Page 25 of Whispers At Dawn
‘Correct answer,’ she said, amused. Lizzie watched the shapes of smoke float away on the light summer breeze.
Jack caught the eye of the disgruntled waitress and ordered another round of coffees and then asked casually, ‘What is there to do around here in the evenings?’
The waitress, whose thick wavy hair was rolled and secured with grips in an elegant style, was the epitome of a chic young French woman, even in wartime.
‘Curfew puts a stop to the fun.’
‘What kind of fun would that be?’ Jack asked.
‘Oh, nothing special. What brings you to Toulouse?’ she asked, looking from Lizzie to Jack and back again.
Lizzie had gained a lot of experience in reading people’s expressions, and she guessed the waitress was afraid she’d shared too much too soon with a pair of strangers.
‘Wine. I’m in the wine business. This is my wife, Isabelle, and I’m Michel.’
The young woman inclined her head. ‘Good to meet you, Michel and Isabelle, with the rhyming names.’ She collected their empty coffee cups and, as she leant over the table, she said, ‘Welcome to Toulouse.’
That afternoon Isabelle and Michel Dubois wandered through the picturesque maze of narrow streets in the medieval town. No matter how much they sought to blend in, they were a handsome couple who drew discreet and not so discreet glances of admiration wherever they went. The saving grace was the city was heaving with people and Lizzie hoped there was some safety in numbers.
‘This feels almost wrong,’ Lizzie said as they walked. ‘I feel guilty for enjoying myself like this. It’s so different from being in Northern France, where I couldn’t relax for a second.’
‘It’s a welcome change not to see German soldiers at every turn, that’s for certain,’ Jack said.
‘I wonder what will happen in the South. Do you think they’ll occupy here too at some point?’
‘It’s hard to say. They have the best of both worlds since the invasion. With the Vichy lot collaborating fully, the Germansdon’t need to deploy troops to control the area. I don’t suppose there’s any reason to occupy unless something changes.’
‘I hope we invade soon,’ Lizzie said, lowering her voice, so Jack heard her words, but they drifted away as they stepped onto the windy bridge.
‘Me too, but we’re not ready.’
Lizzie said, ‘It seems like it might be fairly straightforward to operate undercover here. I haven’t seen a policeman since the square, and everyone’s just going about their business normally.’
‘Don’t let that fool you, darling. Always be on guard.’
‘You’re right. I mustn’t relax just because there aren’t German soldiers goose-stepping about the city.’
They strolled along the bridge, gazing at the slow-moving muddied water. ‘It’s nice to be in France in the summer again. Do you remember how freezing it was in Paris?’ Lizzie said.
‘Arrêts!’ A menacing voice stopped them in their tracks, and they turned to see a short, angry looking policeman bearing down on them. ‘Good afternoon. You must be new to the area. I haven’t seen you before,’ he said, his words escaping his tight, thin lips.
‘Good afternoon,’ Jack said, as Lizzie smiled politely and tucked her arm into his like an obedient wife. He continued, ‘You are to be commended for your powers of observation. We are indeed new to the area and are visiting my cousin and will be staying for a while on business.’
‘What is the nature of your business?’ the policeman probed, fixing Jack with a pointed stare.
Lizzie assessed him as he questioned Jack and ignored her. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform: a jacket with brass buttons done up to the collar and the traditional kepi hat the French police usually wore. Lizzie was relieved to see that at least the French police hadn’t adopted a German uniform—yet.
‘I’m in the wine trade,’ Jack said, his deep voice confident.
‘Papers, please,’ the policeman barked, not wasting time on niceties.
Lizzie realised she had jumped to conclusions and the Free Zone might not be much freer than occupied France, after all. The difference was the oppressor wore a French uniform and spoke the native language. It made the betrayal more insidious, and difficult to spot. She adjusted her yellow silk scarf and prayed it would act as her lucky charm once more.
Jack extracted his identity papers from his breast pocket, which had been expertly forged by the SOE, and Lizzie held her breath as a million terrible scenarios whirled through her mind at a lightning pace.
That would teach her to be so blasé. What had she been thinking, acting as though they were on their honeymoon, without a care in the world?
A thin film of sweat coated her skin, and she shifted her position slightly to try to cool herself down.
