Liberation Read online

  One man got up from his crouch at Gaspard’s feet and fetched a plate of the stew from the cook, then brought it across to her. He was a good-looking man, twenty-five perhaps, huge brown eyes and an athletic build. He presented the plate to her with a flourish, a low bow.

  “Madame, forgive our rudeness. We have been so long in the wilds we hardly know how to treat a lady.”

  Nancy could see Gaspard watching, grinning.

  The good-looking young man continued. “This slop is not fit for your lips, the talk of this company not fit for your ears.”

  Nancy still did not take the plate, but she smiled, a warm grateful V for Victory by Elizabeth Arden smile, looking up slightly from under her eyelashes.

  “Thank you…?”

  “Franc, Madame.”

  “Franc! How very kind of you.” She touched his arm.

  “I have managed to find a bottle of decent wine, perhaps that might make the food a little easier to swallow. Let me entertain you in privacy in my tent.”

  “How kind!” Nancy said in a murmur, then raising her voice just a little. “The new plan being to lull me into a comfortable snooze, strangle me and then steal my money?”

  Franc blinked.

  “Madame, I…”

  “Then tell London if they come asking that I wandered off into the forest and got eaten by wolves like Red Riding Hood? God, you’re stupid.” She grabbed the bowl out of his hands and upended it over his head, then threw the tin plate at his feet.

  He gasped and tried to wipe it out of his eyes. “Bitch.”

  “Too bloody right, but while I am here you will call me Captain Wake, because that is the rank I’ve earned while you lot have been playing in the woods.”

  She turned toward Gaspard. “Where are your escape routes? Where are your lookouts? I’ve seen girl guides run a better camp. You’ve got too many men here out in the open and not a damn clue what to do with them other than sheep stealing. You here to fight the Germans or what?”

  They stared back at her, silent, resistant.

  She walked up to Gaspard on his packing crate. He stared at her, his thick jaws still chewing at his slop.

  “I’m going up to the plateau. Fournier’s men are going to be the best-armed, best-trained fighting force for fifty miles within a month. You are, and will always be, a bunch of amateurs.” She raised her voice again. “When you are done starving and screwing about down here, come and join me. Until then, go fuck yourselves.”

  She spat a satisfyingly solid mass with just a little blood in it into Gaspard’s stew, then went back to the door of the barn, picked up her pack and headed off into the darkness without looking back, following the rising ground. Under the treeline she stopped and rested her head against the trunk of a young birch tree. It shivered behind her. Footsteps. One man. A match flared, and she saw it was Tardivat, lighting his cigarette.

  “This is the wrong track for the plateau, Captain,” he said softly.

  “I thought asking for directions might have ruined my exit,” she replied, trying not to let too much relief creep into her voice.

  “You may be right.” She could feel the smile. “Tant pis, it will add only a mile or two to the walk. Are you ready?”

  “I am ready.”

  24

  Eva Böhm was certain she had been cheated. The woman who sold her the two trunks she was now packing for her return to Berlin with Sonia had just had that French look, surly and superior at the same time, which Eva had encountered again and again when the residents of Marseille heard her German accent and schoolgirl French. She had been overcharged. Without doubt. It would be a relief to get home.

  She felt a little spasm of guilt. It was wrong to feel relieved when her husband had to remain in France among these peasants and swindlers. News had arrived a week ago that he was being transferred to the Auvergne where thousands of young Frenchmen had been allowed by the corrupt authorities to flee into the hills rather than do their duty and go to Germany to work.

  Now the trunk wouldn’t close properly. She fiddled with the catch, caught her fingernail on it and was overwhelmed with a sudden desire to cry.

  It was all so unfair.

  “Mummy?”

  She twisted round to see Sonia standing awkwardly in the doorway, her toy rabbit cradled in her arms.

  “What is it, darling?”

  “We won’t forget Pumpkin, will we?” It was Markus who had named the rabbit Pumpkin and every time her daughter said it, Eva felt her love for both of them swell in her chest. She opened her arms and Sonia tottered forward and dug her head into her neck. She smelled of lemon soap and pine trees.

