Chapter 19

Madame Sainson

W e climbed the stairs to Madame Sainson’s modest apartment. The doormat was straight today—one of the three security signals. A crooked mat would signify danger, and the third precaution, a hand grenade kept by the door, was intended for unwelcome visitors. I knocked, and when Madame Sainson opened the door, her face lit up with a huge grin. ‘Bonjour, mon ami.’

‘Nancy! How are you?’ She ushered us inside, locking the door behind us, then pulled me into a firm hug, kissing both cheeks several times. ‘You are safe. I have been so worried.’

‘I’m so happy to see you.’ I glanced around. The apartment looked the same as always, cosy. The delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen sent my senses reeling, and my stomach grumbled out loud.

‘Nancy, look at you. You are so pale and thin!’ Madame Sainson frowned, her large hazel eyes twinkling with concern. ‘Come, sit down and I will bring you some food.’

‘Merci.’ I followed her to the kitchen, where the smell of coffee filled the air. Rather than coming here to collect a ‘package’, I was the package, and the realisation hit me, sapping the wind from my lungs. A young man with sandy-coloured hair poked his head around the doorjamb. ‘Any chance of coffee, Madame Sainson?’

‘Oui.’ She smiled and cast me a glance, rolling her eyes. ‘There are five of them now, and last week there were eight!’ She shook her head. ‘It is incredible. They swarm like ants across France, filling safe houses, and just as they go, more arrive. Non-stop.’

I smiled, thinking of how alike we were, aside from the security issue. She was a jolly soul, but her eyes were dark and freshly lined since I’d last saw her. It was a strain, clandestine work. A constant threat hung over you, and you were always waiting for the knock on your door, especially at night. But like me, she was upbeat and refused to let anything get her down. She had the heart of a lion.

‘Everything is being arranged,’ Madame Sainson said. ‘I will have your new papers ready in two days. You will have three Allied airmen with you too, and I will arrange fresh clothes.’ She smiled, her soft eyes full of kindness and care, like any mother’s. I loved her for her friendship, especially in such dark times.

* * *

Three weeks passed—three weeks of blending into daily life, trips to the cinema with the Sainson children, and shopping trips in town. With fresh identity papers in hand, I felt confident enough to venture out. Yet, beneath the surface of this routine, worry gnawed at me. News had reached us about O’Leary, and it wasn’t good. The agent who had betrayed us all was known as ‘Roger Le Legionnaire.’ He had been looking for me, and once again, O’Leary had saved me. Now he was being sent to Dachau. I prayed for his health and survival, wishing desperately for the tide to turn in our favour.

Recently, we discovered that the guides had resurfaced and were once again escorting evaders across the Pyrenees. Bernard made preparations, and soon I was getting ready to leave. Third time lucky!

‘I am going to England with you,’ Bernard said. ‘I have friends there.’

Our only problem was finding the man who arranged the passeurs. No one seemed to know how to contact him. I thought back to my previous trips. One time, O’Leary had left me on a street corner in Perpignan while he visited a house to arrange a guide. I told Bernard, ‘When we reach Perpignan, I’ll go to that house. I remember where it is.’

‘But we don’t have the password. He won’t listen to you,’ Bernard cautioned.

‘He bloody well will. I’ll make sure of it.’ After weeks of hell, I wasn’t about to be turned away now. As I gazed out the window across the city, a deep sense of finality washed over me. This time, I felt certain—I wouldn’t be returning.