Happy New Year to you all!

Apologies for the delay in updating over Christmas but this is quite a long chapter which will hopefully make up for it. Thank you, as ever, for reading and reviewing. It's much appreciated.

Chapter Eleven

"Two tickets for Berneville, please."

George cast no more than a cursory glance in the direction of the man behind the glass of the ticket booth at the station. There was no need to smile, say or do anything that might draw his attention any more than she already had. In any case, the stolid, pasty-faced young man looked bored. Little of interest happened at a small branch line station and she was sure from the way he looked down at the desk, avoiding her gaze, that he saw nothing interesting about the rather plain, bespectacled woman who had just entered the waiting room. She was, however, certain that he had seen her settling down on a bench what he probably took to be some sort of idiot relative and heard her telling the young man in a slow patronising voice more suited to addressing a toddler and which carried to all those around , "Sit here and be quiet. I'll be back in a moment."

George looked around and saw that Emile was indeed still sitting at the end of the bench, slumped over a little to one side and, as they had agreed, was avoiding the gaze of anyone else in the waiting room. His pallor, the ungainly manner in which he had shuffled in on her arm, due as much to his weakness and being in pain as a pretence at a disability, combined with an ill-fitting ensemble of clothes, added to the impression that he had recently left an institution somewhere and, if anyone asked, it was exactly the story that George and Emile had agreed upon.

There had been very little time to concoct any story after Jacques had arrived at the Moreau's to tell them the shocking news that Bernard had been arrested and that there was evidently an informer in their midst. Jacques' words had hit home and the dangerous reality of the situation had dawned on George at once. As she turned to look at Emile lying on the bed in bedroom of the Moreau's dead son, she could tell that he also knew the score. He was already pushing back the bed covers and starting to swing his legs out of bed and George rushed to help him.

"I'll manage, Madeleine."

Even so he spoke through gritted teeth and she could tell he was in pain. He was also weak from blood loss and lack of food. Standing upright was more difficult than he had imagined and he staggered a little but George reached out to steady him.

"We'll manage, Phillipe." She looked up and saw him smiling down at her.

"Yes, alright. We will."

With the help of Madame Moreau they found new clothes for Emile. Emile was a little taller than Michel Moreau had been but Madame Moreau seemed glad to pass the clothes on to him and Emile had no choice but to accept them even though when dressed he looked slightly odd.

"Pass me my jacket will you, Madeleine," he asked gesturing to the blood stained jacket in which he had arrived which was still lying on the floor near the bed.

"You can't wear that." George was genuinely shocked by the idea that he would don a coat bearing all the evidence of his activities.

Emile shook his head, "I need my papers from the inside pocket."

As he reached into the pocket to extract his identity papers George realised with a sinking heart that she was in trouble. She had no papers. The false set she had been carrying when arrested were with the Abwehr. She wouldn't get very far without identity papers.

"What am I going to do?"

Emile caught her expression and remembered that they hadn't arranged any more papers. Once she had completed the operation it had always been intended that she lay low until London were able to provide her with a seat on a Lysander back to England. However, to the immense relief of both of them, Jacques opened his jacket and took out the set of papers she had used before her arrest.

"I collected these from the sisters in Varennes. They didn't ask where you were and I didn't tell them anything but you can at least be Marie Bouchard again. The photograph's not ideal given the way you look now but it's the best I can do."

George took the papers from him hoping they would suffice and then another thought occurred to her, "What about Louis and Sebastian?"

"Louis sent a message to London to inform them the circuit's been blown and it's shutting down then he was under strict instructions to get the hell out to another area. That's all you need to know and Sebastian's making his own way. We've tried to spread the word to as many people as we can but we don't know who the traitor is, so it's really every man or woman for themselves."

George smiled at Jacques, "But you came here."

She reached out and hugged him. He had been a tower of strength to everyone and she would never forget him. He had known there was no other way of getting the message to them and he'd risked driving here rather than making his own escape. "I can't thank you enough for all you've done, Jacques."

The older man wasn't given to shows of affection and looked slightly abashed as he somewhat gruffly replied, "Just get away. Get back to England. That will be thanks enough."

By the time Emile had dressed he already seemed tired and George knew they were desperately short of solutions. "We'll have to use the train, Emile. You can't walk far, we haven't got transport and we've got to get as far away as quickly as we can."

