Page 54 of Tides of Resistance
‘Nature of your trip, mademoiselle?’ asked the guard as he studied the papers.
‘I’m going to visit a family friend in St. Lunaire.’ Lizzie smiled coquettishly, hoping to distract the young soldier, but he was uninterested in her womanly charms.
He shuffled her identity card and switched his attention to perusing the hatefulCertificate of non-belonging to the Jewish race. He looked at her face carefully and again at the document.
His gun hung menacingly across his shoulder, and she watched his feet close the small space between them in his hobnailed boots until he stood by her bicycle.
‘This belongs to you?’ he said, pointing to it.
Lizzie had not experienced a search at the gates before, and she started to panic. It was sod’s law they decided to be thorough when she had the radio to hide.
Stay calm. Stay calm.
Lizzie told him it was and did her best to appear as if his examining her bicycle was no problem at all. There was no reason to complicate matters by explaining it was Sophie’s. It would only lead to more questions if he was looking for an excuse to give her a hard time.
His hand rested on top of the front basket, which was draped with a kitchen towel. Heat prickled over her skin, and her dressclung to her hot flesh. It was a warm day, but she had worn the big coat because she needed the secret pockets for her contraband items. And her knife. Her hand moved slowly at her side, and she gauged how quickly she could extract it from the lining.
It didn’t look good. A small unit of soldiers marched across Place Chateaubriand nearby, the sound of their boots hammering the cobblestones like a chilling omen. Even if she got the better of this soldier, the others would be on her in no time.
The soldier moved the towel aside and peered into the basket. Thanks to Aunt Giselle, it was packed with nondescript items such as a folded shirt she had laundered for her son, a novel, a bag of apples freshly picked from the tree in the backyard, a small cabbage and a jar of homemade strawberry jam.
The radio set was disguised in the tin and covered by the supplies. As an extra precaution, Lizzie had layered packages of flour and tea over a cloth that protected the radio parts.
Her panic increased as she watched the guard search through the basket, helpless to stop him as if it was happening in slow motion.
His fingers brushed across the food items, and he poked about inside. Lizzie shoved her hands firmly in her coat pockets to hide their trembling. She waited as he explored the contents of the basket and looked at the apples. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Then the soldier withdrew his hand, and his thick fingers clutched the jar of Aunt Giselle’s homemade strawberry jam.
Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat.
‘I’ll have to requisition this,’ he said, handing her the documents back with one hand and clutching the jar with the other.
He waved her through, and she saw him place the jar in the sentry box alongside some other items. She made no objection and once through the gate, she leapt onto the bike, a giant wave of jubilation flooding over her. The soldier was so fixated on stealing the jam, he didn’t bother to search any further.
When she reached the coastal path, she began to laugh uncontrollably until the tears streamed down her face and her sides ached.
She had smuggled out the radio thanks to a jar of strawberry jam.
Lizzie pedalled fast and hard, revelling in the April sunshine as she took in the breathtaking beauty of the churning and foaming tides on the rocks below. It hadn’t been long since she had clawed her way to safety up the cliffs, and when she thought back to her terrifying night swim from the submarine to shore, she was grateful there was no plan for her to exit that way. Once was enough.
Her thoughts flickered to Heinrich. He had been the perfect gentleman throughout the drive and the tour, but she was dancing with the devil. When they drank wine and waited for lunch to be served on the terrace at the villa, he confessed he had not been able to stop thinking about her since he laid eyes on her in the bookshop.
‘The tour was just an excuse to see you again, Rose.’ His eyes blazed as he spoke, and he caressed her hand.
Lizzie stopped herself shrinking from his touch. She hadn’t expected him to voice such feelings when they had only recently become acquainted, and she racked her brain for the best way to cool his ardour without offending him.
She was grateful when the delicious array of steaming dishes arrived, and the awkward moment melted away. Towards the end of the meal, Heinrich was called into his office on urgent business, and Lizzie declined the offer of his driver and said shewould make her own way. As she hurried back to the house, she praised her guardian angels and tried not to worry about the charismatic SS officer’s romantic intentions towards her.
One day at a time.
CHAPTER 32
By the time Lizzie reached the turning to Fabian’s farmhouse, she was hot and thirsty from the long ride and gasping for a drink. In her rush to leave the house, she’d forgotten to fill the empty bottle with water and pop it in her basket.
Uncle Charles’s office telephone was out of order since the lines hadn’t been repaired, but Sophie told her she couldn’t have called Fabian anyway as there was no telephone at the farmhouse. Panting slightly and perspiring in her heavy coat, she glimpsed the farmhouse nestled in the shade of an old oak tree that looked like it had stood there undisturbed forever.
Vibrant orange and yellow wallflowers dotted the grey stone, basking in the warm rays of the sun, and daffodils arched tall and proud, swaying in the gentle breeze as she crossed the path and approached the front door. It was a glorious spring day, the kind Lizzie remembered from her school holidays with her cousins, and she breathed in the pungent scent of blossoms mixed with the salty sea air, her bike resting on her hip as she gazed about the grounds.
