The Darkest Hour

by Roberta Kagan

  Mme Reynaud clapped her hands together in relief. ‘How on earth did you know about it?’ she asked.

  ‘I saw you put it there last night. I had no idea what was in it, but I knew you wouldn’t want it ending up at Avenue Foch.

  The Reynauds applauded her quick thinking. ‘We should have said something. You could have been implicated yourself,’ Antoine said.

  ‘Do you have any idea why the Germans would raid us?’ Nathalie asked.

  Mme Reynaud shrugged her shoulders. ‘They raided the whole street which means they weren’t directing their attentions on us.’

  Nathalie wasn’t so sure. The fact that this took place soon after Gilbert dropped the package off, caused her great concern, but she reasoned if the Gestapo knew the forged identity cards were there, they wouldn’t have arrived twelve hours later. A call the same night would have been more their style.

  Chapter 6

  Pierre added the final touches to Nathalie’s portrait and took a step back to admire his handiwork.

  ‘Finished,’ he said, putting his palette and brushes down and wiping his hands. ‘Anymore and I will overwork it.’

  Nathalie was relieved. She’d sat in the same position for over an hour and her back was beginning to ache.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, taking a closer look. ‘I particularly like the way you’ve captured the light on my hair.’

  ‘And the pearls,’ he added. ‘I like the contrast.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to sell it?’

  ‘It’s not for sale.’

  ‘But you need the money? Surely a painting such as this would pay the rent for a few weeks?’

  ‘You may be right. All the same my mind is made up.’

  Over the past few weeks, Nathalie’s feelings for him had deepened. A part of her hoped he didn’t want to sell the painting because she meant something to him, yet apart from the odd touch, he’d never expressed any desire for her. In fact, he’d never even attempted to kiss her. She wondered how many times he’d painted Anna. There was nothing in his studio that conjured the likeness of his ill-fated lover. Perhaps he’d sold them rather than be reminded of her.

  She looked at her watch. It was time to leave and he offered to walk her to the station. It was a beautiful evening. Spring had arrived at last and Parisians strolled with a bounce in their step that not even the Germans could dispel. The sombre grey skies were now replaced with soft blues, the days getting longer, and the trees in full blossom. However, the joy Nathalie felt in Pierre’s company was quickly dispelled when he told her he would be leaving Paris for a while.

  Her heart sank. ‘Where to?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t say.’

  She found herself blushing. ‘I’m sorry. That was impolite of me. It’s just that, well... it’s just that I’ve enjoyed the last few weeks. I’ll miss you.’

  He took her hand. ‘I’ll miss you too,’ he replied. ‘I’ve grown fond of you.’

  Fond! Nathalie couldn’t help feeling a great sense of disappointment. Was that all she meant to him? She pulled her hand away and asked for a cigarette.

  ‘How long will you be away?’ she asked as he lit her cigarette.

  ‘I’m not sure, maybe a few weeks. It depends.’

  Depends on what, Nathalie asked herself? Was he going away on an assignment? Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to tell her. She quickly pulled herself together. When they reached the station, she gave him a peck on the cheek and wished him a safe trip. What had started out as an evening filled with joy had turned into a great disappointment. What a fool she’d been to allow herself to fall for him.

  Pierre had only been gone a week when the group met to discuss another assignment. Paul announced that there was to be another escape at the Pont de l’Alma in three days. They would receive the all clear the afternoon it was to take place.

  ‘It will be the last from this spot for a while,’ Paul said. ‘We don’t want to push our luck.’

  He noticed a worried look on Nathalie’s face and asked what was wrong.

  ‘I’m wondering who will take Pierre’s place. He’s so skilled with those locks.’

  Gilbert answered. ‘You don’t have to worry. He’s not the only one who can pick locks. I will do it.’

  His eyes seemed to tell her that he knew she disliked him. Paul continued. He told her she was to make her own way to the rendezvous point as Sylvie would be helping the escapees leave the safe house.

