Operation Kingfisher (9 page)

‘Oi, kid! Catch hold of this.’

‘I’m not a kid!’ she called back, catching the rope and hauling the boat to the bank.

‘
Mon Dieu
! It’s a girl!’ He jumped ashore, grinning broadly. ‘
Salut
, mon amie
! My name is Roland. Call me Rollo.’

Pasquier emerged from the engine room.

‘Forget the introductions. Get them on board. I’m not hanging about here all day.’

Between them, Luke and Roland got Cyrano on board and went back for the bikes, which they lashed to the front of the wheel-house. Christine cast off the mooring line and followed. As soon as they were all aboard, the engine note changed and Roland pushed them off with a long pole. When the tricky manoeuvre of turning the barge around had been completed, he came into the cabin and repeated his introduction, shaking hands with all of them. He was tall and lean, like his father, with sandy hair cut
en
brosse
and a wide mouth in a face marked by the scars of a spectacular attack of acne. There was something in his smile as he shook hands with Christine that made her feel vaguely uncomfortable.

‘OK. I’ll show you where you can stow your gear. It’s going to be a bit cramped with five of us on board, but at least you will have a cabin to yourself, Monsieur. Let me show you.’

He opened a cupboard built against the bulkhead, which divided the cabin from the hold, and pushed aside some clothes hanging there. With a tug, he removed the back to reveal a dark space and a short flight of steps. He took a torch from a shelf and directed it into the space.

‘
Voilà
!’

In the torchlight they saw a small compartment, which had been constructed in the area normally used for cargo. It contained a bed, a bucket, and an upturned box which served as a table.

‘It’s hidden by the cargo,’ Roland said proudly. ‘The
Boche
will never suspect it’s there. You won’t have to sleep there, of course. We’ll get to Chitry-les-Mines this afternoon. That’s as close to Corbigny as we go. But you might need it when we go through locks. The
Boche
have put guards on some of them because the bloody
Maquis
have tried to blow them up once or twice.’ He turned to Luke and Christine. ‘I’m afraid you two will have to make do with the benches in here – unless,’ with a grin at her, ‘you fancy sharing with me in the other cabin. We could kick the old man out?’

Luke said sharply, ‘You can cut that out!’

Rollo shrugged and turned away.

Cyrano said, ‘Christine can have my bed. I won’t need it after this afternoon.’

‘What did you mean by the “bloody
Maquis
”? Luke said. ‘We’re all on the same side, aren’t we?’

‘You think so? If that was the case, they might give some thought to poor sods like us who are trying to make a living – to say nothing of getting escapees out of the country.’

‘Have you brought many down the line?’ Cyrano asked.

‘Four, no five, so far. One soldier who got left behind in the evacuation right at the start, one POW, a Polish pilot, and two bomber crew.’

‘You’re doing a fantastic job.’

Pasquier called down from the wheelhouse. ‘Rollo, get up here and give me a break.’

His son rolled his eyes and left the cabin and a moment later, Pasquier put his head through the doorway. ‘And you Mademoiselle, had better get into the galley and see what you can find for lunch. I didn’t have your ration cards, so you’ll have to make do with what I could scrounge.’

Christine sighed and exchanged a wry smile with her brother.

‘Want some help?’ he offered.

‘From you? You’re a worse cook than I am. No, I’ll manage somehow.’

The sight of the little galley almost caused her to regret her words. It was filthy, with every surface thick with grease, and the dust from the cargo of stone. She found a bucket and scooped water from the canal, then set it on the oil-fired stove to boil. Meanwhile she searched the shelves and cupboards and found half a dozen eggs, a loaf, a small piece of butter, and some very overripe
Bleu d’Auvergne
cheese. Not much to feed five hungry people; she cringed at the thought of Gregoire Pasquier’s reaction. Then, in a basket, she discovered some potatoes, two onions and some carrots and was immediately reminded of the dish her mother fell back on when rations were short:
Potage Bonne Femme
. Tasty and filling. She could serve an omelette afterwards and finish with bread and cheese. When the water boiled, she scrubbed the small work surface as clean as she could get it and found a saucepan and scoured out the remains of whatever had been cooked in it last. Then, she melted the butter and fried the onions. Soon the galley was filled with savoury smells.

