Chapter 17
January 1943
A s I strolled along the Vieux Port with Picon, harsh shouts cut through the chilled January air. People ahead of me stood gazing into the streets on my right, their faces sullen. I tightened my grip on the leash as I stopped to look. German soldiers had sealed off the Vieux Port. It was a warren of narrow streets, filled with ancient buildings that housed a multitude of people—the poor, Jews, and black marketeers. To the Germans, it was the ‘undesirable’ quarter, a hub of criminal activity, drugs and prostitution. ‘What are they doing?’ I asked a fisherman.
‘Evicting everyone, and rooting out Jews,’ he said before shuffling back to his stall of fresh catch.
I watched for a few minutes more. A surge of people emerged from the buildings and spilled onto the cobbled road, dragging on winter coats, children clinging to their sides. Bewildered looks were etched on their rosy, chubby faces, some crying amidst the Germans’ shouts. The air grew even icier, biting at my cheeks, nose, and neck, and I pulled up my collar. ‘Come along, Picon.’ I strode further along the quayside, my gaze drifting out to sea. White yachts moored in the harbour danced around on the current. Gulls screeched as they soared over the masts, and German troops carried on shouting as they scoured the streets. It was ruthless. Where would all those people go? And why were they being evicted? They weren’t all Jews, but what would happen to the Jewish families?
That evening, when Henri returned home, I asked him if he knew anything.
‘They’re going to destroy the Vieux Port. That’s why they’ve evicted everyone.’
‘What will happen to them?’
‘I don’t know, but they’ll deport the Jews.’
I knew what that meant. Numbness blanketed my thoughts and feelings as I poured double brandies for both of us.
* * *
It took a few days for the authorities to clear the Vieux Port. They checked tens of thousands of identities. Most people could then go on their way, but they detained a smaller number and bundled them into trucks. It was a chaotic place to be, brimming with people, most refugees, with belongings crammed onto carts, people laden with huge bundles on their backs, others lugged bags, tatty suitcases and all they could carry.
We later heard they had deported the Jews to camps in northern France, crammed into cattle wagons, with barely any room to breathe. It is all one can do to pray for them, especially the children. Whatever was their crime?
* * *
I stood at the window, gazing out towards the port, my maid and housekeeper alongside me. Dust had shrouded the buildings, rising to meet the grey sky. Now, it had dissipated, revealing mounds of rubble and the devastated shells of homes torn apart, inner rooms exposed where furniture, people, and lives had existed just days before. I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then passed it to Claire. She took a drag, then handed it to Madame Dumont. No one spoke. Images flashed through my mind—a frail, older woman dressed in black, hunched over, and distraught children among the crowd detained on cold, damp streets, under the watchful eyes of armed German troops before being taken away. My eyes misted over. I sniffed and clenched my teeth, wrestling with a demon of hopelessness.
* * *
I picked up the telephone. ‘Bonjour, Henri.’ As he began venting about something his father had done at work, a series of clicks suddenly snapped in my ear. My breath caught, and I froze. Was someone listening in? Maybe I imagined it, but then I heard it again. I needed to end the call. ‘Henri, I’m so sorry, my darling, but Picon is desperate for his walk. I’ll see you this evening. Au revoir.’ I replaced the receiver and exhaled slowly, icy prickles running down my spine. I shivered, crossing the room to stand by the window, cautiously peering out at the street below. The people of Marseille moved about their day, stopping at shops and cafes, while bicycles and black cars sped along the road. From that moment on, I knew I had to be extra vigilant—especially on the telephone.
***
The following day, when I collected my mail, I noticed all three envelopes looked as though someone had opened them and clumsily resealed them. Was someone intercepting my mail? The unsettling thought of Paul Cole resurfaced. I was convinced he was working for the Germans. After Garrow’s arrest, several other key organisers had been captured. It felt too coincidental. And Cole knew where I lived. A wave of nausea hit me, and I broke out in a clammy sweat.
Thankfully, there was nothing incriminating in the post. But then I recalled something Claire had mentioned—a man acting suspiciously in the lobby of our apartment building, loitering by the mailboxes just a few days ago. Were we under surveillance? If so, how long had the Germans been watching us? I tried to remember if I’d noticed anything unusual on the telephone before, but a rush of fear and confusion clouded my thoughts.