  “Of course not, sweetie. We’ll take good care of him. You sleep with him tonight and then when the car comes in the morning, he’ll sit beside us on the back seat all the way home.” Her daughter mumbled something. “What was that, my love?”

  “I don’t want to leave Daddy. Please can we go with him?”

  She wished they could, but they would be safer in Berlin. Or at least she hoped they would. The letters from her family and friends were growing increasingly dark. The bombing raids in Berlin, only bad news from Russia, the pathetic failure of the Führer’s allies. Her faith in Hitler remained pure, but even she was worried that the weight would be too much for any man to bear, even him.

  “Please? I shan’t make noise or bother him when he needs to work.”

  Eva squeezed her again. Markus had snapped at her the other day for interrupting him when he was reading reports at home, and she remembered it. Of course she did. Markus doted on her, and Eva couldn’t remember a time he had raised his voice to either of them before.

  “Darling girl, I promise you Daddy would love to have both of us with him all the time. You must believe that. He was very sorry he was cross. He said so, didn’t he?”

  She felt Sonia nod. Her daughter was holding on to her hard, and Eva shifted her position so she could lean against the trunk and stretch her legs out a little on the thick pale carpet. So French to have these pale carpets, so impractical.

  “That’s right! But your father is a very important man, and the Führer has asked him to do a very important job for him, so we must be brave and go home and wait for him until it is done.”

  “Indeed.”

  Eva looked up. Markus was leaning against the door, watching them. Sonia detached herself from Eva and ran toward him, dropping Pumpkin the rabbit and throwing her arms around his legs. He picked her up then put out his hand to help Eva to her feet. She would miss him terribly.

  “Can you have supper with us, Daddy?” Eva asked.

  He kissed her, then his daughter. “That is why I am here! I could not miss having supper with my wife and little girl before I go off to do the important job!” Sonia giggled. “And also I wanted to introduce you to a new friend. He’s going to go to Berlin with you to keep you company while I am gone.”

  He stepped back out into the hall and Eva followed. There was a cage by the door with a German shepherd puppy in it. It wagged its tail and yapped.

  Sonia struggled out of her father’s arms and launched herself forward, opening the cage door and receiving a liberator’s welcome from the puppy in the form of yaps, licks and more tail-wagging.

  Böhm put his arm around Eva’s waist as they watched.

  “Markus, really? A puppy? Now?”

  “He’s house-trained, I promise!” His face grew more serious. “He’s the pup of one of the guard dogs. Look after him. Teach him to distrust strangers.”

  She laid her cheek against his tunic, drew a long slow breath. “I shall, darling.”

  25

  Tardivat was silent as they walked, and Nancy was grateful for it. The climb was steep and the adrenaline which had powered her through the last few hours was fading. The ache in her head was making her sick and the bruising on her shoulders and side seemed to grow more painful with every step. She had already failed. Buckmaster had told her to turn Gaspard’s troops into a decent figh
ting force, and she’d walked out on them within twenty-four hours of dropping into France. She had one ally, won at the cost of a parachute, and God knew how long he was going to stay with her. What did she have to offer to this Fournier anyway? Some cash, true enough, but that was obviously as likely to get her killed as anything. Where the hell was Denden?

  They must have been walking for a couple of hours when Tardivat stopped and leaned against a low stone wall, overgrown with lichen.

  “We rest.”

  Stopping was almost worse, every muscle in her body shook.

  “I need my radio operator,” she said at last. “He was landed near Montluçon and was supposed to meet me at Gaspard’s camp.”

  Tardivat said nothing for a moment, then sniffed. “I can send a message in that direction. Tell him where we are going.”

  She looked at him sideways. She could just make out his profile in the darkness, but could not read his expression.

  “What do you mean, send a message?”

