Page 67 of Hearts of Resistance
ROSE
Rose held her head high and kept her shoulders straight. She knew she looked glamourous, more like she might have before the war, or at least before Peter had been taken from her, and it gave her the confidence to play her character. The red lipstick had transformed her in front of the mirror, and she’d taken one look at the face staring back at her and known she could do it. It was like looking at the old her, theParisianher. Only she’d not expected to see that face again any time soon.
‘I’m a confident sales representative for cosmetics,’ she murmured to herself, her lips barely moving. ‘I love make-up. It’s my passion.’
She needed to live and breathe her new legend. She’d always loved fashion and make-up, like any of her friends with money to spend. But that life seemed, well, a lifetime ago, and since then the closest she’d come to being the glamourous woman she’d once been was brushing her hair out at night and twisting it up off her face before bed.
Rose clutched her bag tighter, not thinking about what was inside. She had codes written into her silk underskirt and two small parts in her case that could be used to build a new radio or repair an old one, as well as money. If she was caught, she’d be killed. It was as simple as that. Which was why she wasn’t going to get caught, because she wasn’t going to let herself get put in that position.
She had a special pass, since her work meant she had to travel, so the Gestapo shouldn’t bother searching her like they would most others. Besides, she had the advantage of creamy white skin and bright blue eyes, features the Germans seemed to like well enough even though her hair was brown and not blonde, and something shared by the original agent whose place she had taken. It was the reason why she’d been unfortunate enough to be earmarked for the role in the first place. She only had to hope none of them tooktoomuch of a liking and tried anything on. The thought alone made her stomach turn.
It was never going to get easier however often she did this, she knew that, but she had to remember why she was doing it. She and she alone could keep the various cells working. If the Normandy landings went ahead and they were able to keep disrupting the Germans, then they might actually win this godforsaken war.
Rose reached the station and looked around. There were Gestapo waiting, watching, laughing amongst themselves. But this time she didn’t have to fear them. She straightened her shoulders and pinned a bright smile firmly on her face. She was Roseanne DuBois and she was the best make-up representative in the country!
Rose tried to sit up straight but her body kept slumping forward every time she fell asleep. She’d been on the train for some time, and now that it was dark she was trying to let herself sleep, only it was almost impossible to do sitting upright. There were no private sleeping cars, so Rose had to sleep in her seat, freezing cold and uncomfortable, rather than sleep in a car with men. There were few women on board and she didn’t want to put herself in that position.
She rubbed at her eyes and then realised she’d probably ruined her make-up. Rose wiped more carefully across her skin, clearing her throat as she shifted and trying to make herself more comfortable. Surely the journey was almost over? She wanted to get rid of the package, dispose of the message she had to relay and then breathe a huge sigh of relief. She was wishing she hadn’t brought their spare parts with her.
Rose sat and listened to her own breath going in and out, trying to enjoy the motion of the train and the solitude of her journey. She’d hardly spoken to anyone since she’d left the chateau. A nod to the Gestapo man who’d asked to check her papers, followed by a brisk thank you as she’d boarded the train. Then another nod to yet another German, before finding her seat and refusing to make eye contact with any of the other passengers. Given how long she’d lived with Sophia, and how often she’d had a house guest waiting to be rescued, she’d become used to having someone to talk to, or simply with her, at all times, so solitude was an unusual notion now.
It was also the first time she’d truly let herself think about what she’d left behind when they’d fled her house by the coast.
My baby.She let the words move slowly through her mind, mentally grasping them and replaying them over and over.My baby. My baby.
Sophia had helped her bury the baby she’d delivered, so early that he hadn’t had a hope of surviving. He’d been months too soon, but still, he’d been perfectly formed. His head and body tiny, small enough to fit easily in the palm of her hand. Her heart had broken in a way that couldn’t even compare to losing Peter when she’d looked at that little human who had come too early to join the land of the living. Her body had been wracked with pain, the blood had covered the bed she’d managed to crawl up on, and then she’d managed to pull herself together and wrap her tiny, unviable child in a towel. All night she’d held him, sobbing, stopping only to crawl over to Sophia on the bed beside her and make sure she hadn’t died. And then she’d realised that her new guest wouldn’t survive without her help, and she’d placed the baby down and pushed her own pain aside to save another.
Sophia had repaid her that favour a hundred times over. She’d helped her to bury her child, holding her when she’d cried, despite the physical pain it must have caused her to even rise from the bed. And then she’d been her one and only confidante – they had both been to each other – and from then on Rose had vowed to do anything to keep Sophia safe. She would happily take a bullet for her strong-willed, capable friend if it meant ensuring she survived the war and made it home to her Alex. At least Sophia still had someone to return to, could hold on to the hope that she would be in her loved one’s arms again.
‘Do you speak German?’
Rose jumped at the intrusion, the man’s voice shaking her from her thoughts. A tremor of fear circled through her as she collected herself, quickly smoothing down her skirt to make sure it hadn’t risen up.
She forced herself to smile at the man despite the fact he’d almost made her jump out of her skin as she’d stared out the window into nothing.
‘A little,’ she replied, not wanting him to know that in fact she spoke quite excellent German. ‘You...’ She smiled, pushing her shoulders up into a little shrug, and switched from German to French, hoping he might understand. ‘Frightened,’ she said. ‘I do not know the word forfrightened.’
He laughed, understanding when she jumped and flapped her hand to her heart. She hated how handsome he was, how easy the smile of this Gestapo man was when he no doubt was as cruel-hearted as the rest of them.
‘I understand,’ he said back to her, conversing again in German. ‘I’m sorry.’
She could see the irony in him apologising to her. If he only knew what she was carrying, he’d be smacking the back of his hand in a practised arc into her cheekbone instead of extending his hand politely. To him she was merely a pretty French girl, nothing more.
‘Kurt,’ he said, his smile wide, eyes sparkling at her as if they were two people meeting at a dinner party rather than in her country, which his country had conquered. ‘And you are?’
She took his hand, slid her palm to his warm, soft one. She was freezing, but he was dressed in a big, warm coat and had no doubt been enjoying a private car.
‘Roseanne,’ she replied, holding his hand just long enough before retrieving it and folding both hands back into her lap.
‘You’re freezing,’ he said, frowning.‘Cold,’he said again, as if he was unsure of how much she could understand. He rubbed his hands together and then blew on them. ‘Here,’ he said, shrugging out of his overcoat and gesturing for her to lean forward.
Rose’s skin was crawling at the mere thought of taking his coat, every part of her wanting to rebel against any offer of kindness from a man like him, but she gratefully accepted it and moved over so he could sit beside her. She snuggled into it, knowing that her ice-cold bones would soon start to thaw. It was so big that she was able to ball her hands inside, too.
She wondered if he would get into trouble for lending it to her, but she supposed he didn’t care what anyone else thought. There were other people around them, but no one dared to look at them, and the other Gestapo on board probably had better things to do than worry about one of their own flirting with a Frenchwoman.
‘You are travelling alone?’ he asked.
Rose nodded and pointed to her case. ‘I sell make-up,’ she said slowly, pointing to her lips for effect and pretending to put on lipstick. ‘I have to travel.’