Later, after taking Picon for his daily walk, I called in at the local bistro on my way home. It was eerily quiet. Since the Occupation, the locals loathed spending time brushing shoulders with German soldiers. We passed them in the streets, faced them at checkpoints and train stations. Why would we want to drink with them? The manager stood behind the mahogany counter polishing glasses. ‘Bonjour, Francois.’
‘Ah, Madame Fiocca.’ He greeted me with a smile. ‘What can I do for you today?’
I often bought provisions there and knew Francois very well. Like Henri, he had fought in the Great War and now quietly assisted with the local Resistance. His eyes darted nervously toward the door and out into the street.
‘How are things?’
‘Ah, busy, as always, Madame,’ he replied, though his gaze flicked back to the door before he gestured for me to come closer.
Leaning over the counter, he whispered, ‘This morning, after you left home, a man followed you down the street.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I saw him watching you.’ Francois placed his hand gently on top of mine. ‘Please, Madame Fiocca, be careful.’
I stepped out into the street, slipping on my gloves while casually glancing around. I blew out a breath, silver vapour curling in the crisp winter air. ‘Come, Picon. Everything will be fine,’ I muttered, waiting for the black Citro?n to pass before crossing the road, though icy fingers of dread tapped at my shoulders.
At midday, when Henri returned, I told him what had happened. The colour drained from his face as he sank into his chair. ‘I have dreaded this moment, Nannie. We have to get you out of France.’
‘What?’ I stammered, struggling to believe he was serious. ‘I can’t just leave.’
‘We have no choice. You must go.’ Henri suddenly looked ten years older. ‘The Gestapo could be on their way here any minute. Look at what happened to Monsieur Reynard. Vanished, never seen again. I won’t let that happen to you.’
‘I can’t go without you.’ The room blurred as tears pricked my eyes. I threw my arms around his neck, clinging to him, drinking in his scent, imprinting the memory deep enough for it to take root.
‘It is too dangerous for us to leave together. I will tell everyone you are taking a break at the chalet, should they ask.’ Henri held me tight, his touch warm and comforting as he smoothed my hair.
I glanced at him, irritating droplets clinging to my lashes. ‘I don’t think I can do it.’ My throat tightened with fear, not for myself, or even of being caught, but at the thought of leaving everything I held dear behind. What if I never saw Henri again? My heart pounded against my ribs, my throat tight.
Henri smiled gently. ‘Nannie, you are the strongest person I know.’ He cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. ‘You can do this.’ He dismissed the shake of my head. ‘You can do this for me. Oui?’
I swallowed, sniffed, and swiped the tears from both eyes. ‘Only if you promise you’ll be right behind me.’
‘I promise, just as soon as I have secured things here, I will find you in London.’ He drew in a breath. ‘Come, we need to make arrangements.’
I couldn’t believe this was happening. The wolf was almost at our door, and there was no time to waste. Whatever you thought you knew, the Gestapo always knew more.
‘But surely there’s time. I don’t have to leave today.’
‘The enemy does not wait. We must act now.’
The Germans preferred to surprise their prey.
‘Nannie, I love you, body and soul. I hoped this day would never come, but our luck has run out, and I have to save you. Quickly, you must pack.’
I wandered to our bedroom and dragged the enormous trunk into the middle of the dressing room. I opened the wardrobe and stared at my clothes—dresses, skirts, jackets—all hanging neatly. What should I take? I realised I’d have to leave some things behind, so it would look as though I planned to return. Henri came in shortly afterwards to find me sitting on the floor, folding garments. He dropped a stack of French notes onto the floor beside me.
‘Fifty thousand francs,’ he said, sinking onto his knees and grabbing my hand. ‘It should be enough to get you to England and find us somewhere to live. Take the jewellery too. You can always sell it to raise extra money. I will send the trunk on ahead.’
I nodded, feeling dazed and numb. I took a fresh change of clothes and two silk nightdresses and placed them in an overnight bag, along with my jewellery and the money. All the while, thoughts hurled through my mind. We were both in this up to our necks, and while Henri didn’t know many details, he knew the names of some of the people in the network, and he had financed the Resistance. If the Gestapo called, they would surely question him. It was a terrifying thought. Bile swirled in my throat, and I swallowed, gritting my teeth. Twenty minutes later, the trunk brimmed with clothes, yet still I hesitated over what else to take.