Emile clearly didn't like the idea but George insisted, "We've got to risk it. We'll stay off the main lines and try to bypass any of the big towns."

Emile was still reluctant but he nodded, "Alright, just for now but we shouldn't travel together, you know that."

George held his gaze, "Yes, in ordinary circumstances but these aren't ordinary. We just need a story." She looked him up and down thinking once again how odd he looked and the germ of an idea came to her. "You said you thought I looked different, well, to be honest, you don't exactly look yourself right now."

"Thanks very much!" He might be a weakened version of the man she knew but his sense of humour was still fully intact.

"You know what I mean."

If circumstances had been different George might have laughed outright at his appearance. His trousers were too short by an inch or two and his shirt and jacket were tight across the shoulders. "We'll just have to work with what we've got. You're not very mobile at the moment so why don't we use the story that you're not quite," she paused searching for the right words and shrugging her shoulders said with a grimace, "all there, if you know what I mean. I could be taking you to stay with relatives in the south because you need a change of scene and somewhere quiet. We could say that you've been affected by bombing raids in the north and some family in the country are taking you in."

"And who are you?" Emile asked.

"A cousin?"

She could tell that Emile didn't like this story and she didn't blame him. It wouldn't stand up to much scrutiny but it was the best she could manage without notice, "You just need to be quiet and withdrawn. Don't say anything if you can help it and let me do the talking at least for the first few days until you're feeling better and then we can come up with a different story if necessary."

Jacques looked at Emile, "It makes sense, Phillipe. People may remember you but hopefully they won't connect you with the ones the Germans are looking for."

Emile looked across the room at George and despite his weariness and concern about the situation in which they now found themselves, he couldn't help but admire the way in which she was taking charge. He knew that he needed to rely on her if he was to have any chance of escaping. Alone, he wouldn't get far and although it was risky she was right that they had to move south as quickly as possible and he needed a cover story to explain his infirmity. He also recognised how much more dangerous the situation would be for her in his company. It was foolish and against every principle that had been instilled in them by their training to stay together but he knew it was a decision taken from the heart and nothing would dissuade her from carrying it through.

"Looks like you're the boss, then, Madeleine."

Within an hour of Jacques arrival at the Moreau's cottage everyone had departed. Monsieur Moreau had called in to his near neighbour half a kilometre away and asked if their young son could call in each day to feed the goats and hens for a while as he and his wife had been summoned at short notice to the bedside of her gravely ill sister in Paris. The fact that his wife had no sister and no relatives of any kind in Paris was immaterial. Monsieur Moreau knew that if questioned by the Germans the story would be innocently retold whilst he and his wife would be far away staying with a distant cousin in Clermont-Ferrand. The Moreaus headed for the local station and ensured that they were observed by the station master buying tickets to Paris even though they intended to change lines several stations further up the line whilst Jacques drove Emile and George twenty kilometres south to a small station. Jacques parked up a short distance from the station and they said a final farewell. In all the rush no one had stopped to ask Jacques his plans and George was concerned.

"What will you do, Jacques?"

He shrugged, "Keep out of the way. I know a few people who will help but you don't need to know any more than that. I can take care of myself."

"We know that." Emile reached out his good left hand to Jacques and the older man took it. "Good luck, Jacques."

As they stood at the roadside watching the van disappear from sight, Emile turned to George, "It looks like I'm in your capable hands now, George."

She felt the sudden weight of responsibility. He meant what he was saying. For a while at least he would be reliant on her and it must worry him just as much as it did her. She glanced up at him feeling the first fluttering of nerves and then to her relief caught sight of the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a grin, "Just be gentle with me. There's only so much excitement a man can take."

Now, having successfully purchased the tickets for Berneville George continued the pretence that had begun the moment they had shuffled into sight of the station. Emile had taken her arm and leaned on her. His steps were a little uneven and he was careful to avert his gaze from anything direct or anyone he encountered, appearing to be concerned about the presence of others and nervous of the new surroundings.

"Come on, Claude, let's go outside and wait on the platform. We can wait for the train to arrive. That will be better won't it?"

George maintained the patronising and cajoling tone that she deemed appropriate in the circumstances and reached for his arm whilst Emile continued to play the young man afflicted by a nervous complaint and showed reluctance to move so that George was forced to pull him up by his left arm. In truth she knew that Emile needed some help to get up from the bench, being stiff and in pain, and it served the purposes well, "Come on, Claude. Be good, please."

