Page 48 of The French Wife

She stared at him. ‘I can’t do that,’ she said, letting go of his hand and getting to her feet. ‘It’s out of the question. Please, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’

‘I could help you—’ he began, getting up too.

But she moved away from him and left the office, still trembling all over, seeing the hurt and puzzlement in his pale-blue eyes as she went. His sympathy and kindness had shaken her to the core, and she hadn’t known how to react. But something deep inside her was stirred by his compassion, and although she’d reacted badly, she realised she was glad he’d mentioned her bruises and that his interest in her wasn’t unwelcome.

She thought about the encounter for the rest of the working day and as she cycled home in the gathering dusk. She couldn’t get the look in his eyes out of her mind, the touch of his fingers on her cheek, the things he’d said to her. She regretted having rebuffed him once again, but his tenderness had disarmed and confused her.

Raoul was up and about when Amélie got home.

‘You should be resting,’ she said to him, taking off her coat and boots in the porch.

‘I don’t have time for that,’ he said. ‘Too much to do. Thank you for patching me up, though. And thank you for helping with the mission last night – you were incredible.’

‘It’s no problem,’ she said, instinctively hoping Bruno wasn’t listening to his praise or there would be hell to pay later. ‘I have some more information for you.’

Raoul broke into a smile. ‘Do you know, you’re a godsend to the cause, Amélie,’ he said.

She retrieved the papers from her bag and handed them to him. He sat down at the table and read them through, now and then letting out a low whistle of appreciation. Finally, he looked up, beaming from ear to ear.

‘These are brilliant,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to radio this information to London and await orders.’

‘But you can’t radio from here,’ she said, alarmed. ‘The Germans will intercept you.’

‘I know. Your husband has offered to take me with him in the truck when he takes Marcel, Tomasz and Lili to Toulouse to register at the prefecture. He’s going tomorrow morning. I can stop on the way in and radio. He can pick me up on the way back.’

Bruno entered the kitchen from the herbergerie at that moment. ‘What’s all this?’ he said, glowering.

‘Your wife’s just handed me some more brilliant information,’ Raoul said.

Bruno flicked Amélie a warning look and she went cold inside.

Raoul went on, seemingly oblivious. ‘I’ll come with you tomorrow as you suggested, Bruno. I have a contact in a village halfway to Toulouse. I’ll radio from there.’

‘All right,’ Bruno said gruffly.

Amélie busied herself preparing supper; gratin potatoes and some leftover beef from a few days before. One of the neighbouring farmers had traded a slab of meat with Bruno for several bottles of wine.

The evening passed in the usual fashion – all the workers trooping into the kitchen for their meal. Raoul and Henri joined them, and even Ivy was well enough to make it upstairs and sit at the table. She looked very pale though and barely spoke. Amélie watched her anxiously as she picked at her food. Talk was of the raid the night before with each man excitedly reciting their experience with bravado. Only Amélie refrained from bragging. The death of ten men, even though they were Germans, didn’t feel like a triumph to her.

Later, up in their bedroom, Bruno grabbed her and pinned her against the wall by her shoulders.

‘I’m sick of you sucking up to that jumped-up young idiot,’ he said, his face close to hers. So close she could smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘You make me look like a fool in front of everyone.’

‘I barely said a word at supper,’ she said.

‘Not then. Before that. He was calling you brilliant – a godsend. I was in the herbergerie and I heard him. You were lapping it up, I could tell.’

She looked straight at him, thinking of Hauptmann Bauer, of his kind, empathetic eyes, of his gentle words of support and encouragement. ‘Leave me alone, Bruno,’ she said coldly. ‘I’ve done nothing to deserve this.’

That only served to antagonise him more.

‘You’re my wife and you will show me respect!’

His hands weren’t on her shoulders any longer, they were round her neck, his strong fingers gripping her windpipe, squeezing tighter, stopping her breathing, making her gasp and choke. Suddenly, with a roar of frustration, he let go and pushed her onto the bed, where she lay coughing and spluttering and sobbing into the pillow. The door banged, his footsteps pounded down the corridor and he was gone.

Miserably, she changed into her nightclothes and crawled into bed. It would not be the first time Bruno had slept elsewhere. He would often spend the night in the herbergerie if they argued. She let out a long, deep sigh of relief. She was glad he’d gone, glad to be alone. She turned over, exhausted and emotionally drained, and almost instantly sleep overcame her.

SEVENTEEN