The stately tree’s branches spread over the roof of the house, casting long shadows across the gravel as the German slowly drove forward. The stones crunched beneath the wheels of the car, and the soldier swung the vehicle in a wide arc before pulling to a stop.
“I think we’ve bought wine from here a few times,” Max said. At first Sven thought he was going to get out and come inside with him, but to his relief, Max simply gave a brief nod. “Good to meet you.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Sven managed before the German drove away.
Slowly Sven exhaled, then he headed for the red-painted double door. He knocked and waited. The right-hand door opened a fraction, then the gap widened with a long, drawn-out creak.
A wary face appeared—a woman in her late forties, possibly younger. The war had aged people. A man came to join her. The woman was wearing an apron over her skirt and a pair of sturdy boots. The man was dressed in work clothes.
“Good afternoon,” Sven began. “I’ve brought the wooden boxes for the special harvest of 1935. Where would you like me to put them?” He held up his bag. This was a coded message that he was supposed todeliver when he arrived. If he received the correct answer, then he would know he was in the right place.
The woman looked inquiringly at him, which immediately put Sven on his guard. Had he got it wrong? He was a couple of days early; whenever the resistance movement saw an opportunity, you had to take it. Maybe the couple hadn’t been informed?
The man cleared his throat. “Next to the workshop, on the right-hand side.”
Thank goodness—the correct answer.
Sven held out his hand. “Sven Steen.” He spoke quietly—you never knew who might be listening.
“I wasn’t expecting you for a day or two.”
“We had to move the trip up. We heard reports that the Nazis were taking action in several places, but I guess no one got around to telling you—my apologies.”
“Welcome,” the woman said, stepping aside to let him in. They shook hands. “So you got a ride?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes, from a German soldier. He checked my papers and was heading in this direction—apparently he’s stationed in the village.”
The couple introduced themselves as Juliette and Hugo, Madame and Monsieur Latorre, before showing him into the kitchen. It was a simple country one, with a large table and a wooden counter. Pans hung from hooks above, and light flooded in through a narrow window that faced the front of the house and the giant oak.
“Here we are.” He placed his bag on the table and unpacked the boxes.
Juliette nodded. Picked up one box and slid open the loose piece of wood. She took out the documents and read each one before passing it to her husband.
“We’ll fix it—it’s good that we found out now,” she said.
Sven had no idea what she was talking about. He never knew what was in the papers—he was just a messenger. It was best that way, because if he was captured, he wouldn’t be able to reveal anything.
“Would you like something to eat? We’ve just finished our lunch, but there’s some left.” Juliette nodded toward half a dark—almost black—loaf of bread with a few vegetables beside it. Food they presumably intended to save for dinner, but felt obliged to offer to their guest.
“We don’t have much to offer in these times of rationing.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Sven said, even though his stomach was rumbling. “I might take a walk into the village and buy myself something to eat. I have a return ticket booked for the day after tomorrow. It seems credible for me to stay for two nights, if I’m your relative.”
“Isn’t that a bit short?” Juliette wondered.
“Not at all. If anyone asks, I’ll say I have business in Paris.”
Juliette nodded, then pulled out a chair for him. She fetched a piece of the bread, two lovely red slices of tomato, and a glass of water and set everything out in front of him.
“Our guests don’t need to buy their own food, not even in times of rationing,” she said firmly. Sven was too tired and hungry to protest; his mother would have been furious with him. Now that his mission was complete, all the tension left his body, and the appetite that had disappeared during his journey came back with a vengeance.
He saw the couple exchange a dubious glance, as if they were trying to communicate something. They both seemed hesitant and anxious. He reminded himself that his arrival had taken them by surprise. Plus everyone was affected by the war, always on their guard, and no one was their true self. You couldn’t ever allow yourself to trust someone completely.
Sven sat down at the table and tried the tomato. It was soft and juicy and warm, as if it had just been hanging on the plant in the sun. He looked at Juliette.
“It tastes wonderful.”
In fact, it was one of the most delicious things he’d ever eaten. He’d never had access to such fresh vegetables before, and during the war it was even more difficult to get ahold of that kind of produce.