She caught just the flicker of a glance from Emile that betrayed some irritation at her manner but she ignored it and after he had got to his feet they walked slowly onto the platform and found a bench as far away as they could from the main entrance to wait for the train to arrive.

"It won't be here for another twenty minutes," George whispered, "Just carry on looking anxious."

She didn't need to see Emile's face to know he was being sarcastic as he replied, "That won't be difficult."

X-X-X-X

Weber's patience was wearing thin. As he replaced the coffee cup on its saucer without his usual precise care it rattled and he reached out to steady it before delicately replacing the silver spoon alongside it, this time without making a sound. He liked small things to be just so and it irritated him that he was getting nowhere with this man and his impatience was manifesting itself in something as simple as the way he drank from his coffee cup.

Twelve hours had passed since his officers had arrested Patrice Dufour, otherwise known by his codename of Bernard. The anonymous informer had been right on this occasion and the 'terrorist' had been apprehended eating his breakfast at his own kitchen table before heading out to work. Evidently, there had been some sort of struggle when the arrest had taken place as the man sitting on the other side of the desk from Weber was sporting the beginnings of a black eye.

Weber wasn't an advocate of physical interrogation. As an educated man he much preferred to use his intelligence to outwit his captives. It was the game of cat and mouse he enjoyed and, in any case, he strongly suspected that a tough man like Bernard would not only anticipate a severe beating but give very little away in the process. To Weber's mind the surest way to succeed was to wrong-foot him and he was pretty sure that Bernard would already be surprised by not receiving the treatment he had expected on his arrest and this could work in his favour.

Weber leaned back in his chair and smiled at Bernard. "Perhaps it might surprise you to know that not only do I appreciate that there's an understanding or would it be too strong to call it a 'code of conduct' amongst comrades to give nothing away but I can actually respect that." He paused and let this information sink in for a few moments, "It's all well and good to be true to your comrades but it assumes that at some point you're going to be thanked for your actions and it's going to be worth enduring all manner of inconvenience, discomfort and well, let's be honest, even pain, for them because they'll be grateful."

He rose from his chair and walked to the window. Standing with his back to the room he watched the movements in the yard below. A prisoner they had arrested three days ago was being dragged across the cobblestones towards a van. His interrogation was over and he was being transferred to the main prison. Weber didn't enjoy the sight of the broken man and he hadn't been in charge of his brutal interrogation but it might serve a purpose at this moment.

"Come here," he waved a hand to Bernard in a nonchalant fashion. Bernard didn't move and the Corporal in the room stepped forward and grabbed him by the arms, pulling him roughly to his feet and shoving him in the back towards Weber. Reluctantly, Bernard crossed to the window. Weber pointed down below.

"Do you see that man there in the yard?"

Bernard said nothing but Weber knew he was looking at him and probably wondering if he recognised him.

"I'm sure he thought everyone was going to thank him for being so brave. He's wrong, of course. Everyone else is long gone and he's half the man he was, if that. I doubt he'll ever see any of his comrades again. He's told us everything he knows and as it turned out it was all pretty pointless as we already knew most of what he had to say. His brave sacrifice was just a pointless waste of time and for what?" Weber shrugged, "To satisfy a code of honour?"

He gestured to the Corporal who grabbed Bernard and pushed him back to the chair.

"You'd be surprised how much we already know about your circuit so there's really little point in staying silent. In fact, I could make this easier for you if you like. Why don't I tell you what we know? You don't need to say anything, just nod, if you prefer."

Bernard sat in silence, maintaining as impassive an expression as possible while Weber began to reel off names, codenames and details about the Maverick circuit that could only have come from an insider, someone who had lived, worked and fought alongside them. He silently seethed with indignation at the betrayal of a comrade but was loathe to let this man know that it bothered him.

Weber paused for breath and turned to look at his prisoner with something resembling a smile.

"You see, Bernard," he used the man's name for the first time very deliberately and pretended to hesitate as he watched his face, "that is your code name isn't it?" Bernard said nothing but Weber could tell from the look in his eyes that he was right and this was the definitely the man known by such a name. "There's no need for you to worry about betraying your comrades. There's nothing to betray." He opened his desk drawer and removed a buff-coloured foolscap folder. He laid it on the desk and opened it. Bernard could see that the file contained photographs. Weber picked up a few and pretended to look at them before lightly tossing them across the desk in Bernard's direction. They skimmed across the polished surface and Bernard's eyes were naturally drawn to them. There were some faces he recognised amongst them, some recent resistance members who had been arrested, others people he had met in passing whose names he didn't know. Weber continued to throw photographs across the desk. One shot across so quickly that if fell to the floor the other side landing close to Bernard's feet.

