Page 46 of Whispers At Dawn
‘So I understand,’ Jack said, encouraging Lev to continue.
‘It’s quite a way from where they are now to Toulouse. They will move by night and rest and hide out by day.’
‘Alright,’ Jack said. ‘Makes sense.’
‘What do you need from us?’ Lizzie said, thinking it was time Lev understood she wasn’t just an arm attachment.
Lev cast an admiring glance at Lizzie that wasn’t lost on Jack, but he couldn’t blame him for being impressed.
‘That’s a good question, Isabelle. It’s the tricky bit, I’m afraid.’
Jack’s eyes locked on Lev’s. ‘Tell us. There’s no time to beat around the bush. If we can help, we will.’
‘I don’t have a suitable place to hide them here. When they arrive, we will need to get them out of the way immediately and have them lie low for a few days, in case anyone spotted and reported them on the way.’
‘If someone reports them along the way, we will already have a much greater problem,’ Jack said.
Lev shook his head. ‘Many of the Vichy police are new to the job and are amateurs. They are keen but lack experience, which plays into our hands. Just because they are seen doesn’t mean they’ll be arrested. And of course, there are some who will do the right thing and look the other way.’
‘Right, so where can we hide them? How about a friend’s farmhouse?’ Jack asked. ‘You must know a lot of locals.’
‘Unfortunately, many of my friends have had to leave France, and the others can no longer afford to live where they used to. They don’t have houses suitable for hiding anyone. There is a sympathetic farmer who sheltered some Jews the authorities were searching for, but he told me that was the last time. They nearly caught them, and he said it’s too dangerous. He won’t risk it again.’
Lizzie had a vision of the Sterns on the run and wondered if it may have been them. She shook her head and drank her juice. Thousands of Jews had escaped and were trying to escape France as more harsh statutes were introduced. It could have been any family.
The thought of the Gestapo catching them filled her with dread. Those dear children had stolen Lizzie’s heart in Paris. The Jew hunts throughout Europe were like something out of a never-ending nightmare, and each time she went backundercover, and heard the latest developments, she was shocked anew.
Lev knocked back the rest of his drink in one shot and his eyes flickered from Lizzie to Jack.
‘There’s only one solution I can think of at such short notice.’
‘Well, don’t keep us in suspense, man,’ Jack said. ‘What is it?’
They studied their new agent’s solemn expression.
Lev cleared his throat, and said quietly, ‘The château is the perfect place to hide them whilst I prepare their forged identity papers, and we arrange the details of their escape.’
CHAPTER 22
Armand’s chest swelled with pride as he drove the Legion’s finest vehicle through the streets of Toulouse. He was excited about tonight.
He tried to make conversation with the commissaire like they were peers, but his illustrious passenger only grunted a few times in reply and then stuck his head in the papers he was reading in the back of the luxury car.
The commissaire eventually slid his papers into a folder and rested it on the back seat to prepare for arrival. The heavy car crawled to the top of the hill, and Armand spun the steering wheel sharply and the tyres bumped over the uneven ground at the entrance to the château.
Armand inhaled when the full splendour of the medieval castle came into full view. He’d never been inside the grounds before, and like most Toulousians, he had only admired the ancient house from afar. He had thanked the commissionaire for assigning him as his driver and was thrilled by the honour.
A tall man dressed in a fine dinner jacket cut from expensive cloth stood waiting in the courtyard and ushered them towards a parking spot. Armand parked carefully, his pulse racing and his throat dry as he realised it was the handsome man fromhis lunchtime spy games. He must be a resident of the château, because a dinner guest wouldn’t officially greet them like this. Armand took a deep breath to steady his nerves as he exited the car. The man wished him a good evening, and Armand opened the door for the commissaire.
The man stepped forward and introduced himself to the commissaire as Michel Dubois, a relative of Luc’s from Brittany. His accent was undeniably upper class, and his deep velvet voice drifted on the warm summer air like a caress.
The two men walked ahead without glancing at Armand, who shuffled behind.
Suddenly, the man turned to Armand. ‘Sorry, how remiss of me. I should have said, supper will be served for you by the housekeeper in the staff quarters.’
Armand flinched as though he had been punched in the stomach. He had dressed appropriately for dinner, taking special care with his uniform, and brushing his shoes until they shone, thinking that although he had been asked to drive the commissaire, he would also dine with them. He was an esteemed and respected member of the Legion, after all, not some lowly chauffeur relegated to eat with the kitchen staff. Or so he had assumed.
He fought to keep up with the two men who strode ahead, but it was impossible with his limp slowing him down, and he tugged at his tunic, which was suddenly too tight, and his face flushed with mortification.
