Page 24 of Tides of Resistance
‘Something like that. Where are Sophie and Fabian?’ Lizzie asked, changing the subject. She needed sleep before she told them anymore and risked revealing further details of her mission.
‘Sophie is asleep upstairs.Dieu merci,Fabian came back alive after the surrender and has a workshop at a farmhouse in St. Lunaire.
‘Lizzie!’ Her name echoed through the kitchen, and Sophie burst through the door and swept her up in a hug, until Lizzie slipped off her hard chair, and they almost toppled onto the floor together.
‘Calm down, Sophie,’ Giselle said. ‘We’re trying to be quiet!’
Sophie apologised, but her cornflower blue eyes glowed as she hugged Lizzie, and they restored their balance.
‘My darling cousin. How wonderful it is that you are here. Please tell me all. I can’t wait another minute. And your hair is black!’
Uncle Charles intercepted. ‘I’m afraid you will have to wait. Can’t you see the poor girl is almost dead on her feet? Help mesee her upstairs and let her get some rest, and then you two can catch up this evening.’
Sophie looked disappointed but sprang into action and they part pulled, and part carried Lizzie up the stairs and tucked her into the narrow spare bed in Sophie’s room.
‘Sleep well,’ she said, stroking Lizzie’s black hair and dusting her forehead with a light kiss. ‘I’ll be home later, and we can talk then, Liz.’
‘Don’t mention to anyone I’m here,’ Lizzie muttered, her eyes rolling slightly as she fought the heavy fatigue, and her lids closed.
‘Whatever you want, my love. I will not utter a word.’
Sophie dressed for work and closed the door gently, leaving Lizzie to her dreams. She went downstairs and over a hasty breakfast, she interrogated her parents about the unexpected arrival of her Jersey cousin before setting out for work at the bookshop.
CHAPTER 15
St. Malo, April 1942
SS-Sturmbannführer Heinrich Adler, calledthe Eagleby his men because of his name and his hawk-eyed attention to detail, stretched his tall athletic frame and rose from his desk in one fluid movement. He’d started work earlier than usual that morning, eager to complete the updates to the Aryanisation project. He didn’t trust anyone else to complete the final records. TheFührerhimself might peruse them at some point, and Heinrich’s pride in his work dictated they must reflect the excellence with which he had managed the project to its admirable fruition.
Now he was impatient for his next challenge, but he tied up the loose ends with diligence. One didn’t excel at the most prestigious university in Bavaria and rise through the ranks as rapidly as he, by being haphazard.
Since his arrival from Munich, Heinrich had used his considerable administrative skills and knowledge of the law to transfer every Jewish-owned business his team identified in the city into suitable Aryan hands. Not that he was required tofollow French law. Since he joined the Nazi Party at university in the early 1930s in Munich, his superiors had drummed into him how the Jews were to blame for Germany losing the war. And as such, they must pay a heavy price.
It didn’t cross his mind for one second, he was administrating mass theft from a defenceless minority who were being used as a scapegoat for all Germany’s ills. In his eyes, it was his noble duty to restore his country to the Second Reich’s former glory.
The process had gone smoothly enough, and he and his team of officials had effectively rid the city of Jewish commerce through sustained swoops on Jewish-owned assets throughout the past year.
He sighed with pleasure, contemplating his own brilliance. His parents would be so proud of his progress, and Heinrich hoped to get approval for a brief visit to his family estate in the Bavarian countryside. Whilst the Nazi Party's operational headquarters had moved to Berlin, Munich was still the symbolic capital and birthplace of the movement, so he could combine a personal visit with business.
Things had always come naturally to Heinrich, and he was no stranger to success. He moved to the large picture window and gazed out at the angry tidesrolling in against the backdrop of the pewter grey sky. It was a miserable day, and the raindrops spat on the windowpane as if showing nature’s displeasure.
The grand nineteenth-century mansion on theParaméseafront had been an excellent choice, and Heinrich congratulated himself once again as he revelled in his position. When the sun shone on the Emerald Coast, this was the most beautiful spot in St. Malo. It was the perfect location to orchestrate the massive new coastal fortification project, with enormous gardens for a security perimeter and offices to house his expanding staff and to hold meetings with the growingnumber of contractors needed for such a bold plan to thwart an enemy invasion.
His grey-blue eyes, so often admired by the ladies, matched the shade of the stormy sea, and swivelled to rest on the harbour to the west and then flickered to the medieval walled city and ramparts. Heinrich found it divinely provident that the original walls were built to protect the city from British attacks by land and sea, and Hitler’s new directive served an identical purpose.
History repeated itself in the most entertaining ways, he reflected, before hitting the bell on his desk with a decisive hand. His secretary scurried in, and he dispatched her immediately to bring him a cup of coffee.
Yes, the elevated position of the mansion suited Heinrich’s requirements completely, and he looked down on the French city he now controlled and licked his lips.
The secretary tapped on his door again which bore the gold name plate:
Deutsche Zivilverwaltung Saint-Malo SS-Sturmbannführer H. Adler
Followed by smaller lettering in French:
Administration Civile Allemande Saint-Malo
Upon her boss’s command the petite young French woman who was fluent in German and whose family had lived in St. Malo for three generations rested the coffee on the Eagle’s desk, an ever-present wariness in her manner.
