Gentle warning of some violence in this chapter and themes that some readers might find disturbing.
The conversations in this chapter all happen in French.
Loire Valley, France
Wednesday 6th January 1994
"…waking up... call the doctor… give her 20mg of…"
The voices swam through the blackness into Marie-Claire's awareness. None of what they were saying made any sense. She'd been shopping, hadn't she? Everything was faded and it was hard to remember. She was so tired, why wouldn't they just let her sleep?
"Mme Beaurain…" She tried to concentrate on the voice – it was a woman's voice and one that she was unfamiliar with - but it seemed a long way away and it took her a moment to realise that it was calling her name. Moving through the darkness towards the voice, she became aware of pain. It was not unbearable, probably thanks to whatever drugs they had given her, and she ignored it, pushing past it towards a light that grew larger and brighter as she approached.
"Mme Beaurain…" The voice called her name again and she forced her eyes to open, blinking against the intensity of the light. Someone was leaning over her, the outline blurred and fuzzy. She blinked again, squinting in an attempt to focus and slowly her vision cleared, resolving into the image of a woman. To Marie-Claire's eyes she looked young, far too young to be a doctor, but the white coat and stethoscope hanging round her neck and the faint scent of antiseptic that clung to her, not to mention the chart she held in her hand, proclaimed that she was indeed a medical professional.
"Who are you?" Marie-Claire asked. She felt confused and frightened, not understanding why she was lying here in a hospital bed. "Where am I?"
The questions were not unexpected, and the doctor answered them readily, speaking in a tone that was calm and reassuring. "I am Doctor Thérèse Signol. You are in the Hospital Regional D'Orleans. The ambulance brought you in early this afternoon from Saint Philippe sur Loire. Can you tell me your name?"
Marie-Claire nodded, then regretted it as pain lanced through her head. "I… I am Marie-Claire Beaurain. What happened? Why am I here?"
"I was hoping you could answer that question," the doctor said. "Can you remember anything that happened to you?"
"I was shopping," Marie-Claire said hesitantly. Yes, that was right, she'd been shopping with Madame Chrissie. The excursion into the village was not something Marie-Claire had particularly wanted, but despite her discomfort in the presence of the English woman, she had been unable to come up with a good reason to refuse.
She could not deny that the children and their mother had had a good effect on le seigneur. For the first time since she had come to work for him, he seemed truly happy and content. Likewise, the old farmhouse had come alive. No longer an empty shell used merely as a dormitory, it had become a family home, full of love and laughter.
Marie-Claire sighed. The children were adorable and so well behaved and they seemed to bring out the best in her Klingon boss. As for their mother, it was hard not to like her. But still… there was no denying that Madame Chrissie was a collaborator. There were people who said the same of her, Marie-Claire reminded herself, but she at least was only an employee, a lowly housekeeper. She cooked and she cleaned and more recently she helped with the children, nothing more. Back in the early days, she'd been picked up and questioned by the resistance. That had been frightening but she had nothing to tell them. Le seigneur Krang always kept his office locked and he never spoke of his work. He had always given her to understand that he was a mid-ranking officer and if she had her doubts about that, she kept her own council and never challenged him on the subject. Eventually, frustrated and disappointed, they had let her go and left her in peace.
Marie-Claire could not help sympathising with the children. They were innocents in all this, just as she had once been and one day, they would pay the price for their mother's indiscretion. Her own background was very similar to theirs and as a result, she understood their situation all too well. Born during the second world war, she'd been the product of a liaison between a Frenchwoman and a high-ranking S.S. officer. Her father had taken his lover under his protection but when the war had ended, mother and child had been left alone to fend for themselves. Marie-Claire had been just old enough to remember the name calling and the abuse her mother had endured, even if she had not understood it. In the end, they had been forced to change their names and leave Paris, eventually finding sanctuary in Saint Philippe sur Loire where nobody knew them.
Madame Chrissie and her family would be safe here too, Marie-Claire knew. Le seigneur Krang might be an alien invader but he'd proved to be a good neighbour and he was known and respected by the local community.
