Page 42 of Tides of Resistance
‘I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good. A fisherman who delivers to the island tried to check in on them for me. He moored at Portelet and walked up to Seagrove. Sorry I didn’t tellyou, but I didn’t want to frighten Giselle and Sophie. They are already so worried.’
‘I understand,’ Lizzie said, her voice cracking.
‘Anyway, I asked him to look for them at the cottage, but he had to get out of there quickly and didn’t see them,’ he said, closing the filing cabinet with a thud.
‘Why the cottage and not the main house?’ she said, dreading his response but desperate to know the truth.
Charles sat down next to her. There was a heavy silence, and Lizzie’s chest tightened in a vice-like grip.
‘Go on,’ she said in barely a whisper.
‘The fisherman told me a few weeks ago he heard the Germans had requisitioned Seagrove.’
The words cut through the silence like a blade.
Her uncle had just confirmed one of her worst recurring nightmares. Her grandparents had been cast out of their home, which had been in the family for generations, and the Nazis were running their foul regime from the Beaumont house.
The pain ricocheted through her, and she was breathless. ‘No…,’ was all she managed.
‘It was a shock for me too,’ Charles said. ‘Although, given the situation in Europe, it shouldn’t be. They’ve requisitioned so many of the big houses in Brittany, especially those placed strategically for views of the coast, but it lands differently somehow when it’s our family’s home, doesn’t it?’
Charles patted Lizzie’s shoulder.
Lizzie was pale, and her emotions collided as she struggled to contain them. She had guessed this mission would be hard for her personally, being so close to Jersey but unable to visit her grandparents. Despite the toll on her, she had agreed, because how could she not? The way to liberate Jersey wasn’t by sitting in Val’s office or intercepting other agents’ codes. Her place was in the field. This was where she could make the most difference,no matter how treacherous the missions grew with every passing day.
That night as she tried to drift off to sleep in the narrow bed, with Sophie breathing steadily next to her, images of their grandparents kept her awake.
In the requisition of Seagrove, what had become of them?
The following morning, as the soft dawn light weaved patterns on the dark fabric that coated the window, Lizzie gave up the battle to sleep and tiptoed wearily downstairs to make coffee before everyone woke. All she had were lots of unanswered questions about the fate of Jersey and the island’s residents.
She sipped the seedy coffee and tried to calm herself. It was easier to think clearly without the demons that reared their heads in the dark hours of the night, taunting her, and she reminded herself of Jack’s advice when one was overwhelmed. He said to take things step by step and follow her gut.
Did Father Guérin know the whereabouts of Jacques Moreau’s hidden radio?
Today was the day she would find out.
CHAPTER 25
The cathedral was cool and quiet as Lizzie made her way towards the confessional. It was only 7 a.m., but a small line of penitents already kneeled in the pews near the box, prayer books in hand. The thick burgundy damask curtain that hung in front of the polished wood was drawn, like a veil at the entrance to a divine world.
The minutes crawled by, and Lizzie gazed up at the high vaulted ceiling and surreptitiously scanned the layout of the cathedral.
She knew from her very first mission, which now seemed like another lifetime; cathedrals were used as meeting places for agents, so it was standard spycraft to assess the interior. Stealing a glance at each of the parishioners in the queue, she wondered what secrets they kept locked behind their closed eyes and taut lips.
Soon it was Lizzie’s turn to enter the dimly lit space, and she kneeled on the prie-dieu, the priest faintly visible on the other side of the grille.
She must somehow check he remembered her without revealing her motives, in case he wasn’t Father Guérin. It was possible another priest had taken his place at short notice.
A rustling sound pervaded the compact space as she crossed herself and said, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been more than one year since my last Confession.’
The familiar words rolled off her tongue, although before the war she would never have let one year pass in between confessions. Her Catholic school was strict about church attendance, and Mass and Confession were a routine part of her week.
Lizzie had thought about what she would confess because as she grew older it struck her as odd that she and her friends would make up sins, even if there was nothing of note that seemed Confession worthy. Now she said, her voice a murmur, ‘Father Guérin, I have kept my work making bread at the bakery a secret from my loved ones, and it troubles me I have deceived them.’
Father Guérin’s soothing voice filtered through the grille. ‘A year is a long time, my child, but delivering bread is God’s work. He will understand.’
Lizzie released her pent-up breath.
