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Chapter Four

As the slow, local train chugged into the station at Vercourt the first drops of rain began to fall. George had been sitting on a bench on the platform for half an hour and had noticed that the sky was growing progressively darker, the wind was picking up and a storm was imminent.

The bus from Granville had deposited her outside the station after taking a slow, winding route through all the villages in the area. She might have enjoyed a little peace and quiet and the rural scenes had she not been conscious the whole time of the parcel in the shelf above her head. Thankfully, there had been little to concern her during the journey from the other passengers: housewives with small children, an elderly couple, several workers in overalls on their way home from shifts at one or other of the factories in Granville and a travelling salesman on the way to an appointment. People had come and gone but it had seemed strangely ordinary after the tension of her visit to the pharmacy this morning.

George had considerable leisure to think over the morning's events during the journey. She wondered if she had been over cautious and too concerned about the potential dangers of the situation to think clearly and yet she instinctively knew that it would always be this way whilst she was in France and she would have no choice but to live on her nerves. She had always been confident in herself and her own abilities but this was different. Confidence alone might not be enough to save her. She wondered how other agents had borne the stress of the situation for so long and her thoughts naturally strayed to Emile. Jacques had mentioned on the evening of her arrival in France that they were fortunate that Emile was an experienced leader, knew the ground well and had been here for some months already. It sounded as if he had been in the field more than once and after being here less than a week herself she couldn't imagine how anyone could cope for that long. She wondered for a moment how much she had ever really known Emile before. Two years ago she had thought him just another pilot living for today and to hell with tomorrow. There had been nothing serious about him although she had never known him at any time other than when he was off duty and up for fun and a good time. The little she had seen of him here in France was very different not just because of the dangers. She supposed that this was the professional Emile, the one she had never met before, the other side of the coin. It wasn't easy to reconcile these two men in her mind but for now there was only one on show and however awkward she felt she must learn to work with him.

By the time the train drew into Vercourt it was already late afternoon and George, in her desire to be away from Granville as soon as possible, had not stopped to eat and she could feel her stomach rumbling with hunger. However, she was determined to press on until she had managed to deliver the parcel and let nothing delay her. Whilst waiting on the platform she had decided that it might be safer to stow the parcel away on an overhead rack in one of the carriage compartments and stand out in the corridor within sight of it but with the advantage that in the event of trouble she could walk away and leave it as it would be much safer than being caught with something incriminating in her possession.

As the train came to a stop with a screech of brakes a few other passengers joined George on the platform and, as the rain had started to fall more heavily, they all hurried to climb aboard. George walked along the corridor looking for a suitable compartment in which to deposit her parcel but they all contained passengers and it now struck her how odd she might seem leaving her parcel but not sitting down herself. Then, when she was half way along the carriage, she spotted what looked like an empty compartment and pulled back the sliding door. However, as soon as she stepped into the doorway she realised her mistake. Sitting in the corner out of her sight was the single occupant and the reason for it seeming empty. A smartly dressed German officer was lounging in the corner seat. He turned his head at the sound of the door opening and took in the sight of a very attractive dark-haired young woman bearing an awkward parcel under her arm and looking exceedingly surprised by his presence.

George, horrified by her bad luck, hesitated before saying a hasty, "Oh, excuse me," and turned to go before being stopped by him calling after her in very good French, "Please, join me Mademoiselle. As you can see there is plenty of room."

She looked at him and couldn't help noticing that he was the Teutonic image of handsome: tall and broad shouldered, blonde-haired, blue-eyed and in possession of strong even features. His uniform was pristine but worst of all she could tell from the flashes on his collar that he was a Major in the Abwehr, the very organisation responsible for gathering counter-intelligence and tracking down and capturing agents like herself. She couldn't imagine a worse place to be at this moment but told herself she must play her part and be whatever he assumed her to be. He would expect her to be nervous and feel awkward and in the circumstances it wasn't difficult to pretend.

"If you're sure," George said quietly in response to his invitation, glancing shyly in his direction.

He smiled and gestured to the seat opposite, "I insist."

George stepped into the compartment and raised the parcel over her head to place it in the rack just as the train began to move. She stumbled slightly and the officer stood up at once and to her horror reached out to lift the parcel from her hands before placing it in the rack for her.

