
The sound of someone trying to start a car engine shattered the peace. Again and again, the starter motor whined and the engine coughed and then subsided into silence. Christine sat up irritably.
‘He’s going to flatten the battery if he goes on like that.’
Luke looked at her with a grin. ‘Perhaps you ought to go and sort him out, Sis.’
Then his mischievous expression changed as she rose to her feet, saying, ‘Perhaps I’d better.’
‘No, really, I don’t think…’ he called after her, but she ignored him.
The source of the noise was the van they had been brought to the camp in the night before, which was parked to one side under the trees. As Christine approached, a young man she recognized as one of their captors climbed down from the driving seat and kicked one of the wheels, swearing under his breath.
Seeing her, he blushed and muttered, ‘Sorry, Mademoiselle.’
‘Having trouble?’ she asked.
‘You could say that. This pig of an engine’s been playing up for days. Now it’s finally died on me.’
‘Have you checked the spark plugs?’
‘What?’
‘The spark plugs may need cleaning. Have you looked?’
‘How the hell am I supposed to do that? I’m not a garagiste.’
‘But you drive the car.’
‘That’s different. My old boss taught me to drive so I could do deliveries. He didn’t expect me to mend the damn thing if it went wrong.’
Christine shook her head in exasperation.
‘No one should drive if they don’t know what’s going on under the bonnet. Now you see what happens? OK. Let me have a look.’
He tried to suppress a grin of disbelief and failed.
‘You, Mademoiselle?’
‘Yes, me! Mind out of the way.’
He stood aside and she opened the bonnet. As she expected, the spark plugs were thick with soot.
‘Are there any tools?’
‘I dunno. There’s something wrapped up an old rag under the dashboard.’
‘Let’s have a look.’
The roll of cloth contained various tools
and Christine pounced on one triumphantly.
‘Plug spanner! This is what I need.’
He watched as she removed the plugs, his air of supercilious amusement vanishing.
‘Merde alors! Where did you learn to do that?’
‘From my father. Hold on to these for a minute.’ She delved in the pocket of her overalls and found her penknife, then took the plugs and carefully scraped away the deposit. A final polish with the rag and they were ready to replace. She straightened up and turned to the young man.
‘Try her now.’
He climbed into the driving seat and pressed the starter, and the engine burst into life. He leaned out of the window.
‘Mademoiselle … I don’t know your name. I’m Jean-Claude, by the way.’
‘Christine.’
‘Mademoiselle Christine, you are a miracle worker! Mercie mille fois!’
‘Ça ne fait rien,’ she responded, and turned away to conceal a grin of satisfaction.
As she rejoined her brother, the sound of another vehicle approaching attracted her attention. An elderly Mercedes bounced along the track with two armed men balancing on the running boards. It stopped in the centre of the camp and a tall, fair, man got out. Cyrano had heard the car too, and hurried from the tent to greet him and they were soon joined by Xavier.
There was a rapid exchange of handshakes and she saw that Cyrano was showing the other two what he had just been writing. Something about his body language suggested excitement and the impression was confirmed when Xavier gave a shout of triumph. The newcomer laid a hand on his arm, apparently enjoining restraint, and then all three moved away to the tent, where they sat with their heads together poring over what looked like a map.
Luke had been watching too.
‘Well, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s obviously pleased Xavier.’
‘It must be something to do with the radio message Cyrano was decoding,’ Christine said.
‘I see you got the van started,’ Luke said. ‘Well done.’
She shrugged.
‘Really, no one should be allowed to drive when they haven’t got the remotest idea how to maintain an engine.’
‘Well, I haven’t,’ he admitted.
‘No, I know you haven’t. I’d better teach you when we get home.’ She stopped abruptly, and they were both aware of the unspoken ‘if’.
Eventually, the conference in the tent came to an end and Cyrano led the stranger over to where they were sitting.
‘This is Luke, and his sister Christine. They are the two who were responsible for getting me out of that barn and safely to Corbigny. This is Gregoire, my boss.’
Gregoire shook hands with both of them.
‘I’m very grateful to you. But for you, I should have been without a radio operator … again.’ He exchanged a look with Cyrano. ‘And I’m told you have just brought us some very useful intelligence.’
‘We were lucky to be in Auxerre at the right time,’ Luke said. ‘But we thought someone should know what was going on.’
‘Quite right, and I hear you took a considerable risk getting to us. I’ll try to make sure that is noted in the right quarters. Cyrano tells me your father is English.’
‘Yes. Well, so are we,’ Luke pointed out. ‘That’s the problem.’
Gregoire seated himself on the log.
‘Relax. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.’ Then, when they were sitting opposite him, ‘So, your family owns a vineyard. Is that right?’
‘Yes. It’s been in the French side of the family for generations, but Father and Mother were running it together until the war broke out.’
‘And your father is currently serving in the RAF?’
‘As far as we know.’
‘Tell me, what does he look like?’
Luke looked at Christine, apparently at a loss.
‘He’s very much like Luke,’ she said, puzzled. ‘The same build, same hair, same eyes – but he has a moustache.’
Gregoire nodded, his eyes narrowing.
‘I think I may have come across him. At least, I met someone answering that description, who was obviously a bit of an expert in the wine business.’
