Page 37 of Whispers At Dawn
As she walked to the end of the queue, her eyes scanned the people who stood in line. Some were immaculately dressed, whilst others were dishevelled, as though they hadn’t changedclothes in a week. Lizzie noticed a small, slightly hunched old woman who looked to be struggling to stand in the extreme heat.
Lizzie had the urge to offer to queue for her rations too, but she held back. She couldn’t allow herself to get distracted, and besides, she already had too many rations to claim and could end up disappointing the poor woman by not bringing her anything at all. Instead, she greeted her cheerily and made polite conversation.
The woman looked interested when Lizzie told her she was new to the area. ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, her blue eyes inquisitive.
Lizzie was relieved that for the first time on a mission, she could be truthful about who she was staying with because it was a major part of her cover. She told the woman she and her husband had come to help a relative with his vineyards, and she segued effortlessly into her fictional story.
The woman scrunched up her weather-beaten forehead that stood testament to a long life in the blistering sun and then reeled off a few names of vineyards.
Lizzie said, ‘My husband’s relative is Monsieur Luc Saint-Clair at the château on the hill.’
The old woman looked impressed, and they chatted a while longer, but the line barely shifted. Lizzie was thirsty after her bike ride and asked the woman if she would hold her place in the queue so she could get some water. The woman nodded happily, seemingly revived after their conversation. Lizzie thought the war must be difficult for old people, especially those who lived on their own.
Lizzie bought a small bottle of water from a vendor across the street. It was aptly namedEau de Vichy,and Lizzie thought back to her operation prep with Jack and Val when they explained the spa town was the seat of the Vichy government.
Lizzie slotted back into her place in the queue after sipping some of the water, and she offered the rest to the old woman. At first, she declined, waving her hand as if to say she shouldn’t bother about her, but when Lizzie offered again, she accepted gratefully and drank deeply from the mineral water.
The queue moved a little, but they were still a long way from entering the shop, never mind reaching the counter.
The woman engaged her in further conversation. ‘We’re going to starve to death at this rate if they don’t increase the rations soon. It’s bad enough for us old folk, but what of the children? My daughter barely has enough scraps to pull together a meal for them. What will become of the little ones in this dreadful world? We’ve lost our country to Germany, and our new leaders aren’t proving any better.’
Lizzie did her best to console the woman and said to try not to worry about her grandchildren. She couldn’t share her own stories of who she worried about, but she recognised the feelings of despair, and she patted the woman’s crepey liver-spotted forearm.
If there was one thing she’d learnt during the past year, it was that worrying only helped if you could turn it into action. Otherwise, it just got you down and served no purpose at all. Still, not worrying about your loved ones and what would become of them was easier said than done, and she sometimes found herself sinking into miserable thoughts about her grandparents.
It occurred to Lizzie that perhaps the sympathetic old woman had been sent as a reminder that her own grandparents were as worried about Lizzie as she was about them. The thought eased the tension in her stomach. They were all in this together and like her father said, as terrible as the war was now, they would prevail against Hitler, and peacetime would come again.
When she queried her father on how he could be so certain, when everything was chaotic and the Allies hadn’t managed to invade France yet, he said, ‘Churchill says we will win the war, and if there was ever a man who I put my trust in, it’s him. We must believe we will be successful. The other option would be too catastrophic to bear.’
Lizzie was tempted to reassure the woman that the Allies would save them, it was just taking some time, but she remembered Val’s caution to not under any circumstances trust the locals in the Free Zone. It was impossible to know who was in favour of collaborating with the Nazis under the Vichy banner and who supported the Allies.
The country was divided in more than one way, and Lizzie examined the faces in the queue and played a game to pass the time. Who was for the Allies and who was a Vichy supporter? At least in occupied France, she had been able to spot the Germans by their uniforms. Here it was more difficult. Nazism was like a poison spreading through the country and she had no way of knowing who could be trusted, so she trusted no one.
The queue inched forward, and it was already more than an hour since she had arrived, and they hadn’t entered the shop yet. The heat of the sun pounded on her back and her dress was damp with perspiration. She adjusted her hat to shade her face, but the sun was relentless, and people were flagging in the harsh heat. Eventually, they reached the door, but there was still no space to enter. Lizzie feared there would be nothing left by the time they made it to the counter.
She turned her head and saw people still joining the queue. A man in a veteran’s uniform with a coloured badge on his sleeve limped past.Two people exited the shop, and the old woman and Lizzie entered and took their places in the long queue to the counter.
CHAPTER 18
Lizzie reached the front of the queue. The shopkeeper looked weary, but still had a friendly twinkle in his eye.
‘A tough day?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Every day is a tough day,’ he said. ‘What can I get you, madame?’
‘What do you have left?’ Lizzie asked.
‘We’re low on stock and I’ll be closing for the day soon. I’ve only got some ham left if it’s meat you’re after. I can also give you some cheese and flour for bread if you’ve got the right coupons.’
Lizzie checked the ration books. ‘Forgive me whilst I get my bearings,’ she said. ‘I’m new to Toulouse and am filling in for the housekeeper.’
This seemed to intrigue the shopkeeper. ‘Which housekeeper would that be?’
‘Suzanne, from ChâteaudeSaint-Clair.’
‘Ah, why didn’t you say so before?’ He lowered his voice so the other customers wouldn’t overhear.
The housekeeper had told her to mention her name.
