Page 84 of Whispers At Dawn
They agreed to watch out for him and then launched into fine-tuning plans for the pickup. It had a lot of moving parts, and one wrong decision could be fatal.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Luc, Jack and Lizzie were pleased to be alone again. They discussed the night’s plans in coded language and muted tones on the terrace, and in an unexpected sentimental moment, Luc hugged each of them tightly when it was time to retire to their rooms.
‘Good luck,’ he said, his eyes glistening. ‘Both of you are a credit to the family, and to France. When I see my sister again, I shall tell her so.’
‘We will see you at breakfast, Luc,’ Lizzie said, patting his hand, emotion swelling in her chest. He was such a dear man and had welcomed her into the family from the moment they arrived. She would miss him when it came time to leave.
They only ever talked about after the war, as if winning was a foregone conclusion. Jack had taught her that in the early days. He said there was no room for doubt. They must hold the vision of winning in their minds at all times, or they may as well give up now.
It was clear Luc understood the great danger they would be in that night, taking the airmen to the British aircraft. If they were caught, they would be shot as traitors, probably in the Place du Capitole, but only after they were interrogated and tortured to extract their secrets.
Luc had volunteered repeatedly to come along and assist them, but Jack told him he would be the most useful staying in the château. If things went wrong, he should deny all knowledge of their activities. That way, there was a chance the residents of the château wouldn’t be accused of being complicit.
If Luc were caught red-handed with them, it would be the end of the Saint-Clair family legacy.
CHAPTER 43
Lizzie tied her yellow silk scarf around her neck and examined her reflection in the mirror. If they ever needed good luck, it would be tonight. Lizzie saw her cheeks were flushed, and her green eyes shone, giving her a slightly manic look.
Jack’s tall reflection appeared in the mirror beside her, and he rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘Ready, Seagrove?’
She nodded. ‘Ready, Raven.’
Using their official code names helped them click into mission mode. Tonight was their most dangerous operation since arriving in Toulouse. They must lay the foundation for the new network, and tonight’s events would serve many purposes.
They would receive the first drop from the SOE, the airmen would vanish from right under the noses of the Vichy regime, and they would work hand in hand with the nominated new leader, Lev, and his key people, Marguerite and the contact from St. Girons.
The château was in darkness and all the shutters firmly closed when Lizzie and Jack crept out of the kitchen door into the warm night. Lizzie wore an old dress and scruffy sandals she’d borrowed from Suzanne, and Jack wore the clothes of alabourer with braces and a cap on his head, Lev style. That way, if they were spotted after curfew, they could pretend they were casual summer labourers sleeping in the vineyards.
The waxing grey moon floated in the black sky, which was decorated by a smattering of glowing stars. Jack lit their way with his torch, and they took careful steps across the uneven ground, and Lizzie felt her chest thud in time with her feet.
‘It’s not an ideal night for a pickup.’ Jack glanced up at the sky.
‘I wondered about landing in conditions like these. They usually come on a full moon.’
‘That’s ideal, but as you see, solar movements don’t always correspond with the urgency on the ground.’
When they entered the shadowy vineyards, Lizzie said, ‘It’s spooky with the vines swaying like that.’
Jack shone his torch in front of her so she could see more clearly.
‘Ouch!’ Lizzie squealed.
Jack reached for his gun and spun around, ready to pounce into action. ‘What?’
‘Oh, sorry, it’s nothing. A branch grazed my arm, that’s all.’
‘Take a deep breath and stay calm. It’s all okay. No one knows we’re here,’ Jack said.
Lizzie breathed deeply. On previous missions, she’d been out every day on undercover work, and it had built up her endurance. This time, she’d become too relaxed at the château, waiting to respond to events. Living amongst enemies and integrating in the local community was a different kind of spycraft. Another time, on this type of mission, she would know what to expect.
Dry twigs snapped beneath their feet as they walked, and Lizzie’s senses were heightened as they approached the cellars. There were so many pieces to the operation. First, they mustextract the wounded airman from the cellar and get him to the meadow on the other side of the vineyards.
As they reached the cellar entrance, three hazy figures stepped out from the shadows of a copse of olive trees. Lizzie recognised Lev and Marguerite, and presumed the third was from St. Girons.
In the pale, ghostly light, Lizzie squinted and saw a man with black hair, dressed similarly to Lev. He was about Marguerite’s height, a good head shorter than Lev and Jack.
Marguerite moved towards them and said in a hushed voice. ‘Meet my friend, Angel, who has been helping us get our people out.’
