Page 44 of Resistance
‘I’m sorry, Konstantin, but I don’t know anything about your brother, but I will make enquiries. For now you should all rest, you look exhausted. I will be back tomorrow.’ With that, Yvette turned and made her way to the door, locking it behind her as she left, retracing her steps. Once she exited the copse instead of making her way back over the fields and along the lanes, she took the path along the stream that led to Vincent, his bed and, if he was there, the safety of his arms.
25
Love’s Young Dream
Renazé, 1944
It was the following day when the wind changed, whipping up trouble, and Yvette had no idea that by the end of May a series of events, some out of her hands, other’s not, would have a catastrophic effect on her life and change it forever. It began with Béatrice.
Yvette had called to the Matis home on the pretence of delivering the salt that Tante Helene had managed to lay her hands on, and as soon as she stepped foot inside, the atmosphere told her something was wrong. Raymonde looked sullen and barely nodded when he saw Yvette, concentrating instead on sucking the insides out of his cigarette. Lucille gasped a sigh of relief, then grabbed Yvette by the elbow and more or less dragged her from the room and into the tiny room they used as a cold store and larder.
Once the door was slammed shut, and as Yvette tried to ignore the stench of decomposing pheasants whose feathers tickled her hair, and the pungent aroma of whatever cheese lay under the cloth on the counter by her side, she listened to Lucille’s lament.
‘You must speak with Béatrice at once. She is out of control and our ploy to keep her away from the German has failed.’
Yvette asked why.
‘Last night, and two times before, I have caught her creeping in after curfew. I heard the sound of a motorbike, too. I tried to stay awake, but I am so tired, Yvette, and eventually I fell asleep and Raymonde, pah, he is of no use because of the wine. She refuses to say where she has been, but I have seen the marks on her neck and I know what is going on – he has been coming here, the German.’
Yvette’s stomach had started to churn. How could Béatrice be so stupid and naïve? The soldier would be out for what he could get and think of the shame if word got out. And worse, the danger the stupid girl was putting her brother in.
Yvette’s mind was racing but maybe she could talk some sense into Béatrice, otherwise she would have to tell Vincent as much as Lucille tried to avoid it. ‘Where is she now?’
‘In her bedroom. Raymonde has threatened her with the belt, I threatened her with the priest and you, so she has refused to come out all day. Please speak with her, Yvette, because if Vincent finds out he will be so ashamed of her, like I already am.’
Yvette stroked Lucille’s arm as she spoke. ‘Do not worry, I will sort it out. Now go and rest, Lucille, you look exhausted.’
Nothing more was said, and the door was opened, Yvette sucking in less fetid air as she made her way through the cottage and up the stairs. It was clear which room belonged to Béatrice, it was the only one whose door was closed, so Yvette flung it open and strode in.
Béatrice was sitting on the chair, facing the mirror that stood on top of a chest of drawers, and didn’t even bother to turn when she saw Yvette, instead she spoke to her reflection. ‘What do you want? Has Maman sent you to warn me off?’
‘Correct.’
Béatrice smirked and continued to file her nails. ‘Well you are wasting your breath because Jörg and I are in love and I don’t care who knows, even Vincent, so whatever you have come to threaten me with won’t work.’
Surprised by the vehemence in her words and that Béatrice had pre-empted everyone’s actions, Yvette chose a different tack. ‘I don’t want to threaten you, not at all. I thought that maybe we could talk this through, and you might listen to what I have to say, because what you are doing is dangerous. Do you know what the village will say about you, and how your brother and his comrades will feel?’ Yvette noted the shrug so ploughed on.
‘It’s a betrayal, a slap in the face for everything we are fighting for and you’re not stupid, Béatrice, you know what we do. You really can’t trust this Jörg no matter how much he says he loves you; it could be a trap.’
At this, Béatrice whipped round, the effrontery of Yvette’s remark written across her pretty face. ‘How dare you! You know nothing of our feelings for one another. And I am not stupid; I would never tell him anything about Vincent, I have kept my brother out of things no matter how curious he is.’
The dawning of her words hit Yvette like a slap in the face and she could tell from the look on Béatrice’s that she too had felt the sting.
Yvette’s heart pounded in her chest and it was as though the walls were closing in or that the net was tightening around them all. Boche eyes could be watching them as she spoke, creeping forward through the field that surrounded the Matis home, about to strike. ‘What do you mean, curious?’
‘Nothing, I meant nothing.’ Béatrice looked nervous now and her eyes wouldn’t meet Yvette’s as she stood and replaced her nail file in the pot, like everything was normal.
Yvette had no idea whether it was panic or anger that overcame her, or that her training was ingrained somewhere in her psyche as the action was involuntary, but when she leapt forward and grabbed Béatrice by the hair at the nape of her neck, then yanked her left arm up her back, the shock and pain was visible in the other woman’s eyes.
‘I am going to ask you one more time, why is he curious? And believe me, Béatrice, if you don’t answer I will break your arm, or your neck… I’m not really bothered which.’ Yvette jerked Béatrice’s head back, knowing that the roots of her yellow-blonde hair would be straining, and her arm would feel like it was about to snap.
‘He was asking about my family because we are going to be together after the war, so it is only right that he should know who they are… I didn’t tell him about Vincent though, I swear.’
Yvette squeezed tighter and pushed higher, hearing a yelp from Béatrice, then she whispered in her ear, ‘You stupid, stupid girl… do you really think he’s going to marry you, or that you’ll live happily ever after here, or in the Fatherland in the bosom of his Aryan family? No, Béatrice, he will use you and then go home to his other blonde girlfriend, from a good family not a poor farmer’s daughter who gave him whatever he wanted in return for false promises and flattery.’
Béatrice’s voice, when it came, was through gritted teeth and filled with hate. ‘You are wrong, he loves me, he said so. And the Germans are going to win the war and run rats like you and the Jews and the communists into the sewer where they belong, and then France will be great again.’
A rage like she’d never felt before consumed Yvette. She let go of Béatrice’s head and arm, and using all her might spun her around before slapping her hard across the face with the force of a punch. At the same time as her palm connected with her cheek, Lucille burst into the bedroom and while Béatrice grasped her face and sobbed, Yvette shook with rage as she spoke. Lucille remained silent and looked on.
