Chapter 25

In Limbo

W ith the money belt securely around my waist, hidden beneath my clothes, I followed the scent of food to the kitchen, Hubert trailing behind. A long pine table stretched out before us, a cluster of maquisards gathered at one end, their faces grubby, some with curly, bushy hair. They looked up as we entered, two of them fixing their wide eyes firmly on me. Their voices were gruff as they spoke, laughing and complaining while discussing a recent raid that had netted them supplies from a nearby town.

Locking eyes with the man sitting opposite me, I sensed suspicion. I ate in silence, determined to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. Hubert, clearly taking his cue from me, wolfed down his food. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with unease. It was only after several bites that I realised we were eating rabbit stew. Please let Den arrive before Gaspard gets here, I silently prayed. At least then, we wouldn’t be so useless.

Back in our room, Hubert wedged a chair against the door, jamming the handle. Trust no one. The training at Beaulieu had been rigorous: Always have an escape route. I went to the window. We were on the first floor, and I spotted a sturdy trellis along the side of the building. We could easily slip down that way.

‘Cigarette?’ Hubert offered his Gitanes.

‘Thanks.’ I filled my lungs with nicotine, savouring the stimulating vapour. ‘What the hell are we going to do here for an entire week?’ I asked, opening the window. The fresh evening breeze washed over me as the pine trees whispered in the wind.

‘Christ knows. This is the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever known. You’d think we were the bloody enemy, the way they’re behaving.’ He took a deep drag. ‘Let’s hope Gaspard is reasonable when he turns up—if he turns up. Besides, without Denis, we’re fucked.’

‘I’m beginning to wonder what I’m doing here.’ Outside, the sunset bathed the sky in shades of pink, purple, and orange, while the moon lingered in the wings, waiting for her time to shine.

‘It’s a little late for second thoughts. Mind you, I feel the same. Bad enough we’re here at all, right under the enemy’s nose, but this—well, it’s a bloody mess.’ He drew on his cigarette purposefully. It seemed to be the only thing he could focus on for now—that and staying alive.

Vera’s unemotional voice echoed in my mind: You realise that the life expectancy of an agent in the field is around six weeks. She had spoken those words to inform, to separate the wheat from the chaff. But they hadn’t rattled me then—after all, I’d already survived three years in Nazi-ruled France.

‘I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.’ I turned down the blankets and climbed in fully clothed in case I needed to jump up in a hurry. Hubert remained by the window, gazing out—probably thinking about his wife back in Surrey. He’d become a father for the first time a few months ago, and I thought he was quite mad for volunteering for the SOE. Still, here we were. I pulled the blankets up over me. It might be warm during the day, but the nights were still chilly. ‘Do you mind if I turn out the lamp?’

‘No, go ahead.’

Lying there in the dark, my thoughts swam. Henri. Marseille. Home. Perhaps I’d need to travel there soon. Perhaps he’d spot me if I walked by our apartment, but I knew it was hopeless. I couldn’t risk sending a message to the Resistance there—it was too dangerous. Henri’s absence troubled me. Escaping France wasn’t easy, but he’d promised to follow. Something had gone wrong. Every day, I ached for him—his soft voice, those hazel eyes gazing into mine, his touch. But the nights were the hardest. The memory of our last kiss, my parting words, leaving with tears in my eyes. The Gestapo had been watching me. Strewth, it was a miracle I’d escaped at all. Time had turned my memories into sepia fragments, snippets I craved, yet the more I grasped at them, the more faded they grew. And it was exhausting, thinking of things I had no control over. I sighed, exhaling hurt, frustration, and desperation into the darkness.

A shuffle of footsteps across the floorboards. I felt Hubert’s form slip between the light of the moon and myself, then his weight beside me as he lay down on top of the bed, cigarette smoke drifting into my nose, dragged in deeper with every breath.

‘Hubert?’

‘Yes?’

‘You remember what I told you, back at training?’

‘How could I forget?’

I sighed, knowing it was wrong, reckless, mad even. ‘Do you suppose I could slip away sometime soon?’ I swallowed hard. Uttering the words aloud made it even more real and tears pricked my eyes.

‘I’m sure you could do anything you wished, but please don’t. It’s too dangerous. Besides, if I’m organising the circuit here, I need you. You’ll be far too busy seeing to supplies, dealing with drops.’ He sighed. ‘You’ve had a rotten time of it, but I can’t let you go. I’m sorry.’

‘I know.’ A glimpse of Henri was all I wished for, just one glimpse to know he was safe. I waited a moment, listening as Hubert sucked on his fag—the hiss of breath exhaled through his teeth, a light cough. I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head, trying to silence my thoughts. My mind was a cyclone, hurling memories of my past around and around, and I yearned for sleep.

* * *

Two days later, Gaspard stormed in as we were having coffee with jam and bread for breakfast. He chatted and laughed with the men in the room, turned to glance at me while he sat down, puffing away on a cigarette, his dark brown eyes boring into me, cold and aggressive.

