Voices on the Wind (22 page)

He didn't sleep until long after they were both in bed. The church clock in the square chimed one, then two, and at last three o'clock. In the morning, he got up early, made breakfast and then kissed his wife goodbye. She wished him a good day at the shop. He turned at the door and waved and she blew him a kiss. He had an old car with a gas bag on the roof. By mid-morning he knocked at the door of the Cabrots' little house in Nice and Louis Cabrot's widow let him in.

Eilenburg had spent a profitable day. He could see how Stohler had amassed money merely by sitting still. The first response to his bargain with the Mayor was an anonymous tip to the Gestapo that a family of rich Jews were hiding in a villa on the Cap. Eilenburg decided to lead the raid himself. They arrived just before daybreak. Ten men fully armed in two scout cars, with a closed lorry following behind. The road led down past Cap d'Antibes towards Juan les Pins. The sunrise was glorious, bathing the unruffled sea in a flood of pink and gold. The villa was set back in a huge walled garden a quarter of a mile inland, approached by a narrow track with splendid ornamental gates. The gates were padlocked, the approach untended. The upper windows of the villa were visible from the road and they were shuttered. Empty, it proclaimed, abandoned and shut up since the German occupation of the coast.

Eilenburg's men broke the padlock, swung the gates back, and the cars raced up the weedy drive. Inside, they found three families, numbering twenty-four adults and children, including one baby a few weeks old. The mother had died soon after giving birth, because no one had dared to get a doctor for her. They found her grave in a flower bed at the back. The lorry was filled with the weeping human cargo, the doors bolted and the procession started back to Nice. Eilenburg wandered through the villa, taking stock of the fine rooms and the elegant furniture under dust sheets. The Jews had lived on the ground floor at the back. He looked at the squalor engendered by secrecy. Camp beds, rubbish, the boxes of possessions heaped on top of each other. Rooms that smelt airless in the heat, because they had been too frightened to open the shutters fully. They had confessed to living there for over a year. They wouldn't say whether the villas belonged to any of them. Eilenburg thought probably not. All Jewish property was confiscated automatically and ransacked. This was owned by absentee French, who had let the Jews hide there. It could be a beautiful place to live, he thought. The upstairs bedrooms had a magnificent view over the sea. There were grandiose trees and palms in the garden. Cleaned up and the garden put right, it would make an ideal retreat for him and Antoinette to share until he married Minna and brought her back. She would enjoy living there. He went back to Nice and during the afternoon he sat in on the interrogation of the Jewish males. They offered no resistance to the questions. No violence was necessary. They offered money and jewellery for their lives. He listened quietly, thinking of Stohler. The baby was a problem. He decided not to waste time. The money and the jewellery, including wedding rings and watches, were collected and he signed a receipt. The lorry came to the rear of the Villa Trianon and the people were herded into it. Eilenburg's deputy told them they were being taken to a transit camp and from there they would proceed by rail to a labour camp. The lorry drove off. The money and valuables were duly assigned to the SS central fund and sent off to Paris.

He got back late to the hotel. It was a promising start. But not enough. Throwing him a handful of helpless Jews as a sop wasn't good enough. He wanted Frenchmen. Men and women from the Resistance. That was the price the people of Nice had to pay and nothing less would satisfy him. But he was in a good mood when he joined Antoinette. She wasn't shy about the restaurant any more. He was proud of the way she looked when she walked in with him. Smartly dressed now, with her hair done and a nice string of pearls. Given by a local jeweller when they admired them in his shop. He thought how very pretty she looked, as she sat opposite him, smiling and talking about her day. She didn't work any more, of course. She spent time with her family; he'd been so good to them, she murmured. All that food – she shopped for little luxuries on the black market and she sunbathed and swam. Like a child, he thought indulgently. Innocent and carefree, as he hoped Minna would be one day, when the war was won and they could settle down. She did remind him of Minna so much. He kept telling himself that. And of course, she loved him; she told him so often and without any guile. She told him how beautiful he was and how she worshipped him. No regrets, he asked her once. No fear of what other people would call her for being his mistress? The answer haunted him, ‘How can I regret falling in love?' Just that. He told her about the villa over dinner. He didn't go into details, or mention the Jewish families. He asked her if she would like to move there with him when it was ready. ‘I don't mind. I'll go there if you want me to.'

