In Love and War (21 page)

Louise stared at the packet and shook her head. ‘You must dispose of those immediately. French cigarettes have been unobtainable since the start of the war. It's small details like that which would give you away immediately.' She held out her hand. ‘Give them to me and I'll dispose of them.'

Marianne handed them over and closed her bag with a sigh. ‘It seems such a waste. Surely we are safe within these walls?'

‘I do not allow smoking on the premises. It's a bad example to the girls.'

‘When will we start our duties, mademoiselle?' Elsie shot a warning glance at Marianne, who looked as though she was about to protest.

‘You will be my guests tonight. After dinner we will talk, and I will tell you everything you need to know. Tomorrow you will assume your new identities and you will travel to your posting.'

‘Where, I suppose, we will be met by yet another agent,' Marianne said impatiently.

Louise shook her head. ‘Not this time. When you leave here you are on your own. You will be agents of La Dame Blanche, and many lives will depend upon the information you gather. Belgium may have been overrun by the Germans, but we are fighting back in the only way left open to us.' She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a packet of cigarettes, tossing it to Marianne who caught it deftly in one hand. ‘My sister also smokes, although she thinks she does it in secret when she takes a walk in the garden after dinner each evening.'

‘Thank you, mademoiselle,' Marianne said with feeling. ‘You've saved my life.'

A faint smile curved Louise's lips. ‘Don't let the girls see you.'

IN THEIR NEW
identities as sisters, Lotte and Anouk Peeters, Elsie and Marianne arrived at their destination next day. They had been fully briefed by Louise and had memorised their parts as if rehearsing a play, repeating their new names again and again and testing each other on their combined past.

‘Our parents are dead,' Elsie murmured as they alighted onto the platform of a small station between Audenarde and Courtrai. ‘We have come to stay with Aunt Valentine who lives in the Merchant's House on the edge of the village. We used to spend our holidays there when we were children.'

‘And we've been working as typists in Brussels, but our aunt is unwell and we have given up our jobs to look after her,' Marianne added, grinning.

‘If we keep repeating the story we might come to believe it.' Elsie noted the deserted platform and sighed. ‘It doesn't seem to be very busy here. I can't imagine that we'll have much to do.'

‘I hope it's not going to prove deadly dull.' Marianne shifted her suitcase from one hand to the other. ‘Let's go and find the Merchant's House and introduce ourselves to our ailing aunt.'

‘I hope she's got something for supper,' Elsie said wearily.

Marianne took a scrap of paper from her pocket and studied it. ‘According to Louise we turn left when we leave the station. The Merchant's House is a little way down the street. It shouldn't be too hard to find.'

‘I'm tired and hungry, and I didn't sleep very well last night.' Elsie set off towards the exit with a purposeful step. ‘The sooner we get started, the better.' Outside the station she turned left, and found herself facing a terrace of tall, narrow town houses, huddled together as if forming an alliance against the smaller, whitewashed cottages in the village. These modest dwellings seemed to have been tossed at random on either side of a lane, at the end of which Elsie could just make out the shape of barges moored alongside a landing stage and a shimmer of water from the river beyond.

‘Don't dawdle, Lotte,' Marianne said impatiently. ‘That must be the Merchant's House.' She pointed to a building that might have been plucked from a street in Brussels and deposited in a prominent position at the end of the terrace. The five-storey house was twice the size of any of its neighbours, and the traditional stepped gables were decorated with ornate pinnacles. ‘Obviously the wool merchant made a lot of money and he wanted to show off,' Elsie said, grinning. ‘Aunt Valentine must be filthy rich.'

‘We'll soon find out.' Marianne linked arms with her and started walking. ‘Best foot forward.'

‘Where is everyone?' Elsie murmured as they crossed the deserted street. ‘Has the village been evacuated?'

‘They're probably having their evening meal,' Marianne said, glancing over her shoulder. ‘But I must admit it's a bit strange.'

Elsie was apprehensive. What, she wondered, have we let ourselves in for? Working in the comparative safety of the rue Saint-Roch was one thing, but they were now in occupied Belgium, and about to step into the unknown. Marianne did not seem to be troubled by doubts as she hammered on the heavy oak door. ‘That should raise the ghosts of the past,' she said, chuckling.

