The French Affair, page 30
‘It’s not your fault. Madame Frisch caught me off guard with her visit. I wasn’t expecting her. I should have checked the room more carefully for clues that you’d been there. The chair had been pushed under the desk. The scarf was on the seat and out of sight of any but the most enquiring eyes.’
By now, they’d made their way out of the attic. Helene was waiting in the yellow bedroom, sitting on the corner of the bed, massaging her feet which were swollen from covering too many miles in high heels. Beyond her make-up she looked tired, her dress crumpled from two days of uninterrupted wear.
‘There’ll be a plane tonight. It will land in the clearing on the north boundary of Duplantier’s farm.’ She looked up from her feet and met Iris’s eye. ‘You know where I mean?’
It wasn’t far from the Château Guillard. A brisk walk would get them there in an hour as long as they weren’t intercepted. Iris pulled on Eva’s broad-brimmed straw hat and tied it under her chin.
‘We’ll go straight there now and hide in the nearby woods until nightfall. If we hurry, we should be able to get there before the patrols are alerted to come looking for us.’
Madame Beauchamp ushered them down the stairs. ‘Even as we speak, Madame Frisch will be on her way to tell her husband she’s found a clue to where you’re hiding.’
Iris handed her the scarf, even though it broke her heart to part with it. ‘You’d better keep this. If they search the house and can’t find it, it’ll look suspicious.’
Madame Beauchamp nodded, her hand gentle on Iris’s as she took the scarf. ‘I’ll keep it safe until it can be returned to you.’
Jack and Iris kept their heads down as they made their way out of the town, taking the quiet lanes and the back roads, hoping not to be seen, trying not to appear in a hurry. It wouldn’t only be the German patrols who were looking for Iris, but anyone chasing the reward for handing her in, which meant she was at risk not only from the enemy, but from anyone who might recognise her.
Now they had the scarf to go on, it was only a matter of time before the Gestapo searched the house where they’d been hiding and it was inevitable that Madame Beauchamp and Helene would be questioned. But the scarf wasn’t unique. It was perfectly reasonable that Madame Beauchamp could have owned the same one. She could easily have bought it during a trip to Paris; her husband could have given it to her as a gift before he was shot by a drunken German soldier. If Madame Beauchamp followed this line of argument, perhaps she’d get away with it, if only she could be convincing enough, and if only they would believe her.
As they took the quiet lanes that circuited the vineyards and the farms, Iris was reminded of the day of the storm when she’d fled the grounds of the Château Guillard in the rain. The memory of it would haunt her forever. Her plan had seemed perfect at the time; now she felt she’d never be free of the consequences.
‘You there. What are you doing?’
Iris and Jack stalled at the sound of the rough voice calling from the other side of the hedge. They weren’t trespassing. They’d taken great care to stay on the public paths to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
Jack pulled Iris close to his body, shielding her so she wouldn’t be recognised. ‘We’re just passing. We didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Iris was relieved to discover how much Jack’s French had improved. Since living with the maquis, he’d even begun to use the local dialect. If he didn’t say too much, he might get away with passing as someone who’d lived in the area for most of his life.
She could feel the man’s eyes on her. They needed to move on quickly. The longer they stayed, the more likely she was to be recognised.
Jack cleared his throat, betraying his nervousness. ‘If you’ll excuse us …’
‘Wait.’
It was too late. The man had already guessed something. If they made a run for it, it would make him suspicious. Lingering would only make him more so. Iris stared at her feet, wishing for the ground to open up beneath her, hoping Jack had the sense not to say too much and risk giving them both away.
‘I know you, don’t I?’
The words were aimed at Iris. She felt Jack’s grip on her tighten. ‘You might have seen me around the town.’
Jack stepped forward, indicating their intention to leave. ‘We won’t disturb you any longer. We’ll be on our way.’
‘It’s Iris, isn’t it? Eva Fournier’s niece.’
She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, his curiosity burning through the wide brim of Eva’s straw hat she’d used to hide her face. If she didn’t look up and admit it, it would seem suspicious. She had no choice but to brave it out.
‘Yes, it is.’ She looked him dead in the eye and forced a smile. ‘You must have been a friend of Eva’s.’
He had the sun-grained skin of someone who’d spent his life working the land and could have been any one of the men who visited the bars in the town or sat in the square drinking beer at the end of a hot day.
