‘Aye, it does,’ Edie replied, but her tone was grudging, ‘but I’m not there to see me own son growing up, am I? I just wish we could go and see them, though I suppose I’ll just have to content myself that he’s well and happy.’
‘You’ve still got Shirley at home.’
Edie gave an unladylike snort, ‘Aye, when she’s here. And now she’s talking about going into some sort of war work at the end of September when she’s eighteen.’
‘Eighteen. My, how time flies. Doesn’t seem long since Irene and Beth were wheeling her about in the pram.’
‘And Frank was teaching her to walk.’ Edie sat down heavily at the table and poured out the tea as she added softly, ‘They were all good with her, but poor Laurence couldn’t cope with her crying. He’d sooner take Frank out and teach him to play football.’
The two friends were silent for a few moments, sipping their tea and remembering the past until Lil crashed her cup down into the saucer, her eyes lighting up, as she said, ‘I know, we’ll have a party for her. Eighteen’s a bit of a milestone, Edie. We oughtn’t to let it pass unnoticed. Let’s give the lass a party, eh? We’ve about six weeks to plan it. That’ll give us plenty of time to save up our rations.’
Edie smiled across the table at her friend. ‘You’re a good soul, Lil. A good friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Nor me, you, Edie. Now let’s get our thinking caps on and, a bit nearer the time, you can write and tell Beth what we’re planning. She’ll not let the cat out of the bag. She’s good at keeping secrets and I’m sure she’ll come home if she can.’
‘You’re going the day after tomorrow,’ Sybil Carpenter informed Beth when she visited the flat one evening in late September. ‘It’ll be a night drop, but I believe you were expecting that. We’ll get you kitted out tomorrow.’
‘Where am I going? Is it still to the Détanges’ farm?’
‘We’ll tell you just before you take off,’ Sybil said, smiling. Even at this late stage, everything was shrouded in secrecy.
Beth hardly slept that night. It seemed such a long time since she had first said she wanted to become an agent. The training had been long and arduous and even when that had been completed, they were still not ready to send her.
The next day seemed to drag. She packed her suitcase and then checked and double-checked that she had got everything and that all her belongings were what would belong to a young French girl. There couldn’t be much; Leonie Moreau, which was to be her name from now on, had just lost everything in the bombing of her home in Boulogne-Billancourt, a suburb of Paris, which had been destroyed in March. Six hundred people had died so, sadly, it was feasible that a young girl would have lost all her family and her possessions too. This information had been provided by Alan, as the apartment where he, his family and Beth had lived had been bombed.
Sybil Carpenter arrived at the flat to give Beth her final briefing. ‘There’s only you going tonight, which is a shame in a way. It’s always nice to have a bit of company even though you’ll be on your own once you get there.’
‘Not really,’ Beth said. ‘I already know Monsieur and Madame Détange. Well, a little, anyway – if that is where I’m going,’ she added impishly.
‘Yes, it is. To their farm in the Loire Valley near the village of St Michel-près-Beauvoir. The nearest town is, as you probably know, Beauvoir-sur-Loire. Locally, as you might imagine, they’re just referred to as St Michel and Beauvoir. The agent we sent out recently is lodging above the boulangerie in Beauvoir. You’re to act as wireless operator for him and for the local resistance group when they need to get in touch with London. The agent’s code name is Bruce, by the way, and you’ll have to be very careful about contacting him. The baker himself is trustworthy. He’s a member of the local Resistance movement, which in rural areas is known as the Maquis, but his establishment is right opposite the town hall, which the Germans have commandeered for their headquarters in the district.’
Beth gasped and stared at her. ‘Why there, of all places?’
‘For the very fact that it is right under their noses. They wouldn’t think an enemy agent – because that’s what we are to them – would be foolish enough to do something like this.’
‘Oh.’ Beth blinked. She could see the logic, but thought it a dangerous ploy.
For a moment Sybil looked doubtful. ‘I’m still not sure it’s a good idea you going to people you know.’ She sighed. ‘But the powers that be seem to think it’ll work. I hope it does for your sake – and theirs.’