Moments later the door was opened by a thin woman who might have been any age from forty to sixty. Her greying hair was scraped back into a tight bun, emphasising her sculpted features and high cheekbones. She wore the unrelenting black of widowhood with an air of understated elegance, and was obviously someone to be reckoned with. ‘Welcome to my home. Come in.' She stood aside to allow them to enter, closing the door as soon as they were safely inside the echoing entrance hall. ‘I am Valentine Peeters. Which of you is Anouk?'

Marianne stepped forward. ‘I am.'

Valentine turned her attention to Elsie. ‘And therefore you must be Lotte.'

‘Yes, madame.'

A glimmer of a smile lit Valentine's pale blue eyes. ‘You must call me Aunt Valentine, even when we are alone. It must become a habit so that you don't give yourselves away in front of those who are less understanding of our cause.'

‘Of course,' Elsie said hastily. ‘I'm sorry, Aunt Valentine.'

‘Leave your cases. Hendrick will take them to your room.'

‘Hendrick?' Marianne raised her eyebrows. ‘We understood you lived alone.'

‘Hendrick has been with me for many years. You might say I inherited him with the house, and I trust him implicitly.' Valentine moved across the black and white tiled floor with the grace of a prima ballerina. ‘Come into the dining room. I'm afraid I can't offer you the hospitality we were used to, but we will not starve while there are eels in the river.'

‘Eels,' Marianne whispered as she followed Elsie and their hostess into the room. ‘I don't think I'm that hungry.'

‘I am,' Elsie said stoutly. She took her seat at a carved oak table that would have seated at least ten people. The wainscoted walls and beamed ceiling might give the impression of cosiness in winter, but despite their size the windows allowed in only the minimum of light, creating an atmosphere that reminded Elsie forcibly of paintings by Dutch masters. She was not particularly interested in art, but Guy had once taken her to the National Gallery where she had seen works by Vermeer and Jan Steen.

She shifted to a more comfortable position on the hard wooden seat and waited while Valentine and Marianne settled in their places. The only food in sight was a platter of coarse rye bread and a bowl of wrinkly apples which must have been stored since the last harvest. At first she thought that must be their supper, but after a moment the sound of heavy footsteps was followed by the creaking of the door and an elderly man shuffled in with a large tureen clutched in his gnarled hands. He placed it on the table in front of Valentine. She lifted the lid and sniffed appreciatively. ‘This smells wonderful, Hendrick.'

‘It should be,' he said gruffly. ‘It took me long enough to skin the slippery little devils.'

‘Waterzooi,' Valentine said, dipping a ladle into the aromatic fish stew. ‘Hendrick is a master chef when it comes to making this dish.'

He muttered something under his breath, glaring at Elsie beneath shaggy grey eyebrows. ‘Who are you, young lady?'

She half rose in her seat in deference to his age. ‘I am Lotte Peeters.'

He snorted derisively. ‘You are not one of the family. I may be old but I am not a fool.'

Valentine laid her hand on his arm. ‘I told you about these young ladies. Have you forgotten already?'

He shook his head and his grey mane wafted around his face like a dandelion clock. ‘I am not senile, madame. I know why they are here, but they are not family.'

‘No, Hendrick,' Valentine said gently. ‘They are not, but they will become part of our little family, and they will take over the work that Jens and Yannick did so well.'

‘They will not replace your sons, madame. They are just girls.'

‘I was just a girl when I came here,' Valentine said, smiling. ‘You were a great help to me then, Hendrick. I expect nothing less from the brave English girls who have come such a long way to help us win the war.'

Hendrick grunted. ‘I suppose so. But they don't know our ways.'

‘We will soon learn,' Elsie said firmly. ‘But we will need all the help you can give us.'

‘May I have some of the delicious-smelling stew?' Marianne gave Hendrick one of her most charming smiles. ‘I can't wait to taste it.'

Valentine ladled a generous helping into a bowl and passed it to Marianne. ‘Help yourself to bread.' She filled another dish, handing it to Elsie. ‘This is the best waterzooi in the whole of Flanders.'

‘You won't get better anywhere else.' Hendrick watched them closely as they raised their spoons to their lips.

Elsie swallowed a mouthful and nodded. ‘Yes, it's very good indeed. Delicious.'

