The evening was colder than it had been since I’d been at the farm and the grass was damp underfoot as we scuttled across the field towards the forest, the moon being our only guide. I was glad I’d put on my thicker cardigan when we had sneaked out. We’d left the house earlier this evening than we had before. Apparently, rain was due overnight and Rachelle didn’t want to have to explain wet and muddy clothes to her parents.
Rachelle led the way, and I followed silently behind her. It wasn’t long before the lookouts in the forest confronted us as before. This time, they were more comfortable letting us through, as I assumed Gaston had already told them we were coming.
The camp seemed busier than it had done the last time I was there.
‘Ah, cousin and sister,’ greeted Gaston, emerging from a different, larger hut than before. He held his hands out wide and hugged us both at the same time. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes. No problems,’ replied Rachelle.
‘Come this way,’ said Gaston, gesturing back towards the hut.
Two lanterns hung inside the hut above an old sewing machine. To one side was a large table with several items of clothing spread out and a block of fabric. A movement to the side startled me and out from the shadows of the room stepped Marcel. ‘I didn’t see you there,’ I said, trying to compose myself under his watchful gaze.
‘You should always be aware of your surroundings,’ he said, taking a cigarette packet from his pocket and offering it to me.
I shook my head at the French cigarettes and was surprised when Rachelle took one. He took a box of matches from his pocket and casually threw them her way.
Rachelle lit the cigarette and drew deeply before exhaling. I moved my head away to avoid the unpleasant smell of smoke. I glanced at Marcel and could see a small look of amusement on his face.
‘So, where did you learn French?’ I asked. ‘Your accent is quite good.’
‘Quite good?’ Marcel raised his eyebrow, and I still got the feeling he was finding me amusing, which annoyed me.
‘Yes, I suppose you could fool a German, but not a native speaker.’ I sounded more prickly than I’d intended, but this didn’t appear to have any effect on his disposition.
‘As long as we fool the Jerries,’ came Marcel’s laconic reply. He headed for the door but paused and turned to me. ‘Let’s see if your sewing skills can do the same. Wouldn’t want a weak link.’
‘Weak link!’ I couldn’t help the indignation in my tone as Marcel exited the building.
Gaston gave a laugh. ‘Take no notice, Nathalie. Marcel is teasing you.’ He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Now, come over here and I’ll show you what needs to be done.’
It turned out to be relatively straightforward and the old treadle sewing machine performed much better than it gave the impression it would. I started with the hems on the trousers of the uniform and stitching the buttons on a shirt.
‘We haven’t got long,’ said Rachelle. ‘We mustn’t be out any more than a couple of hours.’
‘Maybe I can leave the jacket until tomorrow night,’ I said, as I examined what needed to be done with it.
‘No. We need it finished tonight,’ said Marcel, who– much to my annoyance– had returned to the hut a few minutes earlier. ‘Did you do that shirt?’
I looked at Gaston for some sort of backup, but he gave a shrug. ‘We need them done tonight,’ and then, as an afterthought, he added, ‘Sorry.’
I realised there must be something planned for tomorrow night. They either had some sort of operation or the clothing had to be taken somewhere. ‘D’accord. I’ll go as quickly as I can,’ I said. I picked up the shirt that Marcel had asked about and handed it over to him.
The sound of someone calling Gaston had my cousin on his feet. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said.
I was glad the light was dim in the hut so Marcel wouldn’t see me blush a little. Marcel had taken his jumper and shirt off and was now standing there with just a white singlet on. I looked away and Marcel let out a loud laugh.
‘I’m not exactly naked,’ he said.
I kept my gaze on the jacket, fiddling with the sleeve but not really looking at what I was doing. In the couple of seconds I had looked at Marcel, I hadn’t failed to notice his toned body, the muscles of his arms, and the broadness of his shoulders. If the Germans caught him, they may believe by the clothing he was French, but without his shirt, it was obvious Marcel had not been deprived of food or nutrition in the recent past, unlike some of my fellow countrymen.
‘I didn’t realise the shirt was for you,’ I said, daring to look back up and thankful that Marcel now had the shirt on, if not buttoned up.
‘That’s why I needed the collar adjusting,’ he said as he fiddled with the top button. ‘Can’t have a German officer in an ill-fitting uniform. Damn it. I can’t fasten this button.’
I put the jacket down and went over to him. ‘Let me help you.’ Despite my earlier fluster at Marcel being half naked in front of me, his comment about the ill-fitting uniform sobered me and knocked all thoughts of childish embarrassment away. He was obviously about to do something dangerous and brave, and here I was blushing like an idiot because he’d taken his shirt off. I was very aware of our proximity as I, too, struggled with the button. ‘The buttonhole is too small,’ I said finally. Then I inspected the rest of the buttons. ‘No, actually it’s the button that is wrong. It is bigger than the others. It needs to be changed.’
‘Have you got some more buttons?’
