They never came back. Not the French peasants, nor the German overlords. They left one night on the 11.15 to Geneva, a ridiculous muddle of philandering, hopeful, deluded and straight up losing their mind.

Pity poor hapless Rene, a put-upon cowardly cheater. Relying on the incompetent jack of all trades, his letters had not reached the women he had intended and now he was stuck being pursued by several of them on the train. He hardly knew what to do with them all. He didn't even know where Mimi had ended up. It would be just his luck if he bumped into Maria who had been shipped off on a one-way parcel to this very country. He'd be on the run for the rest of his life. He cursed his bad luck.

No signs of life, door locked, outside furniture abandoned piano, some had speculated that the Germans had taken them. But Germans were thin on the ground. Namely one Leftenant Gruber and his little tank. Or that toad, Von Strohm. Not even that beautiful blonde, Private Geerhart who had been known to treacherously send French hearts fluttering as she strode along the streets of Nouvion.

Of the attractive Yvette, there was no sign. She'd handed in her wet celery and flying googles and the men of the town had mourned, French and German alike. The dastardly dog Rene had her heart and she ran to join him and the gold bars.

Poor Monsieur Alfonse. One day she was there, his Nouvion nightingale, singing her heart out in that dreary café, the next day, gone. Money taken from the till, hungry old woman banging her walking stick up above, no notice given.

I love you I love you I love you he sadly repeated in his mind as he promised to take care of Edith's mother.

Nobody would miss the slimy Herr Flick and his little sidekick troll. They were gone too, in the same night. Michelle and Crabtree were perplexed and felt a little bereft for the lack of company, help and argument. Rene eventually sighed with relief. No more pressure from the Michelle from the Resistance, Denise from the Communist Resistance or the German pigs (present company excepted). Just had to focus on juggling the women in his life.

In a rare occurrence of wilful collaboration, Rene and the Germans split up the goods after having bonked the Swedish art expert over the head. They heaved him, the drugged Herr Flick and Von Smallhausen into some of the empty berths and was away before the nuns could wake up and scream about the intruders in their carriage. The Germans, after a short but fierce discussion had decided to stick together and leg it to Zurich as soon as they could with a couple of gold bars each and the painting of the Fallen Madonna with the big boobies.

Gruber presented Rene with the cracked vase with daisies painting. 'Goodbye Rene. Perhaps we shall meet again after the war' he said regretfully. He clasped the other man's shoulders and looked at him one last time. He feared that he would never get over this infatuation. Rene managed a weak smile and nodded, hardly believing his luck. Colonel Von Strohm impatiently said goodbye and disentangled them, wanting to get on. Helga nodded to the French peasants and turned away, eyes already on the horizon.

'What about Herr Flick?' Asked Gruber delicately. Helga tugged her furs around her and turned back to look at the train among the confusion. He was still sleeping it off in the berth. She waved her hand dismissively.

'He'll be fine. Let's hope we may never have to see each other again.'

'I thought you and he…were…?'

She blew out her breath in exasperation. She had found his dominance a turn on at first but his insistence for control had waned her interest since then. She was alarmed at the thought of being married to him and that Gestapo style wedding dress he had had made for her was not quite her style.

'He wants to keep me on a very short leash. There's only so long I can keep up appearances.'

The men shrugged and they moved on. They were past caring about being deserters. They left Rene with his harem squabbling over their conjugal rights and trudged on to freedom.

Before them, the sunrise flooded their disillusioned hearts with searing hope.

Thank goodness for the 11.15 to Geneva.