He promised to take her there the next day. They were asleep in each other's arms when the telephone rang. He woke slowly and irritably. It was dawn, much the same time as when he drove through the gates of the villa at Antibes. She stirred and murmured. It amused him how deeply she slept. He used to tease her about it. Grumbling, Eilenburg got up and picked the receiver off the hook. They had to repeat the message twice. The hospital where Minna worked had been bombed the night before. She was one of sixty staff and patients killed.

The relief garrison and the officers on leave from the Italian front were due to arrive by train at Menton and then to proceed by lorry and motor transport along the coast road through Nice to Antibes. The garrison at Antibes numbered some three thousand men. It was a closely guarded area because of the hotel where senior officers spent convalescence, and the coves and inlets which might have given access to foreign agents. As a precaution the beach was heavily mined and it was impossible for a Frenchman to go through to the Cap without a special pass or a work permit. It seemed as if Pierrot had given up trying to dissuade Dulac from the planned attack. In the course of that week there were three clandestine meetings between the network leaders and Jacques's Maquis. It seemed that, having accepted defeat, Pierrot was devoting himself to making the venture a success. He brought the date and a rough timetable of the Germans' schedule to the first meeting. Kate sat in, but didn't enter the discussion. She was the radio operator and only there because she was Dulac's mistress. She remained in the background and this gave her an opportunity to watch and listen. Dulac was enthusiastic, optimistic as always. He inspired them all, and Kate recognized that magic quality in him which she had seen the first time. He was a leader who didn't dominate by force of character. He drew people to him. He generated a kind of love and trust from men and women as different from each other as the surly Gaston and his archenemy, Marie, who worked at the Mondiale. They believed in him. Jacques, the dedicated Communist, believed in him too, when the decision had been taken. It was Pierrot who worried her. He had produced the timetable, the date, some quite remarkable details as to where the German officers would be in the convoy. She longed to ask how he knew and who had supplied information as confidential as this, but nobody else questioned it. His source must be known to Dulac and the others. They trusted him; Kate didn't. He stayed outside the magic circle of Dulac's charisma. There was no glow upon his face as he listened. She had seen the hatred in him and it was unabated.

‘I won't let him sacrifice you.' She couldn't get that remark out of her mind. He had fought against the plan to the last. Now, suddenly, he was in favour of it. ‘You don't care who suffers … Dulac has to win.' His feelings hadn't changed, only his obstruction. Premonition, her Irish grandmother called it. The foreknowledge of disaster. It came over her that night, sitting in the shadows of the kitchen, while they sat in the circle of the overhead light around the table. Their faces seemed to fade and the excited voices with them. They're going to die. It's like a play, knowing what happens in the last act. She felt a sense of panic and then anger at herself for being superstitious. She heard her name and said, ‘Yes, I'm here,' in a voice that sounded shrill and uneasy.

‘We want you to send a message to London one last time,' Jean Dulac was saying. ‘Telling them what we're going to do and suggesting that a drop of weapons would be the reward for our success.' He looked briefly at the Maquis leader. ‘I know you want this, Jacques, and I agree, we'll need London's help. We've won our way so we can be generous. Even to our English Allies!'

There was a laugh when he said this. Pierrot pushed back his chair. There was silence as he spoke directly to Jean.

‘If Cecilie is going to contact London tonight, she should not transmit from the centre of the town. I've protested about this several times. Before Eilenburg came there was one detector van operating in the area. Now there are three. It will be a long message and may require her to wait for a reply. On grounds of all our safety, I insist that she sends the message from a new locality. I can accommodate her and the radio set in my own apartment at Beaulieu. There's no activity there at the moment and it would be completely safe.'

He glanced round at the circle of faces; there was a murmur of agreement.

