Page 29 of Love in the Shadows

“My parents were killed at the beginning of this one, as were Nancy’s.” She felt her tone hardening. Frau Neumann’s loss could not compare to theirs.

“I’m sorry.” Frau Neumann stared at her.

Fabienne held her gaze. “Everyone loses.”

Frau Neumann lowered her head. “Astrid has seen things that have shocked me. I was more protected as a child. It is far worse for her here.”

“As it is for my cousin, Nancy.” The edge to Fabienne’s tone was sharp now. How many child prisoners had been utterly devastated by what they had been exposed to? Astrid would still have a life after the war, which is more than could be said for so many others. She clamped her jaw tight to stop herself from overstepping the mark.

Frau Neumann sighed. “For all the children,” she said. “It’s worse than anything we could ever imagine.” She gave Fabienne a rueful smile. “I will send your grandmother home and let you get to work.”

Fabienne sighed with relief as Frau Neumann turned away from her. “Thank you,” she whispered as the kommandant’s wife left the kitchen.

***

The hours had passed quickly working at the house. As Fabienne sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that evening, Mamie seemed a little brighter for having rested.

“How was it?” Mamie asked.

Fabienne drew down on her cigarette. “Better for Müller’s absence.” She didn’t want to burden Mamie with the conversation she’d had with Frau Neumann. Even though the woman was sympathetic, it didn’t mean she would defend them in the face of her husband or the captain. Frau Neumann had to tread carefully too, though Fabienne believed she would do her best to make their lives as pleasant as possible. “She is hosting a dinner on Good Friday, and we are expected to manage the kitchen. Müller and the nanny will serve the guests.”

“That’s inconvenient,” Mamie said.

“Yes. I must be at the post office by ten-thirty. The train is due at the station at eleven forty-five.”

“I can manage the kitchen. We will come up with something.”

Fabienne stood, pocketed the packet of Gauloises from the table, and headed to the door. “I’ve got deliveries to make, and then a meeting. I’ll be back late.”

Mamie squeezed her arm. “Be safe.”

Fabienne kissed her cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

Having delivered the parcels of cheese to the church for onward distribution, she headed to the bistro bar. Two Wehrmacht soldiers were sitting at a table playing cards and drinking coffee. Three Frenchmen stood at the bar complaining intensely about the fact that the World Cup football had been cancelled the previous year. Their debate moved on to whether the tournament would go ahead as planned in three years’ time. They were of two minds whether the war would be over by then. Fabienne couldn’t bear the thought that it might not be.

The Resistance had to try harder; they all had to do more.

A group of French policemen were sitting around a table drinking brandy. She turned her back to them and waited until they resumed their conversation before slipping a small parcel of cheese across the counter to Jean-Paul. He gave her a large shot of brandy.

She sipped the drink. The soldiers left the bar, and the mood lifted a little.

She made her way through to a back room. The lighting was subdued, and the small space was filled with tobacco smoke. She greeted the six commanders with a nod of her head and took centre stage. The men quieted. “We are to blow up the bridge this side of the river on Friday the seventh of April, at eleven forty-five.”

“We will only have a small number of explosives,” Louis Bertrand said.

Fabienne nodded. “Enough to cause damage to have the train stopped?”

Bertrand blew out a long breath. “We will make it work.”

“Why? It’s a major supply route and rations will be reduced again if the trains can’t get through,” a man said. “We will all die of starvation.”

The men echoed their agreement.

Fabienne had similar concerns, but they had no choice. “Two hundred and thirty-six Jews are being transported to Germany. Women and children are being sent to the work camps. Rumours are that they are being executed there.” She looked at each man in turn to silence any further challenge. “We will blow up the bridge before the train reaches Windheisen Station. Word will get through that the bridge has been damaged and they will stop the train at the station. Here, we will board it and free the prisoners.”

“And kill the guards,” Bertrand said.

It would be difficult to do the job without German casualties, but for every soldier that they killed, more innocent French people would be murdered in retribution. Bertrand worked with a heavy hand. He had nothing to lose because all his family were dead. That made him a great fighter, but it also made him more reckless.

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