Page 19 of The French Wife

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Étienne,’ Amélie said, undoing her handbag and taking out her purse. ‘Here, take this. It might help.’ She handed him a ten-franc note.

‘Thank you, madame,’ he said, slipping the money into his pocket and looking at her again in that direct way he had. ‘I’ll hide it from Papa, or he will spend it on spirits.’

‘Oh dear.’ Amélie was aware that Étienne’s father was known to drink his way through the family money on a regular basis, which was why his mother didn’t always get the medicines or treatment she needed.

Étienne shrugged as if to say it was the way things were, it couldn’t be helped.

‘Goodbye then,’ she said. ‘And take care.’ She got onto her bicycle and cycled out of the courtyard, aware of Étienne standing still behind her, his eyes on her back, watching her until she was out of sight.

Instead of heading through the spinney and out towards the road, she turned left on the cinder track that skirted the farm buildings and led downhill and along the river valley through the vineyards. She often rode that way, unless it had been raining and the surface of the track was so soft that it made the going impossible. The track was quicker than the main road, and she loved the feeling of being completely alone in the middle of the countryside. Besides, the cinder track led through the land her father had given her and Bruno on their marriage; she’d known these fields all her life and used to wander in the vineyards in the bottom of the valley as a child. Riding through them alone reminded her of those days long ago when she used to feel free and, dare she admit it, happy.

As she freewheeled down the hill between the rocks and grey-green maquis that led towards the river, she thought about Marcel, Tomasz and Lili and their terrified expressions as they were taken by the Germans. Where were they now? What would happen to them? Perhaps she would find out when she got to work. Her mind wandered to Étienne too and the odd conversation they’d just had. The way he’d looked at her was so strange it sent shivers of discomfort running through her. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt like that either. Now she came to think about it, she’d caught him watching her a few times before, during the recent grape harvest. Why did he look at her like that? And then she realised with a jolt why: he must be sweet on her. However had she not noticed that before?

She almost laughed out loud when she realised the truth of it. How ridiculous. A teenage boy with a crush on a woman twice his age. He’d better be careful, she reflected, or Bruno would notice and he’d stop hiring Étienne and his father to work on the farm. And she needed to rebuff him herself. Make it clear to him that it was just a boyhood fantasy, that one day he would meet a girl his own age and realise how foolish he’d been.

She pedalled on over the flat land that ran along the edge of the vineyards beside the wide, shallow river. She loved this valley in all weathers. In summer the vines and trees were vivid green, but now, in late autumn, the valley was a vibrant patchwork of colours – russets, reds, browns – the diverse varieties of vines bearing different-coloured leaves. Despite this, the vines looked bare at this time of year; Bruno’s men had pruned them straight after the harvest, and the earth around them was brown too.

On the other side of the river between the trees, beside the water’s edge, Amélie spotted the deserted forester’s cabin. It had once been on her father’s land and was a place that held many happy memories for her. In years gone by, she and her schoolfriends would walk across the stepping stones when the river was low and play in and around the cabin for hours on end. Indulgently, her father had even furnished it for her with an old couch and a little oak table, getting his farm workers to carry them over the stepping stones. She and her friends would even light fires in the stone grate and roast chestnuts they’d collected from the wood to eat. They sometimes took nets and even managed to catch a few fish in the river, which they would grill over the flames too. Although it was fun, they didn’t enjoy eating them so much.

Amélie hadn’t visited the cabin for years, but suddenly she had the desire to do just that. It struck her that it could be a place she could go to be alone. A refuge. A place where Bruno wouldn’t know where to find her.

Smiling wistfully at her childhood memories, she headed on towards St Marie, but her reflective mood didn’t last. The closer she got to the town, the more anxious she became about what the day would bring. She wondered again about what had happened to the workers. She thought of Lili. Dear, kind Lili, who wouldn’t hurt a soul. She didn’t deserve this. Where were they all now? Were they in the cells underneath the police station? Were they being beaten by the soldiers? Worse still, would they be lined up and shot in cold blood like the three partisans the day before? She shuddered and tried to dismiss the memory from her mind. Surely just having irregular identity papers didn’t warrant the firing squad? Her heart turned over with pity for them all and she wondered if there might be something she could do to help them. She would speak to Monsieur Colbert, or maybe even Hauptmann Bauer with the gentle eyes. He seemed far more human than the others, but then perhaps she shouldn’t trust him either. He was a German officer, after all.