‘I’ll make sure the Détanges are happy with the arrangements as soon as I get to the farm. If not, I’ll move somewhere else.’
‘If you have to do that, what about your cover story? A young girl wandering about occupied France is bound to arouse suspicion.’
Beth shrugged. ‘Antoine will advise me, no doubt.’ Antoine was the code name by which Emile Détange was now known.
Sybil smiled. ‘Good girl,’ she said, then added swiftly, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That sounded patronizing, but you really do look like a fifteen-year-old.’
Beth laughed with her, delighted that her disguise seemed to be working.
‘Now, let’s make sure you’ve got everything. Identity card, ration card,’ Sybil said, handing each document to her. ‘And a certificate of non-belonging to the Jewish race.’
Beth’s eyes widened as she stared at her. ‘What on earth is that for?’
Sybil sighed. ‘There are dreadful tales coming out of Germany about how they are persecuting the Jews. It started a few years before the war. No doubt you heard of Kristallnacht – the night of the broken glass?’ Beth nodded. ‘Their businesses have been smashed,’ Sybil went on, ‘and they are forced to wear the Star of David. There is no hiding place for them. We’ve already had a lot of Jewish refugees come to Britain, children especially, but a lot left it too late to get out and now they’re trapped. Heaven alone knows what’s happening to them, poor souls.’
‘I – see,’ Beth said slowly, but she didn’t really. She’d heard rumours but she hadn’t realized it had got as bad as that.
‘And, of course,’ Sybil went on, ‘in the countries they are invading, the same thing is happening to the Jewish communities there. They’re being herded into ghettos, so it’s said.’
‘Can’t we do anything?’
‘Win the war,’ Sybil said promptly, ‘and you’re doing your bit to achieve that. Now,’ she went on, ‘we usually give our agents photographs of family and friends but since your home has been bombed in Boulogne-Billancourt and you’ve lost everything, we thought it best that you shouldn’t carry anything like that. Have you memorized the address where you are supposed to have lived?’
Beth nodded. ‘Yes, and I remember the street and the flat where we lived well.’
‘We’ve decided to let you use the actual address where you lived with Alan and his family. The more truth that can be woven into a cover story, the easier it is for you to remember it.’ Sybil was smiling as she added, ‘I’m sorry, but we can’t give you the lipstick we normally give to our women when they leave. You’re too young!’
Beth laughed. ‘That’s all right. And I’ve been practising plaiting my hair. It’s a few years since I did that!’
Already she was dressed like a French schoolgirl, with every item of clothing she was wearing being French made.
‘And no cigarettes or perfume either, I’m afraid.’ Sybil looked her up and down, checking for the slightest detail that would give her away. ‘You’ll do. You’ll be met by members of the resistance group you’ll be working with. They’ll guide the plane in with lights and then help you with your parachute and the packages when you land. The code name of the circuit is Fisherman.’ Sybil smiled. ‘We thought that quite appropriate for you.’
Beth felt comforted; it seemed like a good omen, a link with home that would bring her good luck. ‘It’s a relatively new set-up,’ Sybil went on. ‘We sent a replacement male organizer
out there two weeks ago – the first one only went out temporarily – but he desperately needs a wireless operator now. Antoine should be there to meet you when you land.’ She frowned. ‘This is the only part I’m doubtful about; the fact that you already know the people you’re going to be with. You know him as Emile Détange, don’t you? You could give so much away if you’re caught.’
Beth nodded. ‘I know, but Alan has told me that Madame and Monsieur Détange are to be known by their real names and that, if I’m questioned, I am to say that their son, Emile, is away fighting, but no one knows where. He advised me to think of Emile and Antoine as two entirely different people. That way, I’ll find it easier.’ Beth’s stomach was churning, but whether from nerves or excitement she couldn’t be sure. She just wanted to get on with it now, but Sybil was not finished with her instructions yet. ‘Your suitcase wireless will be dropped at the same time as you. It’ll be dark, of course, but you must retrieve it. Hopefully, though, there will be several willing hands to help you.’
