Page 59 of The French Wife

As she cycled, she thought about Hans, about the look of love in his eyes, the way he so obviously cared for her, and the familiar heat spread through her body. She realised her feelings had deepened for him and what had started as a close friendship and mutual attraction had now developed into a feeling of deep and lasting love. This knowledge filled her with joy, but that joy was tinged with guilt and anxiety at the same time. Hans was a German officer. He was a good, kind man, but who would ever understand that? She was a married woman, consorting with the enemy. She would be regarded as a traitor by many, she knew that only too well.

Cycling home up the track, in the moonlight, she caught sight of the old forester’s cabin nestling under the chestnut trees on the other side of the river. She remembered she’d intended to spend time there away from the farm. Life had been so busy, with work and the extra people to feed, that she hadn’t found the time to go there again, but now she realised it was the perfect place to hang Hans’ paintings.

The following Saturday, while Bruno was out hunting for wild boar with a few of the men, she told Lili she was going for a walk. Then she loaded up her knapsack with a book, some cleaning materials, a couple of cushions, a large shawl and Hans’ painting, which she’d kept hidden in her underwear drawer until that point. Then, she cycled down the track as far as the stepping stones and hid her bicycle in a clump of maquis beside the river. Luckily, although the January air was biting cold, there hadn’t been much rain lately and the river was low. She barely got her feet wet as she stepped from stone to stone and crossed to the opposite bank.

Inside the cabin, Amélie set to work. First, she cleaned out the fireplace, then lit a small fire to air the damp room. She worried a little that someone might see the smoke, but decided that no one would; Bruno always went right up into the mountains to track wild boar and there was no one else about. The fire was soon flickering away in the grate, warming the place through as she cleaned the floor, then the dust and mould from the furniture her father had given her. Finally, she cleaned the windows, and the winter sun flooded the room with warm light. She spread out the shawl and cushions on the settee and found a stray hook on the wall to hang Hans’ painting.

Standing back and admiring her handiwork, she beamed with satisfaction. It looked perfect. She sat down on the settee, exhausted from the physical exertion of the past few hours. Here at last was a place she could call her own, where she could come to relax, away from Bruno, away from her duties and away from all the tensions of the war.

She stayed there reading until the light began to fade and she knew Bruno and the men would be on their way home. Then she shut the door, locked it with a padlock and set off back across the river. Her bicycle was just where she’d left it and she hauled it up to the track and began to ride towards the farm.

She hadn’t gone far when she saw a figure walking towards her in the dusk. As the person got closer, she saw it was Étienne. She remembered she hadn’t yet reminded him about hanging around with the soldiers in the market place.

‘Madame Garnier?’ he said as he approached, his cheeks reddening.

‘Étienne, what are you doing here?’ She got off her bicycle.

‘I came to see if Monsieur Garnier had any work for me and Papa next week, but he wasn’t there.’

‘No, he was out hunting today,’ she replied. ‘But if you come back with me now, he’ll be home soon.’

‘All right,’ he said.

They walked together up the dark track, Amélie pushing her bicycle.

‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you, but I haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. It’s about what we talked about before. You didn’t take any notice of what I said to you, did you? I still see you hanging about in the market square with the German soldiers.’

‘They’re nice to me,’ he replied huffily. ‘And I told you, they give me cigarettes I can sell to help Maman.’

‘How is your mother?’ Amélie asked.

‘A bit better at the moment,’ he said. ‘For that reason. Because I’ve managed to buy her medicine.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Amélie said. ‘But please be careful, Étienne. You’re going to make yourself unpopular if you’re seen to be friends with German soldiers. People in this town feel very strongly about it.’

Étienne didn’t reply.

She realised at that moment how precarious her own position was. If anyone knew about her visits to Hans’ studio, their stolen kisses behind the mairie, she would be denounced as a collaborator. How could she admonish Étienne for being friendly with German soldiers when she was falling in love with one?

They’d almost reached the farm now, and Amélie could see chinks of light in the windows around the edge of the blackout curtains.

‘I think Bruno is back. Why don’t you come in and speak to him?’ she said, wheeling her bicycle into the courtyard and propping it up by the wall.

She walked towards the front door, then stopped in her tracks. It came to her suddenly that she’d made a terrible mistake asking Étienne back with her. It was vital he not see Henri, Raoul or Ivy, and it was quite possible they were in the kitchen.

‘Would you wait here, Étienne?’ she asked when they reached the front door. ‘I’ll just make sure Bruno’s here.’ She went inside and closed the door behind her.

In the kitchen, Bruno was sitting at the table with Raoul, studying maps.

‘Étienne Moreau is outside,’ Amélie told him. ‘He wants to talk to you about getting some work.’

Bruno groaned and got to his feet to speak to Étienne at the front door, while Raoul folded the maps and disappeared into the cellar.

When Bruno came back, he said, ‘Where have you been, Amélie?’