Page 42 of Resistance
Goodbye my friend,
Until we meet again,
With love, my love,
Your M x
Maude wiped her cheek. ‘I know you’re sad, Gran, but don’t you see you made your Maude so happy, just having you in her life and that’s precious. At least she knew what good friendship was. And I’m so glad you named me after her, I’m really proud to have that connection. I sort of feel like I’m linking you together, in her name and through your blood. Does that sound daft?’
A sniff before Dottie spoke. ‘No, that’s beautiful, Maude, and thank you, you’ve cheered me up, but would you make me a promise? Nothing too difficult and you can put your own spin on it.’
Maude nodded and even though Dottie couldn’t see her she felt the movement.
‘Will you do everything you can to be happy, live your life how you want to in the world we fought for. Don’t be shackled by anything or anyone, or let prejudice or bigotry hold you back or taint your dreams. Live for Maude, take her magical spirit with you wherever you go and when you laugh, you’ll hear her joining in. When you have a wicked thought, know she’d approve and when you love, love whoever you want with all your heart, whoever it turns out to be.’
Again, Maude wiped her eyes and cheeks, and when the knot in her throat relaxed, she replied. ‘I promise, Gran, I promise I will.’
The moped crew came back for another reccie and the spell was broken with the toot toot of their horns and youthful calls to friends on the street.
‘Shall I make us a nice cup of tea? And then I’m going to get on and tell you the rest of it. About Maude, and the last days with Vincent. I think I need to get it all over and done with, then we can move on, have some fun and once we’ve been to see themaire, I can say goodbye.’
‘Yes, please, for the cup of tea and okay about moving on. I think it might make you feel better.’
Dottie swivelled off the bed as she spoke. ‘You’re right, and I need to tell you about Konstantin. That wicked man always lifts my spirits so I will explain about how he turned up here in France. It’s where our friendship began and once again out of all the badness, I found a soulmate, your naughty Uncle Konki.’
Maude attempted to insist she did the honours, but Dottie stood firm. A cup of tea and some biscuits usually helped put the world to rights, although what she was going to do about that stitch of sadness deep inside her chest was anyone’s guess. Even Earl Grey and a digestive couldn’t cure heartbreak.
24
The Russian
Renazé, France, 1944
Yvette had become used to the comings and goings of Vincent and the evaders he would produce from nowhere, arriving out of the blue with sometimes one, maybe more, dishevelled, displaced men. On the day she met her first Russian, she had only just said goodbye to Vincent who was escorting a Hungarian chap named Roberto, further up the line.
Yvette had taken to him instantly because he was full of life and stories of his travels across France, a free spirit who went where the mood and a story took him. He had fled Paris where he was studying photography and had since made himself useful within the Resistance. He’d holed up in the forest camp but before his departure, Yvette met him and some of the group on the outskirts of the village, high on the hill overlooking the hamlets below.
It was a good vantage point and for an hour or so it felt like they relaxed and in any other place and time, it would have looked like a gathering of friends at the end of a long day. Not a group of comrades armed with rifles, eyes and ears on alert, preparing to head off into the night to face whatever dangers awaited them. Florian, Benoit, Xavier, Thierry and Vincent were all in good spirits as they drank wine and ate whatever offerings the locals had donated, cured ham, eggs always, boiled potatoes in their skins, anything they could spare.
The sun was setting and as the last rays descended behind the trees, Roberto insisted he was going to take some photos of them all. The men suddenly became shy and scurried off, deciding to take a pee or have another smoke. Vincent, seated by Yvette’s side, refused point blank, saying it was dangerous to have his face captured in case the Germans got their hands on the film but Yvette was thrilled to be asked, it was a bit of fun. While Vincent tutted, Roberto took the photo, making her laugh as she shielded her eyes from the sun, calling her his French Rita Hayworth, and promising to one day find a way to get the photo to her. She never expected for a second that he would keep his word.
As always, she shared a fleeting kiss with Vincent. It was becoming harder to say goodbye, for both of them. She saw the longing in his eyes, heard it in his voice and when he held her close it was never enough, Yvette wanted to stay like that forever. When he pulled away, Vincent told her to expect a new group of evaders. Florian would deliver them the following day and then he let go of her hand and left with Xavier and Roberto, while the others disappeared into the dusk, leaving only a trail of cigarette smoke behind them.
The following evening, just before dusk as arranged, Yvette was waiting at the rendezvous point for Florian who arrived in his smoky truck. In the back were three men covered in a pile of turnips and assorted rotting vegetables, not coal or in the case of more unfortunate evaders, pig shit. At least they were lying under a bed of food destined for the sties, not what they’d scraped off the floor.
It was a day she remembered well, not only because they’d taken in evaders, but because she got to spend a few moments with little Polo who she adored and liked to fuss over, and in return he would blush and avert his eyes but always wave like crazy when they said goodbye. He’d been riding up front with Florian but wasn’t allowed to accompany her to the cave, as much as he wanted to. The risk of him knowing their hideout was too great because the Boche weren’t averse to interrogating children, either.
The three rumpled men alighted from the truck, all of them looking tense, eyes darting everywhere. Polo, always fascinated by evaders, watched from the passenger seat, his eyes wide, talking everything in. Yvette knew what he was staring at and why.
They were dressed in what she imagined were their only set of clothes, either that or ones provided by the Maquis and they would all have blended into a crowd, apart from one. He was taller than the others, his hair covered by a cloth cap, blue-eyed and square of jaw but it was the angry red scar that ran just below his temple to underneath his cheekbone that set him apart. Trying not to stare, Yvette introduced herself and then said a quick hello and goodbye to Polo.
‘Hello, little monkey, have you been good?’
Polo’s eyes looked around Yvette and spoke in a whisper. ‘I thought Vincent would be here and why has that man got a scar, do you think he is a pirate?’
Yvette laughed at his hushed question. ‘Vincent is busy, and no, I don’t think he is a pirate because he hasn’t got a hook for a hand.’
At this Polo’s eyes flicked to the evader’s hands then back again. ‘You are right, Yvette, but I don’t like him. He is scary, and he talks funny.’