  The conversation turned to new identity cards. Gilbert would have more ready in a few days. This time they would include counterfeit baptism certificates. The Germans were asking anyone suspicious to provide them as further proof of being a Christian. Finding a priest willing to go along with the plan hadn’t been easy. Church registers were regularly checked and compared against the IDs. Fortunately there were some men of the cloak who had volunteered to take the risk.

  After the meeting, Mme Reynaud thought Nathalie unusually distracted.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked. ‘You seem on edge.’

  ‘I’m just worried about those locks at the Pont de l’Alma. Apart from the door itself, there are at least ten others on the actual chains. Pierre unlocked them in no time. Does Gilbert have those same skills?’

  ‘We’ve all learnt to share our skills, Nathalie. Did Pierre tell you he was the only one who could do that sort of thing?’

  Nathalie looked embarrassed. ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘There you are then. Stop worrying. You’ll make us all nervous.’

  ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, but do you know where Pierre has gone?’

  Mme Reynaud sighed. ‘Sit down. There’s something you should know.’

  Nathalie felt a lump rise in her throat. She should have left well alone.

  ‘I know you have taken rather a shine to him, but the truth is, he hasn’t gone away on a clandestine mission – not this time anyway. His father was pulled up in a raid and taken away. It happened just before you arrived. Now his mother is seriously ill. ’

  Nathalie’s jaw dropped. ‘What happened to his father?’ she asked. ‘Did they kill him?’

  ‘No. They released him a few days later, but he was beaten so badly, he’s unable to walk. His mother is ill because of it. Haven’t you noticed that he sometimes looks pale and drawn? He’s a private man and doesn’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘He has certainly suffered,’ Nathalie replied. ‘First Anna, then his father; none of us are safe.’

  ‘This is what our life has become,’ sighed Mme Reynaud. ‘We live in fear, never knowing what will strike next.’

  ‘I would like to learn how to use a gun,’ Nathalie said, after a while.

  This time it was Mme Reynaud’s turn to look surprised. ‘We deliberately avoid giving the female couriers guns in case anyone is picked up. It would mean instant imprisonment and most likely torture. Only the men keep small firearms.’

  ‘Does Antoine have one?’

  Mme Reynaud could see Nathalie wasn’t going to give up. She called out to Antoine who was in another room. ‘Antoine, can you please bring your pistol?’

  He returned carrying a Modele 1935A semi-automatic. ‘What’s all this about?’ he asked.

  ‘Nathalie would like to learn how to shoot? I’ve already told her we don’t like our female couriers carrying them.’

  Antoine handed it to her. She took it cautiously.

  ‘Do you think you could kill someone?’ he asked, watching her reaction.

  ‘I would hope not, but our work is dangerous and should the occasion occur, I’d like to be prepared.’

  ‘Nathalie is quite right,’ Antoine said to his wife. ‘There’s no need why she shouldn’t learn if she wants to. I’ve never held with the policy of only arming the men. Who knows what the future will bring.’

  He explained the features of his gun, telling her how it was used by the French military until the Germans took over the factory in Alsace in 1940. Then he proceeded to dismantl
e it and showed her how it worked.

  ‘Can you get me one?’ Nathalie asked.

  ‘I’ll ask Paul. He is the one who handles the guns. Up to now, we have been giving them to the Maquis. The rest are stored away until the time we are called upon to liberate Paris.’

  He saw the look of disappointment on her face and gave her a reassuring smile.

  ‘Okay, I’ll do my best, although what your father would say if he knew what I was doing, I dread to think.’

  Chapter 7

  Nathalie went through everything over and over again in her head, but she couldn’t rid herself of the deep sense of unease in the pit of the stomach. At the stroke of midnight, she left the house with the Reynauds. They headed towards the Seine where they parted. Nathalie walked to Paul’s house alone. As always, the escape was calculated to take place in the first phase of the lunar month when the moon was least bright. Tonight was one of those nights. Except for the bridge itself, there appeared to be no trucks with searchlights in the area.

