Page 38 of The French Wife

The soldier went into the cellar first and Glock after him. Amélie stood at the top of the steps and watched their lights flashing around below, listening to their voices, wondering what they were saying to each other. She held her breath. Would Bruno’s idea of hiding the door to the inner room with the shelves work?

At that moment came the sound of another engine on the drive and Amélie rushed to the front door. It was another armoured car, this time carrying only two soldiers. It stopped behind the other vehicles and a man swung out of the passenger seat and approached the door. Relief surged through Amélie when he drew closer and she recognised Hauptmann Bauer.

‘I am very sorry for this intrusion, Madame Garnier,’ he said when she opened the door. ‘Is Untersturmführer Glock here? There has been a development. I need to speak to him urgently.’

‘He is in the cellar,’ she said, hoping against hope that in those few minutes Glock hadn’t got suspicious and tried to move the shelves down there. ‘Come through.’ She led Bauer through the house and to the top of the cellar steps. ‘He’s down there.’

Bauer flashed her a smile of thanks, then, producing a torch from his pocket, went down the steps himself. There was a brief conversation in German, which Amélie strained to hear but didn’t understand, then all three men came up the steps and into the kitchen. At that moment, a soldier came through from the herbergerie and spoke to Glock.

Glock turned to Amélie with a triumphant smile. ‘You have an extra man sleeping in your barn, don’t you, madame?’

Amélie swallowed and faced him. ‘An extra man? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You have six workers living here, do you not? But our men counted seven occupied beds.’

Amélie stared into his flint-grey eyes, her mind racing. What excuse could she make for this oversight. Then suddenly it came to her and she forced a smile.

‘Sometimes one of them sleeps up there,’ she said. ‘The others complain that he snores, so they banish him to the top floor.’

Glock stared at her, with his fixed, evil smile.

There was a pause, then Hauptmann Bauer broke the silence, his voice conciliatory. ‘Come, Untersturmführer, we need to go to investigate the other matter. There is nothing to see here. We can trust Madame Garnier. She works for us.’ He turned to Amélie. ‘I am so sorry to have disturbed you once again, madame. Please accept my apologies for any disruption.’

He left the room followed by his men, but Glock lingered for a moment. He narrowed his eyes and leaned towards Amélie. To her disgust, he reached out and took her face in his hand, pinching her cheeks. Then he came close to her, narrowing his eyes.

‘You might have got my colleague wound round your little finger, but I’m not so easily deceived.’ And then he was gone too.

Amélie staggered to the wall and leaned against it, touching her cheek where Glock had pinched her. Her heart was pounding, but she was weak with relief that he had finally gone and that he hadn’t discovered the secret door.

She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there when she heard sounds from the herbergerie. The workers must have arrived back from the olive groves. She went through to speak to them, telling them that supper would be a little later that evening because of the Germans’ unexpected arrival.

‘They didn’t find anything, did they?’ Marcel asked anxiously.

‘No, we hid the radio in the cellar,’ she replied in a low voice. ‘But Bruno’s gone out now. I don’t know where he is. Or Raoul for that matter.’

None of the workers appeared to know either, so she went back into the kitchen and heated up the soup and cut some slices of bread. When the meal was ready, she called everyone through and they sat round the table to eat.

They were halfway through the meal when there was a sound from the hall. The front door opened and everyone round the table fell silent, looking at each other.

‘It’s me,’ Bruno said, appearing at the kitchen door. ‘Amélie, you need to come and help.’

She got up and went out into the hall. There stood Raoul with two others, looking dishevelled and shell-shocked. Raoul and one man were supporting the third between them. This one was wrapped in parachute silk. His head, with a mop of dark hair, was flopping forward, he was shivering and looked to be in a bad way.

‘Take him upstairs,’ Bruno said to Raoul and the other man. ‘Lie him on one of the beds. My wife will clean his wounds.’

Amélie followed the men upstairs. She hadn’t heard the aircraft, but this must have been what the Germans had been so excited about; an enemy aircraft dropping operatives into the area.

They took the injured man into the spare room and laid him on the bed. Amélie went to the window and closed the shutters then the curtains. Raoul switched on the light and Amélie looked down at the patient. The mop of dark hair was pushed back now and Amélie stared in astonishment at the face on the pillow. The skin was soft, the lips full, the eyelashes were long and had clearly been painted with mascara, which had smudged onto pale cheeks. She looked up at Raoul.

‘It’s a woman,’ she said in amazement.

He nodded. ‘She’s been sent here from London. She and Henri here parachuted in this evening. Unfortunately, she fell into a tree and was badly hurt.’

‘What’s her name?’ Amélie asked.

‘We know her as Ivy. Ivy Rose,’ Raoul said. ‘But I very much doubt it’s her real name.’

‘And I’m Henri,’ the other man said. ‘You’re going to need these.’ He handed Amélie two small canvas packs. ‘First-aid kits,’ he said. ‘All soldiers carry them. There are dressings in there, but most importantly, each kit comes with a morphine syrette. We have administered half of one syrette but you will need to keep that topped up through the night. Once both syrettes are used up, do you have any painkillers?’