‘Well?' Hendrick stared hard at Marianne.

She nodded her head. ‘What else can I say? I've never tasted anything like it.'

‘Thank you, Hendrick. That will be all for now.' Valentine sent him off with a wave of her hand and a sympathetic smile. She waited until the door closed behind him. ‘He's very loyal, and he was extremely upset when my sons left for England.'

‘When was that?' Marianne said, frowning. ‘How did they escape?'

‘My boys left before the German invasion. They were only sixteen and fourteen, but I sent them to England. I haven't had word from them for two years, so I can only hope they are safe.'

‘Hendrick seemed to think they had just left.' Elsie exchanged puzzled glances with Marianne, but Valentine seemed unperturbed.

‘Hendrick gets a bit muddled at times, but he loved the boys as if they were his own. He was like a second father to them after my husband died.' Valentine dipped a chunk of bread into her soup. ‘Hendrick's memory isn't what it used to be, which is why I asked Louise to send me someone younger to help watch the trains. I'm finding it hard to keep awake at night, and the poor fellow was always falling asleep even in the daytime. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you have come here to help us.'

‘When do we start?' Elsie said, swallowing a mouthful of the stewed eel, which she found surprisingly tasty.

‘Tonight, if you feel up to it? As there are two of you I suggest you take it in turns to do the night duty. It can get very tedious and sometimes it's difficult to keep awake.'

‘I'll volunteer for the first watch then,' Marianne said cheerfully. ‘I'm a night owl, aren't I, Elsie? I mean, Lotte.'

Valentine's winged eyebrows drew together in a frown. ‘You must never slip out of character, not even in the house. You must eat, sleep and think like Anouk and Lotte Peeters. After supper I will show you family photographs and from now on they will be as real to you as those back home.'

Elsie nodded silently, but Valentine's words had struck a chord. Henri still haunted her dreams, but her memories of their brief moments together were fading fast. His features had become blurred, and she was afraid she might be forgetting him. Sometimes she wondered if her feelings for him were real or imagined. It shocked her to realise that it was easier to remember Guy, and the good times they had shared. She knew that she had taken him for granted, but she remembered the many kindnesses he had shown her and others, and she missed his wry humour. Henri had thrilled her and made her pulses race, but Guy had made her laugh.

‘Lotte?' Valentine's voice shattered Elsie's reverie and she came back to earth with a jolt.

‘I'm sorry, Aunt Valentine. What did you say?'

‘I was telling you both that you must remember that we are an occupied country. The Germans are everywhere, and although we don't see very much of them in the village that doesn't mean that we can act and do as we please. If anyone is suspected of spying they're arrested and imprisoned; many have been executed by firing squads.'

‘We will be careful,' Marianne said hastily. ‘We've been trained well, and we won't make stupid mistakes.'

Valentine turned her head to give Elsie a searching look. ‘You do understand, don't you?'

‘Yes, of course.' Elsie nodded emphatically. ‘Might I have a little more stew?'

After supper Valentine showed them up to the fourth floor. She paused at the foot of a narrow staircase. ‘The top floor is where the servants were housed in the old days. Hendrick used to sleep there but he finds the stairs a bit of a trial, and he has a room on the ground floor close to the kitchen.' She walked on. ‘These two rooms at the front of the house are yours. They overlook the station and the railway sidings, giving you an excellent view of the troop trains. They stop here to take on water, giving you time to make a note of the numbers of soldiers, horses and cannons on board. The code we use is quite simple. The soldiers are dried peas, the horses are potatoes and guns are cabbages. You will find pen and ink in your rooms and you make the lists on tissue paper.'

‘What happens to them then?' Elsie asked.

‘They are rolled up and inserted into hollowed-out broom handles, and once a week Hendrick takes them to the agent. You don't need to know any more than that.' Valentine opened the first door. ‘You may choose which room you prefer. The bathroom is at the end of the passage.' A smile curved her thin lips. ‘Don't look so surprised, Lotte. My late husband was very particular about keeping up to date with things like indoor plumbing. We are one of the few houses in the village to have hot and cold running water. It is one luxury that so far has not been taken away from us. Now, I'll say goodnight and leave you to settle in.' She walked slowly towards the staircase.