The French Affair, page 27
The fourth name was the greatest shock of all. Clemence. How was she ever going to break the news to her?
The final name on the list came as no surprise. It was the one she’d expected to see all along. If any name deserved to be there, it was hers, and there it was, spelled out in the Grey Mouse’s neat hand. She was condemned along with the rest of them.
She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves while she worked out a plan. There wasn’t a minute to waste. The people on the list had to be given time to decide what to do. If they wanted to escape, they needed to be informed of their fate right away.
She was about to leave the house when Jack arrived, rattling the garden gate and not seeming to care if the neighbours heard as he called her name. She let him in, putting her fingers to her lips to quieten him as she led him into the kitchen, where they were least likely to be seen or overheard.
Still out of breath, he threw himself into his favourite chair. ‘Frieda has just got word to me that your name is on the hostage list. Pack a bag quickly. We have to get you out.’
He called her Frieda, not the Grey Mouse. ‘You gave her your handkerchief.’ She couldn’t help her accusing tone.
‘I knew if you saw it, you’d make the connection to me. It was the only way I could be sure you’d trust her.’
Iris had suspected the Grey Mouse was a spy because of how much time she spent at the café, but she’d misjudged which side she was on. She’d failed to see beyond her uniform and allowed her prejudice to get in the way of her usual clear-sightedness.
Jack dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘She came to the camp one day, asking how she could help the cause. Working as a translator, she has access to all kinds of useful information.’
‘You trust her?’
‘Her mother’s side of the family is French. Her cousin was one of the maquis who was killed when the Germans set fire to the camp. Not every German wants to see Hitler win. Not even those forced to wear the uniform of the Third Reich. Appearances and loyalties can be deceptive. You of all people should understand that.’
Iris had been blinded by her uniform. Despite her friendly overtures, she’d seen her only as a Grey Mouse and had judged her accordingly. The experiences of the war had taken away her ability to trust anyone.
‘I can’t worry about myself, Jack. People have to be told they’re on the list so they have a chance to flee.’
‘If they disappear, the Germans will know the list was leaked.’
‘I’ll worry about that if it happens. For now, all I can do is save the people who have been condemned.’
‘You have to get out as well. The danger is too close. You can hide in the maquis camp until we get word to London to send a plane to take you back to England. I’ll go to Lyon. I know how to reach the British agent coordinating the network there. He can put me in touch with a wireless operator who can send a message.’
‘I can’t run away while innocent people are at risk of being put to death for the murder I’ve committed.’
‘You’ve completed your mission. We have to get you out.’
‘I can’t simply abandon what I started here.’
‘I’m begging you to leave. I’m still your husband. That has to count for something.’
It was a stalemate of the most loving kind, but Iris was determined to make sure no one died because she’d killed Mason.
‘There has to be another way. There’s still time to work something out. Will you trust me, Jack?’
Love and trust were different things. After everything that had happened, she couldn’t assume the right to either one.
‘You haven’t got long. It’s getting more dangerous by the minute. I can’t lose you again, Iris.’
He hadn’t answered her question, but he was prepared to go along with her for the time being. Whether he trusted her or not was another matter. Now all she had to do was come up with a plan that would save everyone on the list and prevent any further reprisals.
Chapter 47
Five minutes later, Iris was sitting with Clemence, gripping her hand to stop it shaking, as the news that her name was on the hostage list sank in.
‘I’m sorry, Clemence. It’s all my fault. You didn’t deserve this after you’d been such a loyal friend to Eva.’
‘You mustn’t think like that. I’m proud to have been a friend to both you and Eva. I don’t know what you’ve done to Mason, just as I don’t know what happened with Schiller, but I know you’ve done us proud. We can’t leave it to the young men to fight our wars for us.’
Iris hadn’t mentioned that her own name was also on the list. It didn’t seem right to burden Clemence with that too.
‘There’s still time to get you out of town. Is there someone you could stay with in another part of France? Or we could try to get you across the border to Switzerland. The maquis might be able to help.’
‘I’m going nowhere. If they want to shoot me, I’ll stand up straight and look them in the eye as they do it.’ She got to her feet, urging Iris towards the door. ‘Go. Whoever else is on the list needs to be told.’
Iris was reluctant to leave her, but time was short and she had to speak to the others on the list if they were to have time to plan their escape. She gave Clemence a hug, her heart breaking at her tiny frame. When had she become so small, so brave?
‘I’ll come back soon.’
‘Don’t worry about me. Go and do what you have to do.’
*
Fabrice was eating his lunch when Iris arrived. He stood at the front door, spoon in hand, making the point that she’d interrupted at a sacred time.
‘May I speak to Albert?’
His face contorted as he pushed the tip of his tongue into the crevices of his back teeth, working free whatever part of his lunch had lodged itself there. ‘Go on up.’ He stepped aside, making room for her to pass and nodded towards the stairs. ‘He’s taken to his bed. It’s the second door on the left.’
