tipped it away and Marc stood wrapped in a blanket for twenty minutes while more was boiled.
By this time it was early evening, with the temperature plunging as the sun vanished. After their baths the two kids drew chairs up to a wood fire and toasted their tired legs and the palms of their hands until it was time to eat.
Jarhope, the airman, was first to arrive for dinner.
‘Good job you knew that Walters chap,’ Marc whispered, as Edith dozed beside him. ‘Otherwise I might have ended up getting chucked in the harbour.’
‘To be honest, I’ve never heard of the fellow,’ Jarhope confessed in a whisper. ‘But I’ve been stuck here for over a month while my burns heal up. The rest of my crew have gone south already and I reckon I’ve got better odds shipping out with you two than trekking down to Spain with no French and this mess for a face.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dinner was a proper show. Madame Mercier came by car, Nicolas brought out his best brandy. Only Alois was subdued, embarrassed by his behaviour earlier on. The waitress who’d served lunch at Le Chat Botté gave Henderson a remarkable stash of original blank documents, from bicycle permits to ration cards, but she also brought bad news. The body of the OT worker had been found. Security at checkpoints around Lorient had been stepped up.
Everyone agreed it was a grave business. The Germans would clamp down. Arrests, searches, days of tightened curfews and possible revenge executions of French prisoners.
Madame Mercier stood up as gloom settled over the diners. ‘To make the omelette, you break the egg,’ she told them resolutely. ‘This is a war and worse things will happen before we win.’
Henderson was impressed and raised a toast. ‘To victory for France,’ he said.
‘And a safe trip home for our guests,’ Madame Mercier added.
*
‘It’s like two pins manoeuvring blindfold through a haystack and hoping to bump into each other,’ Henderson explained to Jarhope, as they sailed away from Kerneval.
Nicolas and Alois had done them proud, locating a four-metre sailing boat and safe spot to cast off outside the harbour wall well away from German eyes. Henderson was a confident sailor and reckoned the boat was good enough to reach Britain if they didn’t find Madeline . They’d brought food and water just in case, but five days in an open boat would be no fun, and if a storm didn’t get them, the Germans might.
Jarhope was no sailor and would have looked green if it hadn’t been pitch dark. Marc lay at the bow, trying to ignore all the places that hurt as he cupped his ears, listening for the distinct rumble of Madeline ’s propeller shaft. He had a flashlight and a pair of luminous wands to help attract Madeline , but they’d all be for it if he made the wrong call and flashed a German boat.
There wasn’t even a guarantee that Madeline was coming. It was a fifty-hour voyage from Porth Navas to Lorient, so the little tug had been forced to spend the day drifting seventy kilometres offshore, risking the attentions of German patrol boats and fighter planes.
Henderson sailed in a zigzag pattern. If Rufus was doing his job, Madeline was sweeping back and forth along a two-kilometre channel. They’d practised the technique off the Cornish coast and Madeline had met the canoe four times on four consecutive nights. But that didn’t account for sinkings, mechanical faults, or the possibility that Rufus had navigated to completely the wrong section of coastline as he’d done the previous night.
Midnight passed by, then one, two and three a.m. Henderson decided that he’d give up at four, because if he left it any later he wouldn’t be able to sail clear of the coast before sunrise. The breakthrough came with less than a quarter-hour to spare.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s her,’ Marc said.
Henderson put up the sail and pointed the bow towards the noise. They had to be careful, because Madeline was expecting a canoe not a sailing boat.
By this time it was early evening, with the temperature plunging as the sun vanished. After their baths the two kids drew chairs up to a wood fire and toasted their tired legs and the palms of their hands until it was time to eat.
Jarhope, the airman, was first to arrive for dinner.
‘Good job you knew that Walters chap,’ Marc whispered, as Edith dozed beside him. ‘Otherwise I might have ended up getting chucked in the harbour.’
‘To be honest, I’ve never heard of the fellow,’ Jarhope confessed in a whisper. ‘But I’ve been stuck here for over a month while my burns heal up. The rest of my crew have gone south already and I reckon I’ve got better odds shipping out with you two than trekking down to Spain with no French and this mess for a face.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dinner was a proper show. Madame Mercier came by car, Nicolas brought out his best brandy. Only Alois was subdued, embarrassed by his behaviour earlier on. The waitress who’d served lunch at Le Chat Botté gave Henderson a remarkable stash of original blank documents, from bicycle permits to ration cards, but she also brought bad news. The body of the OT worker had been found. Security at checkpoints around Lorient had been stepped up.
Everyone agreed it was a grave business. The Germans would clamp down. Arrests, searches, days of tightened curfews and possible revenge executions of French prisoners.
Madame Mercier stood up as gloom settled over the diners. ‘To make the omelette, you break the egg,’ she told them resolutely. ‘This is a war and worse things will happen before we win.’
Henderson was impressed and raised a toast. ‘To victory for France,’ he said.
‘And a safe trip home for our guests,’ Madame Mercier added.
*
‘It’s like two pins manoeuvring blindfold through a haystack and hoping to bump into each other,’ Henderson explained to Jarhope, as they sailed away from Kerneval.
Nicolas and Alois had done them proud, locating a four-metre sailing boat and safe spot to cast off outside the harbour wall well away from German eyes. Henderson was a confident sailor and reckoned the boat was good enough to reach Britain if they didn’t find Madeline . They’d brought food and water just in case, but five days in an open boat would be no fun, and if a storm didn’t get them, the Germans might.
Jarhope was no sailor and would have looked green if it hadn’t been pitch dark. Marc lay at the bow, trying to ignore all the places that hurt as he cupped his ears, listening for the distinct rumble of Madeline ’s propeller shaft. He had a flashlight and a pair of luminous wands to help attract Madeline , but they’d all be for it if he made the wrong call and flashed a German boat.
There wasn’t even a guarantee that Madeline was coming. It was a fifty-hour voyage from Porth Navas to Lorient, so the little tug had been forced to spend the day drifting seventy kilometres offshore, risking the attentions of German patrol boats and fighter planes.
Henderson sailed in a zigzag pattern. If Rufus was doing his job, Madeline was sweeping back and forth along a two-kilometre channel. They’d practised the technique off the Cornish coast and Madeline had met the canoe four times on four consecutive nights. But that didn’t account for sinkings, mechanical faults, or the possibility that Rufus had navigated to completely the wrong section of coastline as he’d done the previous night.
Midnight passed by, then one, two and three a.m. Henderson decided that he’d give up at four, because if he left it any later he wouldn’t be able to sail clear of the coast before sunrise. The breakthrough came with less than a quarter-hour to spare.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s her,’ Marc said.
Henderson put up the sail and pointed the bow towards the noise. They had to be careful, because Madeline was expecting a canoe not a sailing boat.
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