Wild Lavender (50 page)

‘My father fought the Germans in the Great War,’ I said. ‘My family will not stand for collaboration.’

Hearing that, Roger changed our plan. He suggested that Madame Goux should return to Paris as soon as possible, while he and I went to see the farm.

‘
Achem!
’ coughed the Judge, pointing to his watch.

I kissed Mouse, the Judge and Eduard goodbye as fondly as if they were my brothers.

‘I hope that we will meet again, in better days,’ I told them.

T
he next morning, Madame Goux, Roger, the animals and I caught the eight o’clock express train for the north. Roger and I were going as far as Avignon while Madame Goux was continuing on to Paris with my luggage.

After Kira arrived at the farm with Minot’s mother, Bernard had written to tell me that my mother and aunt were thrilled with their new feline companion as Bonbon had passed away a few months before. What a surprise they would get when they saw four more animals! Still, sheltering animals was less dangerous than what Roger and I were about to ask them to do. The war was raising my threshold of fear. The pre-show nerves I had suffered for years seemed ridiculous in the face of the presence of mind I needed to work for the Resistance. I was prepared to go to any lengths in order to free France, but could I ask my family to take those sorts of risks too?

With reduced train services between the north and south, and because we hadn’t made a reservation in advance, we had to make do with a crowded third-class carriage. The onion stink of the sweating bodies surrounding us, the screaming children in the aisles and the baggage jammed under our feet limited conversation between us. The dogs and Chérie had to travel in the luggage compartment, although the conductor was nice about it and promised to make sure they had enough water.

When the train slowed down for Avignon, we wished Madame Goux well and squeezed our way towards the
door. As there was no longer a train service to Carpentras, Roger, the animals and I had to take the motor coach. The ruddy-faced driver let out a growl when he saw how many animals I had with me.

‘It is against
Compaigne Provençale des Transports Automobiles
regulations to transport livestock,’ he bellowed.

‘Surely you don’t regard my pedigree animals as livestock?’ I protested. ‘They are part of my stage act.’

‘
Pfff!
’ he scoffed, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I don’t care if you have sex with them. They are against the regulations, unless you want me to stick them on the roof along with the luggage.’

I sensed I would not be able to charm this garlic-reeking southerner the way I had the German officer by flirting with him. How could any woman? His eyes were bloodshot and there was dirt in the creases on his forehead. I decided that the solution was to pay more money. An offer which he gruffly accepted, charging me an adult fare for Bruno, children’s fares for Princesse and Charlot and an extra tariff for Chérie as ‘overweight’ baggage.

‘I hope that means the dogs will have a seat each,’ Roger told him, tongue in cheek. ‘You can’t charge those prices and expect them to sit in the aisle.’

We arrived at Carpentras before midday and ate lunch in a café that stank of oil and cheese. With no sea breeze to relieve it, the heat was unbearable. My hair fell in limp strands around my face and when I patted my cheeks with my handkerchief I saw that my powder was melting into an oily mess. I had hoped to make it to Pays de Sault without attracting too much attention, but unfortunately the woman behind the bar recognised me and called out to her kitchen staff that Simone Fleurier was dining at their establishment. Roger and I had to eat our tomato and ham sandwiches under the curious eyes of the woman, the cook, a kitchenhand and a waitress. When we had finished, the woman asked me to autograph the restaurant’s menu.

‘And you,’ she said, turning to Roger. ‘Who are you? Are you a film star too?’

Roger shook his head. ‘No, just one of Mademoiselle Fleurier’s agents.’

It took all my willpower not to laugh at the double meaning. On our way down the street to catch the motor truck, I whispered to Roger, ‘You should have told her we had come to Carpentras to make a film about the town.’

‘I know about small towns, Mademoiselle Fleurier,’ Roger said, bringing his mouth close to my ear and sending a tingle through me. ‘If I’d said that, we wouldn’t have been left alone for a minute. Everyone from the mayor to the undertaker would have been vying for a part.’

The motor truck travelling to Sault that afternoon was a smaller vehicle than the motor coach had been, but the driver was jovial and made no objections to taking the animals. He greeted each dog as she or he bounded up into the tray. As the only other passenger was an old man with an accordion, the driver said he would drop us off near the farm rather than taking us all the way into Sault.

‘So you grew up here?’ Roger whispered to me, once the driver had started the motor. ‘Amongst these people?’