The smell of bean stew and garlic followed Iris up the stairs. Fabrice hadn’t mentioned that Albert was ill, so why was he in bed in the middle of the day? She knocked quietly on the door, not wanting to startle him if he was asleep.
‘Albert. It’s Iris. May I come in?’
She heard his rough cough from the other side of the door, the sound of him clearing his throat.
‘One moment please.’
He was still straightening his pyjama top when she entered. The curtains were pulled back to let in the light and Albert was sitting up in bed, propped up by half a dozen pillows. The room smelled of camphor and brandy, of a man who’d lain too long in one place.
‘Are you all right? Nobody told me you were ill.’
He shrugged off her concern, smoothing his hair down with his fingers where the pillows had ruffled it. His beard was untrimmed, the spark gone from his eyes.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me that winning the war won’t cure.’
Iris opened the window, allowing the mild midday breeze to blow in. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve given up.’
‘Not given up, just tired. I won’t go to the restaurant now Fabrice has encouraged the Germans to eat there, and without Eva, there seems little to get out of bed for.’
‘Eva would want you to carry on with your life, to make the best of it.’
‘If she were here, that’s exactly what I’d be doing.’
Iris sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. ‘Then do it for her memory. You can’t lie in bed all day. It’s time to act.’
‘What is it? What’s happened?’
There was no easy way to break it to him. She just had to come straight out with it. He nodded as the news sank in.
‘I should’ve guessed. They’re coming for me because they can no longer get at Eva. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Iris wasn’t brave enough to tell him it was because of her, because they suspected she’d killed Mason.
‘Is there somewhere you can hide where the Germans won’t find you?’
Albert gave a bitter laugh. ‘So much for Fabrice welcoming the enemy to our restaurant. He said it would protect us from threats such as this. How wrong he was.’
‘Shall I ask him to join us? He might know of somewhere you can go.’
He touched her arm, making her stay as she attempted to get up. ‘I don’t want him to know about this. It won’t do any good to implicate him.’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘I’ll lie in my bed and wait. And if they come for me, I’ll let them take me. It’s better for an old man like me to be sacrificed rather than anyone younger.’
‘But they’ll shoot you. Eva wouldn’t want you to die like that. Your life is as valuable as anyone else’s in this town.’
‘It’ll be the work of a moment and soon forgotten. And then I’ll be with my beloved Eva. She’ll be waiting for me on the other side.’
His eyes were set with determination. There was no convincing him to change his mind. It seemed wrong, not warning Fabrice of his father’s impeding fate, and yet Albert had the right to decide for himself.
‘There’s still time to change your mind. If you decide to leave, tell Fabrice. He’ll be able to arrange it for you. And if he needs help, tell him to come to me.’
‘Thank you, but my mind is made up.’
He looked up at her from the pillows as she prepared to leave, his eyes blazing with any number of emotions, but it was his determination that burned the brightest.
‘I’ll give Eva your love when I see her.’
Iris crept down the stairs and slipped quietly out of the house, avoiding Fabrice so she didn’t have to lie to him or evade his questions. It was the only way to respect Albert’s wishes. And if she could stop the shooting of those on the hostage list, then there was no need for him to have been told.
Chapter 48
Paul was checking the vines when she arrived. It was almost time for the harvest and he was testing the grapes for ripeness, just as he’d done at this time every year for as long as he could remember. As soon as he was old enough to walk, his father had begun to teach him how to assess the grapes, using touch, taste and smell to judge if they were ready for harvesting. His sense of duty to the land bordered on reverence, just like his father’s and his grandfather’s before. Nothing was more important than the soil and the vines it nurtured. Nothing mattered more than producing the best wine in the region. Invaders would come and go, but the land would endure.
He wiped his hands down the front of his trousers to remove the grape juice when he saw her approach.
‘Iris, what are you doing here?’
It was the first time she’d seen him since Adele had rescued him from the square in the middle of the night after he’d drunk too much. She didn’t know if he’d kept away out of embarrassment, or because she’d made it clear there was no future for them. None of that was of any consequence now. It was only survival that mattered.
He was carrying a little more weight and his muscles had regained some of their definition from the physical effort he’d put into the land. With labour in short supply, he was doing the work of the three other men he’d usually employ.
Her eyes scanned the landscape, checking she wouldn’t be overheard. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
He listened without comment, his shoulders rising as he realised the consequences of what she was saying.
‘Why me? What have I ever done to deserve this? I worked for them, didn’t I? I let them take the best of my wine.’
She wasn’t going to admit it was because of his association with her. That they’d been watching her and probably seen them together.
‘You can make it across the border to Switzerland if you’re quick about it.’
The afternoon sun was still high in the sky as he looked at her, his eyes narrowing against the glare.