Dulac said, ‘Since when have three detector vans been on the streets here?'

‘Since last night,' Pierrot retorted. ‘All counter-activity has been stepped up by the Gestapo. They know radio operators are working here and in Cannes, apart from Jacques's people in the hills. Cecilie, we are all at risk if you use that set in Nice again!'

Attention had moved to her and slowly she got up and faced them.

‘This is such a vital message,' she said, ‘I'd rather not send it from my base. If I leave now, I should be in plenty of time.'

‘Good.' Several voices spoke up. There was a sense of relief. She saw Pierrot's smile of encouragement and thought, I'm not spending the night in your flat, my friend.

He came to her and whispered, ‘My address is 23 rue de Tivoli, top floor flat, apartment C. Someone will let you in if you say you are a friend come to spend the night.' For a moment he touched her hand under the table. ‘I'm glad,' he murmured, ‘you've been in danger too long,' then he turned away.

Dulac followed her out into the hallway. He bent and kissed her on the lips.

‘Come back in the morning,' he said. ‘I shall think of you all night.' He kissed her again. It needed all Kate's self-control to resist the invitation of that second, searching kiss.

‘Take care,' she said and hurried out.

She cycled back to Jean's apartment, collected the transmitter in its suitcase and strapped it securely to the pannier at the back. Her papers were in the bag slung over her shoulder and the lipstick to hand in her pocket. She began the long ride up into the hills to Valbonne. Ma Mère was mending on the back porch when Kate arrived. She exclaimed in pleasure.

‘Cecilie! Come in, my dear child. Look at you, melting in the heat. I'll get you something cold to drink.' She clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Then you can tell me why you've come. Janot should be back soon. Sit in the shade, silly child. You're likely to get sunstroke taking all that exercise in this heat.' She bustled away and Kate leaned back against the step and closed her eyes.

‘I've brought my radio,' she said later. ‘I want to stay the night and send from here. I got worried about using the transmitter in the town. I've got away with it so far, but I didn't want to push my luck.'

‘Very wise,' the old woman said. She glanced slyly at her. ‘He shouldn't have taken you in to live with him. He's never done that before. He must be very fond of you. But he shouldn't take risks.'

Kate didn't answer. She drank the cold lemonade. The sun was going down.

Ma Mère said, ‘It'll be curfew time soon. I wonder where my son has got to?'

‘I'd better set up the machine,' Kate said. ‘In my old room, if that's all right.'

‘Yes, yes. I'd better put the supper in the oven. He's always hungry when he gets home.' She disappeared into the house.

Kate sent out her call sign half an hour later. It was a beautiful twilight, with the first stars coming out. She composed her own message, coded and transmitted. She requested an immediate acknowledgement. Then she lay back on the bed, lit a cigarette and nearly fell asleep until the signal came through on the earphones. Message received. Instructions would follow in the next four hours. She went downstairs to keep herself awake. The old woman was sitting at the kitchen table, doing more mending. She looked up and said, ‘He's not back. Something must have happened.' The hands holding the sock in its wooden darner were trembling and she let the mending fall. Kate came to her quickly. She saw a streak on the withered cheek, where Ma Mère had been crying.

‘Hasn't he been late before?'

‘Not on a routine run,' was the answer. ‘He was delivering vegetables as usual. Picking up the boxes. He should have been home hours ago.'

Kate suggested gently, ‘The van could have broken down. I often thought it wouldn't make the journey.'

Ma Mère got up slowly; swept the socks and the darning into a canvas bag. ‘Maybe,' she said. ‘It could be that. Did you send your message?'

‘Yes, I'm waiting for the reply. Sit down and I'll get the food. And don't worry. He'll be here in a minute.'

‘You eat,' the old woman said. ‘I'm not hungry.'

It was well past midnight when London sent their answer. Kate asked them to repeat it. A message of the utmost urgency and importance would be relayed to Cecilie fifteen days from now. She was to hold herself in readiness and Jean Dulac and the principals in the network, including the Maquis, should be present. The London operator signed off.