Shadows In Paris (Seagrove & Raven #2)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

L izzie perched on the hard seat in the plane, every sinew of her body rigid with anticipation of what was to come. Her mind whirled with thoughts of Jack and how she would not see his face or feel his arms around her for weeks or even months, depending how the mission went.

She should be emotionally prepared for this.

He had warned her countless times about the dangers of agents getting involved, but she had fallen for him, nonetheless.

Images of their time together over the winter and how they had spent every possible moment in each other’s company clawed at her heart and she felt bereft.

Her melancholic reverie was interrupted when the navigator called out that it was nearly time. They were almost at the low altitude point where she would have to hurl herself into the Reims sky. She had learnt from previous jumps that they flew low to minimise the risk of being spotted and shot down by the Luftwaffe.

The little plane bounced and groaned as it dropped lower, and the seat shifted beneath her, and she almost slid onto the floor. Her helmet was back on, and now she stood up shakily, wishing she was safely in bed with Jack fast asleep. The navigator reached over to clip her parachute strap to the static line overhead.

In some ways, it would be easier to jump without Jack watching her on the plane. Leaving him was always the toughest part. She summoned a watery smile for the man who was risking his life to drop her into the hands of the Resistance in the middle of the night.

Trust the process. She repeated the instruction over and over in her mind like a mantra while she waited. She knew the parachute should do its job because she had experienced it before, but ice raced through her veins at the sheer terror of rocketing through enemy skies and knowing the aircraft could be shot down at any second.

Then she entered a dreamlike state as the flap swung open, and the navigator began the countdown.

‘10, 9, 8 …’

The bitter January night winds battered the plane and rushed into her face.

‘7, 6, 5 …’

It was time. He gave her the nod, and she approached the edge, her heart banging so hard she felt dizzy.

‘Jump,’ he shouted, waving his hand as he finished the countdown.

Lizzie drew on the tiny slice of courage she had left and threw herself out of the flap. There were eerie shadows in the sky cast by the light of the moon and as she plummeted through the cold air, she glimpsed light below.

There was barely time to think before her chute jerked open.

Thank God.

She struggled to take a breath and gasped as her feet collided with the ground. The silk chute crumpled around her as the frosty grass tickled her fingers, and she rolled to one side to free herself.

Lizzie looked up into the sky and saw the Lysander disappearing on the horizon in a hasty retreat. Her connection with London was severed. There was no turning back now.

The new mission was on, and a surge of excitement overtook the sadness that had gripped her since she said goodbye to Jack.

Muffled voices and hovering lights grew closer. A hand appeared in front of her face, and she heard a familiar voice. She squinted in the torchlight and Jack’s dear old friend, Pierre, whom she had grown so fond of, leaned down, and she jumped up, holding onto his rough hand.

‘Welcome back,’ he said, a warm smile creasing his weatherworn face under his farmer’s cap.

‘Ah, it’s so good to see you,’ Lizzie said, her voice low. She looked around and saw the rest of the small reception committee, who formed a torch-lit circle around her like a safety net.

The plane had dropped some supplies before she jumped and now, the Resistance members scattered to gather the boxes and stash them in Pierre’s old truck.

Lizzie cast her eyes around to get her bearings in the dim light. This looked like the same pasture she had been picked up from before, but she couldn’t be sure. The trees and foliage were sparse and coated in snow and France was frozen in the depths of winter.

Pierre returned to her side after organising his truck. ‘Are you alright? A smooth landing and no injuries?’

She noticed he didn’t use her real name or even the cover name she had used on the previous mission. It was wise. Names led to people being killed, and besides, she had a new cover name now that she would share with him and his wife, Camille, if appropriate, when they were safely in the farmhouse. Lizzie was only here for one night, so there was no reason to share her name with other members of the Resistance. All it took for a name to be on the lips of the Gestapo was for one of them to break under torture, and search parties would hunt for them all over Reims.

Lizzie nodded. ‘I’m fine, thank you. Shall I bury my gear here?’

Pierre beckoned for her to follow him, and soon they were in the dark corner of a woodland copse. In the soft light of the torch, she watched him brush some thick branches aside to reveal a hatch, which he opened.

‘Let’s hide them in here. The parachutes and suits are too incriminating to keep burying in the fields. It’s safer to store them here, and we may even be able to use them again or repurpose the material. Who knows what supplies we’ll need in the future if this war drags on?’

Lizzie stripped her canvas suit off to reveal the French custom-tailored dress she had been measured for at Baker Street. The SOE took no chances. Everything she wore or had on her person was made in France or looked as though it had been.

‘Did you find my stuff?’ Lizzie asked, hoping she could get her coat as the blasts of cold air made her miss the warm suit.

‘Yes, I believe so. We’ve gathered everything from the drop and it’s in the truck. Let us make haste and get back to the farm whilst we’re still covered by the curfew.’

Lizzie thought it ironic that the Germans enforced the curfew to keep the locals off the streets after nightfall, but the Resistance used it as a protective cloak to carry out their clandestine operations.

