Full Circle (17 page)

There was Molly’s brother John who was ten and Charles who was eleven. They were great friends and often disappeared together for hours on end. They made planes out of bits of wood and fought epic battles in the garden. The other three children were little girls. Harriett and Helen were sisters and their cousin Margo was there as well. Harriet and Margo were seven and Helen nine. They had three dolls between them and seemed to host endless tea parties and balls in the dining room using Mrs. Stone’s best china when she wasn’t looking.

Lily frequently took them on little day trips to the beach and on walks around town. Mrs. Stone was only too happy to pack them a picnic lunch and send them on their way not to be seen again until tea time. When Lily was surrounded by their sweet, smiling faces she forgot her own problems for a time and was happy to bring some joy to these children who sorely needed it after their ordeal. She even tried to teach them some tunes. She loved listening to their voices raised in song. It made her forget that the world was at war and her husband was gone, possibly forever. She tried not to think of Ian because all she could see every time she closed her eyes was his burnt, blackened face.

Lily did not see the children on Sundays. They went to the service with Mrs. Stone and then back to the Rectory for Sunday lunch. After lunch Mrs. Stone cleared the table, while the Rector told the children Bible stories in the study. Lulled by the sound of his voice and a pleasant fullness in their bellies, more than half the audience usually fell up asleep after about an hour, including the Rector himself. Lily had all this on good authority from Molly.

It wasn’t until June that Dr. Attal finally gave Nick a clean bill of health. He had been in the cellar since the end of February and the four months he spent in darkness felt more like four years. Nick hadn’t lost too much weight thanks to Juliette’s cooking, but he knew he looked pale and sickly after being underground for so long. Jean had already worked out a plan of escape with a contact from the Resistance and now just had to put the plan into action. Everything depended on German activity in the area and the escape could be scheduled for the following day or next month. Nick had no way of knowing. He just had to wait and hope that the plan would succeed. He had one chance to get out. If he got caught, his chances of survival would be pretty slim, as well as of the people helping him.

A week later Jean got the go ahead from his contact and the preparation began. Nick was given a haircut by Juliette and outfitted with a pair of brown corduroy pants and a plaid shirt. A tweed cap completed the outfit. Jean advised him not to shave for a few days, since a beard was always a useful disguise. Finally, the day had arrived and Nick spent the afternoon pacing around the cellar waiting for the appointed hour. His leg had healed considerably and he had been taking walks around the cellar several times a day. He still had a slight limp, but the true test would be climbing the ladder out of the cellar. Jean would deliver him to the contact after midnight, so Nick had to be patient and not let his anxiety take over. That night, Juliette and Jean came down to the cellar to eat with Nick. It was their last night together and they wanted a proper goodbye. Nick and Jean each had one glass of wine, so as not to cloud their responses and they drank to Nick’s safe return to England and the safety of the mission.

Nick tried to get a little sleep after dinner since he had a few hours to kill, but sleep wouldn’t come and he tossed and turned until he finally heard the trap door opening and Jean unlocking the door to his cell. Nick took one last look at his sanctuary and followed Jean out the door. The ladder was a challenge, but he made it up and stepped into the dark living room. He didn’t have much time to look around. Juliette came out of the kitchen to see them off and she hugged Nick and kissed him on both cheeks wishing him a safe trip and then went upstairs to try and sleep. Jean stepped outside, listening for a moment before beckoning Nick to follow him out of the cottage.

Nick took a deep breath of the aromatic June air as he stepped through the door. He had not been outside since February and the sweet smell of the night air filled his lungs and nearly made him dizzy. Their shoes made no sound on the packed earth as the two men walked around the back of the house and headed for the woods. Jean carried no torch and they walked by the light of the moon, keeping in the shadows and walking through trees when possible. Nick heard an owl hoot and followed Jean silently through the trees. It got much darker once they got deeper into the woods, but Jean just kept walking ahead. He was intimately familiar with the forest and didn’t need any help finding his way to the rendezvous point. They did not speak.

Jean told Nick earlier that they would be meeting Philippe, who would take Nick with him to Montivilliers. If they got stopped, Philippe would tell the Germans that Nick was his mute brother helping him get produce to the market. It would be imperative for Nick not to speak since his accent would give him away immediately. The two men reached the designated spot and settled in to wait for Phillipe. He appeared out of the darkness a few minutes later and Nick thanked Jean and said his farewell, as Jean gave him a bear hug and made a sign of the cross over him. “Good luck, Nicholas. Maybe after the war, you let us know how you are. You know the address. We’ll pray for you.” With that he melted into the woods leaving Nick alone with his new-found brother. Philippe was a thick-set man with a barrel chest and bushy eyebrows. Nick was surprised when this dour looking man all of a sudden gave him a big smile. “Hello, my English brother. Do you have any last words before you become “mute”?” he chuckled.

“Just thank you for helping me”.

“You can thank me by keeping a low profile and not provoking any unnecessary attention. With luck, we shall be at our destination in three hours and I will be able to take you to the next safe house.” They walked through the woods until they reached a truck parked by a darkened farmhouse and loaded with sacks of vegetables. They would need to be in the city by dawn, so setting out in the middle of the night wouldn’t be too suspicious to a German patrol. Philippe climbed into the truck and Nick got in on the passenger side, accepting a cigarette from his “brother”. He hadn’t been allowed to smoke in the cellar, so he enjoyed his fag as much as a thirsty man in the dessert enjoys a cup of water. He blew the smoke out enjoying the fresh air blowing into his face from the open window and reflected on how much he took for granted before the war.