Even so, Marie-Claire could see no happy ending for the little family. She was aware that her boss had a difficult decision to make. What would happen when his time on this planet was done? Whether he returned to his homeworld or renewed his contract and stayed on Earth, the result would ultimately be the same. Madame Chrissie would be safe only as long as she remained with him. As for the children, they would grow up caught between two worlds and belonging to neither. She sighed again, reminding herself it was none of her business. Even so, she worried.
"Are we going now?"
The childish voice, speaking in almost perfect French, pulled Marie-Claire out of her reverie and she turned her attention back to the little girl who was almost jumping up and down with excitement at the coming outing. "Oui, ma petite. Fasten your coat, it's cold outside." Noting that Madame Chrissie was already assisting her son, she leaned down to help the child with the buttons. Satisfied that Fina was wrapped up warm, she put on her own coat and reached for her car keys and handbag.
Impatient to get going, Toni pulled away from his mother, opening the door and racing outside into the garden, followed a moment later by his little sister. The two adults exchanged a look, momentarily united in exasperated amusement, before following them outside and shutting the door behind them. There was no need to lock the house; it was well guarded and it would be a very brave burglar, or perhaps just a stupid one, who tried to break into it.
Parked on the driveway, Marie-Claire's car, a bright red Renault Clio, looked incongruously cheerful against the snowy landscape and the grey, cloud-filled skies. Marie-Claire unlocked the vehicle and with some difficulty, the two women managed to get the excited children settled on the back seat with their seatbelts fastened before taking their own places in the front of the car and getting underway.
It was not a long journey to the village, only a couple of miles along deserted country roads. It was perhaps a mercy that they were so quiet – out here in the countryside, lanes like these were not gritted and a light dusting of snow hid patches of ice that made the journey treacherous. Marie-Claire had grown up here however and had plenty of experience driving in these conditions. She drove with care, keeping her speed down until they arrived safely at her daughter's home.
They had no sooner pulled up outside the house, a pretty terrace with brightly painted shutters, built from the local stone and located very close to the centre of the village, when the door was flung open and two young boys came running out, shouting, "Mémè! Mémè!"
Marie-Claire glanced at Chrissie. "My grandsons," she explained. "Eduard and Robert. They are twins."
Guessing correctly that the Englishwoman would like to meet the boys' mother before leaving her own children in her care, Marie-Claire helped Chrissie get the two youngsters out of the car. The French boys approached the newcomers and it was immediately obvious that they were all going to get on well. Chattering excitedly together, all four children ran inside the house.
Half an hour later, with all the introductions taken care of and the children settled, the two women took their leave and headed into the village to begin their shopping trip. Marie-Claire stood aside and allowed her companion to speak with the shopkeepers and practice her French. Madame Chrissie was improving rapidly, she acknowledged, although her accent needed some work. She listened with a critical ear as the English woman spoke with the butcher, making her choice from the various cuts of meat on display and then asked how much it would cost. It would go on the account, the butcher explained, speaking slowly and with simple words to help her to understand, and the meat would be delivered to the house later that afternoon.
With the essentials dealt with – bread from the boulangerie and meat from the boucherie, as well as fresh vegetables and various other ingredients from the local market, Marie-Claire glanced at the time and suggested that they stop at a café for a hot drink and a bite to eat.
Realising that she was hungry, Chrissie agreed readily. Their chosen café was busy but Marie -Claire knew the owner and getting a table was not difficult. The menu looked delicious and both women ended up choosing the house specialty – roasted goat's cheese tart, followed by a hearty rabbit stew, washing the meal down with a glass of the local wine. In no hurry to go back out into the cold, they finished off with a cup of coffee sitting talking for a while, and slowly Marie-Claire began to get to know her companion a little and relax in her company. Chrissie was, she learned, a naturally kind and friendly person although a little bit shy and uncertain of herself and as they talked, it became obvious to the Frenchwoman that she was very much in love with le seigneur Krang. It happened that way sometimes, Marie-Claire acknowledged, le coup de foudre, the lightning strike. It was all very romantic in a doomed Romeo and Juliet sort of way - two people who were meant to be together right from the moment they met, no matter how much was against them.