‘How have you been keeping?’ Pierre asked as the truck rumbled along the track toward the farmhouse, where Lizzie would stay for the rest of her first night back on French soil.

‘I’ve been fine, thank you. We’ve thought about you so much. Jack said to tell you that you are doing an incredible job.’

‘You have both been in our thoughts, too. How is Raven doing?’ asked Pierre.

‘He is well. We’re still diving in and out of the shelters with the daily bombs on London, but somehow or other Londoners keep going with their lives. It’s amazing, really. No one would have believed this kind of continuous barrage was possible, but there it is.’

‘Those damned Boche,’ Pierre hissed. ‘I’ve heard they are still pounding London. We’re fortunate in that respect here, I suppose. It’s too packed with Germans and collaborators to target. It’s just a shame we have to stomach the bastards swanning around like they own France.’

The reminder that she was now surrounded by Nazis spiked Lizzie’s fears, and adrenaline rushed through her. The outline of the farmhouse in the moonlight rose in front of them like a mirage as the truck bounced along.

‘I wish these were better times, but your home is such a comforting sight. I’ve missed you and Camille.’

‘We’ve missed you, too. Camille was thrilled when we got the message you were coming to stay with us.’

‘At least we can communicate now,’ Lizzie said. ‘Remember we couldn’t message at all when we were here last?’

‘Yes, thanks to you and Jack for getting the Reims Resistance back into action. We’re fully operational and at a much higher level than before.’

‘And, thanks to you for taking over the running of the network. We couldn’t do any of this without you. Jack said I should tell you that and make sure you understand just how grateful we all are.’

‘You’re very kind. The truth is, we don’t have any choice. We won’t just lie down and die while these devils destroy our country—and the world if they have their way.’

‘Thank God for the Resistance,’ Lizzie said.

‘I’m not sure what role God plays in this madness,’ Pierre said wryly, shaking his head. ‘It makes you wonder.’

‘It does,’ Lizzie said, who had wondered the same.

The truck came to a wheezing stop and Lizzie saw Camille in the faint light of the farmhouse doorway. She leapt out of the truck and rushed into the older woman’s outstretched arms.

Camille enveloped Lizzie’s slight frame, and they hugged tightly. ‘Welcome back, beautiful girl. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. But come in out of this freezing cold. You’re shivering. We’ve kept the kitchen warm for your arrival.’

Lizzie beamed at Camille as she ushered her inside, and Pierre followed with her case.

‘Is this one yours?’ he asked when she was seated at the kitchen table.

‘Yes, it’s just my personal items. I wanted to bring a new wireless for the Paris network, but it would be too conspicuous on the train.’

‘You’re right. It would,’ Pierre said. ‘At least if they search you, they won’t find anything linking you to England. If they found you travelling with a radio, I don’t want to think what they would do.’

Lizzie remembered a similar conversation with Jack when she had asked if she should take a new wireless set to Hannah.

‘I’ll put this in your room, so you’ve got your things for when you go up,’ Pierre said, pointing to her battered brown case.

‘Thank you,’ Lizzie said.

‘Drink this to warm your bones.’ Camille placed a hot cup of tea on the table for Lizzie, who wrapped her freezing hands around it and basked in the warmth.

When Pierre returned to the kitchen, his wife poured him a cup of tea, and Lizzie saw a joyful smile pass between them.

They were such a well-matched couple, and their home was filled with love. Lizzie hoped that one day she and Jack would live in such harmony together. Pierre and Camille were thrust into the horror of an evil regime, but it hadn’t dimmed the warmth in their hearts.

Lizzie drank her tea, and the fear gradually ebbed from her, as a comforting weariness took over.

‘You must be exhausted,’ Camille said, reading her body language. ‘Your room is ready. Would you like me to take you up now, chérie ? I’m dying to hear all your news, but it’ll wait until morning.’

Lizzie nodded sleepily and rose from the wooden chair as Camille led the way out of the warm kitchen and up the stairs.

Camille removed piles of bedding and towels from the shelves and pushed hard until the wood swung into the hollow of the wall and revealed the entrance to a secret room. Lizzie followed her in, and her eyes scanned the made-up bed and the sink in the small space. A lamp cast a dim light, just enough for them to see their way, and Lizzie noticed her case on the floor nearby.

‘We’d all better try to get some sleep. It’s almost morning,’ Camille said, pointing to the tiny window covered by a thin blackout curtain that showed the promise of the pale dawn light dancing around the scrappy edges.

After they bid each other good night, Lizzie opened her case and fumbled about in the contents. She grappled to take off her dress and, after pulling her nightie over her head, she cleaned her teeth in a cursory fashion. A wave of sheer exhaustion overcame her, and she climbed under the covers, sank into the mattress and fell into a deep sleep.

Her last thought before surrendering to a blissful slumber was a memory of curling into Jack when they shared this bed last summer and fell in love.