Operation Kingfisher (27 page)

He took out two photographs and handed them to her. In the first, she saw a pretty, fair-haired woman with a small girl on her knee; in the second picture the child was alone, squinting at the
camera and waving. Christine turned the photographs over, but there was nothing written on the back.

‘My wife, Susan,’ he said. ‘And that’s our daughter, Caroline. She was four last month.’

For a moment, Christine was unable to speak. She cleared her throat but her voice came out as a whisper. ‘I didn’t know you were married.’

‘No. As I said, we’re not supposed to talk about our private lives. The idea is, we should be so immersed in our cover story that we almost become different people; but it doesn’t work like that. Not for me, anyway.’

‘You miss them?’

‘Very much. Caroline was only three when I last saw her, and they change so quickly at that age.’

She handed the pictures back and muttered gruffly, ‘Thanks. Thanks for showing me.’

‘I wanted you to know,’ he said quietly.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then he reached over and took her hand. ‘You OK?’

‘Yes, ’course. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I think you and Luke should be thinking about going on with your journey, if it can be managed. You’ve both done excellent work here but you could be so much more useful back in England. I don’t believe there is much chance of the war being over quickly and there is a lot you could do to help the war effort – both of you.’

‘In a munitions factory,’ she said bitterly.

‘No. You haven’t forgotten that address I gave you, have you?’

‘No.’

‘Believe me, you would be welcomed with open arms there. I’ll make sure they know what you’ve done out here. And you would get so much out of it, too. New skills to learn, new people to meet. There’s a big, exciting world out there, Chris, full of new experiences and new challenges. You would have such a lot to look forward to.’

She looked at him for a moment, a look that pierced his heart; then she stood up.

‘I’d better get back. It’ll be curfew soon.’

He walked to the door with her.

‘Ride carefully. You know I worry about you. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.’

She lowered her head and pulled the heavy door open.

‘’Night, Cyrano.’

He would have been horrified if he could have watched her riding back to the hotel. Blinded by unshed tears, she raced through the darkening lanes, heedless of traffic or possible German checkpoints. Reaching the hotel unscathed, she locked herself in her room and when Jeanette called her to start work in the dining room, she shouted back that she was unwell and could not come.

Three days later the newly installed telephone rang in the command hut at the
Maquis Xavier.
Cyrano, who was busy encoding a message, answered it.

‘It’s me, Pierre. I’ve got a message for those two youngsters I sent up to you, back in April.’

C
hristine continued to check the messages in the tobacco tin in the ruined cottage and leave the dated slip of paper that assured Cyrano she was still safe. She knew that failure to do so would precipitate a chain of events whose outcome she could not predict.

There were no missions for her, and she spent her days aimlessly cycling round the lanes. Twice she was stopped by German patrols and when asked where she was going she shrugged and muttered, ‘Just out for a ride,’ and they let her go. Then one morning there was a note in the tobacco tin:

‘
Time to come home. Pack your things. I’ll pick you up at twelve
.’

She went back to the hotel in a mutinous mood. She felt that she was being removed from her post, that she had been judged too immature, too emotional for the job. It seemed like the ultimate failure. When she told Mme Bolu and Jeanette that she was leaving, they wanted to know why, and she could give them no explanation.

Jeanette hugged her. ‘I’ll miss you so much! It’s been like having a sister.’

‘I’ll miss you, too,’ she replied and realized to her surprise that she meant it.

‘Perhaps it is only temporary,’ Madame said. ‘You will be welcome to come back, at any time.’

At twelve she was waiting, with her few belongings packed into the old rucksack. Cyrano drove up and tied her bicycle onto the
roof of the old Citroën. She thanked Madame for her hospitality, kissed Jeanette and got into the car.

‘Don’t look like that,’ Cyrano said. ‘You’re not in trouble or anything. It’s good news.’

At the camp she found Luke waiting. His arm was in a sling and there was still the faint remains of bruising round his eyes, but otherwise he looked his old self. He put his good arm round her and gave her a hug.

‘How are you, Sis?’

‘I’m OK. You look better.’

‘Yes, good as new – well, almost.’ He studied her face and noted that it was bare of make-up and her hair was dragged back into a plait.

‘How long have you been out of hospital?’

‘Only since yesterday. Gregoire wants to see us for some reason. Come on, we’d better not keep him waiting.’

Gregoire was sitting behind the table in the command hut with Xavier. Cyrano followed them in, and took his place beside the others.

‘Sit down, both of you,’ Gregoire said. ‘Don’t look so worried. You’re not in trouble. There’s been a development. We had a message via Pierre at the pharmacy from your friend Rollo.’

‘Rollo!’ Luke said. ‘Rollo was in Corbigny?’