"Thank you."

"It's heavy, mademoiselle. What's in it?"

It sounded a good-natured enough enquiry but there was no way George felt she could tell him it was medicines and hope that he would accept that they would weigh so much.

"It's a gift, some bottled fruits for a friend."

"A very fortunate friend," he remarked and George hoped he wouldn't ask her to open it. Judging from his polite manner she guessed he wouldn't be so rude as to make that suggestion without any reason. She sat down diagonally opposite him and looked to her left into the corridor hoping against hope that he would leave the train at the next station but at the same time realising it was unlikely. He was probably heading to the main station at Beaumont. Unfortunately, it would be at least another half an hour before they reached La Chapelle where she was intending to alight and go on to the Clement farm. As if reading her thoughts he asked, "Are you travelling far, Mademoiselle?"

At once she decided not to get off the train at her intended destination. She didn't want the officer to know anything about where she was heading and named the station before La Chapelle.

"To Courcelles."

He raised his eyebrows in evident surprise, "A happy coincidence. I'm heading to Courcelles, myself. A new posting."

George fought hard to affect an interested expression when all she could think was that fate was well and truly against her.

"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Major Weber." He paused, "And may I ask your name?"

George was thrown into an immediate quandary. She hadn't really expected him to seek conversation with her but she had no choice but to give an answer and wondered for a second or two whether to give a false name but if for any reason he looked at her papers, and there was every possibility it could happen, he would be immediately suspicious or worse.

"Yvette Laurent."

"Charming!" He smiled at her again and she began to suspect that he had taken a shine to her.

"Tell me Mademoiselle Laurent, how do you like the countryside around here? Where do you recommend?"

George began to feel sick. It was as if this man knew how to test her. She had been here such a short time that she knew almost nothing of the area and she was determined not to mention anywhere she had already been. Then she hit upon an idea.

"To be honest, I don't know Courcelles well as I'm only a visitor. As I said, I'm going to see my friend."

He nodded, "Ah yes, of course."

There was silence for a minute or so and George hoped that was the end of the conversation but it appeared he was merely mulling it over before he asked, "Will you be staying with your friend tonight?"

George shrugged, "I don't know. It depends how much we have to talk about." She forced herself to make a joke, "You know how ladies can be when they get together."

He looked her in the eye, nodding slowly, "I see. Well, be sure not to forget about curfew Mademoiselle."

George shook her head doing her best imitation of innocence, "Of course not."

They lapsed into silence and as they did so George realised how stupid her answer had sounded. How could she be considering staying with her friend when she had nothing with her but a parcel and her handbag? She began to feel her story might unravel under any more questions and hoped he hadn't picked up on the inconsistencies. The last thing she wanted was any more questions on her imaginary friend and seeking to deflect matters she ventured one of her own.

"How do you find France, Major?"

He was clearly surprised she had addressed him but looked happy to answer. "It has changed."

George said nothing but thought what a stupid statement from someone who appeared to be intelligent and educated. How could France possibly be the same as it had been since the war began?

"I imagine that is obvious to you, Mademoiselle."

George tried not to blush. He really must have the ability to read her mind.

"The world is different for all of us, Major."

"Quite so but it doesn't follow that it has to be unpleasant."

"No." She didn't know what else to say.

"It's a shame you can't convince a few more of your compatriots to agree with you." George wasn't sure what he meant but stayed silent and he continued, "You know, I really don't enjoy, for want of a better word, spending my time trying to find terrorists but it's my duty. What I want is a peaceful France, would you not agree?"

In spite of her fear given the situation it took every ounce of George's self-composure to maintain a neutral expression and not show her complete disgust at his words or retort that France had been peaceful until it was occupied.

"Everyone wants peace, Major."

He smiled at her. "I see we are of a like mind, Mademoiselle."

She forced herself to smile back at him and then to her relief he decided to conduct a monologue chiefly consisting of his memories of France before the war. He clearly was well-travelled and well-educated and had it not been for the circumstances she might have listened with some interest but her main interest was in seeing how long she could encourage him to keep talking by smiling, nodding and occasionally offering the odd word of appreciation. She was successful as she avoided having to answer any further questions and as the train finally drew in to Courcelles station George was relieved that the enforced tête-à-tête was almost at an end.