He took his time in responding, his eyes searching her face. It was impossible to tell if he was looking for traces of Eva or considering the reward he could collect for denouncing her.
‘My wife has one of her books on the shelf in the kitchen. It’s always a celebration day when she cooks one of the recipes.’
Iris smiled, despite her growing anxiety and her desperation to get away. ‘Eva would have been glad to know that.’
‘What are you doing so far out of town?’
By keeping her talking he was delaying them, buying time for his wife to alert the German patrols.
‘We’re taking a walk. It’s lovely at this time of year, just before the grape harvest.’
He raised his eyebrows, as if he didn’t understand her reasoning. Those who worked the land often failed to see the beauty in it.
‘I’ll let you get on then.’
They tried not to run as they continued along the path, stumbling over the loose stones, their shoes throwing clouds of dust up at their heels. It wouldn’t do for the stranger to see they were frightened out of their wits and desperate to get away.
Iris waited until they’d cleared the edge of his land and were safely in the shelter of the woods before she dared to ask the question.
‘Do you think he’ll tell anyone he saw us?’
Jack shrugged, tugging at the lace of his boots where it had come undone. ‘I don’t know. It’s ill-luck that he recognised you. We’d better find somewhere to hide in case anyone comes searching.’
His eyes scanned the dense woodland. They were close to the clearing where the plane would land, but it was still hours until it was due and they couldn’t risk being seen in the meantime. The sun was already beginning to set and it would soon be dark, which would make it easier for them to disappear in the shadows.
There was a disused barn nearby. Iris remembered passing it the day she’d walked back from the Château Guillard. If they hid inside, it might put them at risk of missing the plane. They hadn’t been given the exact time of its landing, so they had to keep a lookout.
Already the temperature had begun to drop as the early autumn damp crept in. They’d eaten nothing since breakfast. Madame Beauchamp had been in too much of a hurry to get them out of the house to think of offering them any food to take with them and they couldn’t risk stopping along the way in case they were recognised. Iris listened to the growl of Jack’s stomach as he put his arms around her to keep her warm.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into all this. I never intended any of it to happen.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘You’re not responsible for the war. I don’t blame you for trying to do what you could to fight it.’
‘Jack, I …’
Before she could continue, the peace was disturbed by the sound of heavy boots stalking through the woods, brittle twigs snapping under several pairs of feet.
Iris froze, not knowing whether to stay still or to run, her heart thumping as she locked eyes with Jack, and sensing he was asking himself the same question. Already the feet were getting nearer. They could hear the German voices calling to one another, sending each other in various directions. It wouldn’t be long before they were encircled.
Jack grabbed her hand. They had no choice but to run. Their only hope was the disused barn. With any luck, the soldiers wouldn’t know the area well enough to go looking for it.
They weaved their way through the trees, light-footed and as nimble as their nerves would allow and sticking to the shadows, increasing their speed when they finally left the shelter of the trees, sprinting across the open land until they reached the barn.
Iris pulled at the wooden door, using all her weight to drag it open just wide enough for them to slip inside. Breathless now, her eyes strained to adjust to the dim light as they scoured the empty space, checking the walls and the roof. There was nowhere to hide. Even the shadows weren’t dense enough to disguise them.
‘Is there a cellar? Some old barns have a cellar.’
Together they searched the floor, pushing aside rotting sheets of old canvas and straw, their eyes stinging from the years of dust that came flying up, but there was nothing to suggest an opening. If they were caught here, there was no hiding place and no way out.
The soldiers were getting closer. The sound of their rough voices, tossed here and there on the breeze, was becoming more distinct. Iris knew enough German to understand the instruction to enter the barn. The soldiers knew they were in there.
The excitement in the young officer’s voice was unmistakeable as he ordered them to come out with their hands up. They were trapped. Once again, Iris checked the walls and the roof. The only escape was through the door and the Germans were already lined up outside. Jack reached for Iris’s hand as it burst open and three soldiers entered.
‘Whatever happens, you have to believe I love you, Jack. I always have.’
Without warning, three shots were fired. Jack and Iris dropped to the floor, but they weren’t the only ones who fell.
Iris opened her eyes, desperate to check on Jack. The air was thick with the smell of blood as it spread across the barn floor. Not her and Jack’s blood, but the blood of the three soldiers, their faces now buried in the dirt and the rotting straw.
