Courbouzon

"Seems odd to be goin' west when we're meant to be goin' east."

They'd headed due west from their transmission point, following a small district road that ran parallel to the river. They were passed by one or two German patrol vehicles, but they seemed intent on their own business and showed no interest in the large, black car heading the other way. The remainder of the traffic was mostly bicycles and horse-drawn wagons.

"Where we headed?" Chief asked.

"Village called Courbouzon. It should be signed."

It was. A right and a left brought them into the older part of the town, where rendered, somewhat dilapidated houses butted directly against the narrow road. It was deserted, apart from a solitary mackerel-striped tabby cat perched atop a wall.

Dalgliesh looked at the scrap of paper he was holding. "Follow the signs for Avaray. Just past the Chateau there's a house and barn on a corner where you go straight on. It's a dead end."

As predicted, the road petered out not far from the junction. Chief pulled over and killed the engine and looked around. A couple of farm buildings, a derelict barn, that was about it.

"Are we expected?"

"Not today, tomorrow maybe, if word hasn't got through that we went by air." Dalgliesh's answer was distracted. Most of his attention was focused on the farmhouse just behind them.

He opened the car door and climbed out. Instinctively, Chief did the same. He would have covered the Warden. He did the same for Dalgliesh.

A man came into view from a farmhouse behind them. He was limping heavily and leaning on a tall stave. A black and brown dog of some undefined race pushed past him, barking incessantly and growling, the ruff in his neck standing proud.

"Tais toi" rapped the man.

The dog looked at his master and stopped, but the growling continued, deep in its throat.

The lame man scanned the car, three men still sat within. Two others were standing quietly, waiting.

Chief took a step forward and clicked his tongue, looking at the dog. It whined once then, with a backward glance at its master, slunk forward on its belly to lie at the Indian's feet.

"Dogs know the truth when we humans do not. I assume one of you is Corbeau?"

He scanned the five and settled on Dalgliesh. It had been a hard choice between him, and the other dark-haired man still seated in the car.

"We were told you weren't coming."

"We weren't. Let's say there was a slight change of plan." Dalgliesh glanced back at the car. "Are you going to invite us in?"

The man nodded briefly. "Of course. My name is Stefan, please come with me."

GGG

The house might have looked semi-derelict on the outside, but inside it was clean and tidy although simply furnished. A woman wearing a black, mid-calf length dress, covered by a cream-coloured cotton apron, was peeling vegetables at the kitchen table. She looked up with a mix of surprise and trepidation as she saw the five men tracking her husband as he came into the house.

"Our guests have arrived early, Bella." Stefan smiled to reassure her. He turned back to Dalgliesh. "I can give you coffee, but that is all we have. My wife will need to visit the boulangerie before we can offer you food."

Bella put down the vegetable, removed her apron and picked up an empty wicker basket.

"I'll go too," Chief said quietly. "I could do with the walk."

Bella looked at her husband, who nodded his approval.

"You can trust him," confirmed Dalgliesh, reaching into his pocket to pull out a number of small value notes that he passed over to Chief. "Tell her to buy anything she needs."

Stefan watched momentarily as his wife headed out with the dark-haired young man, then moved his attention back to the remaining four. "Please, sit." He moved to the stove and started to put some dark brown grains into the cafetiere. "It isn't coffee, of course, but it is all we have now." He hesitated, before continuing. "Thank you for sending your man with Bella. It isn't safe for her to be out on her own, but... I find the walking too difficult." A shadow briefly crossed his face, then was gone.

"First you were coming, then you weren't, yet now you are here," Stefan mused. He looked directly at Dalgliesh. "What is it you want from us? We have been told nothing."

"You're not the only one," muttered Goniff. He'd taken one of the chairs away from the table, so that he could separate himself from the conversation.

Dalgliesh shot the cockney a sharp look but didn't comment.

"If we'd been able to follow our original plan we'd have been landed on the coast before dawn tomorrow then taken the train to Mer and walked here. Instead, someone decided it would be quicker if we were flown in along with a bunch of supplies."

"There is no landing strip nearby."

"No, but there is one near Orleans."

Stefan looked perplexed. "Why are you here?"

"Because the Orleans cell has been infiltrated. We were taken to a safe house that was being run by their radio operator. He told the main man... and the main man called in the Bosch."

Stefan looked surprised. "Trudaine? I can't believe he's a traitor."

"We didn't get his name and it's too late to ask now." Casino hadn't bothered with a chair and had instead propped himself against a pine dresser that gave him a good view of both Stefan and the door.

The farmer nodded his head slowly as he absorbed the information, then turned back to the stove to pour the 'coffee' into four mismatched mugs, cups and glasses and handed them out. He looked to Actor this time. "What is the other reason you are here, apart from circumstance?"

The conman decided to be direct. Despite appearances, Stefan seemed sharp. Certainly, his English was excellent – he must have spent time travelling for it to be as good as it was. "To retrieve someone from the internment camp at Jargeau."