‘Nannie, whatever you find missing when you reach London, you can replace,’ Henri said, his voice becoming more urgent. ‘I will get a message to O’Leary. We need help to get you safe passage to England.’
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. After all the years of assisting people along the escape line, I was now the one who needed to escape. ‘I’ll find us somewhere to live when I reach London, and I’ll wait for you.’ Gathering the money, I stuffed as many notes into my brassiere as I could without making my cleavage look too conspicuous. Next, I slipped my three-carat diamond engagement ring onto my finger and stuffed the rest of my jewellery into a small velvet bag, tucking it safely into my handbag along with the remaining money.
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, so thick and chaotic I couldn’t grasp a single one. What was happening? Gripped by dizziness, I swallowed hard and placed a hand on the bedpost to steady myself. Until that moment, I had been strong, confident, capable of anything, but now I was a trembling shadow of my former self, and it terrified me. I stared into Henri’s eyes and saw a flash of fear.
Until that moment, I had been strong and capable, but now I was a trembling shadow of myself, and it terrified me. Henri’s warm hands cradled my face, his forehead pressed to mine, grounding me as if to share his strength.
‘I will have the trunk sent on to Spain, care of Thomas Cook, Madrid. You can collect it there.’ He kissed me hard, but there was no passion in it, only desperation—something I felt too.
I was packed and ready to leave within the hour. I slipped on my coat in the hall, with Picon strutting around me, his feet tap-tapping on the tiled floor, his tail wagging. He thought I was taking him for a walk, but I was leaving him behind. My heart ached, and a sob slipped from my mouth.
Henri drew me to him, his lips finding mine in a lingering kiss. ‘I love you, Nannie. Be safe. Reach London.’
‘I love you too.’
‘And remember, you still have the safe deposit box at the bank. We have around sixty thousand pounds in there, in money, bonds, and a little gold.’
Why was he telling me this? That was his savings, money he’d collect later. Doubts clouded my mind, but there was no time for questions.
‘Nannie, remember that when you leave, you are going shopping and will be back later, just in case anyone hears.’
Picon yapped—something he rarely did—and I knew he sensed I was leaving. I bent down, and he jumped onto my knee, nuzzling my face and neck. ‘Picon, I’ll see you soon, my angel,’ I said, hugging him and stroking his chest. ‘Take care of him, Henri.’
As I looked into Henri’s sorrowful, tear-filled eyes, I thought my heart might break. ‘This isn’t goodbye. We’ll see each other soon, won’t we?’
Henri nodded, his mouth forming a faint smile. ‘We will, Nannie. I will make sure of it.’
He walked me to the door, his hand on the handle. I swallowed as his other hand stayed in mine—soft, warm skin, his hold firm, safe. What would I be without him? For the first time, I realised I needed him. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and sucked in a deep breath.
‘It is time, mon amour. Be brave, Nannie.’ Henri folded me in his arms one last time, nuzzling my hair, kissing my ear, the tip of my nose, and my lips. He tasted of brandy. I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, greedily drinking him in, filling my lungs with the smell of shaving soap and undertones of cedarwood. The air smelled of saffron, the faint cooking smells of earlier ingrained into the fabrics.
I had to go now, and Henri could see how difficult it was for me, so he led the way, opening the front door wide. Picon yapped again. I picked up my bag, checked my hat was straight in the mirror, and kissed Henri on the cheek, as I always did when I left the house. Out in the corridor, I turned, my heart jumping violently in my chest, taking my breath away. I felt adrift as my legs carried me to the stairs, fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins. What was I doing? I swallowed and raised my chin. ‘Au revoir, Henri. See you shortly,’ I said, hearing the quiver in my faint voice, a sinking feeling in my gut.