‘Are you all right?’
There was the sound of more heavy feet. This time it was accompanied by a familiar voice as Helene stormed into the barn, pushing her pistol into the waistband of her trousers.
‘I shot each one in the back. They deserved nothing better.’ She stared at the bodies on the ground. ‘This was how they murdered my father, shooting him from behind as he hurried home in time for the curfew. If I kill enough of these bastards, I might get the one who did it.’
‘You got here just in time.’
Iris could hardly get the words out. She scrambled to her feet, brushing off the dirt from the barn floor and avoiding the expanding pool of German blood as she stepped forward to greet Helene.
Jack wasn’t far behind. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?’
‘The British have promised to drop off more ammunition when they collect Iris. I’m here with some of the others from the maquis camp to receive it.’
Helene checked the soldiers on the ground, turning each one over with her foot. A set of eyelids flickered, betraying that one of them still had a little life in him. She pulled out her pistol and shot each one in the head, just to be sure, before she looked at her watch, angling it at the moon to catch its light.
‘We’d better go to the clearing. The plane could arrive any time now. You don’t want to miss it.’
Iris touched her gently on the arm. ‘You saved our lives. I don’t know how to thank you.’
Helene shrugged as if it were nothing, when they both knew it was everything. She pulled something from her pocket and thrust it into Iris’s hand. ‘Maman asked me to return this.’
It was the Hermès scarf Eva had given her. Iris’s heart almost burst at the sight of it. ‘Your mother should have kept it. What if the Gestapo demand to see it?’
‘They won’t. She’s on her way to Switzerland. I convinced her to flee to safety as soon as you left. She’ll be across the border by this time tomorrow. My uncle can give her a home until it’s safe for her to return to France.’
‘You should have gone with her. If they catch you …’
‘My duty is here, fighting alongside the maquis for a free France. The house is locked up. If the Gestapo come calling, they’ll find it empty.’
Half a dozen members of the maquis appeared out of the shadows as they left the barn and returned to the cover of the woods, their stealthy figures obscured by the fading light. Each one greeted Jack not only as a friend, but as a comrade. There was a familiar figure among them, her stature no more than that of a child, despite her determination to stand tall.
‘Yvette?’
The name burst from Iris’s lips before she could stop it. ‘How did you escape?’
‘A member of the German auxiliary staff visited me in my cell this afternoon. She spoke to me in fluent French, instructing me to follow her and telling me not to make any fuss. I thought I was being taken for more questioning, until she showed me the papers she’d arranged for my release. She led me to a side-gate and unlocked it. Helene was waiting for me on the other side.’
‘Your rescuer, did she give you her name?’
‘No, but she said to tell you that she looks forward to reading Eva’s last cookery book when you finally get around to finish writing it.’
Iris threw her arms around Yvette, grateful for her life, grateful once more to the Grey Mouse for risking her own safety to save her.
They crouched on the edge of the woodland, keeping out of sight, until the distant rumble of the Lysander engine grew closer and more distinct. Iris signalled to Yvette, instructing her to get ready to board. They had to be quick. The turnaround would be so rapid the pilot would be preparing to take off almost before the landing wheels had touched the ground. The cargo of ammunition would be unloaded within an instant; dispersed and hidden before the hour had passed.
Iris grabbed Jack’s hand as the plane touched down. ‘This is it.’ She tried to pull him to his feet but he resisted. Iris tried harder. ‘If we don’t hurry, the pilot will go without us.’
Jack took his knapsack from his shoulders and offered it to her. ‘You go. Take this with you.’
She paused, staring at him in the moonlight. ‘We have to go now, together.’
He got to his feet and pulled her close. ‘I’m staying here to fight for the cause.’
‘It’s not safe. I can’t lose you again.’
‘Here, alongside the maquis, I have a purpose. What I do counts for something.’ He stepped back and pushed his knapsack into her arms. ‘This bag contains articles I’ve written, highlighting the work of the resistance fighters. Take them to every newspaper editor in London until one of them agrees to publish them. Help the people in Britain to understand how the French are fighting to win their country back.’
‘If you’re staying, then I will too. We’ve already spent too long apart.’
‘You can’t do any more here, Iris. If you stay, they’ll hunt you down and kill you.’