When she arrived at the mairie, she stowed her bicycle in the yard behind the building and went in through the back door. All was quiet on the stairs and she crept up to the first floor, holding her breath, hoping not to bump into any of the German officers.

The mayor and the commissaire of police were already at their desks when she hurried in.

‘I’m sorry I’m late, monsieur,’ she said to the mayor.

‘No problem, Madame Garnier,’ he said, looking at her through a cloud of smoke. ‘Did you have trouble with your bicycle?’

‘No.’ She looked around nervously and lowered her voice. ‘The Germans came to the farm this morning to inspect everyone’s papers. They took three of our workers away with them, including a woman.’

‘That’s terrible news,’ Colbert said, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and staring at her. ‘I saw the soldiers arrive back here a short while ago. They had several people in the back of their van. We watched them unload them from the window. It looked as though they were taking them straight to the cells. It’s a terrible situation…’

‘It is,’ Amélie said, taking off her coat. ‘I was wondering… might you be able to speak to the German officers about them, monsieur? They are all good people. They are trustworthy and have worked on the farm for years.’

The mayor looked away and cleared his throat. ‘I will think about it,’ he said. ‘I would need to pick my moment, though. It wouldn’t do to go upsetting the Germans at this juncture. I’m sure you understand, madame.’

She looked at him silently for a moment. She’d half expected this. When the German tanks had first rolled into the square, she’d wondered which way he would lean. Now it was all too evident, but it had happened more quickly than she’d imagined.

‘Of course, monsieur. I understand,’ she said coldly, sitting down at her desk and turning to her work.

EIGHT

When the Germans had marched into the town square on the previous morning, Amélie had been busy typing out the minutes of a meeting of the town council that had taken place the week before. She took up where she’d left off, but couldn’t concentrate. The thought of Lili, Tomasz and Marcel suffering in the cells in the basement of that very building kept coming back to her. Lili had been a constant presence in Amélie’s life for a long time and she also knew the two men well. She’d cooked for them almost every evening for several years. They’d sat around the same kitchen table to eat, shared stories of success and failure, had laughed together and commiserated together during hard times. She’d even looked after them when they were sick. She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing to help them.

When she’d come to a convenient stopping point in her work, she pulled the minutes out of the typewriter, laid them on the desk and got to her feet. Without saying a word, she left the room. Neither Monsieur Colbert nor Monsieur Gilles looked up from what they were doing. If they even noticed her leaving, they probably assumed she was simply heading for the ladies’ room across the corridor.

She tried to keep her breath steady as she closed the heavy door behind her and crossed the landing to the other office. It was the room that had belonged to Monsieur Colbert, but which was now occupied by Hauptmann Bauer. The door was half glazed, and as Amélie approached, she could see that Bauer was alone in the room. He was sitting behind his desk in his shirt sleeves and braces, writing, his blond head bent to his task, his fringe flopping over his eyes. She stood for a moment watching him, summoning her courage, her heart pounding. It would be the easiest thing in the world to do nothing. To turn around, keep her head down and go back to work, to forget all about the others. But she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least try to help them.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. Bauer looked up instantly, his expression formal and rigid, staring at the door, but when he saw Amélie standing there, his face softened.

‘Come in. Come in, Madame Garnier,’ he said, standing up as she entered the room. ‘Do sit down.’ He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened at your home this morning,’ he said, taking his seat as she sat down. ‘I had no idea you lived at the farm until we arrived.’

Amélie perched uneasily on the edge of the chair. She didn’t know what to say in response to his apology. It meant very little in the context of what had happened that morning, but at least it showed he had a conscience.

‘Actually, that’s what I came to speak to you about, monsieur,’ she began. ‘I want to know if there is anything I can do to help the three workers you took away from the farm. I know them to be good, trustworthy people. They haven’t done anything wrong.’