Page 9 of The French Wife

Blindly, she let him guide her to her desk, where she sat down heavily in her chair, burying her face in her hands. When the mayor set a glass in front of her, she downed a gulp of brandy and felt the fire course through her body. It dulled the shock a little, but still the feeling lingered in the pit of her stomach.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, sipping the brandy, trying to get rid of the image of the three men slumped and bloodied, and the sound of Ginette’s pitiful screams. She heard footsteps approach and when she lifted her eyes, the mayor stood in front of her desk, holding some papers.

‘Are you alright, Madame Garnier?’ he asked. She nodded and he handed her the papers. ‘I’ve made a list of homes in the town suitable for German officers to lodge in. Perhaps you could type it up?’

‘Of course.’ With trembling hands, she took the papers. There was a list of addresses with the name of the householder beside each one. Amélie knew most of them. They were all hard-working townsfolk – shopkeepers, tailors, schoolteachers, craftsmen. Most of them had a son or a husband in the French army, who was either a prisoner of war in Germany, or had fallen in battle, never to return. Those families struggled through their days tortured with grief or anxiety about their loved one. Billeting a German officer with any of them seemed to be adding insult to injury. Amélie shook her head sadly, knowing however cruel she thought it was, she had no choice but to type up the list, which would be handed to the German officers.

Then she had an idea.

‘Monsieur Colbert?’

He came back to her desk and looked at her enquiringly.

‘I was wondering, might it be a good idea for you to write a letter to each of the householders, explaining that a German officer will be billeted with them? I mean, won’t it be rather shocking for them if the officers simply turn up out of the blue, expecting to be given bed and board?’

The mayor nodded slowly. ‘You’re right, madame. I could do that. But you would have to type the letter out twenty times. And who is going to deliver them?’

‘I can use carbon paper and type four at a time. So I’ll only need to type five letters. And I can deliver them myself. They’re all within a few streets of here. It’s not much, but it might soften the blow.’

The mayor smiled. ‘You really are very thoughtful, madame,’ he said. ‘I have no objection, provided…’ His gaze wandered to the window.

‘Why would the Germans mind?’ she asked. ‘It will help everyone to know what’s going on.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ the mayor said.

Early in the afternoon, the troops began marching out of the square in the direction of the bridge over the River Orbieu, which led across to the abbey, but the tanks and armoured vehicles remained behind. The bodies of the three executed men had been removed, but the wall where they’d stood to die bore patches of blood, as did the cobbles beneath where their lifeless bodies had slumped.

Amélie finished typing the list of homes and the letters, and the mayor signed them at her desk. Then he took the list from her and disappeared across the landing towards his old office, where the two Wehrmacht officers were now stationed. When he returned, he looked relieved.

‘I took the liberty of explaining your plan to the officers,’ he said, ‘and they thought it was a good idea. They told me that, at present, most of their junior officers are over at the abbey, getting the troops settled in, so I suggest you deliver your letters to the householders while they are away. Perhaps you should make a start right now?’

‘Of course.’

She fetched her coat, slipped the letters into her bag and left the office. As she was about to go down the wide stairs, the door of the other office opened, and Hauptmann Bauer emerged. When he saw her there, he bowed his head politely and smiled.

‘Are you alright, Madame Garnier?’ he asked. His French was good, far better than the SS officer’s. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that dreadful spectacle.’

Why is he saying this? Wasn’t he complicit in the executions himself?

He was watching her with his pale-blue eyes, the colour of the sky on a spring day, waiting for her to say something. She drew herself up.

‘It was very shocking,’ she said. ‘But I am surprised you are apologising, sir. After all, the men were executed by your army.’

‘Yes, it is most unfortunate. The firing squad were acting under the orders of the SS, over whom we have no power. My major and I did push for detention and trial for the prisoners rather than… well, rather than what actually happened. But we were not successful in persuading the colonel. So that is why I’m apologising, madame.’

She put her hand on the banister to steady herself, not knowing how to reply. What did their infighting matter? Three Frenchmen were still dead. Three fathers, husbands, brothers…

‘Monsieur Colbert told me you are taking letters to those who will have officers billeted with them to warn them,’ the German went on.

‘Yes, I’m going to deliver them now,’ she said.

‘It is a thoughtful gesture, madame,’ he said and bowed his head again. ‘Very commendable. Please… don’t let me hold you up any longer.’

She left him there, still puzzling over his words, went downstairs and out onto the square, trying not to look at the bloodstained walls. She slipped along the front of the mairie and disappeared down a side street, unnoticed by the few German soldiers who remained with the tanks and vehicles. They were at ease now, striding about, chatting and laughing, even smoking, some of them.

It didn’t take Amélie long to deliver the letters. Most she just dropped through the letterboxes, but once or twice, the owner opened the door.

‘What’s this?’ an old woman bundled up in a headscarf and fingerless gloves asked, opening her front door when the letter dropped. She lived in a pretty cottage with yellow shutters beside the river.