Fitz’s main concern was Yvette. Everything she was doing was not only to give Philippe and Margot more time to reorganise any of their plans, but to keep Yvette safe. She wasn’t one for praying, but she did that night, tied to the chair, blindfolded, with her hands in agony where she’d had her fingernails pulled out earlier that day. She had passed out with the pain and had been brought around with a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over her. And now the little clothing she was wearing was still wet and she could feel the cold night air seeping into the room. She guessed a window had been left open, with the intention of making her as uncomfortable as possible. She dreaded to think what she looked like. Engel had taken greatpleasure in dishing out several blows to her face and the threat of teeth being pulled out with a large pair of plyers he had brandished in front of her was what she had to look forward to next.
Exhausted from this onslaught, Fitz allowed herself to drift into a semi-conscious state. Her head bowed, she sensed she was alone in the room and could try to doze if nothing else. The pain in her fingertips was immense and her back was very sore from where she had been struck with a leather strap. She needed to rest. To sleep.
It wasn’t a deep sleep, though. As soon as she heard the door to the room open, she was wide-awake again. At the thought of what she was going to have to face today, her empty stomach churned. She had been deprived of food since she’d been brought here and been given a minimal amount of water – just enough to keep her alive she assumed.
The blindfold was removed from her eyes, and she squinted as the daylight dazzled her. Being blindfolded had heightened her other senses and she knew Engel was in the room by the smell of his pine-scented aftershave.
She flinched as someone touched her arm. She realised it was a soldier and he was untying the straps that had kept her wrists in place.
‘Good morning, Mademoiselle Bardot,’ said Engel. Fitz’s eyes finally adjusted to the light. And although she was not able to open them fully, she could make out Engel standing in front of her. ‘I’m sorry to say, your stay here has come to an end.’
Fitz had been fully prepared to die but to hear Engel’s words made the reality suddenly very stark. She took a deep breath, refusing to allow herself to cry. She’d be taken out to the courtyard and executed like André and Bernard. Maybe no one in England would ever know what she had gone through, butshe would die knowing she hadn’t betrayed her country and with hope that Yvette was safe. She was certain if Engel had hold of Yvette, he would have used the child to get Fitz to talk. Fitz always knew that if that ever happened, then she would tell Engel everything he wanted to know. She would have done anything to save the child. Anything.
Her clothes were placed on the table in front of her, together with her shoes. At least she’d have the dignity of being dressed when they came to reclaim her body. She wondered if she’d be buried next to the airmen in Josselin cemetery. If Sam was buried there, then she would rest in eternal peace.
She got to her feet and immediately collapsed to the ground. Her legs were weak. Her body was exhausted. She felt the hands of the soldiers on her as they stood her up. She held onto the table for support. She did not want them to touch her.
It took Fitz what little energy she had to dress herself. Fastening the buttons on her blouse was especially difficult with her sore fingers. She had no idea what her face looked like but judging by the pain in her cheekbone and the swelling on her lip, she guessed she looked pretty damn awful. Still, though she might look totally broken on the outside, Engel hadn’t destroyed her spirit. That she still had.
She smoothed down her skirt and patted her hair, trying to tuck a few loose strands into place with the two fingers which still had their nails intact.
She wouldn’t look at Engel. She knew he’d be sniggering at her. She didn’t care. She stood up straight, looking at a point beyond his shoulder.
‘I shouldn’t worry too much about how you look,’ remarked Engel. ‘Where you’re going, no one will care.’
Where she was going? She wasn’t sure what he meant. To her death? Or somewhere else? She wanted to ask but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared.
‘Goodbye, Mademoiselle Bardot,’ said Engel. ‘I am sorry we didn’t meet under more favourable circumstances. I’m sure we would have got on very well indeed.’
Fitz remained silent. She didn’t want Engel to be the last face she looked at before she died. She’d already decided that her final thoughts would be of Yvette and Sam. People she cared deeply about. Her only regret was she hadn’t acknowledged the strength of her feelings for them sooner. For her to die and never have been able to tell either of them how much she cared – how much she loved them – that was the greatest tragedy of this whole sorry affair.
The soldier took Fitz’s arm and walked her out of the room. To Fitz’s surprise, instead of turning left to the rear garden and place of execution, the soldier shoved her towards the front door. Fitz was still unsteady on her feet and stumbled but grabbed hold of the banister.
‘Move,’ ordered the soldier in German.
Fitz concentrated hard, putting one foot in front of the other. Was she being set free? A glimmer of hope filled her heart. Maybe they were going to let her go.
The soldier moved in front of her and opened the door and as Fitz stepped out onto the doorstep the glimmer of hope was snuffed out.
There was a military truck waiting outside and she was ordered to climb in the back. Each side of the truck, the benches were lined with mostly men, about fifteen of them and three women, who shuffled up so Fitz could sit with them. Two soldiers sat at the end nearest the back of the truck.
Fitz looked around at the faces. Some had suffered the same fate as her, judging by the bruising and injuries. While others simply looked broken, the light in their eyes extinguished. She realised with a sickening feeling in her stomach that she wasn’t being released at all. She might have been given a stay of execution that morning, but she was by no stretch of the imagination free. They were all prisoners. The truck trundled on through the town heading in the rough direction of Rennes.
‘Where are we going?’ Fitz whispered to the woman next to her, who looked to be in her mid to late thirties. She had a black eye but other than that, looked unscathed. Fitz couldn’t help wondering what she had done to be on the back of a truck.
The woman looked at her as if she was stupid.
It was a man sitting opposite who answered. ‘You really don’t know?’
Fitz shook her head. ‘No.’
The woman made a scoffing noise. ‘She thinks she’s going on holiday, maybe?’
This earned a chuckle from the people either side of them. The man leaned forward. ‘You’ve heard of the internment camps being set up across the country?’
Fitz clamped her mouth tightly closed, to stop her bottom lip trembling. This was not the time to start crying. If the man was right, then she was to be interned in some sort of detention camp. She knew the Nazis were already sending people there, most of them who the Nazis termed ‘nomads’, but also some Jews and non-French nationals. A place where people were just detained, they weren’t put on trial or sentenced, they were simply held there for as long as their captors wanted.
Silence fell across the truck as it continued on its journey. Fitz was jostled against the people either side of her as the truck swayed over uneven ground. As she looked around at thedejected faces of her fellow travellers, she noticed one thing – acceptance of fate. All hope had gone from their eyes.