  “The Germans have few friends in these hills, and yes, Gaspard’s men are sloppy and careless, but because of what they do, the Germans keep to the main roads. Messages are passed in the same way they always have been round here, from one farm hand to another, between the women. They will already know you are here and why. We shall ask them to watch for a stranger and tell him which way to come.” He grinned. “Most of the gendarmes in the region would give him directions.”

  “Good.” She stood up, and her body swayed. Only Tardivat’s arm under her elbow stopping her falling entirely.

  “No more walking tonight,” he said firmly. “There is a cowshed over the next rise. We shall camp there tonight and I will send my message.”

  “I want to get to Fournier.”

  “Captain, it would be better, I think, if you met him when you are not about to collapse. First impressions, yes?”

  She held out her hand in front of her. Even in the pale shadows of the moon, she could see it shake. He was right.

  “Very well.”

  The cold when she woke up in the morning was sharp. She shrugged the blanket up over her shoulders for just one more second of warmth. It stank of smoke and animals. She opened her eyes. The building Tardivat had nominated for their camp last night was a low stone barn. Nancy rubbed her hands together under the blanket, and pins and needles shot up her arm. She thought of her bed in Marseille, the ironed linen sheets and silk pillows, the coffee and croissant waiting for her, Claudette twitching back the curtains and opening the shutters so the Mediterranean warmth and light could flood into the room. While Nancy drank her coffee, sitting up in bed, Claudette would draw her bath, ask about her plans for the day and for her instructions. Henri left every morning for the office before she even woke, but she would always put her hand into the hollow his body had left in the mattress, wishing him good morning.

  And now she was filthy, sore, in a cow barn and so bloody cold she’d have welcomed the cows back in just to warm the place up a bit. Tardivat appeared in the doorway, a bundle of firewood under his arm. She decided it was perfectly reasonable to pretend to be asleep until he got the fire going, then once it looked like it had caught she “woke up” with a theatrical yawn, took the red satin pillow out from under her head and dusted it off.

  Tardivat grinned. “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Good morning. Is there anything to eat? I could swallow that mutton slop Gaspard was eating last night now. I’m famished.”

  He sat cross-legged in front of the flames and opened his bag to reveal a half baguette and a wedge of deep gold Cantal cheese which smelled of summer meadows, and, god love him, two bottles of beer.

  “You owe me forty francs,” he said as she shuffled toward him and the fire on her bottom.

  “You’re kidding!”

  He shrugged, tore off a share of the bread and cut the cheese with his knife. “You want the right people to know a British agent with money is here and intends to pay for what she needs, overpaying for your breakfast is a good way to spread the news.”

  Reasonable point. Nancy didn’t reply until she had her share of the bread and cheese in her hand, and the bottle of beer propped up against her thigh.

  “You Maquis have no sense of security, do you?”

  He shrugged. “The people here won’t tell the Germans anything. If they did their animals might all suddenly get sick and die overnight.”

  Nancy tried to chew more slowly. The food was good and particularly welcome after the miserable day yesterday, and the freezing night. She felt like her old self was beginning to stretch and wake up inside her shabby shell.

  “You don’t know what they’re like,” she said at last. “They’ve left you alone up here until now, but I think that’s going to change. When they really get a grip on a place, the Germans go mad somehow. The farmers might stay quiet if they think they’re going to lose their cows, but they’ll start talking if someone puts a gun to their son’s head.”

  Tardivat paused in his chewing and stared at her, seeming to weigh her words.

  “I’m just saying, Tardi, be very, very careful what you tell folks from now on. If they don’t know where we are, or what we’re doing, they won’t have to lie when that happens.”

  He shrugged, but Nancy reckoned he’d taken the point.

  “Have you lived here all your life?” she asked, once the worst of her hunger and thirst was dealt with.

  “Most of it,” he said. “Apart from my time in the army. My father was a tailor in Aurillac; I learned my trade from him. My wife was born into a farming family and when we were first married we’d spend some weeks each year on their land. It is good land. Worth fighting for.”