‘You seem to find that hard to believe,’ I said.

‘A little.’ The corner of his mouth twisted into a smile. ‘I saw you as the ultimate Paris sophisticate. But now I see where you get your determination and strength.’

I sat back and studied Roger. Was it possible that while I was so captivated by him, he was also a little in awe of me?

The driver dropped us off about half a kilometre from the farm. Roger and I had a small suitcase each. He carried both and I carried Chérie. The dogs walked. The sun was still high in the sky but fortunately the road was shaded by trees.

‘Have you ever lived in Algiers?’ I asked him.

‘I’ve never even been there,’ Roger answered. ‘But the Deuxième Bureau men had me studying the French area and Kasbah down to the last rug shop and magazine stall. So I feel as though I have.’

‘So how is it that you speak French so well?’

‘My father served here in the Great War. He was a doctor. Afterwards he stayed on to help with the repatriation of soldiers. He returned to Australia such a Francophile that he hired an immigrant to be our tutor. From the time I was eight up until twelve we spoke French at home.’

I found the story amusing. ‘Your father sounds charming and a little eccentric.’

‘He was,’ said Roger. ‘I was telling the truth when I said my parents were killed in a train accident and I was brought up by my grandparents. I’ve kept up my French though, it’s my way of remembering him.’

We walked on through a field, Bruno making a path for us through the grass and Charlot and Princesse leaping after butterflies.

‘And what about Tasmania?’ I asked after a while. I omitted that I had only worked out where the place was by sneaking a look at an atlas in a bookshop in Marseilles. I had thought it a separate country to Australia, like New Zealand, but when I read the commentary, I had learned it was Australia’s southernmost state.

Roger glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.

‘I’m sure you can tell me about Tasmania,’ I said. ‘If I am caught by the Germans I can give them a good travelogue.’

He let out a hearty laugh, as warm and rich as his speaking voice. ‘I suppose that isn’t giving away vital information, although the Germans may have plans to invade Tasmania.’

‘And what will they find if they do?’ I asked, switching Chérie’s cat cage from my right arm to my left.

‘Well, in the north-west, where I was raised, they will find rich farming areas with volcanic soil. Travelling south along the coast and inland they’ll find mining towns as well as wilderness no one has ever touched. And in the northeast they’ll find the biggest lavender farm in the southern hemisphere.’

‘A lavender farm? Like those in France?’

‘Very much so,’ he said, looking around him. ‘I’ve always wanted to see Provence. And now I am, courtesy of the Germans.’

‘I thought Australia was a desert,’ I said, pulling out every bit of information I had read in order to impress Roger with my knowledge of his country.

He shook his head. ‘Some of it. But not Tasmania.’

‘I would like to go there some day,’ I declared, which was quite a statement for someone who had just discovered where the country was. ‘Do they have music halls?’

‘In Sydney and Melbourne, although we might have to finish the war first,’ he said, smiling. ‘How much further to go until we reach your farm?’

‘Not long,’ I told him. I wondered if I was annoying him by asking so many questions. But when he asked me about my childhood in Provence and how I had become a star in Paris, I assumed that he was enjoying the conversation too. I was surprised when he told me that he had seen me perform.

‘That must have been in London?’

‘Paris too. But twice in London,’ he said. ‘I’ve been working in my uncle’s law firm there. My grandparents migrated to Australia and my father was born there. But my mother’s side of the family is English through and through: pale, weak and inbred.’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, laughing. ‘Look at what a passionate fight the British are giving. Besides, I admire Churchill.’

‘You do?’ asked Roger. ‘He’s a good friend of my uncle’s.’

‘He makes the French leaders who dragged us into this mess look small.’

‘When I see him again, I’ll tell him what you said,’ Roger said. ‘He’ll be chuffed because I happen to know that he has seen every one of your films.’

It was my mother who first saw us crossing the fields towards the house. She was throwing scraps to the chickens, her hair tied back under a scarf. When we reached the wall, she lifted her chin as if she smelt our scent on the wind, then turned, her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes.

‘Simone!’

A few seconds later Aunt Yvette and Bernard appeared in the farmhouse doorway. A window sash was raised in my father’s house and Minot and Madame Ibert leaned out. Before we even reached the yard, everybody was rushing towards us. My mother threw her arms around me.

