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“She managed a sip,” Mamie said. She glanced towards the kitchen, sending an unspoken question that needed an answer. “Johanna, I heard—”

“Yes, her name is Johanna. This is a good sign.”

Mamie frowned.

An explanation would have to wait until Fabienne was sure of what was happening between her and Johanna and what role Johanna would play moving forwards. Being on first-name terms meant that Johanna trusted her and liked her. The same rules applied to Mamie as to everyone. The less she knew the better.

“She has done the right thing,” Fabienne said.

Mamie smiled. “Something smells good.”

“There will be soup for us tomorrow. You go to bed. I’ll look after her.” Fabienne kissed Mamie on the cheek. She sat as close to the woman on the couch as she could and rubbed her legs gently, praying for a second miracle.

21.

JOHANNA HEARD THE DRUM of his boots on the wooden stairs at just after five a.m. and got out of bed. With the front door closing and tyres crunching the gravel on the driveway, she felt light and almost giddy with relief. He would be out until late, as always. She dressed in trousers and a jumper and walking boots that were more comfortable than the shoes and evening dress she’d been wearing last night. Her head buzzed with so many unanswered questions, and she felt vibrant as she recalled her contribution to the rescue of the prisoner.

Rescued a prisoner.

She went to the kitchen to start up the stove and make a pot of coffee, stopping at the living room window to look out across the yard. The cottage was shrouded in darkness. Was the woman still alive? Doubt raised its ugly head, and she oscillated between elation and fear as she re-considered her actions and the potential consequences for both her and for Astrid if something had gone wrong.

The only thing she could liken the feeling to was her first performance for the orchestra at the Berlin Opera House in 1924 in front of senior members of the government and the then ex-Kaiser Wilhelm II and his eldest son. Knowing she was one of the best young pianists in the country at that time had done little to quell the nerves of facing such a grand audience in such a prestigious venue. After playing a few bars, those nerves had settled and she’d ridden the waves of pure pleasure through to the end of the performance. The trick, she’d learned, was to not think about what might go wrong and stay with the moment.

Taking the woman to the cottage, and seeing Fabienne who had nothing giving everything she could to save a stranger, had helped Johanna decide that she had to be a part of it. She had to do something good to make up for the evil. It wasn’t her decision to aid the Resistance that had caused her to sleep fitfully; it was that she had desperately wanted Fabienne to kiss her.

The kettle came to boil, and she made the coffee. Astrid wouldn’t be up until Nanny woke her at seven, and Nanny wouldn’t be up before six, and even then, she wouldn’t come looking for Johanna. She took the pot and crossed the yard. She knocked on the kitchen door and entered. There was no one in the room. She put the coffee on the stove, which was still warm though there was no wood left in the basket, and walked through to the living room. It too was empty. The woman must have died in the night. She was struck by sadness, and then felt stupid and naïve that she’d assumed they would pick up where they’d left off the previous evening, with Johanna helping.

A rustling sound caught her off-guard and the kitchen door opened.

She shouldn’t have just walked into their home uninvited. Her heart thundered. There was a thud on the kitchen table, then Fabienne appeared in the doorway to the living room. She was still wearing the brown shirt and trousers from the previous evening. Her hair looked dishevelled and her eyes heavy with tiredness.

“What are you doing here?”

Johanna walked towards her, intending to go past her and out the kitchen door back to her house. She should be in her place not theirs, where she belonged. She’d been a fool to think she was a part of their world.

Fabienne put her arm across the doorway, stopped her from passing.

“The back door was open,” Johanna stuttered. She wanted to wrap herself in the fold of Fabienne’s arm, be held by her, kiss her.

Fabienne dropped her arm. “Yes. I just went to find some wood.”

“I brought coffee.” Johanna held her gaze, saw the desire that reflected her own. Her mouth was dry, her heart racing.

Fabienne’s lips curled upwards a fraction. “It’s very tempting.”

Johanna’s stomach fizzed. What was tempting?

“Coffee is more than a luxury these days,” Fabienne said.

Johanna deflated. She’d hoped Fabienne was tempted by her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Fabienne went into the kitchen and put a couple of pieces of wood in the stove. They looked as though they’d come from a fence or furniture. “No, you shouldn’t.” She took two cups from the cupboard and poured them a coffee. “But since you are here, perhaps you will join me.” She smiled.

“Did the woman…” Johanna couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“No, she didn’t die.”

Johanna sighed. Her hands trembled around the cup. “Thank God.”