As the sun began to come up they passed several German vehicles on the road and Nick did his best to look nonchalant. His heart has hammering in his chest, this being the first time he actually came face to face with the enemy. He was unarmed and could barely speak French, so if stopped and questioned, he would be doomed along with Philippe. Philippe behaved with great confidence. He drove with one hand, hummed French songs and puffed on the cigarette dangling out of the side of his mouth. He gave a friendly wave to the passing Germans and they waved back laughing and calling out a greeting in return.

Nick tried to stay calm by looking out at the beautiful countryside outside his window. Everything seemed so green and bright after months of living underground. He was thankful for the cap Jean had given him, since his eyes were unused to the sun and he felt blinded.

They reached the town by 6am and set up the stall in the market square. Other merchants were also setting up and the market was filling up with people and various appetizing smells that made Nick’s mouth water. A few stalls away from them a heavyset woman was arranging freshly baked croissants and he could smell bacon frying not too far away. Philippe brought a thermos full of black coffee from the truck and bought some croissants from the woman before coming back to the stall and offering Nick some breakfast. It might be a long day and everything was better on a full belly. By 7am the first customers began to arrive and Philippe haggled with relish finally giving in and agreeing to the price of the penny-pinching housewives.

Many people stopped by their stall until eventually; a pretty young woman came by with a basket. She was blond and petite and had an impish smile. She argued about the price, but eventually bought a whole sack of potatoes and asked that Nick help her carry them. She stopped several times to say hello to various people and seemed in no rush to get to her destination. They took one winding street after another
until she finally walked into a
small
café. She motioned
Nick
to follow her into the kitchen
and he
set the sack
down watching her disappear down a
narrow flight of stairs into the basement. She went to the furthest wall and moved an old, cracked mirror with a thick, gilded frame that seemed to have come from the dining room upstairs. Behind the mirror was a small door which she opened and walked through expecting Nick to follow. Another cellar, another door. Nick hoped they wouldn’t expect him to stay there too long.

The young woman turned around and faced him across the dusty cellar. She was no older than eighteen and looked at Nick with open interest.

“Bon jour. I am Monique. I am to hide you until I get the word that you are to be moved again. No one knows you are here except for my father who owns the café. Please stay quiet and still. I will bring you food and something to read in a little while. I have several books in English that you might want to read to pass the time. Do enjoy your stay at
“
Chez Monique
”,
” she said with a flirtatious smile as she closed the door behind her.

The cellar had small windows set high in the wall that opened into an enclosed courtyard behind the building. Nick could see out if he stood on a crate, but he wasn’t allowed to be seen, so he sat down and settled in to wait for Monique. The room had a few broken chairs and bench. There was an old painting of a dancing woman, but her face was lost in shadow. Monique returned in about an hour with some wine, pate and a couple of fresh baguettes. She also brought a copy of Hemingway’s “For whom the bell tolls” in English and some Moliere in French. Nick couldn’t read the Moliere, but the Hemingway would do nicely. He was grateful for something to occupy his mind while waiting for the next step. Nick ate his lunch and read the novel until the light began to fade and he could no longer make out the words on the page. There was some light filtering into the cellar from outside, but otherwise he had to remain in the darkness. He heard the sounds of people talking and laughing upstairs and the smells from the kitchen drifted down to remind him that it was time for supper.

Long after the café closed for the night and the sound of activity seems to cease in the kitchen Monique’s father came to the secret room. He was a relatively young man, probably in his early forties
,
although he was almost completely bald.

“My name is Charles
.
That’s all you need to know. We have advised our English contacts that you are here. We are expecting a shipment of arms from the British on Wednesday night. If all is clear and we think it safe, the plane will land in the field and take you back to England. If there is any doubt, we will signal the plane not to land and wait for another opportunity. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Monique will bring you some food tomorrow. Now try to get some rest and leave the rest up to us. With luck, you will be gone soon”. He handed Nick a blanket and walked out of the little door.

Wednesday felt like the longest day of Nick’s life, but finally the light began to fade and Monique came down to bring him some food and tell him when to be ready. The door opened just before midnight and Nick was taken through the basement, up the stairs and through a side door into a dark alley. Charles motioned him towards an old bicycle propped up against the wall and Nick followed him out of town down a rutted track through the woods. His knee was stiff and beginning to ache, but he gritted his teeth and tried to keep up with his guide. It was a very dark, moonless night and Charles had only a small flashlight to see where they were going. He probably knew these woods like the back of his hand anyway, so he didn’t need much light. There were several other people waiting for them at the edge of a large clearing. They all shook Nick’s hand, but no one introduced themselves. Names were dangerous.

Nick offered up a silent prayer as he heard the rumble of a plane engine in the distance. “Please, dear Lord, let me get on this plane tonight.” As the plane got close enough to identify, Charles signaled with his flashlight and the plane began its descent. Several sacks and boxes were thrown out of the craft before it even came to a complete stop and the other resistance fighters ran into the cleaning to pick them up. They melted into the woods as soon as they got their prize. The plane came to a stop, but did not turn off the engine.