The farmer burst out laughing. "Jargeau! Who is there that warrants sending a group of commandos into the middle of occupied France? All you will find there are Roma, vagrants and prostitutes. Your commanders are either crazy or misinformed."

"That was what we thought too." Dalgliesh wasn't laughing. "But there is someone and we have to get them out – one way or another. Can you help?"

"I will see what I can do. I would have passed you to Trudaine, but that door is now closed. First though, I have a small chore to perform." He headed out of the door followed, a moment later, by a suspicious Casino.

Actor made his way outside and perched on the small whitewashed wall. He raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes in pleasure as the warmth soaked into his skin.

He felt, rather than saw, Dalgliesh sit alongside him.

"You wanted to know what was wrong about Orleans."

Actor's eyes flicked open then closed again as he tried to disguise his curiosity.

"Major Johns sent the usual papers. Where we were going, who the contacts would be... all the usual stuff. But there was another packet of documents. I think they came from SIS, but there was nothing to attribute them to any section."

Dalgliesh reached into his pocket and dug out a packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Actor, but the conman shook his head. A pipe of good tobacco was on the agenda, but not until this conversation was over.

The Scot lit the cigarette, breathed in deeply then blew smoke up to the sky. "Taken independently you'd never spot the issue, but when you factor in the bits of rumour and hearsay, the picture changes. I have to admit, I wouldn't have seen the connections if Miss Hurrell hadn't pointed them out."

Despite his years of training, Actor couldn't prevent reacting. "Miss Hurrell? What is her involvement in this?"

It was Dalgliesh's turn to look surprised. "Yes, Emerald Hurrell, I understand she's an aide to someone in MI5. You know her?"

"Yes. She and her twin were land girls on the farm next to the Mansion. Her younger sister nurses at the airbase hospital. She's Chief's girlfriend."

"It's a small world. How did she go from land girl to MI5?" The Scot's curiosity was piqued. It was hard to imagine the confident young woman working on a rural farm.

Actor smiled. "I helped her."

Dalgliesh dropped the subject.

Stefan reappeared, a dead cockerel dangling by its feet from his spare hand. He started to remove its feathers, putting them into a wooden pail.

"You speak very good English for a rural farmer." Dalgliesh's tone was gentle and encouraging.

Stefan looked up. "I wasn't always a farmer. I was the younger son. The farm would go to my brother, so I was sent to the seminary. The church is still a common career for second sons."

"I did well," he added proudly. "First I went to Paris, then after a year or so my bishop was sent to London, and I went with him. Meanwhile, the farm was making good money and employing about 20 people." He looked at the dilapidated farmhouse. "You wouldn't know it now."

"Then, everything changed. My brother killed himself racing one of his friends in their motor cars and I had to give up my vocation and come home. That was in '36. My father lost the will to live and took to his bed. For myself, I have to admit I'm no farmer. We struggled on for a while, but gradually the men left either to fight or to escape forced labour. My father died in '41. I think he would have gone sooner if he could."

"If you're a priest, how come you're married?" Goniff had emerged from the kitchen and listened in to the story with interest.

Stefan looked at the Cockney, his hands still removing feathers. "I resigned from the priesthood when Maurice died. Bella was his wife and she'd stayed on, looking after my father and the house. I married her to keep her safe and keep a roof over her head."

The sound of voices announced the return of breakfast. The two people seemed to have made friends on their excursion. They were chatting in a mix of French and English.

Chief was carrying an overflowing basket and a sack. Bella had a second sack, filled with baguettes, and she was brimming with excitement. "Look what we have," she said excitedly. "Flour, saucisson, cheese, butter..."

Stefan smiled to encourage his wife, but his voice was sad. "I feel I fail her. If Maurice had lived and the Germans had not come, she would be living in luxury now, not surviving hand to mouth in a house that is falling down around her ears."

"She doesn't look unhappy." Actor paused. "Money isn't always the most important factor. Being with someone you care for matters more." He stood, hoping he hadn't said too much. "I for one am hungry, and if I am hungry then I know Goniff will be starving. I hope it would not be rude if we were to partake of that bread?"

"Please, help yourselves to anything we have. In the meantime, I need to make some arrangements." He handed the almost defeathered bird to his wife, whispered something too quietly to be heard that made her smile, then headed to the barn. Moments later, he emerged riding a somewhat skeletal motorbike of indeterminate parentage and disappeared up the road followed by a cloud of blue smoke.

Bella put her hands on her hips. The body language said it all. 'Always running off when there is work to be done.' She held up the cockerel and looked at it speculatively. "I never did like him." With a particularly Gallic shrug, she carried the dead bird into the kitchen.

GGG

Stefan returned about three hours later. He came back to an almost empty house.

