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Fabienne pulled out her I.D. and handed it over.

“What are you doing out at this time, Fraulein Brun?” He glared at her through ice-blue eyes that reminded her of a bird of prey.

“I work at the dairy, mein Herr. It is my job. I have a permit.” She handed over the document.

He cast his eyes across it, though too quickly to read it. “What is that?” He indicated to the package.

“I am under instruction directly from the kommandant to deliver this to Father Michel. I believe it is some sort of remedy, since he has been working closely with your sick officers and soldiers, mein Herr. I don’t know exactly what is in it.”

He glared at her, sniffed. “It stinks. Get out of here.” He held out her papers and let them go before she had a hold. She bent to pick them up and he kneed her in the face and kicked her arm as he walked past.

She gritted her teeth to stop from yelling out as the pain soared and she fell to the ground. She was sure the wound had split open from the warm feeling that trickled down her arm. She touched her nose and stared at the blood on her fingers.

The church door opened. “Fabienne, are you okay?” Father Michel came to her, helped her to stand, led her into the church, and gave her a handkerchief from under his vestment. She put it to her nose, and they walked towards the altar. He bowed his head. Fabienne took a seat in the front pew. The church was empty at this time of day.

He sat next to her. “I’m sorry you got hurt. What can I do for you, Fabienne?”

Fabienne took out Esther’s identity document. “I need new papers for this woman.”

He glanced at the Ausweis. “This is not wise.”

“I don’t have a choice, Father. Can you arrange for the papers, or not?” Fabienne suspected the forger was the printer’s wife who used to be an artist before the war, but she couldn’t approach her directly because it would be a break in protocol, and she might be wrong.

“I will pass them on.”

“I need them back today.”

He shook his head. “You are asking too much. The German soldiers are doing house to house searches at the drop of a hat, looking for the escaped prisoners. This will take time.”

Fabienne nodded. It would only be a matter of time before their cottage was searched too. “I don’t have time, Father.”

He made a cross against his body as if he had just finished a prayer. “I cannot promise, but if it is possible the new papers will be at the brasserie at eight-thirty this evening.”

“And two identities for babies, one a girl and the other a boy, born today.” She didn’t know when the woman might give birth, but it was better to have the documents for when she did.

Father Michel frowned and shook his head. “I will do my best.”

Fabienne handed him the food package and left the church. She went to her parents’ graves and stared at the headstones. Would her name soon be carved on one next to them? She closed her eyes and prayed, then headed into town.

The main street was already buzzing with German soldiers, who moved in pairs and stopped people randomly to check their papers. She was stopped a second time before she reached the bakery.

She joined the queue behind fifteen other people outside the shop, which now also served meat since Müller had burned down Madame Guillaume’s butchery. Fabienne thrust her hands deep into her pockets, watching the soldiers. There was a new breed of German arriving. Young, arrogant and more violent than before. It didn’t bode well for anyone.

The man in front of her turned and raised his eyebrows. “I hear Hitler’s rounding up the gypsies now.”

The man behind her tugged his coat collar higher up his neck. “Eisenhower will save the day.”

A man closer to the shop turned to face them. “No, de Gaulle is going to free us.”

The shop door opened and the man at the front of the queue was allowed inside.

“And the gypsies?” a deep voice behind Fabienne asked. “What will happen to them and the Jews?”

A woman tutted and scowled at the men who had started the discussion. “Can we talk about something else?”

Fabienne lit a cigarette.

The grey-haired old man with the deep voice continued. “Poor bastards.”