Page 47 of Resistance
He had used the term on her third visit, when she had brought them cheese, bread, sausage and wine, plus a treat for Konstantin, a bottle of eau de vie, the eye watering, cough inducing home-made apéritif favoured by the locals. It was the nearest he was going to get to vodka, for the foreseeable future anyway.
While the others concentrated on the food, Konstantin had savoured the first sip and then had taken a fortifying swig. ‘Ah, my little Zaya, thank you for this, it is appreciated.’
Yvette gave him a quizzical look. ‘Zaya?’
Konstantin smiled. ‘Don’t worry, it is a Russian form of endearment and it suits you, my little baby rabbit who scurries underground, my very own Zaychik.’
‘Oh, I see. I like it. Zaya. I’ll remember that. Now, why don’t you eat, you need to keep your strength up in case we have to move you quickly.’
At this Konstantin shook his head. ‘No, Zaya, I am going no further until they bring Anatoly. I only left him in the city because they promised to get him well and reunite us. I will take my chances and stay here and wait for him.’
‘I don’t understand. We are not told too many details about any of you. I, we, have to trust whoever you have stayed with before us, we just keep moving you on, so tell me, how did you get here, to France?’
Another sip from the bottle, and a moment of quiet as Yvette passed Konstantin some food and signalled that he should eat. Between mouthfuls, he explained the circumstances of his arrival in France, and all about Anatoly, his brother.
They had been en route to Alexandria in Egypt via the Atlantic, stopping off at Gibraltar then through the Med. Anatoly was a pilot and was a member of a special squadron, trained by the RAF in Scotland. The northern air route from Russia to England, through Europe was becoming too dangerous but the need for munitions and supplies was relentless, therefore a new southern air route was planned, via Algeria, Tripoli, Cairo, Tehran and on to Moscow. Anatoly was needed in Cairo, and so it seemed was Konstantin, in a more secret capacity.
They were being transported, along with two other pilots, by the navy when their small frigate was hit by a gunboat. None of the crew survived, Anatoly, Konstantin and one other pilot clung on to debris and managed to make it towards land, after being picked up by a fishing boat. The other pilot had terrible injuries and didn’t make it, Anatoly had a broken leg, Konstantin was unscathed. They had been moved inland by the Maquis but Anatoly had been left behind, at a safe house in Nantes.
‘Is he very sick, Anatoly?’
‘He was when I left. They had fixed his leg but he got an infection so he couldn’t be moved. I argued that I wanted to stay but they refused, and I understand why. The city is dangerous but here, I would have a better chance to survive. That is why I will stay and wait. You cannot make me go.’
Yvette said nothing about that and asked a question instead. ‘Is he really your brother or is that what you call all your comrades?’
Konstantin looked affronted. ‘Yes, of course he is my brother, younger by two years but the cleverer son. I am the wily black sheep.’
‘So how did you end up together, if he was the dashing pilot and you a simple farm animal?’
This seemed to amuse Konstantin, his eyes creased and after a bite of sausage, then another swig to wash it down, he answered. ‘It was my father pulling strings. He was a general in the old guard, it’s how it works in Russia, so instead of being sent to the front, my resourcefulness was to be used in other ways and I found myself in Scotland. My relocation to Cairo was ordered by a higher authority, not my father.’
‘Ah, I see. But Vincent told me you were a navigator… are you?’
‘That was what it said on my papers, and I can read a map and use a compass, so yes, I suppose I am.’ Konstantin did not meet Yvette’s eyes, he chewed the bread instead.
‘Well then, that means I’m a navigator too, fancy that.’ Yvette’s voice held a hint of sarcasm which Konstantin ignored.
While he ate, he watched Jakob and Teddy who were over in another corner, propped against the cave wall, sharing a bottle of wine. They didn’t seem to warm to Konstantin.
‘Do you not get on well with your fellow troglodytes?’ Yvette gestured to the others and in response Konstantin shrugged, a lack of concern in his expression.
‘I do not think they like my politics, Zaya, or my country of birth but it is of no consequence to me. I will never see them again once we get back to England, but I would hope to see you again, if our paths should ever cross.’
Yvette felt herself flush, and secretly acknowledged that she was pleased this wily and clearly very intelligent, ruggedly handsome man would want to look her up. ‘Well that would be very nice, Konstantin, but let me ask you something… is that really your name?’
He tilted his head to one side and held her in his stare. ‘Is Yvette your real name?’
Shaking her head, she laughed. ‘Touché. Okay, here’s another. Tell me how you got that scar on your cheek, I’d say it’s not that old, and I bet it hurt, however you got it.’
Konstantin turned his body slightly as if to prevent the others from hearing and in a low voice, his accent more pronounced, he answered. ‘This, I can tell you.’
Yvette felt her eyes widen and for a second, she felt rather naïve, like a child listening to a bedtime story but it was too late to cover it up. ‘Go on then.’
‘I had a fight with a huge brown bear. It lost.’
‘No you didn’t.’
‘Are you saying I am liar? My heart is wounded. I mean it, Zaya, I was hunting in the woods near our home in Petropavlovsk and it came out of nowhere, the rest is a long but rather macho tale of me wrestling it to the ground. I won’t bore you with the details, but he left me this memento.’ Konstantin touched his scar.