Goniff, the only incumbent, lifted his head from his chest and opened an eye. "Chiefy's fishing, Casino's fixin' your tractor, not the slightest about Actor or Dalgliesh." The cockney gave one of his disarming smiles.

"Bella?"

Goniff shrugged.

Stefan held his temper. Am I feeling jealous? he thought. Actor's words echoed in his head.

Bella bustled into the room, her arms filled with linen. Her expression immediately opened in pleasure. "I've put blankets in the grenier for three. The other two can have your father's room." There was a hint of uncertainty. "I hope that was what you wanted?"

She had spoken in French and Stefan replied in the same.

He smiled and kissed her briefly on the nose. "Perfect." His nose detected the faint smell of chicken.

Bella smiled. "Chicken casserole. Casino and Goniff peeled the vegetables. Chief has promised me fish. We will have a feast." Her enthusiasm cooled slightly. "Have you done what you needed to do?"

Stefan nodded grimly. "Twenty-four hours and they'll be on their way."

He saw the look of disappointment in his wife's face. "You've enjoyed having people to take care of, haven't you?"

She looked guilty. "Yes. Is that wrong?"

Stefan shook his head. "No. It is right and I have been at fault."

GGG

Breakfast was early the next morning. Chief, Goniff and Casino had taken the camp beds in the grenier. It was basic, but all three men were comfortable. Dalgliesh and Actor had taken the spare room in the farmhouse. It had been more salubrious, but not so relaxing.

Bella was alone in the kitchen as she served bread warm from the oven accompanied by preserves from her pantry.

"Please, it is good, eat."

Chief, Casino and Goniff took her at her word and launched into what was on offer. Two bites in, and the cockney was in heaven.

Actor and Dalgliesh were later to the table. Sleep had been hard to achieve for both men. They'd had to share a double bed, each trying desperately to stay on their own side.

"Where's Stefan?" the Scotsman snapped.

Casino shrugged and took another bite.

A movement from the bedroom shared by the farmer and his wife caught Dalgliesh's eye.

Stefan had changed. This wasn't the downtrodden farmer. He was wearing his priest's robes.

"I will be coming with you."

Dalgliesh looked concerned. "What about Bella?"

"She will be fine. We talked about it long into the night. It is time to stop being what I think other people wanted me to be. I tried to be Maurice for my father. I tried to be Maurice for Bella. Now I want to be Stefan."

"You know you may not come home?"

"She knows," Stefan paused. "It was her that convinced me to take you to Jargeau. Now we must plan your journey."

GGG

An hour later and a small camion pulled up at the farmhouse. Inside were a large number of miscellaneous containers.

"Petrol," pronounced Stefan. "It is surprising how a little taken from here and a little from there will add up. Most will never know how much they have contributed to the war effort." He laughed.

"The car will not take six." Actor looked doubtful.

"You are right – and even if it did, it is on the wrong side of the river." Stefan shrugged. "The bridge was almost destroyed in the last bombing. We can cross on foot, or perhaps with a bicycle, but a car... c'est impossible. Still, it is no matter. There is a friend in Tours who is willing to help."

It took an hour to move the people, and the fuel from the farmhouse, across the broken bridge to the south side of the Loire.

Only Actor had changed attire. The other four were still dressed as workmen.

"Always said you shouldv'e been a priest." Goniff looked the conman up and down in approval. He'd seen Actor playing this role before and knew it was one the Italian could carry off with aplomb.

"Bless you, my son." Actor gave the required absolution with a straight face. The robe that Stefan had provided fitted fairly well and was only a fraction shorter than perfect. The farmer's reasoning had been sound. Two men of the cloth would be less likely to be challenged than ordinary citizens. Their four companions were lay workers, exempted from the draft due to mental instability.

A brown truck, of medium size, rolled down the road in an easterly direction and came to a halt a little way beyond the bridge. The driver climbed down and walked around the cab to the ditch-side, where he unbuttoned his flies and began to urinate.

"Vite," Stefan commanded.

Actor walked quickly to the driver's side and waited politely until the man had finished. "Merci mon ami. S'il vous plaît ne pas retourner regarder autour de vous."

The man nodded briefly as he felt something being slipped into his jacket pocket. He was being paid well for loaning his truck and, if someone should question anything, he now had the perfect alibi.

GGG

Five hours later and the truck pulled off the road and bounced down an unmade track.

The journey had been, for the most part, uneventful. They had passed three checkpoints without serious problems. The papers Dalgliesh and his team were carrying had stood muster. Actor, in his role of priest, was most vulnerable but, as had happened before, the soldiers were uncomfortable with challenging a religious man. Stefan was never questioned. With his limp and his staff and the way he carried himself, he was never doubted.

At the end of the track was a small wooden barn, outside which a man, who showed a vague facial resemblance to Stefan, was waiting.

The priest swung down from the cab and hobbled a few paces to greet his cousin. The two men embraced briefly, before Stefan stood back. "Denis, this is Corbeau."