Ormerod's Landing (39 page)

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Take it from me, it wasn't my idea.'

'Of course not. But for God's sake the matter could have been planned better by that mad boy who lives down there.'

Ormerod nodded. 'From what I saw of the briefing officers in England that lad would be a colonel in no time,' he agreed. 'Where's Granville?'

'It is above St Jean le Thomas. So it would be about there.' She pointed to the left of the lighthouse dome. 'I hope we will be able to begin our work in Granville. There must be the opportunity to form a resistance group, if one is not begun already.'

'You certainly haven't had a lot of luck here with this bunch,' observed Ormerod, looking down at the miniature men still idling on the shores of the beach. Brightly coloured children

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came out into the school playground with a sound like seagulls.

'They are soft,' she said with only a touch of disgust. 'They
have hardly seen a German yet. If the Boche came over here
with some anti-aircraft guns, which is what I suppose they will
do in time, they will soon realize what it means to be conquered.'

'You can't make them fight if they don't know what they're
fighting,' agreed Ormerod. 'I'm still not convinced that they will not hand us over to the first Jerry that appears.'

She had lit a cigarette. She drew on it fiercely, her mouth
like a beak. 'They will not do that. I have already made an arrangement with Marcel, the old man, in the house last night.'

'An arrangement? What?'

'I have told him I will shoot him and his son if the Germans
are told,' she said coolly. 'And any other person from this
island who is there while I still have my gun. I think he under
stands me.'

'Jesus wept,' murmured Ormerod. 'And well he might. You
would too, wouldn't you?'

'If it meant they had betrayed us then I would,' she said. 'I have plenty of bullets for traitors.'

Ormerod leaned back on the placid grass. He closed his eyes
and let the increasing warmth of the day across his face. 'God
this feels like having a day off and lying in our local park,' he said. 'If it wasn't for the gulls screeching, and the smell of the
salt, and you talking about shooting people.'

'Are you happy in your marriage?' she asked in her sudden
way.

He was surprised by the inquiry but he did not open his eyes. I
don't know yet. I've only been married a year. I expect I'll find out in time,' he mumbled.

Her voice seemed quite distant. 'Yes, I suppose you are right
about that,' she said. She paused for more than a minute. 'When I am in Normandy I will go for a short visit to my village,' she continued. 'To see my children.'

For some reason he was amazed. He released one eye, then the other, and then got up onto his elbows. 'You've got kids?' he said. 'Somehow that never occurred to me. You, married.'

'I am not certain I am married,' she corrected. 'My husband

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was taken away by the Nazis, so I have been told, so I expect he is now dead. They do not keep people as guests, you know.'

He looked at her sympathetically. Her expression had not changed. 'I see,' he said. 'That's one of your reasons, is it?'

'One of them,' she nodded. She had turned her head and was now looking towards the jumping children in the school yard. 'I have two like that. Clovis and Suzanne.'

'Boy and a girl, eh?' Ormerod said conventionally. 'Nice. Haven't thought much about kids myself. Not yet. Not with the war and everything.'

'What do you think about?' she asked. 'In your life?'

'Crime,' he said decisively. 'Nabbing people who've done it. It's my interest in life, I suppose. Sometimes it gets to be an obsession with me. That's why I want to get our chummy Smales.'

'Ah, Monsieur Smales,' she half smiled. 'Well he will not be the only criminal you will find over the water. You will have the chance to be - how do you say? - nabbing more than one man.'

'We
are
going to Bagnoles, aren't we?' he said, leaning towards her. 'For sure I mean. That's where he was last heard of. In hospital.'

Her eyebrows went up a little mockingly. 'You would arrest a wounded man?' she asked.

'Even if I have to carry the bastard over my shoulder,' he grunted. I
really
want to get my hands on him.'

'This girl he murdered, did you love her?' she asked. He looked at her again in astonishment.

'You wouldn't be French would you?' he protested grumpily. 'It's not all romance and tragedy you know. Of course I didn't love her. God, she was only eighteen. I know her parents, but it was nothing personal. It's just a young life chucked away because some man got drunk and couldn't control his randiness.'