He was right; if she remained in France, she’d have to go into hiding. It would be too dangerous for her to play an active role in the Resistance. She could do much more in London, training French agents to send into the field.
Helene ran up to them, pushing Jack roughly by the shoulder towards the plane. ‘Go with her, Jack. Show the British agents what the maquis are doing. You’ve lived the life. Teach them the kind of sabotage we’re using to win the war.’
Iris grabbed Jack’s arm, determined never to let go. ‘Helene’s right. Think of the difference we can make if we work together.’
He was still for a moment, his heart torn between love and duty, until he realised they were in perfect accord. And with this thought, Iris saw the look in his eyes change, reflecting the old Jack, the one who loved her without compromise or justification.
The engines were roaring; the plane bursting to take off. Yvette was already on board when Jack took Iris’s hand, and together they climbed into the plane. As they strapped themselves in, the pilot informed them they’d be home before sunrise, but Iris was already there. Anywhere with Jack was home, and now he was by her side, it was exactly where she intended him to stay.
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A Letter from Theresa Howes
Wars are fought and won on many fronts and in any number of ways. When I came to write The French Affair, I wanted to consider once again the roles women played in the Second World War. Perhaps the biggest asset women had was the way they were, and often continue to be, underestimated by men.
This idea was the starting point for the development of my characters. It wouldn’t be difficult for a female agent to present herself as a bored housewife, embarking on an affair with a senior civil servant, while her husband was away reporting on the war. Her victim had to be a man vain enough and naive enough to think she wanted him simply for himself and not for his secrets.
In France, no one would suspect that the suitcase carried by a girl, dressed in a school uniform, contained wireless equipment, or that the girl in question had the intelligence and courage to transmit messages to her spy masters in Britain from enemy-occupied territory.
And who would suspect a travelling hairdresser, clipping along in high heels and a tight skirt, of being a messenger for the Resistance?
Writing this from my comfortable armchair, I can only imagine the courage of the women who carried out similar tasks, and remain forever in awe of them. Their bravery is even more inspiring when you consider this kind of covert work was still in its early days. This was a completely new kind of warfare, where lessons were learned on the job, because nobody really knew how to prepare agents for the field. Women and men were sent into enemy-occupied territory not knowing what they might encounter, relying on their wits to survive, and the training that might or might not prove useful.
By now, they’d made their way out of the attic. Helene was waiting in the yellow bedroom, sitting on the corner of the bed, massaging her feet which were swollen from covering too many miles in high heels. Beyond her make-up she looked tired, her dress crumpled from two days of uninterrupted wear.
‘There’ll be a plane tonight. It will land in the clearing on the north boundary of Duplantier’s farm.’ She looked up from her feet and met Iris’s eye. ‘You know where I mean?’
It wasn’t far from the Château Guillard. A brisk walk would get them there in an hour as long as they weren’t intercepted. Iris pulled on Eva’s broad-brimmed straw hat and tied it under her chin.
‘We’ll go straight there now and hide in the nearby woods until nightfall. If we hurry, we should be able to get there before the patrols are alerted to come looking for us.’
Madame Beauchamp ushered them down the stairs. ‘Even as we speak, Madame Frisch will be on her way to tell her husband she’s found a clue to where you’re hiding.’
Iris handed her the scarf, even though it broke her heart to part with it. ‘You’d better keep this. If they search the house and can’t find it, it’ll look suspicious.’
Madame Beauchamp nodded, her hand gentle on Iris’s as she took the scarf. ‘I’ll keep it safe until it can be returned to you.’
Jack and Iris kept their heads down as they made their way out of the town, taking the quiet lanes and the back roads, hoping not to be seen, trying not to appear in a hurry. It wouldn’t only be the German patrols who were looking for Iris, but anyone chasing the reward for handing her in, which meant she was at risk not only from the enemy, but from anyone who might recognise her.
Now they had the scarf to go on, it was only a matter of time before the Gestapo searched the house where they’d been hiding and it was inevitable that Madame Beauchamp and Helene would be questioned. But the scarf wasn’t unique. It was perfectly reasonable that Madame Beauchamp could have owned the same one. She could easily have bought it during a trip to Paris; her husband could have given it to her as a gift before he was shot by a drunken German soldier. If Madame Beauchamp followed this line of argument, perhaps she’d get away with it, if only she could be convincing enough, and if only they would believe her.