‘Gaspard.’ I stared him in the eye, but he said nothing. ‘You know who we are, why we’re here.’

He took a long drag, exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘Oui. You have come to save us.’ He glanced around at his men, smirked, and they laughed. ‘A mere woman will save us all from the Germans,’ he mocked theatrically.

What a brute! ‘I can get everything you need—arms, ammunition, money—if you agree to cooperate with the Allies.’

‘But how? You have no radio. Your man is stranded behind enemy lines.’ He narrowed his eyes.

‘He’ll be here any day now.’

Gaspard strode over to me. ‘You are no use to me at all. We have managed so far without London.’ He waved his hand dismissively in front of my face, his words dripping with contempt. ‘I do not take orders from London, and I certainly do not take orders from a girl. We will beat the Germans without you and liberate France.’ With that, Gaspard strode off, his men trailing behind him.

* * *

Later that day, as Hubert and I walked through the grounds, I overheard one of Gaspard’s men through an open window and we ducked down closer to the house, eavesdropping.

‘The woman has the money. I know it. I will talk to her later and try to seduce her. Then, when she falls asleep, I will kill her and take the money.’

Gaspard laughed. ‘You? She’ll fall asleep well before you can seduce her, Jean.’ His laughter echoed through the window.

Hubert looked at me, and we both grinned. ‘This is the best thing I’ve heard since getting here,’ I said. ‘Let him try it. He won’t get far, and he’ll come off worse.’

* * *

After dinner, one of Gaspard’s men approached us and as he sat opposite me, our eyes locked.

‘Madame Andrée. How are you this fine evening?’ His voice confirmed my suspicions—Jean.

Honestly, if that was the best he could do, there was no hope, but I played along. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

‘You are very beautiful. Will you have a drink with me?’

I pretended to consider it. ‘Why? Planning to get me drunk, kill me, and steal my money?’

‘But Madame, why would you say such a thing?’ He tried to feign surprise, but I wasn’t fooled.

‘I heard you plotting earlier. Well, think again, because I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on earth.’ I grabbed the collar of his dusty black jacket and shoved him away.

The other men laughed as Jean’s face flushed with fury and he stormed out, leaving me to savour a thin wisp of smugness. The trouble was these men still hadn’t decided whether they could trust us. It was a war zone in more ways than one.

* * *

The next day, I wandered in on a small group of maquisards discussing a raid they had planned for that evening after nightfall. A man called René was in charge.

I sat down. ‘Can I come along?’

The rumble of voices abruptly cut out as René stared at me, clearly surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Why not? I’m going mad with nothing to do. Besides, I can handle a gun as well as any man.’

René paused, rubbed his bristled chin, then nodded. I dashed off to find Hubert, who was lying on his bed, looking a little pale.

‘Don’t think I’m going. You’re mad. If anything goes wrong, you’ll be arrested.’

‘Well, if I can pull this off, the men might have some respect for us.’

Hubert shot me a troubled look, then went back to reading his book.

I didn’t need to shadow anyone, but first impressions counted. ‘Of course.’ I sat up front in the truck, squashed between René and another man, as we headed into St Flour, breaking curfew. We drew up outside a sports store.

‘The owner is a collaborator, so we are not harming innocent people.’ René’s eyes looked like glossy black beads in the cover of darkness, and his tone was so blasé.

One of the men broke in through the main door, and we rushed inside, searching for anything useful. I grabbed blankets from the shelves and tossed them into the trucks. The others lifted tents, boots, warm clothing, and anything else that might be useful for outdoor living. Outside in the street, all was quiet. In less than five minutes, the trucks were brimming with loot, and we returned to the chateau.

‘Well, Madame. Welcome to France,’ René said. His lightly lined face made him look around thirty years of age, I thought. His mouth curved into a wide smile, transforming him from a grumpy rogue to a rather pleasant chap.

‘Thank you. It went like clockwork. You’ve got a good haul.’ At least I’d made my point—proved I wasn’t completely useless. I ran upstairs and found Hubert lying in bed, still reading.

‘You’re back then.’ He cast me an uninterested glance over the top of his book, Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia.

‘Yes. I had a ball. No Germans. We nicked loads of stuff.’ I drifted through to the bathroom and scrutinised my reflection in the mirror, noting the spark in my eyes, the flush of my cheeks—a radiance not seen for a long while. I turned on the taps, cupped my hands under the flow of water, and splashed my face. ‘Let’s see what Gaspard has to say about this.’

Hubert sighed. ‘It won’t make any difference. We still don’t have a radio. We’re bloody useless.’

Strewth, he sounded so despondent. Come to think of it, Hubert didn’t look well either. He was pale, and his eyes seemed dark. Perhaps he was coming down with something. Then there was Gaspard—a brute of a man, so arrogant. Well, he needed London. Where else was he going to get enough ammunition and arms for his men? He needed London just as London needed him, and he’d realise it soon enough. I decided Gaspard would not be armed first. We’d make him stew for a while as we chose a more amenable group.