'You make it sound as if it is personal,' she shrugged. 'Perhaps you fell in love with her after she was dead.'

In the evening the Germans arrived. There were twenty villagers

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in the room of the inn, drinking cider in the smoke, with Ormerod sitting among them and Marie-Thérèse standing behind the bar handing the tankards of drink to the two young girls to place on the tables. At nine o'clock there was a brisk knock on the door and it seemed that twenty cooperative voices called
'Entrez!'
Marcel, the old man, suddenly bent and picked the ragged mongrel of the bar up and threw it in the surprised Ormerod's lap. Ormerod glanced at Marie-Thérèse and saw her dart a look at the old man. His eyes were calm. Ormerod felt his pistol under his armpit like a small crutch. The dog settled in his lap. The door opened and a decent-faced German sergeant came in, followed by four apprehensive soldiers. They held their rifles as though they would drop them and run at the first indication of trouble. It was the second time that Ormerod had seen German soldiers and once again he thought that soldiers were the same everywhere. Afraid.

They clumbered into the room and shut the door politely behind them. The sergeant saw the old man Marcel, and recognized him. He sat down beside him. The fisherman nodded towards Marie-Thérèse and, tight-lipped, she poured five glasses of cider and gave them to the girls to give to the soldiers.

In difficult French the sergeant asked the old man if they had seen two of their comrades who had gone fishing and not returned. With relief Ormerod saw that the fisherman was shaking his head before the question was finished. 'Not today at all,' Marcel said. 'We heard from the lighthouse that they were missing. Two days ago they were in their boat close inshore to the island. They came to land for some bread and fish and cider. But they went over to the east somewhere.'

The sergeant sighed. 'It is terrible,' he said. 'They are good boys. But they are not supposed to come out here. It is against the rule of the army, you see. So far we have kept it a secret. Nobody knows officially. That is why we have come over at this time of night. We ourselves are not supposed to be here, you understand.'

The elder fisherman nodded. The sergeant said: 'One is a boy from my home town. If anything has happened to him I

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will be the one to have to tell his mother.' He seemed close to tears. 'In the war you can be killed,' he said. 'That is understood. But fishing ...'

Ormerod sat with the dog curled untidily on his lap and his anxiety sitting on his shoulder. But even in that condition he felt a certain sorrow for the German sergeant who now sat down and wiped his good-natured eyes. Ormerod thought he saw Marie-Thérèse curl her lip.

Apart from the sergeant, the other soldiers were very young. One of them, his pint of cider held nervously beneath his nose, moved over towards Ormerod and sat down, putting his hand out to pat the mongrel. As though afraid of the German, the animal made a small wet on the Englishman's lap.

'Wie heisst er?'
asked the young soldier.
'Quel est son nom?'

Ormerod looked down at the dog as if wondering whether to ask it. It was a mean, mangy mongrel, with watery eyes, a dirty white, brown and grey coat and bad breath.

'Formidable,'
Ormerod replied in what he hoped sounded like a French voice. All the fishermen began to laugh and the eyes of Marie-Thérèse darkened. Nothing must seem strange or come as a surprise. But the Germans laughed too and it seemed to cheer the sergeant up. He winked at the older man. 'While we are on Chausey,' he said, 'we will take back a little wine from the chateau. Nobody will miss a few bottles.'

Marcel shrugged. 'You are the bosses,' he said. 'There is much wine there. By the end of the war it will be sour anyway. Go and help yourselves.'

'And,' said the sergeant, now seriously, looking more like a German soldier, 'we must return tonight. As I told you, our journey is not official, although I think we must now report the two boys missing. But we need someone to pilot us to Granville. It is difficult in the dark. Who will it be?'

The old man would have made a good spy or an actor. Not a flicker of expression crossed his face. I will take you,' he answered with a heavy nod. I know every rock and current. And you can do a service for us,
mein Herr.'