Now Sybil held out her own hand in farewell. ‘Time to go. Good luck.’
As Beth crossed the windy airfield towards the waiting plane, her nerves disappeared and all she felt was a tremendous excitement. At long last, she was on her way.
When Edie’s letter arrived by a circuitous route on Sybil Carpenter’s desk the morning after Beth’s departure, it caused her an immediate problem that could not have been foreseen. A batch of handwritten postcards, completed by Beth before she had left, lay in the top drawer of Sybil’s desk to be posted at regular intervals. But now, the letter from home required a different answer. Sybil frowned, her eyes scanning the letter regarding the proposed surprise family party for Beth’s younger sister at the end of the month.
It’d make Shirley’s day if you could get home, Beth, Mrs Kelsey had written.
Sybil picked up the receiver of the black telephone at her elbow. ‘Alan,’ she said into the mouthpiece after a few moments, ‘your forger – d’you think he could do me a little favour . . . ?’
Sixteen
Beth landed with a bump in a dark field. She heard the thud of equipment and goods landing around her and then a rustle of movement from the trees at the edge of the field. A voice greeted her with the greeting, ‘Red sky at night’ and, giving the response, ‘Shepherd’s delight’, she felt her arm grabbed and then she was being hustled away to the shelter of a copse. Once beneath its cover, a light was shone into her face and she put up her hand to shield her eyes.
‘Good Lord!’ said a familiar voice in French. ‘It is you, Beth.’
‘Well, yes, it is, but I’m Leonie now. And you’re Antoine. Is that right?’ Emile switched off the glaring light and a low chuckle came out of the darkness. ‘Sadly, yes, because I’m in hiding with my compatriots. I can’t live at home any more. It’d be too dangerous for my parents.’
‘I don’t want to bring danger to them either. Are you sure it’s a good idea for me to live there?’
‘My father’s adamant that they want to do their bit, but I would ask you to leave at once if . . .’
He didn’t need to finish his sentence. ‘Of course I will,’ Beth said swiftly.
‘It’s a good way to walk. We didn’t dare have the drop take place anywhere near the farm.’
‘Of course.’
‘One of our guides – it’s best you don’t know his name – will take you there now. Please tell my parents that you have seen me and that I’m well.’
‘I will,’ she promised.
‘I’ll see them – and you – very soon. I come at night sometimes on a motorcycle we’ve – er – “borrowed” from the Germans. So don’t have a fright when I turn up dressed in a German uniform, will you?’
The man who was to take her to the farm beckoned urgently.
She gave Emile a swift hug and whispered, ‘It is good to see you again,’ and then, following her guide, she was soon swallowed up in the darkness.
Arriving at the farm, Beth was enveloped in a bear hug by the big farmer, Raoul Détange. He was tall with grey hair and, despite the sadness and anxiety in his eyes, his smile was warm. ‘It’s good to see you again, but I wish it was in happier circumstances,’ he said in his native tongue and Beth responded in French too. His wife Marthe smiled a welcome too, but her eyes were wary. She was small and stooped a little and her pure white hair was scraped back into a bun. She was dressed in a long black dress that reached almost to her ankles and a white apron. Once, Beth thought, she must have been plump, bustling about her work like any typical farmer’s wife, but now she was thin and her face was gaunt, the skin hanging loosely beneath her jawline. What an awful effect the occupation of their country was having on these kind people, who only wanted to live out their lives in peace and harmony.
As soon as he saw that she was welcome at the farm, the man, who had brought her and whose name she didn’t even know, disappeared into the blackness with a quick wave of farewell. Beth turned back to the elderly couple.
‘Are you really sure you want me here? I’m so afraid it’s putting you in danger,’ Beth said, taking the elderly woman’s wrinkled hands into hers.
‘No more than we’re in already with Emile hiding in the forest about sixty kilometres away. We know he’s involved in acts of sabotage,’ Raoul said, but far from sounding afraid, there was pride in his tone.
‘Have you seen Simone and the children?’ was all Marthe wanted to know.