Cyrano decided to lie down and rest his ankle so, at a loose end, Luke went up to the wheelhouse to talk to Rollo. Pasquier
was sitting up in the bows, smoking and Rollo was perched on a high stool, holding the wheel loosely in one hand.

‘
Eh bien, mon
ami
’, he said cheerfully. ‘
Ça
va
?’

‘
Oui
, ça va
,’ Luke agreed. He looked around, seeking a topic of conversation.

‘Where is the cargo bound for?’

Rollo’s smile faded and he looked almost defensive. ‘The
Boche
are building a new airfield outside Auxerre. It’s for that. They commandeered all the barges. We had to do as we were told or they would just have requisitioned the boat and put their own crew on board. This way, we still have a living.’

‘And you make up for what you have to do by helping allied airmen to escape. And right under the Germans’ noses! That takes some guts.’

‘We do what we can.’ Rollo visibly relaxed. ‘Smoke?’ He produced a crumpled packet of Gaulloises.

‘No, thanks. I don’t.’

‘Don’t smoke?’ Rollo looked at him as if he had said he never slept. Then he shrugged. ‘
Tant
pis
.’ He lit his own cigarette, drew on it and said, ‘
Alors
, tell me about your girlfriend.’

‘What girlfriend?’

‘You must have a girlfriend – good-looking chap like you. I bet the girls are falling over themselves. Come on, describe her to me.’

Luke procrastinated. ‘Which one?’

‘Aha! There are so many? You are like me. I have a girl in every town up and down this canal, from Auxerre to Corbigny. And each one thinks she is the only one! Not likely! No one is going to have exclusive rights to what I’ve got here!’ He pointed to his groin and grinned. ‘So tell me. Which one is your favourite?’ Then, as Luke searched for a reply, he went on, ‘For my part, I can’t decide between Suzanne and Jeanette. Jeanette has these fantastic tits,’ he cupped his free hand as if weighing something round and heavy, ‘but Suzanne … ah, Suzanne will do anything! I mean, anything!’ He rolled his eyes and licked his lips. ‘So, now tell me. Do you have a girl who will do that for you?’

For a moment Luke could think of no response.

Then he said, ‘I don’t think it’s something a decent man should talk about.’

Rollo crowed with laughter. ‘A decent man!’ he repeated, imitating Luke’s prim tone. ‘
Mon Dieu!
You’re not a virgin, are you?’

‘It’s none of your business!’ Luke responded curtly. ‘I think I’ll go and see how my sister is getting on in the kitchen.’

Rollo was looking at him with amused contempt.

‘
Merde
alors
! He
is
a virgin!’

In the cabin, Luke stood silently, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, breathing hard through his nose. Cyrano, thank God, seemed to be asleep and Christine was clattering pans in the galley. It was true. He was a virgin. The secret knowledge chafed at him, but he had never felt so humiliated by it before. There were reasons, but not ones he felt Rollo would understand.

When he and his family had returned to France, he had found himself very popular with the local girls. They had flirted with him, even girls several years older than he was, and he had been made welcome in their houses.

One evening, his mother had taken him aside and said gently, ‘Listen, my darling, I don’t want to spoil your fun, but there is something you should bear in mind. There are a lot of families round here who hoped that one day Cave des Volcans would belong to them. Then, when I married your father, they thought they had lost the chance. But now, they see a new one. If you were to marry one of their daughters, sooner or later the vineyard would pass to their grandchildren. Of course, if that was what you wanted, that would be fine. But you should be careful. If you were to give one of those girls the wrong idea it could put us all in a compromising position. You’re a good-looking boy. It’s not surprising that they are attracted to you. Just be aware that it may not only be for the sake of
tes beaux yeux
.’

He had never forgotten the warning. He knew that ideas about relations between men and women were still strict, almost
Victorian, among the local bourgeoisie and it would be all too easy to find himself trapped into a marriage. It had put him very much on his guard in his dealings with the opposite sex.

He took a deep breath and told himself that it was stupid to let himself be upset by a boy who was obsessed with sex – and whose conquests, he had enough experience to guess, were probably largely a matter of fantasy.