‘No, I think it was a written note, delivered by a third party. But this is the gist of it. The
Madeleine
– that’s his father’s boat, isn’t it? – is en route to Longvie. That’s just east of Dijon. There’s a big airfield there, so I guess they are delivering supplies of some sort. If you can meet them there, they think they may be able to get you to Montbéliard.’ He paused and looked from one to the other. ‘It’s risky. There is bound to be tight security around the airfield, but we think you should take the opportunity while it’s offered. You have both become very valuable members of the
Maquis
over the last few months and we shall be sorry to lose you, but I don’t have the right to keep you here. Your parents expect you to go back to England and it’s right
that we should do all we can to make that possible. Do you agree?’

Luke looked at his sister. Her face was pale and set and her eyes were fixed on the ground. He thought he had never seen her so downcast and it hurt him to know that he was in part responsible. Cyrano had not told him what had passed between them, except to say ‘I think Christine understands the situation now.’ It had to be done, he told himself, and now it was up to him to try to heal the wound. Left to himself, he would have been happy to throw in his lot with the
Maquis
for the duration of the war, but he knew that would be irresponsible.

‘I think Gregoire’s right, Chris,’ he said. ‘We should go.’

She lifted her eyes and shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

‘How do we get to Longvie?’ he asked. ‘Do we cycle?’

‘I think we can do better for you than that, after all you’ve done,’ Gregoire said. ‘I’ve had a word with some of my contacts in the other
Maquis
and they’ve agreed to help out. Be ready tomorrow morning and you should be there by the evening.’

At first light, Luke shouldered his rucksack and let himself out of the log cabin that served as dormitory for himself and half a dozen men of the
Maquis
. The morning was damp, with low cloud hanging in the tops of the trees, and as he walked across the clearing, something crunched under his boot. Looking down, he saw it was a freshly fallen sweet chestnut, the prickly green case broken open to show the nut inside. He stooped and picked it up as a kind of talisman.

Cyrano joined him, looking strained, and soon the other members of the
Maquis
tumbled out of their huts and came to say goodbye. Fat Jacques brought him a mug of coffee and pressed a loaf of bread and some goat’s cheese into his hand.

‘Where’s Christine?’ Cyrano asked.

‘Here she comes,’ Luke said, seeing her approaching from the direction of the spring. She had discarded her skirt and was wearing a pair of corduroy trousers that must have been borrowed
from one of the smaller men. Even so, she had had to cinch them in with a belt and turn up the bottoms. The baggy sweater she had been given by Marie at the beginning of their journey completed the outfit. Luke’s heart gave a lurch at the sight of her, remembering the pretty, smiling girl who had come to visit him in hospital.

Cyrano said, ‘Give us a few minutes, Luke.’ He touched Christine on the arm and drew her aside a short distance.

They looked at each other.

He said quietly, ‘Christine, I think I have hurt you. I didn’t mean to and I’m very, very sorry. I hope you know I never intended anything of the sort.’

She looked into his eyes. ‘I know. I was being silly. I see that now. You mustn’t blame yourself.’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m very, very fond of you. You know that. But I love you like a sister, like Luke does. I hope, when the war is over, if … if I’m still around … that we can be friends.’

‘I should like that,’ she answered huskily. ‘Very much.’

‘Good. Now, you haven’t forgotten that address I gave you?’

‘64 Baker Street and ask for Mrs Bingham,’ she repeated.

‘And tell her that you know Morse and can use a Morse key,’ he said.

She managed a smile. ‘I’ll tell her.’

He reached into his pocket. ‘There’s something I should like you to have. A little keepsake. Here.’ It was a gold signet ring. ‘It’s French, so it won’t compromise you if you should happen to be searched. That’s why I was allowed to bring it with me. It was given to me by my professor when I left the Conservatoire.’

‘But it must be precious to you,’ she protested. ‘I can’t take it.’

‘Yes, you can. I never wear it. I’d like you to have it.’

‘If you’re sure….’

‘I’m sure.’ He put the ring into her hand and closed her fingers over it.

The Mercedes drove into the compound with Gregoire at the
wheel and his two bodyguards riding pillion as usual. It was followed by a jeep containing four men, and with a Bren gun mounted at the rear.

‘Come on,’ Gregoire called. ‘Time to get going.’

Cyrano took hold of Christine’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘
Au revoir, chérie
. We’ll meet again when all this is over.’

Tears were choking her but she managed to whisper, ‘Goodbye, dear Cyrano.’ Then as a sudden thought struck her. ‘I shan’t know how to find you. I don’t even know your real name.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Phyllis Bingham will know how to contact me. Off you go, now. Good luck.’

The men gathered round them. Xavier kissed them both on both cheeks; the others shook their hands and slapped Luke on the back. Cyrano took him by the shoulders.

‘I think we’re both French enough to do this, don’t you?’ he said, and embraced him.

Amid a chorus of ‘
Au revoir, bonne chance
!’ they climbed into the back of the Mercedes. One of the bodyguards squeezed in beside them and the other got into the front beside Gregoire. With the jeep going ahead, they bounced down the rough track leading to the road. Luke twisted in his seat, waving until the last minute; but Christine kept her eyes down, gripping the signet ring so tightly that it left an imprint on her palm.

