Page 88 of Daughters of Paris

They cycled along quiet, twisting roads, going deeper into the forest until they reached a small barn. They left the bicycles and, taking knapsacks, continued on foot. The moon was full, casting shadows across the barely distinguishable tracks as they walked silently into the depths of the woods. When Fleur remarked on their good fortune, Laurent turned back with a grin.

‘It isn’t a coincidence. The pilots need moonlight to fly by. They can’t use lights for obvious reasons. The RAF boys are some of the best in the world.’

After perhaps ten minutes of walking, Laurent dropped his knapsack against a tree.

‘This is where we wait. The Lysander will fly over those fields. It’ll drop and leave. That’s when we go.’

Fleur put her bag beside his and took up position beside him, kneeling in the undergrowth. The thick tree covering had at least provided some shelter so the ground was merely muddy not a slurry. Occasionally they shifted position but tried to keep movement to a minimum. They spoke rarely and in whispers, usually instigated by Laurent who checked that Fleur was comfortable, not too cold, not too nervous, not hungry or thirsty, understood what to do and other sundry queries.

After trying to ignore it for long enough, she had to admit the pressing need for a trip to find a bush, glad that there was not enough light for him to see her blushing. She crept off and returned to find Laurent had unearthed a hip flask.

‘It’s getting colder. This will warm you up.’

She accepted silently. Brandy, she thought. It was too strong but warmed its way through her stomach. She sat beside him, shivering as she settled. He put his arm around her, so much bigger than she was that she felt engulfed. Protected.

Neither spoke. It was so quiet. Cold too, far beyond what Fleur had expected. Her teeth chattered audibly. Laurent leaned back against a tree for some support and pulled her against him.

‘You can’t get too cold,’ he said.

She relaxed her form against his, wondering if he was as aware as she was of the way their bodies pressed into each other as they sat. It was comforting in a way nothing she had experienced before had been. She was content to stay like that for ever.

She kept watching the skies. The moon cast a gentle glow over the fields, with only the occasional cloud to obscure it.

‘How are you feeling?’ Laurent whispered.

‘Chilly,’ Fleur answered. ‘And nervous, if I’m honest. What happens if we’re caught?’

‘Then we’ll make the best of it,’ Laurent said. ‘If I think that is likely to happen, we abandon the drop. Better the Germans get the equipment than get us as well.’

Fleur flexed her frozen fingers. It was a worrying thought. She was starting to get tired, eyes closing, and finding herself leaning her weight against him when Laurent clutched her upper arm and she started fully awake. With his other hand he was pointing to the sky.

‘There.’

At first there was nothing to see, or at least nothing Fleur could see, just a quiet purring sound coming from somewhere ahead of her in the open. As she followed the line of his finger, she thought she noticed something silhouetted against the horizon but when she blinked it had gone. The only proof it had been there at all was that something began descending slowly from where it had been.

‘Come on.’

Laurent reached for her hand, grabbing both knapsacks in the other and pulled her with him across the fields towards the falling object. The ground was uneven and going at such a pace Fleur stumbled. Laurent’s arm went around her back as he stopped her from falling and he pulled her upright. She put her arms around him and he drew her close. His breath was fragranced with brandy and warm on her face. He loosened his grip and stood her upright.

‘Take care. I can’t be carrying you back with a broken ankle.’

He slowed his pace slightly.

From the other side of the field there was a muffled thud, followed by a whispering sigh, like a bird closing its wings. Fleur followed Laurent’s path wishing she had better eyesight. Adjusting to the darkness was hard. The temperature had dropped and clouds covered the moon and there was nothing for her to see by. Laurent crouched beside a bundle of white. A parachute covered a box, approximately a metre long. It made Fleur think of a small coffin. She stared at the sky.

‘I didn’t even see a plane.’

Laurent grunted. ‘That’s the idea. Quick, help me release this.’

They freed the box from the cradle it was bound in and Laurent cut the cords from the parachute with a knife that had appeared in his hand.

‘What do you think is inside?’ Fleur asked.

‘Right now I don’t care.’ Laurent’s answer was brusque and Fleur felt implied criticism.

‘I was only wondering aloud,’ she whispered beneath her breath.

‘Ponder later when we are safe,’ Laurent said, his voice slightly kinder. ‘Stuff the silk into your bag.’

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