The corridor screamed with silence as I strode away and headed downstairs, my shoes tip-tapping on the stone steps. My voice screamed to Henri in my head. Please don’t close the door. Come after me, my love. Please. Behind me, the distinct clunk of a door muffled Picon’s voice. No! My heart clenched as I stifled a sob, forcing myself to take deep breaths as my stormy mind raced and my heart pounded in my ears. A little voice in me begged for Henri to call me back for one last look, one final kiss, but he didn’t, and I stepped across the marble floor of the entrance hall, the click-clack of my heels louder than usual, surreal, echoing. My legs were like dough, muscles juddering, and each step was as if I were wading through treacle. Out in the street, a black car sailed past with a German officer sitting in the back. My heart lurched, but I held my head high and carried on walking toward the station.
At Gare de Marseille-Saint-Charles, I boarded a train for Toulouse, conscious that any of the passengers might be Gestapo. Wracked by nausea and with my chest tight, I blew out a long breath. As the carriage filled, my heart drummed, my mouth ran dry, and my palms grew damp with sweat. Henri always mused over how nothing fazed me. I’d embraced the Resistance work and never once felt afraid. It was thrilling and rewarding in so many ways, but now, here—I sucked in a breath and turned to gaze out of the window. A whistle cried out, and then we were moving. I’d travelled this route numerous times—if only it was one of those times, and I was returning home. Now, I too was a refugee, with nowhere to go.
The carriage door slid open, and I glanced up to see a familiar face—O’Leary. My heart lifted, and I smiled hesitantly, careful not to draw the attention of the other passengers. He must have boarded the train somewhere along the line. Without a word, he sat down opposite me. I turned to stare out the window, watching flashes of trees and green fields blur by as the train raced through the countryside.
When we reached Toulouse, I followed O’Leary out of the station, hoping he had managed to plan my escape to England. In the street, he glanced around before saying, ‘Come on. We’ll get something to eat first.’
My body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and fear. My eyes were watery. It was surreal to find myself on the other side, to be the hunted. The H?tel de Paris was well known to evaders and the Resistance. Inside, the warmth was welcoming, and there was no sign of any Germans. O’Leary chose a table away from the window and pulled out a chair for me. ‘Thanks,’ I murmured as I sat down. My stomach grumbled despite the wave of nausea that hit me. I didn’t feel like eating, but I knew I had to. My mind wandered as O’Leary studied the menu, my thoughts drifting back to Henri and home. Home—where I longed to be. Why had I ever gotten involved? I’d been such a fool. Images of evenings curled up next to Henri by the fire, drinking brandy, with Picon resting at my feet, flashed before me. My chest ached, and tears misted my eyes.
‘Nancy?’
His voice fractured the memory, and the image vanished. ‘Sorry, miles away.’ A single tear rolled down my cheek, and I swiped it away, my finger wet with sadness.
O’Leary reached for my hand, staring into my eyes with a consoling smile. ‘I know it’s hard, but it will work out,’ he whispered. ‘We do what we must to survive. Now, eat.’ He handed me the menu.
***
Later, I found myself in the hotel room he had arranged for me. The proprietors, Monsieur and Madame Montgelard, were also part of the Resistance. They took great delight in housing German soldiers while sheltering evaders at the same time. I shook my head as I looked down at the street below, watching a pair of German soldiers strolling along with rifles slung over their shoulders. Adrenaline rushed through me like a tide, leaving me feeling lost, alone, and broken.
How had it come to this? I sucked in a breath and drew the drapes, taking one last look at the stars gleaming brightly against the midnight sky. Was Henri thinking of me right now? I glanced at my watch. Eleven-thirty. I clambered into bed, the chill of the sheets causing me to shiver through my silk nightdress, so I dragged on a cardigan and lay staring at the ceiling. Doors out in the corridor slammed shut, and the floorboards creaked and groaned as the old building seemed to breathe and sigh throughout the night.
Sleep would not come easily, if at all. Every noise made me catch my breath, waiting for footsteps and a knock at the door. What was I going to do? Hopelessness engulfed me. Tears washed over my eyes as my mind raced with a torrent of thoughts. Soon, I would head for the hills and climb the Pyrenees to freedom. O’Leary was making plans. Henri would follow behind soon, and we’d be together once more, together forever. I clung to that image in my head. Just then my brother’s words echoed in my ears. It’ll be okay, I promise. Be a brave girl.