‘We have heard nothing from you in the past month,’ Aunt Yvette said. ‘We have been so worried.’

I explained about the post offices being closed during the invasion, and asked about Monsieur Etienne and Odette. I was disappointed to hear that they hadn’t contacted Bernard. Then I realised that everybody was looking at Roger.

‘This is my friend, Roger Delpierre,’ I said.

I left my introduction there. I wasn’t going to lie to them and say that Roger was my stage director or agent, but standing out there in the heat and with so much to catch up on, it didn’t seem the right time to explain our mission. Bernard thrust out his hand to Roger and everyone welcomed him.

‘And this is Bruno, Princesse and Charlot,’ I said, introducing the dogs.

Roger took the cat cage from me and held it up. ‘And this is Chérie, who Simone rescued in Paris.’

My mother glanced at me then bent down to pat the dogs. I could feel my cheeks burn. For some reason Roger had called me ‘Simone’ instead of ‘Mademoiselle Fleurier’. Perhaps it was because I had introduced him as a friend, but the effect was to put us on a more intimate footing.

‘Simone hasn’t changed. She collects pets as she goes along,’ said Aunt Yvette.

Aunt Yvette’s kitchen had changed as little as she had over the years. As we bundled into its coolness I felt as
though I were stepping back in time. There were still the familiar scents of rosemary and olive oil, and the multitude of pots hanging from the beams. How far away the war seemed here. Everything was the same as it had ever been. Minot’s mother was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of soup. She was eighty-seven years old but her mind was still bright, although she had to be reminded who I was. Kira was perched on top of one of the cupboards. As soon as she saw me she let out a ‘
Murr!
’ and ran towards me. I picked her up and she rubbed her chin against my cheek, purring. ‘This is Kira, one of my oldest friends,’ I said to Roger.

‘We have never had so many people staying at the farm,’ Bernard said, gesturing for us to sit down. ‘Just as well we have plenty of room.’

Roger and I exchanged a glance. Bernard noticed it and gave me a puzzled look.

While my mother and Aunt Yvette prepared bread and dried fruit for us, Madame Ibert and Minot took water to the dogs outside. Kira and Chérie stayed in the kitchen, eyeing each other. Chérie was used to other animals and was fearless. She won Kira over by inching up to her and sniffing her nose. After that, everything was fine and they sat together near the door, watching insects flitter in the grass, their hunters’ tails swishing in unison.

‘We haven’t seen one German here,’ Bernard said. ‘Despite what has happened in the north.’

‘So things haven’t changed much in the village?’ I asked.

Bernard shook his head. ‘Except that Monsieur Poulet received an order to remove the statue of Marianne and other symbols of the Republic. They are replacing the motto of “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity” with Pétain’s new dictum: “Family, Work, Country”.’

‘Has the feeling here turned against the Allies since the Mers-el-Kebir bombing?’ Roger asked him, picking up a fig. ‘It has in Marseilles.’

I knew Roger was feeling his way, trying to gauge my family’s loyalties for himself. Bernard glanced at me for reassurance. I could see he was perplexed by Roger’s
accent. It wasn’t too pronounced but it couldn’t be placed. He was clearly not from Paris or Marseilles.

‘A lot of the sailors who were killed were probably from there,’ said Bernard cautiously. ‘But most people here think that it was to be expected. What could the Allies do? Pétain bailed out on them, and the British warned the French navy that it would be forced to destroy the fleet if they didn’t hand it over themselves. They couldn’t afford for the ships to fall into German hands.’

‘Dirty
Boche
,’ mumbled Madame Meyer.

Roger eyed Bernard. ‘Your village must have a good news service,’ he said. ‘All they are getting in Marseilles and Paris is German propaganda.’

Bernard’s face blanched. I understood his fear. In these times the wrong opinion could be fatal.

‘It is all right,’ I reassured him. ‘Roger feels as you do.’

Bernard looked at me with such trust it twisted my heart. He leaned across the table. ‘Our mayor managed to put together a radio set. We have been listening to the BBC.’

Tuning into an ‘enemy’ radio station was illegal and punishable by prison. I contemplated my family and friends with pride. They were born Resistants.

My aunt and mother served the wine, then sat down at the table with us. Madame Ibert and Minot came inside to join the discussion. I felt Roger’s foot tap against mine. I trusted Roger and I knew the character of my family. Now was the time to put them together.