Page 20 of The French Wife

Bauer sat with his elbows on the table, put his fingertips together and looked at her. ‘I was just in the process of checking their paperwork,’ he said. ‘And I’m afraid there are some irregularities in their identity documents.’

‘But surely, monsieur, irregular paperwork isn’t a crime?’

Bauer smiled apologetically, meeting her eyes with his arresting blue gaze. ‘I’m afraid some of my colleagues in the SS might not agree with you there. In our Occupied Territories, we need to know who is living where, I’m afraid. It’s the only way to keep law and order, Madame Garnier.’

She thought for a moment. ‘How about if I or my husband were to vouch for them?’

Bauer cleared his throat. ‘This is a little awkward, but I’m afraid your husband did not endear himself to my colleague when we visited the farm.’

Amélie dropped her gaze, colour rising to her cheeks. She wanted to say that she had no control over Bruno, that she’d wished he could have kept a lid on his temper too, but something, some warped sense of loyalty to her husband, or perhaps to her country, stopped her from saying that.

‘Well, what about me?’ she asked, looking up at him again. ‘I could vouch for them. I’ve known them as long as Bruno has.’

‘I’m sorry, madame, but – again – I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,’ Bauer replied. ‘I’m sure these people are good citizens, as you say, but we Germans are sticklers for the correct paperwork.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile, willing her to share his little joke.

But she didn’t smile back. There was nothing to smile about. She thought again. ‘I’m wondering. Would it be possible for me to see the workers, Hauptmann Bauer? Please?’

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and smiled again, looking her in the eye. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said. ‘These are not political prisoners, so they should be allowed visitors. But it will have to be a short visit.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, relief spreading through her. ‘I will buy them something from the boulangerie and visit them at lunchtime, if that’s alright,’ she said.

She got to her feet, and he got up too, headed to the door and opened it for her.

‘Of course.’ He inclined his head politely as she left the room.

She hurried back across the hall towards her office, a slow smile spreading across her face. It felt like a tiny victory, although she knew there was nothing substantive to celebrate while the workers remained in the cells.

At eleven forty-five, just in time to catch the boulangerie before it closed, she slipped out of the building by the front entrance. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised at the sight of the soldiers and tanks on the square, but when she caught a glimpse of them, it did give her a jolt. She turned away from them, wondering if she would ever get used to them being there.

She hurried along, keeping her head down, staying close to the front of the mairie. Then she slipped down the cobbled side street that led through to the Boulevard des Promenades. There were German soldiers patrolling there too – in pairs, their rifles slung behind their shoulders. She shuddered. This seemed very heavy-handed for such a small town.

Amélie crossed the road hastily and headed towards the boulangerie on the other side of the boulevard. She joined the usual queue of office workers outside the shop, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers in the cold of the November morning. Queuing for food was a fact of life now, and had been since the beginning of the war. Luckily, meat, milk, eggs and vegetables were fairly plentiful on the farm, but Amélie was used to having to queue up for anything else they needed, which she would usually do during her lunch breaks. She looked in her handbag for her ration coupons and was relieved to find enough for the bakery to buy something for her workers.

When she reached the front of the queue, she smiled a warm hello to Monsieur and Madame Lalouche, who owned the bakery and were both serving behind the counter. Today, though, they looked preoccupied, barely smiling as they hurried to serve customers, and Amélie quickly guessed the reason. The Lalouches were both Jewish. They had moved to St Marie from Marseille several years beforehand for a quieter life and to bring up their only daughter away from the city. The arrival of German troops had been a shock for everyone in the town, but for them and the few other Jewish families in the area it must have been even more troubling. The Aryanisation laws, under which Jewish businesses were confiscated by the state, hadn’t been enforced with any zeal in the local area, largely due to Monsieur Corbert’s lax interpretation of edicts from Vichy, but things were sure to change now the Germans were here. Monsieur and Madame Lalouche must have been wondering how long it would be before the new occupiers started to clamp down.

‘How is Suzette?’ Amélie asked, knowing this question would bring a smile to their faces. Their teenage daughter was the light of their lives.

‘Oh, doing very well, thank you, Madame Garnier,’ Madame Lalouche replied, her face relaxing into an indulgent smile. ‘She’s top of the class in both French and mathematics.’

‘I’m not surprised. She always was a clever girl.’

‘Now, what can I do for you, madame?’

Amélie pointed to some crusty pies in the glass display counter. ‘Three of those beautiful tartes, please. What’s the filling today, madame?’

‘It is wild pheasant,’ Madame Lalouche assured her.

Amélie smiled, knowing that local poachers regularly brought illicitly shot game to the back door of the bakery, where they would receive a good price for it on the black market.

When she’d paid and said goodbye, she put the paper bag containing the pies into her handbag and headed back to the mairie. Once inside the front door, instead of going upstairs, she went into the police station on the ground floor and asked to be taken to see Tomasz and Marcel.

‘I have permission from Hauptmann Bauer,’ she told the policeman on the front desk.

The young man frowned, clearly confused by having to serve new masters, but beckoned to Amélie to follow him. He took her down a flight of narrow stone steps into the vaulted cellars.

She’d never been to the cells before and was shocked at how dark and damp the atmosphere was underneath the building. She shivered; there was clearly no heating down here. The air was dank and stale. Amélie wrinkled up her nose at the foetid smell of open drains. Algae was growing in places and water trickling down the walls.

Two armed German soldiers stood in the passage guarding the prisoners. Marcel and Tomasz were being held along with three other men in a large cell. It had thick metal bars over the front, making it look like an animal’s cage. There was no sign of Lili. The men were huddled together on concrete benches along the walls under a dim light. Amélie noticed a bucket in the corner. Was this where they had to relieve themselves? In a bucket, in full view of all the others?