'What is that?' asked the sergeant. His men were moving out of the door into the moonless night. One of them began to sing softly.

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'This man,' said Marcel pointing to Ormerod. Ormerod
stiffened. 'And this woman,' he nodded at
Marie-Thérèse
. 'They
have to visit a woman at Julioville, the lady's grandmother. She is sick. Could we take them also?'

Ormerod marvelled at the simplicity of it. He thought he detected a quick touch of amusement in the girl's straight
mouth. The sergeant looked at them and nodded immediately.
'Yes, yes, that will be all right,' he said in his French. 'There
is plenty of room in the boat.' He went to the door. 'Be ready in
twenty minutes,' he said. 'We will be back with the wine then.'

For a long interval after he had gone there was silence in the room. They could hear the sergeant calling through the
night after his men. His shouts diminished and the grins spread
around the faces. Only the old man remained serious. 'Is that satisfactory?' he said to Marie-Thérèse.

'Very poetic, monsieur,' she replied politely. 'You get the
Germans themselves to deliver us.'

'We will be rid of you,' he said without a smile. 'They are
doing us a service.' He turned to Ormerod and for some reason his expression eased. 'You must take the dog with you, mon
sieur,' he said. 'Your
Formidable?
He saw a protest about to break from Marie-Thérèse and he put his hand up to hush her. 'A man with a dog, especially a poor dog like that, will never cause suspicion,' he said. 'That is why I placed the animal on his lap. People always think that a man with a dog
comes from the district where he is seen with the dog - that he
cannot be a stranger. So take him. We will be rid of him also.'

Ormerod glanced at
Marie-Thérèse
. She knew a good idea when she heard one. She nodded. 'Yes. That is right,' she said
grudgingly. 'We will take him. I am glad we have found
something
at least in this place.'

The old man looked at her sourly but merely shrugged. 'You have yet to see the rest of Normandy,' he said. 'You may be
disappointed.'

I think I will find some
fight
in Normandy,' said the girl bitterly. 'Some men with guts.'

I think you will find they are busy gathering the corn and the apples,' Marcel replied evenly. 'Just as they have always done at this time, as you well know. The countryside between

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this part of the coast and Paris has not been touched by the war, there is no destruction, and many French soldiers, those that survived, are back in their homes. Just ask them if they
want to fight. You may find you are mistaken. The time when
they could fight, when they had the heart to fight, is gone, my
dear.'

He stood carefully. I must get my coat for it looks like rain,' he said, still looking at the girl. 'When I get back I expect the
soldiers will be here, so now I would like to wish you luck - at
least the luck to survive.' He turned to Ormerod, whom he seemed to regard, rightly, as a victim of circumstances. He
shook his hand. 'I hope that you see England again, monsieur,'
he said more gently. 'Try and stay away from trouble if you can.'

"Thank you, I shall,' said Ormerod, struggling for something
to say. He stood up and the dog dropped from his lap leaving a wet patch on the front of his trousers. The fishermen all
grinned boyishly. 'Incidentally, what's the dog's real name?' he asked. 'I mean, if I need to call him, it's no good calling him
Formidable,
because he won't answer. And that will certainly
look suspicious.'

'He has never had a name,' said the old fisherman. 'Not that
I know.
Formidable
suits him very well. He will soon get used
to it.' He grinned with broken teeth like a fallen stone wall. 'Perhaps you are his destiny.'

Granville stands almost at the base of the upraised finger of
the Cotentin Peninsula, twenty-six kilometres north-east of
Avranches, and above the right angle where Brittany and Normandy join. On a fine day the pile of Mont St Michel can be seen from the pont across the enormous bay.

It is an old rock town, with a dominant cape carrying the
haute ville
high over the sea and with a complete view of the safe and enclosed harbour. On the high ground is a solid granite church with a dome and almost beside it a quadrangle
of stone barracks dating from the nineteenth century, which in
the autumn of 1940 housed the German garrison of the town. The place smells of salt fish and oil. It is the home of the family of Christian Dior.