"Would you mind picking that up?" Weber said very politely indicating the photograph that had fallen. With great reluctance, Bernard leaned forward and stooped to pick up the photograph. With a shock he saw at once that it was Madeleine. It was a photograph that had been taken for a false set of identity papers probably the ones she had been carrying when first arrested. He placed the photograph on the desk with the others but Weber immediately reached forward to pick it up with a look of consternation on his face.

"What's that doing in this file, Schultz?"

He held the photograph up to show to the Corporal.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It must have become mixed up with the 'terrorists' somehow."

"Put it back where it belongs." He handed the photograph to his Corporal who turned to a filing cabinet in the room and proceeded to search for a file. Weber turned his attention back to Bernard. He gestured to the photographs on the desk.

"We know about all these people. Our information is very good."

He looked up sharply, "What are you doing Shultz? Which file have you got there?" He waved his hand at the man in a gesture of impatience indicating he should pass him the file he was holding to check it. Shultz brought him the file and Weber laid it on the desk. It was clearly labelled on the front and he had no doubt that Bernard could read it. He opened it and checked inside before handing it back.

"That's the one. Very well. File it in there."

When Shultz had finished Weber turned his attention back to Bernard. "Perhaps it's time we tried a different approach to this interview, Bernard, but first things first. I have a dinner appointment with a very attractive young lady who doesn't like to be kept waiting and you would probably appreciate some time to think things over. We'll talk later." He raised a hand and Shultz grabbed Bernard by the arm, pulled him to his feet and pushed him in the direction of the office door.

Weber settled back in his chair and watched the departing Bernard as he shuffled out of his office. It had been a largely silent hour with Bernard unwilling to offer more than a few cursory details such as his name, address and occupation plus a few other basic and insignificant details combined with a heavy reliance on denying everything. However, Weber had planted the seeds of doubt in Bernard's mind, he was sure of it. He had watched his face closely when Bernard had picked up the photograph of the woman known as Louise Aubert from the floor. Weber was a great studier of faces and Bernard's expression had betrayed the fact to him that he recognised the woman and it confirmed his belief that she was a key part of the Maverick circuit. She had been rescued en-route to Abwehr headquarters at great risk and from the descriptions given by his officers it was likely that Bernard had been one of the ambush party. If Weber had done his job well enough Bernard would not only be very uncertain about the direction his future questioning was likely to take but also highly suspicious of Louise Aubert, perhaps suspicious enough to betray revealing details about her. He had instructed Shultz on what he wanted him to do when he gave the signal and before the interview had begun had made sure that the file into which the photograph would be placed had been clearly labelled on the front in both French and German. Everything had worked as planned and Bernard could not have failed to notice that as far as Weber was concerned the woman in the photograph was an informer.

X-X-X-X

The journey south on the overcrowded local train had been slow and frequently interrupted by unexplained halts. On one occasion the train had been stationary on the line for half an hour and even the seasoned local travellers became a little restless.

When they had boarded the train it had been less crowded but as it had become progressively more delayed they had picked up ever increasing numbers of passengers who had also been delayed. Normally, George would have been at pains to sit at the opposite end of the carriage to any travelling companion to avoid being seen together, however, given their cover story on this occasion it was essential that George sat with Emile and maintained the pretence that she was taking responsibility for her relative. Emile, to his credit, had continued to play his part well; avoiding eye contact with anyone, occasionally mumbling a little to himself and allowing George to utter soothing expressions in a calm and patronising manner even though she suspected it irked him. However, she had also noticed that he had grown paler as the journey progressed and suspected that he was beginning to feel very tired, not that he would be prepared to admit it. She had hoped that they would make better progress and had intended to leave the train at Lanches where she knew of a contact who might be able to put them up overnight until they could continue their journey. However, they were still at least twenty five kilometres from their planned destination and the halting progress had continued all afternoon and it was now early evening although still light

After a long wait outside the town of Grimont the train was finally drawing into the station. George looked out the window as the platform came into view and to her horror saw that it was filled with German soldiers, lined up from one end to the other, clearly waiting to board the train when it arrived. Some of the other passengers had also noticed and were starting to whisper amongst themselves. At that moment a train guard passed through the carriage and was stopped by an amply bosomed lady in a tight-fitting dress who addressed him in a voice of authority that suggested she was accustomed to being listened to.