  She was within sight of Paul’s house when she heard footsteps behind her. She swung around to look but there was no one in sight. She hurried on and at a point, several houses before Paul’s, slipped into the recess of a large doorway and hid in the shadows. The footsteps drew nearer and suddenly stopped near the doorway. Nathalie’s heart thudded loudly in her breast. It was at times like this that she wished she had a gun.

  After a few seconds, the footsteps continued. She waited until they’d faded away and then peeked into the street. It was empty. Gaining her composure, she stepped back into the street and hurried to Paul’s. The door was ajar. She knocked softly and pushed it open,

  ‘You’re late,’ said Paul, stepping out of the shadows.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was being cautious, I thought...’ She stopped mid-sentence.

  A second person stepped out of the shadows. Gilbert.

  Before Nathalie could say more, Paul turned to Gilbert and told him to get a move on.

  ‘Don’t forget to signal when you’re ready,’ he added.

  Several minutes passed and Nathalie could see Paul was becoming anxious.

  ‘What in God’s name is he doing?’ he whispered.

  A light flashed and they breathed a sigh of relief. Nathalie estimated that Gilbert had taken twice as long as Pierre to pick the locks. Clearly he was not as skilled as he led them to believe.

  ‘Come on,’ Paul said, relieved to be on the move. ‘Let’s go.’

  When they reached the steps, the door to the sewer was open but there were no escapees.

  ‘Merde!’ cursed Paul. ‘Where are they?’

  He took a few steps inside the entrance and listened. There was no sound of footsteps.

  ‘We’ll give them five minutes. If they’re not here by then, we abort the mission.’

  They listened for what seemed like an eternity, but the only noises they heard were the strange groaning and clanking sounds emanating towards them through the dark, dank and humid subterranean passageways. Nathalie was reminded of the scene in Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, where Jean Valjean carried the body of Marius into the sewers after a battle. Now she prayed there would be no bodies of their own.

  When the five minutes was up, Paul shook his head in despair. ‘Something has gone terribly wrong. The “package“ has gone astray. We have to let the others know immediately.’ He turned to Gilbert. ‘Lock this door and put the chains back in place straight away. Nathalie, keep a lookout.’

  She scrambled back up the stairs and was relieved to see the street still silent and empty.

  ‘This is where we part ways,’ Paul said to her. ‘I want you to go back home immediately. Gilbert, you will come with me to warn the others.’

  Nathalie took the circuitous route back to rue Frédéric Chopin and decided to wait in the shop until the Reynauds arrived back safe and sound. It was almost two in the morning and she was at her wit’s end. The minutes ticked by. What if they were all caught? The Gestapo would come for her, and as much as she tried to be brave, she didn’t think she would be able to withstand torture. The thought made her sick to the stomach. This was exactly what her parents had warned her against. This was the price of freedom.

  She heard the door open. The Reynauds were back.

  Antoine placed his gun on the table and pulled out a bottle of cognac. ‘We all got away safely, thank God. Paul’s gone to the safe house to see what’s happened. He’ll let us know in the morning. That is unless the Gestapo have got wind of us.’

  He drank the cognac in one go and poured another. ‘I’d better hide this,’ he said picking up the gun, ‘in case we have unexpected visitors.’

  Mme Reynaud took it from him and looked around for somewhere to hide it. She picked up the nearest bucket, removed the container of flowers, and then slipped the gun inside placing the flowers back on top.

  ‘We have Nathalie to thank for that clever idea,’ she said.

  For a brief moment, her comment raised a smile, but it would not last. With each hour that passed, their fears grew. At around seven o’clock in the morning, the telephone rang. Antoine answered it.

  ‘Oui.’

  Mme Reynaud and Nathalie watched his face.

  ‘Merci,’ he said, and slowly lowered the receiver.

  The look on his face told them the news was bad. Mme Reynaud clasped her hands to her face.

  ‘No, no, not again. We’ve been so careful.’

  Nathalie bit her lip to stop herself from crying.

