Page 24 of Madame Fiocca (Heroes of War #2)
Cosne-d’Allier
S everal hours later, I awoke to the smell of bacon. Daylight streamed through the gaps in the old, blue-painted shutters, casting golden slivers of light across the wooden floorboards. I stretched, looked around the room, and realised I was alone. Quickly dressing, I caught my reflection in the dressing mirror, brushed my hair, and slipped downstairs.
Madame Reynard was at the stove, watching over a large pan of sizzling bacon, with fresh eggs in a bowl nearby. ‘Good morning, Madame Andrée,’ she greeted me with a smile. ‘Have some coffee.’
‘Thank you. Where’s Hubert?’ I asked as I sat down at the pine kitchen table. Madame Reynard brought over a basket of fresh bread and raspberry jam.
‘Ah, he’s outside with my husband. Breakfast is almost ready.’
Sipping my coffee by the fire, I found myself brooding over our mission plans. Every spark that zipped up the chimney felt like a wish or prayer sent to my husband. The door creaked open, and Hubert entered, bags under his bloodshot eyes. I poured him some coffee. Our hosts owned a radio shop in town, and we were staying in their little flat above it. Unfortunately, we had to share a room with a double bed, and Hubert, ever the gentleman, had endured a miserable night on the wooden floor.
‘When do you think Den will get here?’ I asked.
‘Not sure,’ Hubert replied, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘They’re flying him in by Lysander, so we must be patient.’
‘Well, until he does, we’re stuck with no radio. Can’t do a bloody thing.’ Poor old Den. ‘Denden’ I called him, and he called me ‘Gertie’. I didn’t mind. He was fun, gregarious, about ten years older than me, and mad as a hatter. We’d met during training. He was one of our instructors. We’d got on like a house on fire from the start.
Den had already had a colourful war, arrested twice in France. He escaped the first time, but a brutal encounter with an interrogator left him nursing a crushed foot the second, so no parachute jumps. The irony, I mused, surrounded by darn radios and no operator. I drained my coffee cup, unfazed by the sour taste of ersatz, my gaze falling on the vase of daffodils next to the small window, golden in the morning light. And I thought of the bouquets of lilies I used to buy that sat in the crystal vase on the table in the hall. The sweet scent in my nose, orange or brown stamens spilling onto the floor as the days sailed by. ‘They symbolise passion and gaiety,’ Henri had once said before kissing the tip of my nose. The ache of our separation returned, and I nursed it as Hubert chewed the last mouthful of bacon.
After breakfast, we both returned to our room to go over our plans.
‘The Reynards know too much,’ Hubert said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘They know we’re British and why we’re here. I went into the village earlier with Monsieur Reynard, who introduced me to some locals. They were very pleased to see me—been expecting us, apparently.’ He shook his head.
‘Oh, Lord. The security’s a joke. We’ll need to make changes.’ But I couldn’t help smiling. The French were so friendly, welcoming us with open arms, a natural instinct that, unfortunately, had to stop.
* * *
The next morning, I was busy bathing my feet in a bowl of water in the bedroom, chatting to Hubert, my Colt revolver next to me on the bed, when there was a knock on the door. As it creaked open, a man stood in the doorway, a look of surprise on his face.
Monsieur Reynard stood behind him. ‘Your contact,’ he said.
Hector. A short man in a brown pinstriped suit and fedora, sporting a neatly trimmed moustache. I smiled, heat rising in my cheeks as his face creased into a wide grin, followed by a chuckle. ‘Madame Andrée. I see you’re making yourself at home.’
Hubert burst into laughter, and I joined him. It wasn’t that funny, really—more a release of tension—but the tears ran down my cheeks nonetheless. Even Hector swiped at his eyes.
What a time to make an entrance. Still, it was a relief to meet him. Things could move forward now. Hector was le patron of the Stationer circuit and our direct route to Gaspard, the leader of the Maquis in the Auvergne, with whom we were to work. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the information we needed, such as the location of safe houses. Hubert shot me such a cheesed-off look.
‘My courier will bring the names and addresses in two days,’ Hector said before leaving.
‘Is anything going to go right?’ Hubert muttered, staring out the window and gazing up into the blue as if seeking divine intervention. He lit up a cigarette and stood there for a while. It was best to leave him to it, so I went downstairs for coffee and a natter with Madame Reynard.
* * *
The following day, after enduring Hubert’s grim mood, things took a turn for the worse. Monsieur Reynard burst into our room, his cheeks glowing like hot coals, breathless. ‘The Gestapo arrested Hector yesterday.’
‘No!’ I glanced at Hubert, who blew out a breath and rolled his eyes.
‘The Germans have made many arrests in Montlucon. And your radio operator has landed in their midst. He will never get through with the Gestapo swarming the area.’
At least Denden was in France. ‘What do we do now?’
‘I can take you to Laurent. He can find Gaspard,’ Monsieur Reynard said. ‘We will go now.’