"What's happening? Surely, all those soldiers aren't expecting to board this train. It's already very full."

The guard looked tired, somewhat harassed but also resigned to the way everything operated these days and with nothing more than a shrug informed her, "Oh, they'll definitely be boarding, Madame, and you will definitely be disembarking. They're commandeering the train."

The woman looked very annoyed, "When will the next train be along?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." He turned away before she could vent any more of her personal annoyance upon his person. Instead she turned her attention to George.

"Well, service certainly isn't what it used to be, Mademoiselle. I've a good mind to report that guard for rudeness."

George didn't want to get involved but she couldn't help responding, "It's not his fault, Madame. I suppose we all have no choice."

The woman hitched her bosom up another notch, "I suppose so, Mademoiselle, but I have no desire to spend any longer in Grimont than absolutely necessary." She sighed loudly as if to emphasise her point and George couldn't help silently agreeing with her. She had no desire to be marooned in Grimont especially as it was growing late.

The train came to a halt at the station accompanied by the sound of doors being opened, bangs on the side of the carriage and shouts of "Everybody off the train."

George stood up and reached out to grasp Emile by the left arm, "Come on, Claude. It's time to get out now."

Emile pretended to look uneasy and confused at the disruption and George spoke more firmly, "Up you get, Claude."

He shuffled to his feet and as no one was near, George leaned in close to him pretending to straighten out his shirt collar, "We need to get away from the station, it's too busy here. Just stay close to me." Emile said nothing in reply but she felt his hand grasp her arm and his fingers tighten around it to acknowledge he understood.

George took Emile by the arm and guided him through the crowds leaving the train. They stepped down onto the platform with some difficulty amongst the milling passengers and soldiers standing four deep and George set out to weave a path from the train towards the exit. It was only when she had passed through the soldiers that she saw that everyone was being funnelled towards a checkpoint being manned by German police. She glanced around her hoping to see some other option but it looked very much as if all civilian passengers were being forced to leave the station. If it hadn't been for all the German soldiers scrambling onto the train she would have risked boarding it again and jumping down on the track side to avoid the checkpoint but there was nowhere to run.

"Wait," George whispered to Emile and pretended to bend down to tie her shoe whilst surreptitiously untying her hair, shaking it loose and removing her glasses before stuffing them in her coat pocket. She needed to resemble her photograph as much as possible and in the crush nobody seemed to notice what she was doing. When she stood up again she looked a little more like her normal self even though it was far from ideal to resemble the woman who had been arrested only ten days ago.

George and Emile were trapped in the queue heading for the checkpoint and there was no other way out of the station. They would never have disembarked here given the choice and George felt a knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. They had left the Moreau's house in great haste without much time to create a really strong cover story and knowing that there was every chance that the Gestapo and the Abwehr had descriptions of them by now. George knew that she must be on a list somewhere after her recent escape and every checkpoint like this was a risk. They had almost reached the front of the queue and once again George felt the grip of Emile's fingers on her arm, a squeeze for luck and then they were standing before the officer with Emile cowering and looking away.

George handed over both sets of papers and made a show of speaking slowly to Emile, "Just wait quietly, Claude."

The officer scrutinised both sets of papers and then looked up and fixed both George and Emile with a piercing stare. George's heart was thumping in her chest but she fought every instinct to turn tail and run. They had to brazen it out somehow.

"You," the officer was directing his attention towards Emile who was continuing to act as though he was disassociated with everyone and everything around him. It was time for George to step in.

"That's my cousin. He's not been well. He's been in a hospital, well more of an institution."

The officer frowned, "What's wrong with him?"

"A nervous complaint."

The officer paused to take in this information, "So your Cousin has been in an institution, Mademoiselle. Which one?"

George didn't hesitate "The Institute of Sainte Hêlêne in St Nazaire." It was entirely fictitious and wouldn't bear any checking but at least George knew that the docks at St Nazaire had been subjected to plenty of allied bombing raids so the next part of her story, if needed, would at least sound credible.