Glancing out of the window George could see that Courcelles was a small station and wondered if she could somehow hang back until Weber had left and then wait for the next train to take her on to La Chapelle. She didn't know the timetable and realised that it could be a long wait and if so it would make her even later than she had planned but she had no choice if she wanted to maintain her story. She rose from her seat preparing to leave as the train slowed down and Weber rose also. Before she had a chance to do so herself, Weber reached for the parcel above her head and to her horror tucked it under his arm and gestured to her to step out into the corridor before him. She walked slowly along the corridor towards the carriage exit thinking only of the parcel and imagining that Weber had been playing a very clever game with her all along and she was about to be arrested as she stepped down from the train.

A squall of wind and rain almost tore the handbag from George's shoulder as she climbed down onto the platform and waited for Weber to join her. The weather was worse than when she had set out half an hour ago and only added to her misery at this moment. She reached out to take the parcel from Weber's charge and prepared to thank him for his assistance but he showed no signs of intending to hand it over.

"I have a car outside. Please allow me to take you to your friend's house in such dreadful weather."

It was the last thing George could have wanted.

"It's really not very far. Please don't bother yourself."

Weber drew himself up to his full height and almost bowed in a gesture of gallantry, "It would be most ungentlemanly of me to allow a lady to walk in such weather with a heavy parcel. Please, I insist."

Inside George felt as if she were dying a slow, painful, suffocating death. This man was not to be shaken off and she really didn't know how much longer she could keep up the pretence before he realised she was lying. He was smiling at her and she forced herself to smile back at him.

"You're very kind, Major."

He took her arm and started to guide her along the platform and through the station. She was sure she could see people looking at her, judging and probably silently cursing her. She knew what French people thought of women who associated with the Germans but her concerns right now were less about name-calling by people who would despise her apparent fraternisation than how she was going to extricate herself from the latest problem this situation had created.

Outside the station a military staff car was indeed waiting for Major Weber with a driver already holding the door open. Weber handed the parcel to the driver and turning to George said,

"Please give my driver your friend's address, Mademoiselle Laurent."

George had no idea what to say, having never been to Courcelles before. She had the horrible feeling she was about to be discovered, her throat was dry and her palms sweating but she said the first thing that came into her head.

"It's not far. Just follow the road ahead and it'll be easier if I tell you when to stop."

Weber seemed to accept this and nodded at the man to follow her instructions. At his insistence she got into the back of the car and seated herself next to him. Now that he was closer to her she was aware of the scent of his cologne but allied with her impending sense of dread it only served to make her feel even more sick. As the car drove off she wondered for a moment whether to feign travel sickness and ask them to stop. If she timed things right she might be able to run off before they noticed but the moment she took to her heels the game would definitely be up. She gazed out of the window, listening to the sound of the windscreen wipers working at full speed to clear away the rain that was splattering the glass, wondering how far to let the car drive and when to tell the driver to stop until in the distance she noticed a fairly large, white house which appeared to be set back some way from the road with a driveway in front of it.

"Could you stop just up here by the white house, please?"

The driver slowed as they approached and started to turn into the driveway but George, concerned about a car pulling up outside a complete stranger's house and the scenes that might follow said hastily, "There's really no need to drive to the door, this is fine."

Weber looked surprised and as if he was about to protest but George had to stop him. "Please don't. My friend is a terrible gossip and my mother's bound to find out. It would be awkward, I'm sure you understand."

To her surprise and relief Weber seemed to accept this and asked the driver to stop at the top of the drive. The driver got out with her parcel and opened the passenger door for her. She was about get out believing she had finally escaped when Weber stopped her.

"It's a pity you're otherwise engaged this evening, Mademoiselle, unless of course you think you may be free later. If you were, I wonder if you'd allow me to take you out to dinner. Perhaps I could call by at about eight o'clock?"

It struck George that agreeing to his suggestion might be the best way to extricate herself from his company once and for all but to acquiesce without comment might surprise him.

"I'm really not sure that I will be able to go out but if you wish to call…." She glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes and hoped she looked suitably demure.

"Then I must take my chances," he replied with a smile, clearly not put off by her vague response.

