Page 28 of Whispers At Dawn
Lizzie’s complexion was pale. ‘No, no, I haven’t.’
Luc said, an amused expression on his craggy face, ‘Don’t tell anyone, or it will cause suspicion. We are raised on pigeon meat—it’s considered a wonderful delicacy here.’
The slip-up reminded Lizzie; she was always just one tiny step from plummeting off the cliff edge in her deception. One wrong word, gesture, or hesitance about something that came as second nature to a French-born person could reveal her identity as a British agent.
She thought back to the many practice sessions she and Jack had done before the mission, testing each other on their fictional lives, so they would pass as husband and wife. He had also insisted they quiz each other on the intricacies of French life.
Lizzie possessed a sound knowledge of daily minutiae, mostly from the long holidays spent with her St. Malo cousins but still she couldn’t match Jack, who had spent long stints in France working undercover for Military Intelligence before the war, and whose parents were both French born. It was the little things, as showed by her reaction to the discovery she had just eaten pigeon. The incident was minor between friends, but it could mean certain death.
Jack told Luc about their unfortunate encounter with the over-zealous policeman and related how he had rushed off when he discovered they were guests of Luc at the château.
Luc chuckled, but grew serious. ‘Ah yes, there are a lot of these nasty little bureaucrats rising swiftly through the ranks on the coattails of Marshal Pétain, seizing power they would never have dreamt of having before, and stomping about the city ordering everyone around.’
Lizzie was relieved Luc clearly had no sympathies whatsoever for the Vichy government. How much more difficult it would have been if he were a collaborator and they had to fool him as well as everyone else about the nature of their visit. Jack had predicted his uncle would be on the right side of history, butshe had worried nonetheless. It was so long since Jack had seen his uncle, and he was still a boy then.
Before the war, Lizzie knew nothing about politics and realised now she had lived in comfortable ignorance, oblivious to the hardships so common in the world. During the past year, she’d undergone an intensive induction into world politics, and it occurred to her you could know someone in peacetime, but not know where they would stand in a major conflict. In France, people were pitted against each other as they tried to find their footing in Hitler’s Third Reich.
Luc said, ‘The police lick Nazi boots at every opportunity to ingratiate themselves into this new world order. And of course, I heard about theStatut de Juifs,but admit I had convinced myself they would appease the Germans and not enforce these terrible laws. I didn’t realise they were hunting Jews here quite so viciously.’
‘Why would you when it doesn’t affect you directly?’ Lizzie asked as she finished her glass of wine.
Luc said, ‘Quite right. You have yourself a warrior on your hands, here, Michel. Your father would be very proud.’
They had agreed to use their cover names at all times so the household staff or any unexpected visitors wouldn’t catch them unawares.
‘You are correct, Isabelle. Men who you think are good men often reveal themselves to be despicable cowards when it comes to making a stand against evil. The commissaire has been a friend since we were boys at school together, and granted, we’re not close like when we were children, but it is heavy news that his so-called right-hand man is carrying out what must be his direct orders.’
Lizzie said, ‘I bet many turn a blind eye, when there is so much at stake for their own survival. Even here in the Free Zone, just putting food on the table must be a challenge for most.’
‘That’s true and many struggle to feed their families, which will be reason enough to prostitute themselves to the new regime. Hunger is a great decider in world affairs and focuses the mind like little else.’
Lizzie was surprised to hear Luc talk like this, when she presumed, he had lived a charmed life of wealth and privilege in his splendid château in the hills.
‘Forgive me for asking. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve never had the misfortune of not having food on the table, even though, of course, rations are tight in London. Have you ever gone hungry, Luc? Somehow, it sounds like you have experienced such hardships yourself.’
Luc swirled his wine glass in his sun mottled hand, dinner now finished, and his plate pushed to one side. A misty look entered his eyes as he relaxed against his chair and began talking.
Jack and Lizzie exchanged a look. Their stay at the château was proving more fascinating than they had expected.
‘You are astute, Isabelle. I have endured the kind of hunger that makes your stomach shrink until you forget what a decent meal is. My men and I were so malnourished, we could barely hold ourselves up.’
Lizzie drew a sharp intake of breath. This was the last thing she had imagined hearing from a wealthy winemaker and landowner.
‘You fought in World War I,’ she said quietly, her eyes meeting Luc’s.
‘I did indeed. I was a prisoner of war.’
‘Something’s coming back to me now,’ Jack said, squinting, as though dredging through the annals of his mind for a forgotten memory. ‘My mother mentioned you fought in the Great War, but I had forgotten.’
Luc’s voice echoed with horror. ‘It was a terrible, gruesome war. The war to end all wars, or so we believed.’
Lizzie noticed he looked visibly shaken, so she gave him time to compose himself. ‘I always wonder why it’s called the Great War, but never thought to ask.’ She addressed Jack and signalled him with her eyes to indulge her chatter.
Jack said, ‘It was great only in the sheer scale of the destruction and disaster. There was nothing great about it, other than its size. You’re right, it is a strange choice of name, of all the names they could have given it.’
Luc cleared his throat and resumed talking. ‘I was an officer at the Western Front. Pétain was there too, you know.’
Lizzie and Jack sat transfixed as Luc told them war stories, and how he and three of his men were captured and interned in a prison camp in Germany. ‘I thought we were going to rot to death in there, but we made it through to the end of the war.’