As they took the quiet lanes that circuited the vineyards and the farms, Iris was reminded of the day of the storm when she’d fled the grounds of the Château Guillard in the rain. The memory of it would haunt her forever. Her plan had seemed perfect at the time; now she felt she’d never be free of the consequences.
‘You there. What are you doing?’
Iris and Jack stalled at the sound of the rough voice calling from the other side of the hedge. They weren’t trespassing. They’d taken great care to stay on the public paths to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
Jack pulled Iris close to his body, shielding her so she wouldn’t be recognised. ‘We’re just passing. We didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Iris was relieved to discover how much Jack’s French had improved. Since living with the maquis, he’d even begun to use the local dialect. If he didn’t say too much, he might get away with passing as someone who’d lived in the area for most of his life.
She could feel the man’s eyes on her. They needed to move on quickly. The longer they stayed, the more likely she was to be recognised.
Jack cleared his throat, betraying his nervousness. ‘If you’ll excuse us …’
‘Wait.’
It was too late. The man had already guessed something. If they made a run for it, it would make him suspicious. Lingering would only make him more so. Iris stared at her feet, wishing for the ground to open up beneath her, hoping Jack had the sense not to say too much and risk giving them both away.
‘I know you, don’t I?’
The words were aimed at Iris. She felt Jack’s grip on her tighten. ‘You might have seen me around the town.’
Jack stepped forward, indicating their intention to leave. ‘We won’t disturb you any longer. We’ll be on our way.’
‘It’s Iris, isn’t it? Eva Fournier’s niece.’
She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, his curiosity burning through the wide brim of Eva’s straw hat she’d used to hide her face. If she didn’t look up and admit it, it would seem suspicious. She had no choice but to brave it out.
‘Yes, it is.’ She looked him dead in the eye and forced a smile. ‘You must have been a friend of Eva’s.’
He had the sun-grained skin of someone who’d spent his life working the land and could have been any one of the men who visited the bars in the town or sat in the square drinking beer at the end of a hot day.
He took his time in responding, his eyes searching her face. It was impossible to tell if he was looking for traces of Eva or considering the reward he could collect for denouncing her.
‘My wife has one of her books on the shelf in the kitchen. It’s always a celebration day when she cooks one of the recipes.’
Iris smiled, despite her growing anxiety and her desperation to get away. ‘Eva would have been glad to know that.’
‘What are you doing so far out of town?’
By keeping her talking he was delaying them, buying time for his wife to alert the German patrols.
‘We’re taking a walk. It’s lovely at this time of year, just before the grape harvest.’
He raised his eyebrows, as if he didn’t understand her reasoning. Those who worked the land often failed to see the beauty in it.
‘I’ll let you get on then.’
They tried not to run as they continued along the path, stumbling over the loose stones, their shoes throwing clouds of dust up at their heels. It wouldn’t do for the stranger to see they were frightened out of their wits and desperate to get away.
Iris waited until they’d cleared the edge of his land and were safely in the shelter of the woods before she dared to ask the question.
‘Do you think he’ll tell anyone he saw us?’
Jack shrugged, tugging at the lace of his boots where it had come undone. ‘I don’t know. It’s ill-luck that he recognised you. We’d better find somewhere to hide in case anyone comes searching.’
His eyes scanned the dense woodland. They were close to the clearing where the plane would land, but it was still hours until it was due and they couldn’t risk being seen in the meantime. The sun was already beginning to set and it would soon be dark, which would make it easier for them to disappear in the shadows.
There was a disused barn nearby. Iris remembered passing it the day she’d walked back from the Château Guillard. If they hid inside, it might put them at risk of missing the plane. They hadn’t been given the exact time of its landing, so they had to keep a lookout.
Already the temperature had begun to drop as the early autumn damp crept in. They’d eaten nothing since breakfast. Madame Beauchamp had been in too much of a hurry to get them out of the house to think of offering them any food to take with them and they couldn’t risk stopping along the way in case they were recognised. Iris listened to the growl of Jack’s stomach as he put his arms around her to keep her warm.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into all this. I never intended any of it to happen.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘You’re not responsible for the war. I don’t blame you for trying to do what you could to fight it.’
‘Jack, I …’
Before she could continue, the peace was disturbed by the sound of heavy boots stalking through the woods, brittle twigs snapping under several pairs of feet.