They drove east, across country, keeping to the minor roads. Whenever they had to cross a major route, Gregoire ordered them to stop and wait, while he went forward with one of his men to check the area for German roadblocks. Once, a convoy of enemy vehicles passed within forty metres of the junction where they were standing, but paid no attention to them.

As they approached Saumur, they were waved down by a girl on a bicycle. After a brief exchange of passwords with Gregoire, she led them by back roads around the town, where a German garrison had taken up residence. At Pouilly, they crossed the main road leading south to Chalon then, as they entered the forest above the
valley of the Ouche, they were brought to an abrupt standstill by a barrier of tree trunks, and saw that they were being covered by a dozen automatic weapons. Gregoire got out and three men, all heavily armed, appeared from the trees beside the road. Gregoire conferred briefly with the leader, a tall man with a heavy dark beard, and then he opened the rear door of the Mercedes.

‘This is where we part company, I’m afraid. From here, you will be the responsibility of the
Maquis Valmy
. This is Renard, the leader. He will see you safely to Longvie.’

They climbed out and shook hands with the tall man, and then there was only time for brief handclasps with Gregoire and mutual wishes of ‘
Bonne chance
!’ before they were led away round the barrier. There, a pick-up truck was waiting with six men carrying Schmeisser automatics in the back.

Renard indicated that they should get into the cab and climbed in behind the wheel. By contrast with Gregoire’s cautious approach, it seemed he preferred to rely on speed and the element of surprise and they careered along the forest tracks and down into the Côte d’Or, catching glimpses of signposts to towns whose names had been a familiar background to their childhoods; Clos de Vougeot; Nuits St Georges; Aloxe Corton.

Crossing the main road from Dijon to Beaune, they almost ran into another German convoy, but Renard put his foot down and roared across the path of the leading vehicle, while his men jeered and shouted obscenities at its occupants. Apparently, the convoy’s escort had more important things to do than pursue a solitary maverick, and no one followed them as they plunged into the woods again.

It was almost sunset when they reached their destination. In the village of Ouges, on the banks of the Canal de Bourgogne, Renard stopped the truck.

‘The airfield is on the other side of the canal. The basin where the barges unload is about half a kilometre north of here, but the
Boche
probably patrol the towpath. Wait until dark, and then go carefully. Good luck!’

They were hardly out of the cab, before he was reversing to turn around and a minute later he and his men had disappeared in the direction from which they had come.

‘Well, he wasn’t going to hang about, was he,’ Luke remarked.

Christine shrugged. ‘Let’s hope Rollo and his father are here somewhere. Otherwise we’re on our own.’

Luke picked up his rucksack. ‘It’ll look suspicious if we hang about here. We’d better find somewhere to hide out until dark.’

They took refuge in the church porch and ate the last of their provisions, watching the darkness draw in. It was a damp night and mist lay low over the canal.

‘We’re in luck,’ Luke murmured as they set off. ‘There’s less chance of being spotted.’

On the far side of the canal, they could just make out the high fence surrounding the airfield but the towpath seemed deserted, until Luke came to a sudden halt.

‘Down here!’ he whispered, dragging his sister into the ditch that ran alongside the path.

They were just in time. Two German guards passed within a few feet of them, talking together in low voices. When they were well away, Luke straightened up and pulled Christine with him. ‘Come on. It can’t be far now.’

A few minutes later, they came to the point where the path skirted a wide basin. Several barges were moored there and they crept from one to another, searching for the
Madeleine
.

‘Here she is!’ Christine whispered. ‘Thank heaven!’

She stepped aboard and tapped softly at the door of the cabin. For a moment, there was no response, then the door opened and Rollo stood outlined against the light from inside.

‘It’s you! You made it!
Salut
! It’s good to see you. Come in! Quickly.’

As the door closed behind them, Pasquier got up from the table.

‘Well, so you’re still here! I thought you’d be long gone over the frontier by now – or else in prison. Sit down, then. Rollo, bring some glasses.’

When they had drunk each other’s health, Luke said, ‘What brought you here? I thought the
Boche
had commandeered the
Madeleine
.’

‘So they have,’ Rollo said. ‘We’ve been all over the place since you left, up to the Seine, back to Paris, then Auxerre again. But then we were ordered to bring some crates of replacement parts for the airfield here and I thought if you could get here there was a chance we could help you on your way.’

‘Does that mean you are going to Montbéliard?’ Christine asked.

Pasquier shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. We’re ordered back to Auxerre. But we shall start by going down to Saint-Jean-de-Losne to see if we can pick up a cargo going that way. That’s the junction with the Saône. There’s a big depot there and it’s a meeting place for barges from all over the country. It’s very likely that we shall be able to find someone going up the Doubs who will take you.’

Christine bit her lip; this was a disappointment. For a few moments, she had felt safe, on familiar ground. Now everything was uncertain again.