Christine’s lunch was a great success, to her relief and Luke’s barely concealed amazement. The soup should have been garnished with cream and fresh parsley, neither of which was available, but it did not seem to matter. The omelettes were rather small and there was a definite tang of ammonia about the cheese, but when the meal was over, Gregoire Pasquier leaned back in his seat and said grudgingly, ‘Well, Mademoiselle Christine, it looks as though you may earn your keep after all.’

Christine suppressed an angry rejoinder and replied meekly, ‘I’ll do my best, Monsieur.’

After the meal, Roland offered to show Luke how to steer the boat and Christine found herself sitting with Cyrano in the well behind the wheelhouse. The day had turned warm, and it was pleasant to sit in the sun while the banks of the canal drifted slowly past. She had been longing to ask Cyrano more about himself and she seized the chance.

‘Are you really a music teacher?’

He smiled. ‘Yes, that bit was true.’

‘So are you going to be working at a school in Corbigny?’

‘No. The idea is I am supposed to teach privately, going round to people’s houses to give lessons. It gives me a reason to travel around the area.’

‘I suppose your name isn’t really Cyrano. What is it?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not allowed to tell anyone that. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with Cyrano.’

‘That’s all right. I rather like it. It’s quite romantic. Like Cyrano de Bergerac.’

He laughed. ‘That’s how I came to choose it. I read the play at
school.’ They were silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘Why didn’t you go back to England with your father?’

‘We stayed to help our mother run the vineyard. It belongs to grandfather but he had a stroke a few years ago and needs to be looked after. That’s why we came to live here, about a year before the war started.’

‘Where did you live before that?’

Christine was beginning to be irritated by this interrogation. It seemed unfair that he could ask her questions while she was not allowed to reciprocate.

‘In a village called Fetcham, close to Leatherhead in Surrey.’

Cyrano’s gaze seemed to become sharper.

‘What did your father do, before the war?’

‘He was a buyer for a firm of wine merchants.’

For a moment he frowned, as if trying to recall a memory. Then the expression faded and he said, ‘Right! Sorry to be so nosy but I have to be careful.’

‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘I understand.’

‘What will you do, when you get home?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I’d like to join up too, but I know they won’t have me until I’m seventeen.’

‘When will that be?’

‘October. I thought I might be able to sign up for some war work until then – in a munitions factory or something.’

‘Where will you live?’

‘With our grandparents, I suppose.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘They will probably want me to go back to school.’

He was looking at her differently, with a thoughtful expression, as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.

Then he said, ‘I think I know an organisation that would be very glad to have someone like you. It’s a Women’s Corps but not attached to any of the regular services. I know they are always on the look-out for practical, sensible girls with a bit of guts. And specially if they are fluent in another language. If I give you a name and an address to go to, can you memorize it?’

She stared at him, wide eyed, feeling her pulse quicken. She was sure that this organisation must be in some way connected to his own activities.

‘Yes!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Of course I can.’

‘OK. When you get back to London, go to 64 Baker Street and ask for Mrs Bingham, and tell them Cyrano sent you. They won’t take you till you are seventeen, either. But there’s no harm in getting your name on the list. Can you remember that?’

‘64 Baker Street, ask for Mrs Bingham.’

‘Again!’

‘64 Baker Street, ask for Mrs Bingham and say you sent me.’

‘Good! I think you will fit in to that crowd very well.’

‘I hope so! Thank you! I’m really, really grateful.’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I hope you’ll still feel that way once you’re in. It’ll be tough, you know.’

‘I don’t care. As long as I’m doing something useful.’

They reached Chitry-les-Mines in the late afternoon, and moored in a wide basin.

‘Corbigny is up that way, about a kilometre and a half,’ Pasquier said. ‘How are you going to get there?’

‘I don’t know,’ Cyrano responded. ‘I was hoping by now I’d be able to walk, but I still can’t put any weight on this ankle. I did think about borrowing one of the bikes, but you’ll need to hang on to them and there’s no way you’d get it back.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Luke said. ‘You can ride and I’ll bring the bike back.’