Eventually, with the bill paid and their coats donned, the two women stepped out into the busy street. "Is there a book shop?" Chrissie asked, "I'd like to find some educational books for the children. I think I should also ask you about schools."
Marie-Claire nodded. "I will take you there," she promised. "The school is…"
"YOU! Stop where you are!" The voice was Klingon. "Identification!"
The two women immediately stopped. Marie-Claire reached for her I.D. card and the pass that Krang had given her, marking her as an employee who was entitled to Klingon assistance. The Klingon gave it a cursory glance and then took the passport that Chrissie was holding out. He took longer to examine it, and Chrissie found herself inexplicably nervous as she waited for him to hand it back. "English?" he asked gruffly.
Chrissie nodded, "Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"
The Klingon growled and it was not the friendly sound that she had got used to from Krang. "No." He handed her the document. "Go on your way."
Both women were quick to obey. Hurrying down the street, they noticed other Klingon soldiers carrying out stop and search. Neither of them saw the one who had stopped them pull out his communicator and speak rapidly into it.
Chrissie shivered as she watched another woman being stopped and interrogated. "They are making me nervous," she told Marie-Claire in a low voice. "I don't like this."
Marie-Claire nodded. This was not normal behaviour. Le seigneur Krang had told her that he would have guards stationed in the village, but he had also said that they would be discreet and cause no trouble. "I think we should go back. We can continue our shopping another day."
Reluctantly Chrissie agreed and they began to make their way back the way they had come and if they were walking a little faster than before, neither woman complained. A shadow came over the top of them, momentarily blocking out what little sunlight was shining through the clouds. Marie-Claire looked up to see a shuttle flying overhead and as she watched, it banked and came into land in the middle of the main road, forcing passing cars to swerve out of its way. Maybe it belonged to le seigneur, she thought hopefully, but as it came closer, she realised the markings were wrong.
A squad of heavily armed soldiers emerged from the shuttle and began to move down the street, heading towards the centre of the village. The rhythmic thud of metal-shod military boots hitting the ground in unison got louder and louder. The noise seemed to fill Marie-Claire's ears, momentarily transporting her back to her childhood in occupied Paris… a little girl standing on a balcony with her father, resplendent in his dress uniform with its medals and great iron cross, watching the rows and rows of soldiers as they marched through the square in perfect formation. Strains of Wagner had filled the air and red, black and white flags fluttered in the breeze and as the soldiers passed the balcony they had raised their arms in salute, accompanied by shouts of 'Seig Heil'. She'd met the fuhrer and conscious of her papa's strict warnings about how to behave, she'd curtsied to him and he'd patted her on the head.
Marie-Claire shook herself. She'd been a very young child then and she hadn't understood what the occupation meant. This was nothing so grandiose; there were no legions or tanks, no pomp and circumstance, just one shuttle and a squad of alien soldiers armed with futuristic weapons. Nevertheless, for the people of Saint Philippe sur Loire who, with the exception of le seigneur Krang and one or two of his assistants coming in to visit the shops, were not used to seeing the Klingon invaders, it was both unexpected and frightening.
The squad came closer. Marie-Claire took hold of Chrissie's arm and drew her aside, stepping back to give the soldiers space to pass. They drew level and stopped as the Klingon who had accosted the two women a few moments ago, stepped out into the road to speak with the squad leader. He turned and looked in their direction and then, signalling to his troops, he moved towards the two women. "You! Identify yourself!"
Realising that he was addressing her, Chrissie reached for her passport. "I am Christa Martinez."
The Klingon spoke and the squad leader nodded before barking orders to his troops. Immediately, two of the soldiers stepped forward grabbed Chrissie, forcing her arms behind her back and cuffing her.
"Monsieur!" Marie-Claire protested, "She is under the protection of…"
She was given no opportunity to finish. The soldier backhanded her viciously, his gauntleted fist smashing into her face, the force of the blow sending her staggering backwards, blood pouring from her nose and mouth. She gave a little cry as she crashed into the wall, sliding down it to lie in a crumpled heap. The last thing she saw was the Klingon soldiers shoving Chrissie into the shuttle and then the darkness claimed her.
Shoutout to JDC0, RobertBruceScott and Solasnagreine - thank you for your reviews and continued support of this story.