‘I can’t leave my mother to run the vineyard again. She’s not capable. The quality of the wine dropped immensely while she was in charge.’
‘If you stay, you risk being shot.’
‘Then I’ll hide. There are cellars on the estate the Germans don’t know about. I won’t leave my land again. The occupiers will be driven out sooner or later, and when that day comes, I’ll still be here, protecting what’s mine.’
She wanted to believe it was possible for him to remain safe. ‘You should at least get your mother to leave. She’ll be terrified if they come looking for you. Is there anywhere she can go?’
‘She has to stay here. If I’m hiding, we’ll have to make it look as if she’s running the vineyard in my place. Whatever happens, they’ll still demand the wine.’
‘You should discuss it with her first.’
He looked at her with contempt, his teeth bared like a wild animal’s. She hated how much the war had damaged him. She could imagine him bullying his mother into obeying him, just as he’d tried to bully his way into her bed.
‘You have to do whatever you think is best. It might not come to it anyway.’
‘You think you can find a way stop these men having their sport? You think because you gave yourself to one of them, that they’ll listen to you. Well, let me tell you this. They have more contempt for you than the rest of the town.’
There was nothing he could say that would hurt her, nothing she didn’t already know. She began to retrace her steps back to the road, throwing her parting words over her shoulder.
‘You can think what you like, Paul. I’ve warned you what might happen. It’s up to you how you act on the information. I don’t expect you to thank me for it.’
The afternoon had grown overcast by the time Iris reached Madame Janot’s hardware shop, where she hoped to find Christophe. The fact that his injury prevented him doing any hard physical work was probably one of the reasons his name had been added to the hostage list. He was no use to the Third Reich and so he was disposable. His connection to Iris, however slight, was yet another reason for him to be condemned to death.
Madame Janot looked up from her ledger and frowned when Iris walked into the shop and asked if she could speak to him.
‘Christophe isn’t here. He’s at home writing more of his terrible poems. You’ll find him in the shed at the bottom of the garden. I blame you for encouraging his literary endeavours.’
She wasn’t in the mood to take the blame for Christophe’s poetry when she was responsible for something far worse. She cut the conversation short, nor caring how rude she appeared as she set out to find him.
It was a short walk across the town to where Christophe lived with his mother. Remembering what Madame Janot had said about finding him in his shed, she went straight to the back of the house and pushed open the garden gate.
‘Christophe, it’s Iris. Are you there?’
The small patch of land was a mass of weeds. No one had tended it for years.
‘Christophe?’
She fought her way through the brambles as they snatched at her feet, following the path trodden in the long grass that led to the shed. When she tried the handle, the door was unlocked. She was reluctant to walk in without an invitation.
‘Christophe. Christophe.’
After the fourth time of calling, he still hadn’t responded. She knocked loudly, giving him further seconds to answer before she opened the door and stepped inside, blinking at the sight that confronted her as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light.
The desk and the floor were piled with volumes of Eva’s cookery books, the walls covered with copies of her obituary collected from numerous newspapers and magazines, alongside interviews she’d given over the years, reviews and samples of her recipes. Whichever way Iris looked, Eva’s face stared back at her.
She was still struggling to take it all in when she heard the crash of the garden gate. It had to be Christophe. Conscious that she was intruding, she stepped out of the shed, ready to explain what she was doing there. As soon he saw her, he started to run away.
‘Wait, Christophe. Please, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’
He turned to look at her, cradling his injured arm like a wounded animal, and she wondered why it hadn’t healed, whether he was doing something to make sure it never would.
‘What were you doing in my shed? I didn’t give you permission to go inside.’ His voice was high-pitched and cracked, a trapped animal crying out.
‘I know and I’m sorry. I was looking for you; that’s all.’
He stared at her, unmoving, his feet caught in the brambles. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to talk to you. Shall we go into the house?’
She couldn’t face entering the shed again, knowing Eva’s image would be bearing down at her from every angle.
Still Christophe refused to move. ‘You can say what you have to say here.’
‘I saw Eva’s pictures in your shed and the articles that were written about her. I didn’t know you had so many of her books.’
‘I didn’t steal them.’
‘I didn’t think you did.’
His whole body was hunched as he nursed his damaged arm. ‘I miss her very much.’
‘So do I. She was taken from us so cruelly. It’s hard to understand it.’
He sank to his knees and began to cry like a child, unmindful of the brambles that snagged his trousers, the sharp points pushing through his skin. How could she warn him that his name was on the hostage list when his mind was already so troubled? But she had to. She couldn’t abandon him to his fate.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go inside?’
He shook his head, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, like the eight-year-old boy he suddenly appeared to be, scared and alone in a frightening world.
‘I miss my papa too.’
‘I know you do.’
‘What those soldiers did to him, beating him like that. It wasn’t that bad. He shouldn’t have died.’