Hubert and I piled into the car with Monsieur Reynard, who set off at quite a pace. He kept to the minor routes, narrow, twisty lanes that climbed steadily in places. My ears became muffled several times along the way as we drove higher. The Auvergne, known as the Fortress of France, was a mountainous region. Now I understood why the Maquis used cars. Bicycles were not much use in dense forests or when faced with mountains standing six thousand feet high.
Eventually, we found Laurent hiding out at an old chateau near Saint-Flour. ‘He is wanted for the shooting of several Germans in Clermont-Ferrand,’ Monsieur Reynard said.
I liked him already.
Laurent was a tall man, with short dark hair and steel-blue eyes, ruggedly handsome. He greeted us cautiously. A faint smirk flitted across his face as he looked me over, and I had the feeling the prospect of a female agent amused him. We explained our situation, and he invited us to sit, ordering one of his men to bring food and drinks.
‘What is it you want from me?’ Laurent asked.
‘We need a meeting with Gaspard. He has thousands of men in the region, and we’re here to train and arm the Maquis, as long as they’re on board to help the Allies. We have money and can arrange arms drops,’ Hubert said.
Laurent leaned back in his chair, eyeing us suspiciously as he scratched his bristly chin with his left hand. ‘Where is this money?’
‘Somewhere safe,’ I said, ‘until it’s needed.’ Well, it was safe, tucked into the money belt around my waist. Laurent stared me in the eye, and I could see he was trying to decide whether to trust us.
‘I can find Gaspard. You can stay here while I’m gone.’
At least we had food and shelter while we waited. But how long was it going to take? The Allies were planning the big push, the invasion, and we were useless without Den, cut off from London. In the meantime, Hubert didn’t look happy. We both had our roles to play. Hubert had to establish the Freelance network, a task that would take him away frequently while I stayed behind, working alongside the Maquis. It was the waiting around that made everything so uncertain, and Hubert was growing more impatient by the day. Well, I empathised, but hopefully Den would find his way to us soon and we could begin.
We bid Monsieur Reynard farewell as he returned home to his wife. As I gazed around the grounds, I noticed several vehicles at Laurent’s camp. ‘How do you have all these cars?’ I asked one young maquisard, named Achilles.
He flashed a sly smile. ‘Madame, we are the Maquis. We take what we need.’
Just as I’d thought, they were running around the French countryside like a band of thieves.
‘Come, I will show you where you can rest.’ Achilles led us up the grand winding staircase and opened the first door we came to on the landing. ‘Rest. I will come for you when it is time to eat. For now, stay here.’ He glanced at me and his face softened. ‘You will be safe, Madame.’
‘Merci.’ We put our bags down. Achilles closed the door, and I listened as his footsteps faded away. ‘What do we do now?’ I glanced at Hubert, then crossed to the window. Our room overlooked the front of the chateau, offering a good vantage point of the main road leading in and out of the village.
‘We wait. There’s no other option. God knows when Den will turn up. Without him, and his wireless, we’re nothing. That’s why Gaspard is keeping us at arm’s length. He knows we’re useless.’
I noticed another door. Curious, I opened it. ‘Oh, would you look at that?’ I turned and grinned. ‘An entire bathroom to ourselves. What luck.’ A large crystal chandelier hung in the centre of the room, reminding me of my home in Marseille. I looked out the window at the hills and fields of green, my heart sinking. No sea view, no harbour, no bobbing sailboats. I gritted my teeth and sighed. ‘Not to worry,’ I whispered. I’d make the most of any luxuries. After all, this time next week, I could be sleeping rough in the forest or kipping in a barn.
* * *
Three days later, Laurent sent word. ‘Madame Andrée,’ Achilles said. ‘Gaspard will be here at the end of the week.’
I glanced at Hubert, who looked ready to explode. He’d spent the last few days moping around, growing more despondent by the hour. Why did we have to wait so long? Gaspard was sending a message—he was the chief and wouldn’t be rushed. We’d heard he had three to four thousand men hidden across the region, and our task was to determine their value to the Allies on D-Day. If Gaspard was loyal, Colonel Buckmaster would provide arms and finances while I handled training and supplies.
But until we met him, frustration was pointless. I left Hubert to his brooding and took a stroll around the gardens. The chateau stood at the end of a winding track, a large stone house with faded, flaking sky-blue shutters. The grounds were vast, edged with tall pines and various shrubs. I sat on a wooden bench beneath an oak tree, listening to the breeze rustling the leaves, birds chirping, and cattle lowing from a nearby field. Thoughts of Henri tugged at my heart, but I knew I had to focus on the mission if I wanted to see him again.
Just then, Hubert emerged onto the terrace, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. His straw-coloured hair gleamed, and he flashed a grin, lifting a bottle in each hand. Marvellous. He’d found something decent to drink. I smiled back, knowing we’d make this work. We were a team, and there was no going back now.