Iris froze, not knowing whether to stay still or to run, her heart thumping as she locked eyes with Jack, and sensing he was asking himself the same question. Already the feet were getting nearer. They could hear the German voices calling to one another, sending each other in various directions. It wouldn’t be long before they were encircled.
Jack grabbed her hand. They had no choice but to run. Their only hope was the disused barn. With any luck, the soldiers wouldn’t know the area well enough to go looking for it.
They weaved their way through the trees, light-footed and as nimble as their nerves would allow and sticking to the shadows, increasing their speed when they finally left the shelter of the trees, sprinting across the open land until they reached the barn.
Iris pulled at the wooden door, using all her weight to drag it open just wide enough for them to slip inside. Breathless now, her eyes strained to adjust to the dim light as they scoured the empty space, checking the walls and the roof. There was nowhere to hide. Even the shadows weren’t dense enough to disguise them.
‘Is there a cellar? Some old barns have a cellar.’
Together they searched the floor, pushing aside rotting sheets of old canvas and straw, their eyes stinging from the years of dust that came flying up, but there was nothing to suggest an opening. If they were caught here, there was no hiding place and no way out.
The soldiers were getting closer. The sound of their rough voices, tossed here and there on the breeze, was becoming more distinct. Iris knew enough German to understand the instruction to enter the barn. The soldiers knew they were in there.
The excitement in the young officer’s voice was unmistakeable as he ordered them to come out with their hands up. They were trapped. Once again, Iris checked the walls and the roof. The only escape was through the door and the Germans were already lined up outside. Jack reached for Iris’s hand as it burst open and three soldiers entered.
‘Whatever happens, you have to believe I love you, Jack. I always have.’
Without warning, three shots were fired. Jack and Iris dropped to the floor, but they weren’t the only ones who fell.
Iris opened her eyes, desperate to check on Jack. The air was thick with the smell of blood as it spread across the barn floor. Not her and Jack’s blood, but the blood of the three soldiers, their faces now buried in the dirt and the rotting straw.
‘Are you all right?’
There was the sound of more heavy feet. This time it was accompanied by a familiar voice as Helene stormed into the barn, pushing her pistol into the waistband of her trousers.
‘I shot each one in the back. They deserved nothing better.’ She stared at the bodies on the ground. ‘This was how they murdered my father, shooting him from behind as he hurried home in time for the curfew. If I kill enough of these bastards, I might get the one who did it.’
‘You got here just in time.’
Iris could hardly get the words out. She scrambled to her feet, brushing off the dirt from the barn floor and avoiding the expanding pool of German blood as she stepped forward to greet Helene.
Jack wasn’t far behind. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?’
‘The British have promised to drop off more ammunition when they collect Iris. I’m here with some of the others from the maquis camp to receive it.’
Helene checked the soldiers on the ground, turning each one over with her foot. A set of eyelids flickered, betraying that one of them still had a little life in him. She pulled out her pistol and shot each one in the head, just to be sure, before she looked at her watch, angling it at the moon to catch its light.
‘We’d better go to the clearing. The plane could arrive any time now. You don’t want to miss it.’
Iris touched her gently on the arm. ‘You saved our lives. I don’t know how to thank you.’
Helene shrugged as if it were nothing, when they both knew it was everything. She pulled something from her pocket and thrust it into Iris’s hand. ‘Maman asked me to return this.’
It was the Hermès scarf Eva had given her. Iris’s heart almost burst at the sight of it. ‘Your mother should have kept it. What if the Gestapo demand to see it?’
‘They won’t. She’s on her way to Switzerland. I convinced her to flee to safety as soon as you left. She’ll be across the border by this time tomorrow. My uncle can give her a home until it’s safe for her to return to France.’
‘You should have gone with her. If they catch you …’
‘My duty is here, fighting alongside the maquis for a free France. The house is locked up. If the Gestapo come calling, they’ll find it empty.’
Half a dozen members of the maquis appeared out of the shadows as they left the barn and returned to the cover of the woods, their stealthy figures obscured by the fading light. Each one greeted Jack not only as a friend, but as a comrade. There was a familiar figure among them, her stature no more than that of a child, despite her determination to stand tall.
‘Yvette?’
The name burst from Iris’s lips before she could stop it. ‘How did you escape?’