  She watched him eat and realized she’d never enjoyed a lobster and champagne supper more than she was savoring this bread and cheese. But then it was a long time since she had been really, truly hungry. Perhaps she could fight for this France too, the France of Tardivat and his family, the farmers and villagers, as well as her France of sophistication and bright lights. Perhaps.

  The purr of a motorbike. Nancy pointed to the underbrush and Tardivat nodded; they skipped over the wall at the edge of the track and kept their heads down. Nancy shifted until she could see through the gap where it had crumbled a little. The thrum of the motor became a throb. It wasn’t until the bike had passed them that she stood up and whistled. The bike stopped and the man riding pillion turned round. Then he waved and hopped down from the seat.

  “Denden! My God, I’m glad to see you.”

  She chased up the path toward him.

  “Nancy! You look an absolute fright.”

  He flung his arms around her, and Nancy shut her eyes and squeezed him hard, drinking him in. He chuckled then pushed her away, holding her by her shoulders at arm’s length.

  “Now, who is that rather dashing man lurking in the hedgerows?”

  “His name is Tardivat. He found me in a tree.”

  “Obviously a lucky fellow, but tell me everything. All I know is that security here is an absolute joke. A peasant with a face like the arse end of a sheep flagged us down on the road, and said, calm as you like, that the other British agent is trekking up to the plateau to join Fournier. There I was with all my pass phrases and cover stories gaping at her like a trout pulled fresh from the stream.”

  She laughed. “I know, Buckmaster would shoot the lot of them. I’ll tell you everything. How did you manage to get a lift on a motorcycle?”

  The man on the motorbike had turned his machine round. He passed them with a curt nod to which Denden replied with a wave, and blew him a kiss. The rider frowned and accelerated away from them.

  “Oh bless his cotton socks, he’s gone shy,” Denden said. “Obviously I’ve been making friends, doing a rather better job of it than you by the looks of things.”

  Tardivat watched the motorbike retreat down the hill, then approached them. Nancy made the introductions.

  “Delighted, I’m sure. Now carry this, will y
ou?” Denden thrust a canvas bag, square-edged, into Tardivat’s chest, who held on to it with a look of skepticism and surprise. “It’s the almighty radio, Mr. Tardivat, and our lives depend on it, so be a love and don’t drop it. Now lead on, and Nancy and I will trot along behind you and have a bit of a catch-up.”

  26

  The miserable camp on the edge of the plateau made Gaspard’s shit-covered field look like a paradise, but Nancy had been here ten minutes and no one had knocked her over the head yet, so on that score at least things were improving.

  Tardivat beckoned them over to a lank-limbed man in his forties with a heavy brow and a rifle over his shoulder. Fournier. Nancy had counted thirty men with them and spotted two barrack buildings hidden under the trees and well covered in foliage. An enemy plane could buzz over at a hundred feet and not spot them. That was an improvement too.

  “When’s the next London transmission?” she muttered out of the side of her mouth.

  “Ten minutes, ducks, but there won’t be anything for us on it! We’ll have to tell them we haven’t been eaten by wolves before they’ll send us anything. Not to mention they’ll need coordinates for a drop site. They won’t be listening for my signal until tomorrow at three.”

  “Can you get the radio together in ten minutes? I want to make a point.”

  He looked at her then sighed. “It’ll be ready and buffed to a shine.”

  Nancy went forward and put out her hand to Fournier with a smile. He shook it, but did not smile back.

  “I’m Captain Nancy Wake,” she said. “And London wants me to give all the weapons I can to Gaspard and his men. But Gaspard and I did not get on. Would you like them instead?”

  He looked her up and down, a cool assessing look. “Perhaps. What have you got to offer, Captain Wake?” He stressed her rank, making it sound as contemptuous an insult as anything she’d heard at Gaspard’s camp. She had a sudden picture of herself trekking around the Auvergne until hell froze over, looking for a group of fighting men who could get over themselves long enough to take what she was offering with a polite “thank you.”