Beth shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, not recently, no. I’ve been—’ She’d been about to say that she’d been in London and then in Scotland training, but she bit back the words. The less these good people knew about her, the better, so she ended lamely, ‘. . . away a lot.’
‘Of course.’ Raoul seemed to understand, though disappointment crossed Marthe’s face.
‘But I’ve seen Alan and I do know they’re all safe and well.’
Marthe smiled thinly and nodded.
‘And I must ask you to call me “Leonie”. My name’s Leonie Moreau now. Later, I’ll explain the background story they’ve cooked up for me. It’s quite easy.’
Once she was settled into the small, but neat, bedroom with its pretty curtains and patchwork bedspread, a small rug at the side of the bed and a blue and white patterned bowl and ewer on the washstand in the corner, Beth went back down the stairs.
Marthe was setting a meal on the table. ‘It’s not much,’ she apologized. ‘The Germans take everything we have and leave us very little.’
‘Little more than a starvation diet,’ Raoul said bitterly.
Beth looked startled. ‘They come here?’ she asked in a whisper, as if fearing they might already be at the door.
Marthe nodded, but it was Raoul who advised, ‘The best way to hide, my dear, is in plain sight. Meet them, talk to them – just as we have to.’
‘I didn’t realize I’d have to do that,’ Beth sighed. This seemed to be the way the British wanted some of their agents to act – in full view of the enemy, not skulking in hiding places. ‘But you’re absolutely right and it fits in with my background story.’
‘Tell us.’
‘My name is Leonie Moreau and I’m the daughter of a distant cousin of yours, Madame.’ She chuckled. ‘So distant, in fact, that you weren’t even aware of my existence until I arrived on your doorstep to get away from the bombing at home.’
‘And how are you supposed to have got here?’ Raoul wanted to know.
Beth laughed. ‘That’s a good question. I borrowed some money and caught a series of trains. And I hitchhiked some of the way.’
‘And where is home?’ Marthe asked, serving potatoes onto Beth’s plate.
‘Boulogne-Billancourt.’
Marthe looked up in surprise. ‘Where you lived with Simone and Alan and the children?’
‘Yes. We chose there because it’s a place I know well, so I can be truthful about it if – if I’m ever questioned.’ She saw Marthe and Raoul exchange a glance. ‘What?’ she asked, glancin
g from one to the other. ‘What is it?’
‘We haven’t heard from Simone for some time now. Emile has tried to find out about them, but—’ She paused and asked again, ‘Are they really all right?’
Beth smiled. ‘They’re all fine,’ she said again. ‘They’re living just outside London.’
‘But the bombing?’ Marthe’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘And Simone? She hasn’t been interned, has she?’
‘Gracious, no. She’s not an enemy. We’re all on the same side. Besides, she’s married to an Englishman, who’s—’
She stopped suddenly, realizing that she shouldn’t say any more. Alan’s work was so secretive that even the slightest hint could be catastrophic. All she could do was to assure this lovely old couple that their family was safe and well, which she knew they were.
‘So,’ Raoul picked up her story again. ‘Are we supposed to know any more about your family?’
Beth shook her head. ‘No. You’ve never known them. The relationship goes back as far as your maternal grandparents, Madame, who’d lost touch with that branch of the family and you have never even heard of such a connection.’
‘Won’t they think that’s suspicious?’
‘I don’t think so. When it gets down to generations of second and third cousins once or twice removed, I think we all get a bit vague. I certainly don’t know some of my father’s nephews and nieces and they’re my first cousins.’ She didn’t mention her Aunty Jessie living two streets away. It was best that she forgot all about those at home, though the thought that she must do so saddened her.
‘Very well, let’s get this straight,’ Raoul said. ‘You are a very distant cousin who just turned up on the doorstep looking for somewhere to stay and work because your home has been bombed. Is that right?’
Beth nodded. ‘You are the only relatives I have who live in the countryside and I worked out how I could get to you.’
‘But how were you supposed to know about us?’
‘My supposed grandmother was very interested in genealogy and used to reel off all the names of family members and where they lived when I was a little girl. And I remembered hearing about this farm.’
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