Just then, Alma suddenly appeared, kneeling beside them and, without a word, took hold of the child’s legs with firm but gentle hands. This enabled Agatha to restrain Mathilde’s upper body.
Clara worked swiftly, her training taking over as she completed three precise stitches in a matter of minutes. Once finished, she wrapped a clean bandage snugly around the child’s leg.
‘Merci beaucoup,’ Agatha whispered through her tears, clutching her daughter.
‘You need to change the dressing daily. Don’t let the wound become infected,’ Clara said urgently. ‘In a few days you will need to find a doctor to remove the stitches.’
Agatha nodded frantically. Clara hoped she understood. She rifled through her medical bag and pressed two clean bandages and a small bottle of iodine into the woman’s hands. ‘Take these. And please, be careful.’
‘We need to go! Now!’ the driver shouted.
Clara walked back to the truck with Alma thanking her for her help.
The nurse paused at the back of the vehicle, studying Clara’s face intently. ‘Who are you really, Frida Hoffmann?’ she asked quietly.
Chapter 38
For the rest of the journey to Lille, there was an awkward silence. The two other nurses didn’t say anything to Clara, seemingly taking the lead from Alma. Now and again, when Clara looked up or across the other side of the truck, she caught Alma looking at her. No, make that studying her. Trying to work out what Clara’s real reason for being on the journey was.
With every mile, tension built. She’d come too far to fail now. All she had to do was get to Lille and then quietly slip away tonight and meet up with Rose. It was the thought of seeing her sister again that kept her spirits high. It had been nearly three years since they had seen one another.
She wondered how much Rose might have changed. Would she even recognise her? Surely, she would. Rose, with her hair the colour of mahogany, her pale blue eyes and the dash of freckles across her nose. But more importantly, had working in Lille changed Rose? She let out a sigh. Of course, Rose could be having the same kind of doubts about Clara. Would she think Clara was too German now? Would she be wary of her sister being married to a German officer? The idea was painful.
More pressing though was what Alma thought of her, or rather thoughts of Frida Hoffmann. Clara needed to keep her wits about her. There was no point trying to behave differently now, it would arouse suspicion if she suddenly became chatty and friendly. No, she had to maintain the same persona she had the moment she had climbed up on that truck. She was a slightly aloof administration worker with the health department.
‘Finally,’ said Alma as the truck rumbled through the hospital gates.
Clara sat up, pulse quickening, scanning exits. She needed to memorise every detail. Where the exits were, which buildings offered cover, how the guards were positioned. Later tonight, when darkness fell, this unfamiliar terrain could mean the difference between escape and capture.
Banners snapped in the afternoon breeze against the brick facade. Upper windows gaped like dead eyes, while scattered medical equipment still littered the entrance steps where the hospital had been hastily abandoned during the British retreat. German sentries stood rigid at the main gates, scrutinising the papers of everyone who entered and left. Military ambulances and supply trucks moved in an endless stream through grounds that had so recently sheltered wounded Allied soldiers.
The truck was directed to the west of the building where other vehicles waited in line, their cargo being systematically unloaded under watchful eyes.
‘You four, report to the main entrance,’ barked the guard as he climbed down from the vehicle.
‘This should be interesting,’ Alma said with a cold smile as they climbed down from the vehicle.
‘What do you mean?’ asked one of the nurses.
‘We shall see if the hospital is actually expecting our Frida, won’t we?’ Alma’s eyes never left Clara’s face. ‘Tell me, who exactly are you supposed to report to?’
‘No one,’ Clara replied, forcing herself to meet Alma’s calculating stare. ‘No one here, anyway.’
‘How curious.’ Alma moved ahead, positioning herself between Clara and any possible escape route, with the two other nurses flanking her like prison guards. ‘You really should tell them about your impressive medical skills. Quite the accomplished nurse, our Frida. So very hands-on for administration worker.’
Clara’s heart rocked inside her. Alma knew. The predatory gleam in her eyes made that terrifyingly clear. But what could Clara do now? There was no way to slip away quietly with guards everywhere, but if she walked into the hospital and faced the administration while Alma voiced her suspicions .?.?. Clara’s mouth went dry. She would be arrested on the spot and Friedrich’s sacrifice would be for nothing.
There was nothing for it. She would just have to bluff her way through this.
The hospital administrator, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, looked up from his desk as the group approached. ‘Ah, the nursing reinforcements. I’m Oberarzt Rault. We have one ward fully functioning and now you’re here we will be opening a further ward. You’ll be assigned to—’
‘Excuse me,’ Clara interrupted crisply, stepping forwards before Alma could speak. ‘I believe there’s some confusion. I’m Frida Hoffmann from the Reich Health Office, Medical Supply Division.’ She pulled out her papers with practised efficiency. ‘I’m here to conduct a comprehensive assessment of supply requirements, not to work as nursing staff.’
Rault’s eyebrows rose as he examined her documentation. ‘We weren’t informed of an inspection.’
‘I would suggest that communications have been compromised,’ said Clara with icy efficiency. ‘Telegraph lines are down across half the occupied territories. However, if you feel compelled to verify my authorisation.’ She gestured dismissively at the telephone on his desk. ‘There’s a contact number on my papers. Though I should warn you, Berlin takes a very dim view of administrators who question Reich Health Office credentials without cause.’ Her voice dropped to a more dangerous tone. ‘Tell me, Herr Rault, do you have some objection to cooperation with official health inspectors? Because that would be most unfortunate to report back to my superiors.’
The implied threat hung in the air as Rault’s face paled slightly, clearly weighing the risks of challenging someone who might be legitimate versus the consequences of obstructing a genuine Reich official.