"And why are you travelling?"

"He needs a change of environment. It's been very bad for him because of those damned English bombing raids. Doctor Leroux was quite insistent that he needed somewhere quiet in the countryside."

The officer looked from her to Emile. Emile was averting his gaze and stooping with his right shoulder drooping downwards. George knew he was probably tired and his wound was hurting.

"Do you have his discharge papers from the institution?"

George shook her head, "No. Doctor Leroux sent them on to Doctor Rolland in Armancourt together with a letter explaining the situation and his recommendations for treatment."

The officer frowned, "These papers say that Claude Benoit is a factory worker."

"He was a factory worker before he had a breakdown caused by an accident in which one of his colleagues was killed."

The officer was unmoved, "His papers should have been amended. Why weren't they changed?"

George hesitated for a moment, "It must have been overlooked by the hospital." She was clutching at straws but hoped she sounded convincing but now the officer looked suspicious. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she was vaguely aware of a twitching movement, then she heard a small groan. She turned her head to the left in time to see Emile twitch again, this time much more noticeably and he shook his head at the same time almost as if he had water in his ear that he was trying to remove so that he could hear. The officer had seen Emile moving as well and watched him with some curiosity.

"Claude?" George spoke quietly and reached out to touch Emile on the arm. No sooner had her fingers glanced the fabric of his jacket than he recoiled violently and twitched again accompanied by another louder groan. A woman standing behind them in the queue stepped back hurriedly in alarm and other people started to take notice and began to whispering to each other.

With a jolt of realisation, George recognised that Emile was faking an attack of nerves or panic or maybe both in order to cause a diversion but she wasted no time in taking advantage.

"Claude, calm down. Look at me. It's alright," she moved away from the officer and pretended to try to get Emile's attention. He carried on twitching and started lashing out with his good left arm, his groans growing ever louder as George also raised her voice.

"Calm down. You're safe. Claude, listen to me."

There was now a small circle of people around them and things were getting unruly. At least one or two people looked as though they were taking advantage of the situation to slip past the checkpoint. The officer looked around him and realised he was losing control of the situation. He stepped forward and grabbed Emile roughly by both arms. Emile yelled out making a convincing show of being out of control although George was sure it was a genuine cry of pain.

"Get out of here or I'll arrest you for causing a disturbance," he shouted at both of them and propelled Emile past the barrier and towards the exit with a rough shove which sent him sprawling. He threw their papers after him and George hurried past, crouching as she did so to gather the papers from the floor and before catching up with Emile. She bent down to take him by the left arm and help him to his feet, still keeping up the pretence.

"Come on, Claude. Everything's alright. Just lean on me."

They staggered through the ticket hall and emerged onto the street beyond. It was busier than some of the towns and villages they had travelled through before and one look convinced George that she wouldn't have disembarked from the train here if she'd had a choice but they were here now and they had managed to get away from the checkpoint due to Emile's quick thinking. He had been convincing and at the beginning of the episode even George had wondered if Emile was genuinely ill.

"You should have been an actor," she muttered in disbelief, "How did you manage to do that, Emile?"

"I saw it happen to a chap in the mess once," he whispered. "He'd been shot up and had to bail out in the sea. Never the same again."

He was clearly pleased with his acting ability but gasping with the effort and the officer had dealt with him quite roughly in order to get rid of them. There were beads of perspiration on his brow and as they staggered away from the station with George holding his left arm and trying to help him along his coat was flapping open. As it did so she caught sight of his shirt inside and was filled with concern.

"Emile, we've got to find somewhere out of the way to rest up for the night."

He turned his head to look at her, "We can't stay around here. It's too busy"

She shook her head, "We've got to. You're bleeding."

The news came as a shock to him. He glanced down in time to see the unmistakeable, creeping red stain of blood flowing from his right shoulder and spreading across his shirt. She was right. If they stayed in the street much longer they would be sure to be picked up.

"We can't go to a hotel. It's much too risky," Emile gasped.

George looked around her. This was a small provincial town and didn't offer the same protection of woods or remote barns that the countryside afforded. Rows of suburban town houses on leafy avenues stretched out ahead of them but at the end of the street George caught sight of what looked like a park.

"Come on; let's make for that park up there. I know it's difficult but let's try to look like a young couple out for a romantic stroll."

Even in his desperate, weakened state the irony of the situation wasn't lost on Emile and to George's astonishment he started to laugh.