‘A member of the German auxiliary staff visited me in my cell this afternoon. She spoke to me in fluent French, instructing me to follow her and telling me not to make any fuss. I thought I was being taken for more questioning, until she showed me the papers she’d arranged for my release. She led me to a side-gate and unlocked it. Helene was waiting for me on the other side.’
‘Your rescuer, did she give you her name?’
‘No, but she said to tell you that she looks forward to reading Eva’s last cookery book when you finally get around to finish writing it.’
Iris threw her arms around Yvette, grateful for her life, grateful once more to the Grey Mouse for risking her own safety to save her.
They crouched on the edge of the woodland, keeping out of sight, until the distant rumble of the Lysander engine grew closer and more distinct. Iris signalled to Yvette, instructing her to get ready to board. They had to be quick. The turnaround would be so rapid the pilot would be preparing to take off almost before the landing wheels had touched the ground. The cargo of ammunition would be unloaded within an instant; dispersed and hidden before the hour had passed.
Iris grabbed Jack’s hand as the plane touched down. ‘This is it.’ She tried to pull him to his feet but he resisted. Iris tried harder. ‘If we don’t hurry, the pilot will go without us.’
Jack took his knapsack from his shoulders and offered it to her. ‘You go. Take this with you.’
She paused, staring at him in the moonlight. ‘We have to go now, together.’
He got to his feet and pulled her close. ‘I’m staying here to fight for the cause.’
‘It’s not safe. I can’t lose you again.’
‘Here, alongside the maquis, I have a purpose. What I do counts for something.’ He stepped back and pushed his knapsack into her arms. ‘This bag contains articles I’ve written, highlighting the work of the resistance fighters. Take them to every newspaper editor in London until one of them agrees to publish them. Help the people in Britain to understand how the French are fighting to win their country back.’
‘If you’re staying, then I will too. We’ve already spent too long apart.’
‘You can’t do any more here, Iris. If you stay, they’ll hunt you down and kill you.’
He was right; if she remained in France, she’d have to go into hiding. It would be too dangerous for her to play an active role in the Resistance. She could do much more in London, training French agents to send into the field.
Helene ran up to them, pushing Jack roughly by the shoulder towards the plane. ‘Go with her, Jack. Show the British agents what the maquis are doing. You’ve lived the life. Teach them the kind of sabotage we’re using to win the war.’
Iris grabbed Jack’s arm, determined never to let go. ‘Helene’s right. Think of the difference we can make if we work together.’
He was still for a moment, his heart torn between love and duty, until he realised they were in perfect accord. And with this thought, Iris saw the look in his eyes change, reflecting the old Jack, the one who loved her without compromise or justification.
The engines were roaring; the plane bursting to take off. Yvette was already on board when Jack took Iris’s hand, and together they climbed into the plane. As they strapped themselves in, the pilot informed them they’d be home before sunrise, but Iris was already there. Anywhere with Jack was home, and now he was by her side, it was exactly where she intended him to stay.
Gripped by The French Affair? Don’t miss The Secrets We Keep, another unputdownable novel from Theresa Howes. Available now!
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A Letter from Theresa Howes
Wars are fought and won on many fronts and in any number of ways. When I came to write The French Affair, I wanted to consider once again the roles women played in the Second World War. Perhaps the biggest asset women had was the way they were, and often continue to be, underestimated by men.
This idea was the starting point for the development of my characters. It wouldn’t be difficult for a female agent to present herself as a bored housewife, embarking on an affair with a senior civil servant, while her husband was away reporting on the war. Her victim had to be a man vain enough and naive enough to think she wanted him simply for himself and not for his secrets.
In France, no one would suspect that the suitcase carried by a girl, dressed in a school uniform, contained wireless equipment, or that the girl in question had the intelligence and courage to transmit messages to her spy masters in Britain from enemy-occupied territory.
And who would suspect a travelling hairdresser, clipping along in high heels and a tight skirt, of being a messenger for the Resistance?
Writing this from my comfortable armchair, I can only imagine the courage of the women who carried out similar tasks, and remain forever in awe of them. Their bravery is even more inspiring when you consider this kind of covert work was still in its early days. This was a completely new kind of warfare, where lessons were learned on the job, because nobody really knew how to prepare agents for the field. Women and men were sent into enemy-occupied territory not knowing what they might encounter, relying on their wits to survive, and the training that might or might not prove useful.