George said no more. She took the parcel from the Weber's driver and set out towards the house praying that the car would drive away before she reached the front door and he was not going to wait. However, the car remained at the top of the drive and she knew Weber was watching her. She tried to walk as slowly as she reasonably could but the front door of the house was now only a few yards away and the moment of reckoning was fast upon her. For all she knew the house might be empty and if Weber saw her standing there in the rain for any length of time goodness knows how she would ever get rid of him. It was only as she reached the front door and pretended to knock at it that she heard the sound of the car reversing and then pulling away. She turned her head a fraction and was relieved to see it turn left and head back towards Courcelles. As it disappeared from view she finally breathed a huge sigh of relief but then seeing the twitch of a curtain from one of the windows at the front of the house she knew that she ought to get away from here as soon as possible. She had no idea who lived here and they might not be very welcoming. The house bordered onto some woods to its left and she immediately headed in that direction, keen to get out of plain sight of anyone in the house as soon as possible before she was subjected to anymore awkward questions.

X-X-X-X

It had taken George two long and uncomfortable hours to make her way from Courcelles to La Chapelle on foot. The worsening weather combined with her lack of knowledge of the area had made the journey even more difficult. Mindful of the obvious impression she had made on Major Weber, the last thing she wanted was to be seen anywhere near the road and she therefore decided to head back in the direction of the railway line and having managed to pick it up again, and keeping a look out for patrols that might be in the area, she followed it as best she could until she finally reached La Chapelle. She was wet through to the skin, her feet were sore and blistered and she was dizzy from lack of anything to eat or drink but she could think of nothing else but completing the task she had been given. When she finally located the Clement farmhouse the sense of relief was immense and weariness began to take a hold of her.

George knocked quietly on the farmhouse door and a few moments later it opened casting some of the light from within into the damp, gloom outside. To her surprise there appeared to be no one at the door but to her relief she saw Emile at the end of the hall and she stepped over the threshold. There was a serious look on his face but before she could say a word to him she felt the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed against her left temple and froze in shock.

"That's far enough!"

With a start she recognised the voice of Jacques and was rooted to the spot but as Emile drew near she searched his face for an answer to what was happening and unable to see one cried, "What the hell is going on?"

"It's just a precaution," Emile said slowly.

"Against what?"

Before he could answer Jacques closed the door behind her and interjected, "You're hours late and you were seen leaving Courcelles station with an Abwehr Officer and getting into his car. Then you turn up here as if nothing has happened."

This was almost too much for George to bear after the events of the day.

"Does it look like nothing's happened?" she said gesturing to her bedraggled appearance. She was wet through and starting to shiver from the cold and lack of any food to eat all day. "I had the very bad fortune to run into the new area Abwehr Officer on the train who tried to chat me up all the way to Courcelles, wouldn't take no for an answer about a lift as well as wanting to take me out for dinner tonight. I had to pretend that I was staying at a complete stranger's house and I've just walked here cross-country from Courcelles in the pouring rain with this stupid bloody parcel and now you've got a gun at my head."

Emile was watching George closely. He knew her better than any of them and much better than anyone else was aware. When the report of a young dark-haired woman being seen at Courcelles station in the company of an Abwehr Officer had reached them via a railway engineer who was part of their circuit, they had all been very worried, especially as she was seen getting into the officer's car with the parcel. Whilst Emile knew that George might have been able to talk herself out of the situation, one look at the contents of the parcel would have ended any hopes she might have of evading arrest. He and Jacques had been trying to decide the best course of action. Having only been in France for a short time, George's list of contacts was small which was a blessing but the little she knew could still damage the circuit if they didn't move quickly to limit the repercussions in the event that she talked. The fact that they were discussing the possibility of George having been arrested hadn't really registered with Emile at the time as he had distanced himself, considered everything a Circuit Commander ought to consider and treated the situation appropriately but seeing George standing in the doorway of the farm, dishevelled, angry and upset by the way they were treating her when she had clearly been tested by events today put things into a different perspective. He realised with a jolt that this was George, not some stranger, and he had heard and seen enough to convince him that Jacques was overreacting.

"Put the gun down, Jacques"

He gestured to George to come in. There was a fire in the grate in the kitchen and as she stepped forward she was greeted by a stout, middle-aged, motherly woman wrapped in an apron, whom she took to be Madame Clement. The woman threw both of the men in the room an exasperated look and reaching out to George took her by the hand and led her to the fire.

