piece of information about Britain that couldn’t be memorised by a German.
Alois waved the giant wrench. ‘I say we tie an anvil to this bastard’s ankles and throw him in the harbour.’
‘If the Gestapo are on to us, it wouldn’t make any difference,’ Nicolas pointed out. ‘He would have told people that he was coming here. They might even be watching us right now.’
‘ Exactly ,’ Henderson said hopefully, as he pointed at the airman. ‘You’ve nothing to lose by taking a chance on me being who I say I am. You trusted the airman, didn’t you?’
Nicolas managed a tense smile. ‘We found them half drowned in the Atlantic. The Krauts would have had a hell of a job setting that up.’
Everyone looked around as the side door opened again. The three Frenchmen were half expecting a Gestapo raid and were relieved to see the waitress from the café, with Edith and Marc. Marc hurt from the beating, but sensed the tense atmosphere and felt for the knife in his pocket.
‘What are you old lunatics doing?’ Edith yelled, eyeballing Alois furiously. ‘They’re here to help us.’
‘He’s Gestapo,’ Alois shouted. ‘I’d bet my right bollock on it.’
‘The Germans just beat him half to death,’ Edith said, pointing at Marc. ‘He took pictures of the bunkers.’
‘They’re cleverer than you think,’ Alois said. ‘It’s a scheme to root out as many of us as possible.’
‘In which case we’re doomed anyway,’ Nicolas repeated. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose by trusting them, apart from your pride, Alois.’
While the Frenchmen bickered, Marc plotted. They didn’t think he was a threat and hadn’t bothered searching him. If he stabbed the man with the shotgun, Henderson ought to respond quickly and take out Alois. Nicolas didn’t look too fast, so they’d probably be able to get away.
‘The Englishman can’t prove he’s English,’ Alois shouted.
‘How can I prove it?’ Henderson said. ‘He said I had a perfect accent.’
Marc’s hand tightened on the knife, but he was only going to move if he had to. There were too many things that could go wrong, with Edith, and the waitress, and the airman.
The airman .
Marc thought he looked familiar and spoke desperately, in his heavily accented English. ‘Have you got a brother named Walters? He’s also a pilot. Looks just like you, maybe a year or two younger.’
The airman shook his head, but then raised a curious eyebrow, as if he’d just worked something out.
‘My name is Jarhope, but when I was training the instructor mentioned a man named Walters,’ the airman said uncertainly. ‘Apparently he’d been through training a few months previously and the fellow looked just like me.’
‘Well I’ve met Walters,’ Marc said jubilantly. ‘He was the pilot when I did parachute training up in Scotland.’
Jarhope stepped in front of Alois. ‘I’m convinced they’re for real now,’ he said. ‘Nobody could possibly have known that.’
Marc had to translate so that Alois understood. He signalled reluctantly and the shotgun was tilted away from Henderson’s head. Marc loosened his grip on his knife, Alois put the wrench down on his workbench and there were a few wary laughs.
*
While Henderson went off with Nicolas and Alois to find a boat and plan the best strategy for finding Madeline in pitch darkness, Marc and Edith found themselves being mothered by Alois’ twenty-something daughter, Therese.
The two kids stripped and washed the worst of the dirt away in cold buckets on the back porch. For Marc, this was a day’s sweat and a welcome relief from the coal dust. But Edith battled furiously, refusing to scrub several weeks of grime away until Therese threatened her with a wire brush.
Stripped of clothes and dirt, there wasn’t much to Edith. Puberty hadn’t kicked in and she was whip thin. Inside they got a hot bath. Marc chivalrously let Edith go first, but when she’d finished the water was so filthy that Therese
Alois waved the giant wrench. ‘I say we tie an anvil to this bastard’s ankles and throw him in the harbour.’
‘If the Gestapo are on to us, it wouldn’t make any difference,’ Nicolas pointed out. ‘He would have told people that he was coming here. They might even be watching us right now.’
‘ Exactly ,’ Henderson said hopefully, as he pointed at the airman. ‘You’ve nothing to lose by taking a chance on me being who I say I am. You trusted the airman, didn’t you?’
Nicolas managed a tense smile. ‘We found them half drowned in the Atlantic. The Krauts would have had a hell of a job setting that up.’
Everyone looked around as the side door opened again. The three Frenchmen were half expecting a Gestapo raid and were relieved to see the waitress from the café, with Edith and Marc. Marc hurt from the beating, but sensed the tense atmosphere and felt for the knife in his pocket.
‘What are you old lunatics doing?’ Edith yelled, eyeballing Alois furiously. ‘They’re here to help us.’
‘He’s Gestapo,’ Alois shouted. ‘I’d bet my right bollock on it.’
‘The Germans just beat him half to death,’ Edith said, pointing at Marc. ‘He took pictures of the bunkers.’
‘They’re cleverer than you think,’ Alois said. ‘It’s a scheme to root out as many of us as possible.’
‘In which case we’re doomed anyway,’ Nicolas repeated. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose by trusting them, apart from your pride, Alois.’
While the Frenchmen bickered, Marc plotted. They didn’t think he was a threat and hadn’t bothered searching him. If he stabbed the man with the shotgun, Henderson ought to respond quickly and take out Alois. Nicolas didn’t look too fast, so they’d probably be able to get away.
‘The Englishman can’t prove he’s English,’ Alois shouted.
‘How can I prove it?’ Henderson said. ‘He said I had a perfect accent.’
Marc’s hand tightened on the knife, but he was only going to move if he had to. There were too many things that could go wrong, with Edith, and the waitress, and the airman.
The airman .
Marc thought he looked familiar and spoke desperately, in his heavily accented English. ‘Have you got a brother named Walters? He’s also a pilot. Looks just like you, maybe a year or two younger.’
The airman shook his head, but then raised a curious eyebrow, as if he’d just worked something out.
‘My name is Jarhope, but when I was training the instructor mentioned a man named Walters,’ the airman said uncertainly. ‘Apparently he’d been through training a few months previously and the fellow looked just like me.’
‘Well I’ve met Walters,’ Marc said jubilantly. ‘He was the pilot when I did parachute training up in Scotland.’
Jarhope stepped in front of Alois. ‘I’m convinced they’re for real now,’ he said. ‘Nobody could possibly have known that.’
Marc had to translate so that Alois understood. He signalled reluctantly and the shotgun was tilted away from Henderson’s head. Marc loosened his grip on his knife, Alois put the wrench down on his workbench and there were a few wary laughs.
*
While Henderson went off with Nicolas and Alois to find a boat and plan the best strategy for finding Madeline in pitch darkness, Marc and Edith found themselves being mothered by Alois’ twenty-something daughter, Therese.
The two kids stripped and washed the worst of the dirt away in cold buckets on the back porch. For Marc, this was a day’s sweat and a welcome relief from the coal dust. But Edith battled furiously, refusing to scrub several weeks of grime away until Therese threatened her with a wire brush.
Stripped of clothes and dirt, there wasn’t much to Edith. Puberty hadn’t kicked in and she was whip thin. Inside they got a hot bath. Marc chivalrously let Edith go first, but when she’d finished the water was so filthy that Therese
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