‘You’ve met him?’ Christine exclaimed. ‘Where?’
Gregoire looked vague. ‘Oh, on some course or other. I can’t put my finger on it precisely.’
‘You didn’t ask his name?’
‘No. It wasn’t … appropriate at that juncture.’
‘Just a minute,’ Luke said. ‘Cyrano said you’re his boss. Does that mean you are…?’
Gregoire nodded quietly, ‘English, like you. We’re here to liaise with the Maquis, in the hope that when the time comes, they may be able to play a useful part.’
‘You mean when the Allies invade? When will that happen?’
Gregoire shook his head. ‘I’m afraid on that point your guess is as good as mine.’
Luke looked around the clearing.
‘How much help can they be? There aren’t very many of them and they don’t seem to be doing much right now.’
‘Well, they are not the only ones. There’s another group about six miles away, led by a man called Vincent. He’s got nearly forty men with him. That’s where I’m based at the moment.’
‘Why don’t they join forces?’ Christine asked. ‘It doesn’t seem to make sense to have two separate camps.’
‘Because Vincent is a communist, and this lot don’t trust the communists. The fact is, his group are better organized and better disciplined. He’s an intelligent man, well-educated. He was a schoolteacher until he joined the Maquis. Xavier’s men are mostly peasants. They’re good fighters but strategy is not their strong point. However, with good leadership and better arms, they could make a nuisance of themselves behind the German lines when the time comes.’ He got to his feet.
‘Are you two going to be around for a while?’
‘Only until tomorrow,’ Luke said regretfully. ‘We have promised to meet up with the boat people who brought us up from Decize.’
‘Well, in that case we probably won’t meet again.’ Gregoire held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, and good luck. I hope you get home OK.’
‘Thanks,’ they murmured in chorus and Gregoire turned away with Cyrano and crossed the clearing to where his car was waiting.
For a moment neither Luke nor Christine spoke.
Then she said slowly, ‘So, Gregoire and Cyrano are British secret agents – and Gregoire’s met Dad. He and Cyrano speak perfect French, and so does Dad. Do you think…?
‘That Dad has been recruited for the same job? The same thought occurred to me. But then, surely, if he had been, he’d have been sent back to our area, where he has contacts? And in that case, he would have got in touch with us. Even if he couldn’t actually visit us, he would have got a message through, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so. Unless…’ she left the sentence unfinished. Something Gregoire had said lurked at the back of her mind: ‘I’d be without a radio operator – again.’ What had happened to his first radio operator?
The next hours passed slowly. Cyrano had gone back to his table in the tent and Xavier was in intense conversation with the two men who appeared to be his lieutenants. The van returned and two men unloaded several sacks and dumped them in the back of an old truck which, from the fact that two wheels were missing, was obviously no longer any use as a means of transport but offered the only weatherproof storage in the camp. Another sack, which proved to be full of vegetables, was handed to Jacques, who it seemed doubled as head cook as well as baker.
‘Looks like they’ve been on a foraging expedition,’ Luke said.
‘More contributions from the willing villagers,’ his sister agreed sardonically.
‘They ought to be glad to help out!’ Luke said, with an edge of indignation to his voice. ‘After all, these men have given up their comfortable homes and families to fight for their country.’
‘I can’t see much evidence o
f that,’ Christine said. ‘If you ask me, they’re just avoiding the STO and enjoying themselves playing Robin Hood in the forest.’
‘Don’t be such a cynic!’ Luke said irritably.
Before long, an appetising smell wafted to them from the big pot hanging over the fire and Christine’s stomach rumbled audibly, which made Luke chuckle and broke the angry silence. Men began drifting towards the fire in the centre of the camp and Cyrano packed away his papers and came over to them.
‘I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry. But something has come up which needs immediate attention.’
‘Xavier looks pleased,’ Luke said. ‘Is something going to happen?’
‘Yes, hopefully.’ Cyrano’s eyes gave away his own excitement.
‘What is it? Do tell us!’ Christine begged.
He shook his head.
‘I’m sorry. It’s top secret. After all, you’re leaving tomorrow and after that … I mean, I know you wouldn’t accidentally let something drop but….’
They both understood what he meant. There was no guarantee that they would not be arrested and questioned by the Gestapo, so the less they knew, the better.
‘Come on, let’s eat,’ he said. ‘Jacques usually manages to produce something quite tasty.’
The company was settling down on logs arranged around the fire and tin plates of soup were being passed around. As they joined the circle, Xavier came across to them.
‘Hey, this is the young lady who mends engines! Jean Claude has been telling me you made the van go.’
Christine ducked her head and replied in the offhand manner that was her habitual response to compliments, ‘I just cleaned the spark plugs. Anyone could have done it.’
‘But no one here knows what a spark plug looks like,’ he replied. ‘Without you, there would have been no soup for our lunch.’
Cyrano grinned at Luke. ‘You were right! She can fix anything.’
‘Most things,’ Luke agreed, giving her elbow a squeeze.
When lunch was over, Xavier insisted that Christine should teach him and as many of the others as were interested how to maintain an engine. He led her to what he laughingly termed ‘the garage’, which was no more than another clearing in the forest where a number of vehicles were parked, carefully camouflaged under leafy branches.