"For goodness sake, you two," she admonished Jacques and Emile, "she's soaked. Come over here, my dear, and take off some of those wet things. I'll find a towel for you."

She busied herself helping George take off a few items of wet clothing and drying her off then brought her some steaming hot soup and bread to eat at the kitchen table. When she was settled, Emile and Jacques joined her and the three of them shared a bottle of coarse red wine. Emile poured her a glass and said, "Tell us what happened."

George recounted every detail of the journey into Granville, the encounter at the pharmacy and why she had chosen a different route to return. Emile agreed it had been wise but none of them could have expected that she would run into the new Abwehr commander. It sounded as if she had caught his eye and it had, thankfully, deflected his attention away from the parcel. Both Emile and Jacques were interested to hear about Weber. It was useful for someone to have met him and they were keen to hear her opinion.

"He's cultured, well-educated, speaks French very well and he's travelled a lot. I think he's intelligent."

"But you still managed to pull the wool over his eyes," Jacques laughed.

"Maybe, but he's going to find out that I was lying if he calls back at that house tonight."

Emile nodded, "We need to get you new papers. I'll get on to that straight away. If this Weber's got any sense he'll be looking for Yvette Laurent unless he comes to the conclusion that you were just a young woman who didn't want to go out with a German Officer and were lying about your name as well as where you lived. Let's hope so but we can't take chances. You should stay here tonight and Jacques will find you a new safe house tomorrow."

Jacques rose from the table and went in search of Madame Clement to sort out a bed for the night and George was left alone with Emile. He sat back in his chair, wine glass in hand and noticed how weary she seemed.

"Are you alright, George?"

Her eyes widened at his use of her name. He saw her expression and corrected himself, "I meant Madeleine."

"Don't forget it."

He nodded, "I'll do my best." There was a pause. "Same question, though, are you alright, Madeleine?"

Part of her wanted to tell him to mind his own business but she was too tired to argue. "Yes. It was tough, tougher than I thought but yes, I'm alright."

"You did well and I'm not patronising you."

She could tell he meant it and said nothing in response.

They regarded each other across the kitchen table, Emile admiring her determination and presence of mind today, George wondering what she had risked her life for and how a man who had once told her that he loved her could allow her to do so.

"What was in the parcel today?"

Emile shook his head. "It's better you don't know."

Perhaps the effects of the wine, her weariness and the warmth of the room had emboldened her but she decided he wasn't getting away with that. "Come on, you owe me some idea at least."

He thought about it, she had been through a lot and there was no harm in giving her some idea of the importance of what she had done now that it was over. "Information for an operation we're planning. We're waiting for the go ahead from London but we needed photographs, plans and evidence of what we're dealing with. You'll know more when you need to."

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's late. You look tired. You should get some rest."

He pushed his chair back from the table preparing to get up but was stopped by George enquiring, "What about you?"

Emile was momentarily touched by what sounded like concern from George and he smiled at her. For the first time since arriving in France she saw a man she recognised and it startled her. He stood up.

"I've work to do. I've got to go."

"Watch the curfew," George said wondering why she would say something so pointless to a trained, experienced agent who knew his work far better than her and would pay no heed to it anyway.

The smile broadened on his face as if he was amused by her comment, "You know me. I'll be alright."

In spite herself she smiled back. "Yes I know you."

He prepared to go and she stood up and accompanied him to the farmhouse door.

Outside the weather had turned in for the night, it was dark, wet and stormy and George shivered as she looked out through the open door. "Do you have to go tonight?" she asked without thinking.

Emile looked down at her caught between surprise and amusement, "That sounds seriously like an invitation, Madeleine."

She took a deep breath, "You know it's not."

"Sadly, I do. But, yes, I have to go."

He turned and walked away and she stayed where she was watching him trudge up the hill, his collar turned up against the wind and rain. Just as he reached the bend in the road he looked back to the farmhouse and saw George still standing there framed in the doorway. He raised his hand and for some reason George couldn't understand she waved back. Then he was gone from sight. She shut the door and stood in the darkness for a moment listening to the sound of her own heart beating, like the rhythm of a song, telling her over and over again something she didn't want to hear. It wasn't fair. He had no right to make her feel this way again, no right at all.