Page 58 of Resistance
Dottie had only one thought running through her head. Would Béatrice remember? Of course she would, but Dottie doubted she would agree to meet, but there were things she needed to know. It was time to set the record straight even if it meant picking the scab that had grown over the past, obscuring the truths that lay beneath the surface. Somehow, Dottie had to speak to Béatrice, whether either of them really wanted to or not.
‘Have you nearly finished, Maudie?’
Maude didn’t look up at first and continued to write, then did a dramatic tap with her biro and clicked the button before closing the journal. ‘I have now, why, are you bored?’
‘No, I’m not bored but don’t put your pen away just yet, I need to tell you something, just in case we do meet Béatrice.’ Maude sat upright and focused on Dottie.
Dottie answered. ‘Remember the other night, when I told you about killing the soldier at the goods yard? Well, he wasn’t the only person I killed.’
Wide-eyed, Maude simply stared at Dottie, then found her voice. ‘Uh-oh, I think I know what you’re going to say. It was you, wasn’t it, not Vincent, who killed Jörg?’
Dottie sighed. ‘Yes, and that’s why I am riddled with guilt and probably have the blood of so many brave men on my hands. Béatrice thought it was Vincent and she blamed him, and I’ve always wondered if in an act of revenge, she gave him up. I suspect she was the traitor, the one responsible for everyone being rounded up.’
Maude didn’t speak for a second or two then picked up her pen and opened her journal. ‘Right then, let’s get this down on paper. You speak, I’ll write. Oh and, Gran, before you start, please know that I won’t judge you, it was war, I understand that.’
Dottie nodded, just about managing a weak smile and with her brow knitted in a frown, took them back to 1944.
32
Dottie’s Confession
Renazé, 1944
It wasn’t a decision Yvette took lightly, but it was one she made herself. The risk was too great, and she was terrified that Béatrice might carry out her threat and tell Jörg about the Maquis. While locking Béatrice in her room was necessary, she was already as mad as a cat in a box so Yvette could only imagine what being imprisoned and kept away from Jörg would do to her state of mind. She didn’t want to involve anyone else because at the end of the day this was Vincent’s sister and the ramifications of having a collaborator in the family was unthinkable. So was what the Maquis might do to Béatrice if they found out. That was why Yvette took it upon herself to remove Jörg from the equation.
Béatrice was sure that Jörg would visit soon, and Yvette knew that he would approach the farm from the direction of town as there was only one road into the village. Raymonde said he’d heard the sound of a motorbike when Béatrice had been sneaking about so Yvette hoped that when he did return, it would be by the same means. He turned up on the second night.
It was impossible to see the wire that ran from the tree, across the road and was wrapped loosely around the fence post opposite. Yvette hid in the ditch just before the bridge and the track that lead to the Matis farm and waited, her heart thudding, her lips numb and the sweat from her palms soaking into the rough cotton gloves she was wearing. She would only get one chance and she had to be quick because from memory, Jörg was tall and broad and no amount of SOE training could guarantee she would overpower him if need be. By her side was a bottle of pastis and the stave from an axe she’d found in the shed, it would serve her purpose better than her knife this time.
When she heard the engine noise in the distance her guts began to swirl and Yvette held down nausea, telling herself this is what she had trained for. The lives of many rested on her actions; she had to do it, she had to be strong. The headlights appeared on the bend and Yvette held her breath and pulled the wire so it was taut, then frantically wound it around and around the post to secure it as the motorbike approached fast. Jörg would not have seen the wire in the dark, or known what the hell happened when the handlebars of his motorbike connected with it, flipping him into the air while it skidded across the road, spinning before coming to a halt at the edge of the opposite ditch, a moment before its driver landed with a thud on the road.
Without a second’s hesitation Yvette grabbed the stave and darted from her hiding place to where the soldier lay motionless on his side. The headlight of the motorbike still shone, casting a white glow across the surface of the road and onto the body. There was no way of knowing if he was already dead, but Yvette did at least know he was unconscious so when the blow connected with his skull and she heard the sickening crack, Jörg wouldn’t have felt a thing. It had to look like an accident so Yvette flipped Jörg onto his back, the head wound would appear to be a result of it connecting with the road.
Then with trembling legs she raced to the fence post and unwound the wire, rolling it around her arm as she headed for the tree where with equally trembling fingers, she untwisted it from the trunk. Next, she removed two packets of cigarettes from her coat pocket and stuffed them into one of Jörg’s, then she retrieved the bottle of pastis, which with her eyes averted, she poured some down the front of the dead man’s uniform, before smashing the bottle on the ground. Once she’d retrieved the stave, without looking back, Yvette left the scene and ran along the track at the back of Vincent’s home and didn’t stop running, or crying, until she reached Tante Helene’s.
33
Our Secret
Châteaubriant, 2005
Dottie waited until Maude finished writing, unable to see her granddaughter’s face throughout the time it had taken to confess, because that’s what it felt like, a terribly cruel confession and now she needed to know how Maude felt about what she’d heard.
‘So there you have it, the sorry truth. And how do you feel about me now? Be honest, Maude, it’s important to me that you are.’
Maude looked up, a bemused expression on her face. ‘Gran, stop it. I feel the same as I did before you told me about Jörg. You did what you had to do and while I do feel sad for him, had he been told to shoot you or your friends as they lined up for the firing squad, he’d have pulled the trigger, wouldn’t he? It was his job, it was the war, and you did your job.’
On hearing this Dottie let out a huge sigh, then rested her head on the pillow. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that. I don’t think I could bear it if you thought I’d done the wrong thing.’
‘Well I don’t, and I’d never think badly of you, Gran, ever. One thing though, did you tell Vincent what you’d done?’
Dottie nodded. ‘Yes, I had to. I didn’t want to lie to him, although if I’m sensible I know that he must have kept plenty from me, but I understand why. I told him I’d take the blame, so that Béatrice wouldn’t hate him but he said there was no point, she was past caring who’d done it and would still have thought he was somehow involved. It was best kept between us.’
‘I think he was right, it would probably have made her even more angry. So do you intend telling her, if you ever meet again?’
Dottie thought about it. ‘Perhaps we should wait and see, decide at the time because she might still hold a grudge and even though sixty years have passed, Béatrice might still love Jörg the way I love Vincent. I would like her to know that her brother didn’t kill him though. I owe her that and it would ease my conscience too.’
‘You’re right, Gran, play it by ear with Béatrice. You’ve done the hard bit now, getting stuff off your chest, so maybe have a break from the confessional, okay?’
