She climbed out of the aircraft and one of the crew lifted Yvette down. A car was already on the tarmac waiting for them and they were whisked away to Bignor Manor.
Barbara Bertram ushered them into the kitchen where a pot of soup was warming on the stove ready for their consumption. It was most welcome after twenty-four hours with only fruit and bread to eat.
That night, although tucked up in a warm bed with clean, crisp bedlinen and Yvette sleeping soundly in the bed next to her, Fitz found it hard to get to sleep. Her mind was still on high alert, as it had been since she’d left England. Her body might be ready to rest, but her mind was reluctant to relax. Thoughts of the past two weeks swirled around on a constant loop. Before they’d left France, Frédéric had received word that Jeanne and her children were all right, though their home had been thoroughly searched and all three of them had been questioned for over an hour. But the Germans had left without harming anyone – physically at least. Jeanne had managed to convince them thatMadame Cussac was a gossip and troublemaker. Whether they believed her entirely or not, was another matter, but Jeanne was safe as were her children. Fitz was more than relieved to hear this.
As yet, Fitz hadn’t heard anything about Philippe or Margot. When she’d asked Yvette what had happened, the little girl had only been able to give scant information. The morning after Fitz had been arrested, Margot had tried to take Yvette out of the château, to where she didn’t know, but they had been stopped by the soldiers. When they found Yvette didn’t have any relations in Josselin and had come from Saint Pierre, they had taken her away and put her in a hall along with other people. Fitz had no doubt Engel had been behind that order. After that Yvette had been bundled onto the truck. She cried as she relayed this to Fitz. The poor child was traumatised by events.
And now here they were in a foreign country where Yvette didn’t speak the language and knew no one. Fitz consoled herself with the fact that Yvette was alive and safe.
Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Sam. He was never far from the front of her mind, but she realised with a deep sadness, that somewhere along the line, she had begun to prepare herself for the fact that he hadn’t survived. The reality of life in France, the events she had experienced first-hand over the last few days, had been a sharp reminder that she had to now face the truth. Her romantic idea that Sam had somehow survived a plane crash and been found by the resistance and then made it back to England, seemed more fanciful than ever.
Eventually, she had fallen asleep but it had only been for a few short hours. When she woke the following morning, Yvette was already awake and sitting on her bed fully dressed.
‘You’re an early bird,’ said Fitz. She looked at the end of her bed and saw all her clothes set out. She looked back at Yvetteproperly and noted the anxious look on the child’s face and the teddy tightly clutched to her.
‘Do we have to leave?’ asked Yvette.
Fitz pushed the covers back and slid out of bed, going to sit beside Yvette. She put her arm around her. ‘We will be leaving, but not yet and not in a hurry. We’re safe here. No one is coming who we have to hide from or run away from.’
Yvette looked up at her. ‘But I heard voices downstairs. Men.’
‘That will be Mr Bertram, who lives here or perhaps some of the other guests,’ explained Fitz. ‘Everyone here is our friend. The Germans aren’t here in England. You know, sometimes Mr and Mrs Bertram have French people here.’ She hoped this would help reassure her. ‘Now, I’ll get dressed and we can go down for breakfast together. How does that sound?’ She made to sniff the air. ‘In fact, I think I can smell breakfast. Eggs and bacon and toast.’
Yvette’s eyes lit up and she jumped to her feet. ‘Hurry up,’ she urged.
Fitz laughed and did as she was told, getting dressed as fast as she could.
When they went into the dining room, two men were sitting at the table. They both rose and greeted Fitz and Yvette, who took their seats on the opposite side of the table.
They seemed a little surprised to see Yvette but no one asked questions and Fitz offered no explanation. The unwritten code of never giving anything away and never asking questions prevailing.
Yvette, however, wasn’t accustomed to this code. After several minutes of glancing up at the men, her curiosity got the better of her. ‘Are you French?’ she asked.
The men exchanged a glance. The younger of the two, who Fitz thought couldn’t be any older than twenty-five, replied. ‘Oui. We are. And you are too?’
‘Yes. Are you going to France?’ continued Yvette.
‘We hope so,’ replied the man. ‘Maybe tonight.’
Yvette fiddled with the spoon. ‘If you see my mother, can you tell her I’m here?’
The Frenchman looked up at Fitz and then back at Yvette. ‘Of course. I will tell her you are safe and being looked after well. She will be happy to know that. What is your mother’s name?’
‘Edith Moreau. My name is Yvette. Yvette Moreau.’
‘I will remember that, Yvette Moreau. And your mother Edith Moreau.’ He tapped his temple with his forefinger. ‘I won’t forget.’
Fitz’s promise to the doctor was reinforced further. She might not have Sam to live for now, but she had Yvette. She had a promise to fulfil and she embraced it. It gave her something to focus on.
Later that morning, Fitz was visited by someone from SOE, a Mr White – Fitz wasn’t sure that was his real name but as ever it was a need-to-know basis. While Yvette played in the garden with the Bertram children, Fitz had spent three hours being debriefed. Every detail of her time in France scrutinised. She was exhausted when it was finally over.
‘Thank you, Miss Fitz-Herbert,’ said Mr White, placing the copious notes he’d made into his briefcase. ‘Do you have any questions?’
‘Will I be going back into the field?’ Fitz needed to know, for Yvette’s sake as much as her own.
‘Do you feel able to go back?’
Fitz looked down. ‘Not right now. But maybe in time.’ Why did she feel like a traitor saying this?