"Ssh, Emile,"

"Sorry, George, but I don't think I've ever felt less young or romantic and don't get any ideas about taking advantage of me."

Even George couldn't resist a smile at that, "Don't worry. You're safe with me."

He chuckled, "That's what they all say."

It was getting late and the light was fading as they reached the park. The walk had taken longer than either of them had anticipated and all the way George had been worried that the blood that was seeping from the reopened wound on Emile's right shoulder would come through his jacket or start to drip noticeably onto his trousers. Thankfully, neither had happened and as they entered through the gates they only saw one other couple leaving.

"Do you think they lock the park at night?" George asked.

Emile had no idea but they didn't see anyone who looked like a park keeper as they strolled around. All the time George was scanning the area hoping not to see anyone else but also looking for anywhere suitable to hide. At last as they reached the far side she spotted what looked like a potting shed half hidden amongst the bushes.

"Over there,"

They checked carefully around them and after walking past, making a small detour and then returning they were sure no one else was around and crept into the bushes. The shed was locked but the padlock seemed fairly old and worn and George reckoned she could break it open.

"I just need something to prise it open with." She sat Emile down out of sight and scouted around the area as surreptitiously as she could until she found what looked like a half-rusted rasp that had been discarded nearby. She showed it to Emile.

"It might not be strong enough, but I'll try."

She placed the rasp between the padlock and the door and levered it with all her might. Emile looked on helplessly as her first attempt failed. However, she took a deep breath and tried again, pulling on the rasp with all her strength. The padlock creaked and then burst open with an unwelcome loud crack. She hastily scooped up the pieces from the ground and then pulled the door open. It was stiff, the hinges creaked and it didn't appear to have been opened in a long while. The dozens of cobwebs inside the shed confirmed this suspicion. There was nothing much inside apart from, some old flowerpots, a large watering can and a few outmoded, rusting tools. She stepped outside and reached out to help Emile to his feet before settling him inside.

"It's not a palace but it doesn't look like we'll be disturbed. I don't think it's been used for a long time."

Emile sat on the floor and propped himself against wall. The light outside was fading fast and George needed to check his wound before it was too dark. She helped Emile take off his jacket and then undid the blood-stained shirt and eased it down over his shoulder. She gently removed the bandages on his shoulder. He winced a few times but once it was exposed she could see that the violent manner in which the German officer had removed Emile from the station had broken some of the stitches on the wound causing it to bleed.

"I'll need to dress it again, Emile." She looked about her person, wondering what to use for bandages until it occurred to her there was only one option. She hitched up her skirt to reveal a cotton slip below. Even in his weakened state George saw Emile's eyebrows shoot up and he murmured, "I hope you're not going back on your promise."

George shook her head at him, "Shut up." She proceeded to remove the slip and started ripping it into strips before using them to hold a handkerchief against the wound. She bandaged as tightly as she dared and hoped that with a night's rest the bleeding would stop. Then she turned her attention to his bloodstained shirt knowing they really needed to do something about it.

"There's a tap outside. If it works, I'll try to clean your shirt."

The ancient tap rattled and shook a few times when she turned it on and then expelled a stream of brown water before, to her relief, finally starting to gush with something resembling cleaner water. She set to work trying to wash out the blood on the shirt. It wasn't easy in cold water without any soap but she succeeded in removing the worst of it and reckoned that when it dried it might just appear to be slightly stained. She stepped back into the shed with the shirt and finding a couple of nails on the wall stretched it out to dry.

"Hopefully, that will do the trick…"she turned to Emile but his eyes were closed, his head, resting against the shed wall, was tilted to one side and his dark hair had flopped over his forehead. He looked younger and, probably for the first time in his life George suspected, he looked vulnerable.

She pulled the door of the potting shed to and turned the handle to firmly close it behind her. It was very gloomy within now that the light had almost gone, the air was dusty and it smelled rather mouldy. She reached for Emile's jacket lying on the floor nearby and spread it over him before sinking to the floor to sit down next to him. She watched his chest rise and fall steadily and knew that he was deeply asleep. He didn't stir even when she reached her arm across him to hold him, glad of his physical proximity even though he was dead to the world. She yawned. She was also very tired but she knew that she musn't sleep. She had to keep watch. At this moment their lives were in her hands and she knew she would do whatever it took to keep them safe.