  Several hours later, Paul arrived and told them what took place. The Gestapo had the safe house staked out. They waited until Sylvie entered and then raided it. The seven escapees all had forged identity cards, but under threat of execution, one of them admitted to being a Jew. They were immediately taken away to a holding area at Drancy. Paul’s informants at the camp told him a train would be leaving for Poland that night and it was likely they would be on it.

  ‘What about Sylvie?’ asked Mme Reynaud.

  Paul knitted his brows together and gave a painful sigh. ‘She’s been taken to Avenue Foch where she’s probably being interrogated as we speak. We can only pray she won’t break.’

  ‘Then they still don’t know about Pont de l’Alma and the barges?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. We can be thankful they hadn’t reached the sewers. I’m sure that if they knew we were using the coal-barges, they would have waited to catch the men red-handed.’

  The depth of despondency was written on his face. ‘As for Sylvie,’ he added, ‘it’s still an offence to aid Jews, let alone provide them with false documents. This is not something she can get out of easily. I wish to God I’d sent a man to the house instead of her. The escape was so meticulously planned, yet I can’t help feeling responsible for them all. ’

  ‘You are not to blame,’ Antoine said. ‘We all agreed that a woman would appear less suspicious going to the house whilst the men waited nearby.’

  ‘But they were not nearby, were they?’ Paul replied. ‘They were several streets away. She shouldn’t have been alone.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘I must leave; I have other business to attend to. For the moment, all operations are cancelled until we see how this pans out.’

  ‘What about the new IDs? Gilbert was supposed to collect them this week.’

  Gilbert, Nathalie thought to herself. She recalled the raid after he’d dropped the other IDs off. And he was the only one to escape the night Anna was killed. She had a bad feeling about him but if she voiced this to the others, they would think her paranoid. Without proof, she could do nothing.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ he replied. ‘I will pick them up myself.’

  He turned his attention to Nathalie. ‘Antoine told me you wanted to learn how to use a gun. In light of recent events, I think it’s an excellent idea. In fact, we should all carry them from now on. Come to my house tomorrow and I will see what I can do for you.’

  Over the next few days, Paul taught Nathalie everythi
ng he could about firearms. After several days of target practice in a disused warehouse, he gave her a small Pistolet wx, a Polish single-action, semi-automatic, known to be extremely reliable and accurate.

  ‘You’re an excellent shot, Mademoiselle Fontaine,’ he said with a smile, ‘but let’s hope you never have to use it.’

  Chapter 8

  The damp dark days of winter were well and truly over. Paris shed her winter mantel and her heart throbbed once again. The trees were in bloom, the nights warm, and café owners everywhere threw open their doors, lining the pavements with their little round tables and wicker-backed chairs.

  Nathalie handed the waiter her last few francs and at the same time wondered how on earth she would get by. Throughout the winter, she had been frugal. Most of her money was spent on wood and the occasional sack of pine cones that the Reynauds had managed to get at the flower market. Now it was all gone. She couldn’t ask her parents for more and neither could she borrow from the Reynauds who were feeling the pinch themselves. She had to find a job, but that was easier said than done. Businesses everywhere were suffering. Even the Reynauds could no longer afford to keep her on. The best flowers came at a premium which few could afford.

  Passing a few hours in a sidewalk café had been one of her joys and after today, it seemed that would have to stop until she found a job. A young couple sat at a nearby table, holding hands and looking lovingly into each other’s eyes. Nathalie felt a pang of jealousy. How she longed to be in their shoes, inhabiting a bubble in which only they mattered. Her thoughts drifted to Pierre. Madame Reynaud said he was back in Montmartre and she wished he would call to say hello.

  Since Sylvie’s execution, five days after she was interrogated at Avenue Foch, Paul decided the group was not to meet for a while. That was three weeks ago, but it had not stopped the odd person arriving at the shop seeking help. In every case, Paul had taken care of them, arranging their new IDs himself. His actions made Nathalie wonder if he suspected someone in the group to be a collaborator. If he did, he was keeping it very close to his chest.