Philly #2
While the mornings were spent at work in the study, in the afternoons, unless significant radio traffic was coming in, we had a bit more free time.
Janina had scratched out a herb bed in a corner of the courtyard, where she grew feathery fronds of fennel and dill, as well as pretty white-flowered caraway for its seeds.
Even that early in the summer, the ground was baked hard, but she tended and watered her patch of garden daily, nurturing her little crop, which would enhance the taste of the scant rations with flavours of her homeland.
‘These herbs won’t survive through the summer,’ she said.
‘When it gets too hot, they’ll shoot up and then die.
So I’ll pick everything in a couple of weeks’ time and dry the leaves, but I’ll keep back some of the seeds to grow more later. ’
We would also walk in the fields and woods surrounding the chateau, foraging for ingredients to help supplement the evening meal.
Each day, without fail, Janina would tie on a red headscarf to cover her blonde hair, and we’d go down the lane and climb over a gate into a neighbouring field.
I couldn’t identify the crop growing there at first – robust, waist-high stems sprouting broad leaves, each with the beginnings of a fat bud at the top.
‘They’re sunflowers,’ Janina told me. ‘Just imagine the sight at the height of summer! Each stem carrying a flower fringed with gold like a lion’s mane, their faces turning to follow the sun as it travels across the sky every day. ’
We’d skirt around the edge of the field, which was surrounded by oak woods, giving it a safe, secluded feel, to the far corner where a huge, solitary sweet chestnut tree stood, and we’d sit there in its shade for a few minutes.
Leaning against its rough bark, I’d tilt my head back to look up through the branches, spots of sunlight dancing through the leaves.
The waxy flowers reminded me of the trees in Hyde Park, where I’d walked with Ben.
‘One day,’ I told Janina, ‘I hope you will come to London. We’ll go for a walk in a park there and I’ll take you for tea at The Ritz. ’
She laughed. ‘I’d love that – The Ritz Hotel .
.. Imagine me going there!’ She brushed the dust off her skirt, once again cradling the gentle swell of her belly, then reached up to take hold of a low branch to help haul herself back on to her feet.
‘Oof,’ she said. ‘This little one is growing bigger by the minute. Come, let’s see what we can find growing in our larder today. ’
She was an expert at identifying edible fungi and we gathered handfuls of chanterelles and Penny Bun mushrooms, inhaling their savoury, earthy smell as we plucked them from the ground at the edge of the woodland.
We picked more herbs, and salad leaves too – wild thyme, marjoram, chervil and dandelions.
I was surprised to see her stoop to gather a posy of wildflowers as we walked back with our baskets full.
She laughed at the expression on my face.
‘You think I’m being frivolous! But this is just as important as the nourishment we gather for our bodies.
There’s a saying that goes, if you have a loaf of bread, sell half and buy a lily.
It’s important to nourish the soul as well, and remember that there is still beauty even in these times of darkness and cruelty.
These flowers remind me of the ones we used to have on the table back home, in the days when my country was free. ’
I recalled the evening I’d walked along the lane back in Bletchley, when the hedgerows were full of bluebells and the vixen and her cubs had appeared.
I remembered thinking that this was what we were fighting for.
So I, too, picked a bunch of ox-eye daisies and cornflowers and when we got back to the chateau I put them in a jug and placed them on the chest of drawers in my bedroom.
Janina was right – they might be just a few wildflowers, but they represented far more.
When I woke in the middle of the night – the faces of Amy and Teddy often still haunted my uneasy dreams – the faint glow of the white petals in the darkness gave me reassurance and comfort.
The days passed and soon I realised I’d been in France for a week.
The only visitor to the chateau had been the priest who’d led me there on the night I arrived.
He’d appear occasionally and I surmised he was passing messages back and forth between the cryptographers and the maquisards .
There’d been no word of my return to England, though.
I realised how fortunate I was to have that escape route to safety when my friends here did not, so I tried not to let my mounting anxiety show.
The weather had been fine, warm and sunny during the day with fresher nights under clear skies, when the full moon shone bright gold among a swathe of silver stars.
I prayed the clear conditions would last into the week ahead, when surely they’d come back for me.
Otherwise, I’d have to wait another full fortnight while this moon wasted and died away and a new one grew in its place to become bright enough for the Lysanders to be able to fly by its light again.
Even though I tried to conceal my increasing sense of tension, I’m sure Janina knew how I was feeling.
One morning, after breakfast, she announced we were going to go to the market in town.
I assumed I’d have to remain in the chateau, hidden away, but she shook her head, knotting her red scarf beneath her chin.
‘It’s OK. The square will be busy on market day, so you won’t stand out as a stranger.
And they are used to us going there regularly like everyone else, so if we don’t they may think it a bit strange.
Don’t worry, you won’t need to do any talking – if anyone asks, I’ll say you’re my cousin, passing through on your way to Toulouse to be with family there.
Your name is Eveline, remember. But your French accent sounds so British that it would give you away, so don’t talk to anyone and we’ll be fine! ’
I was nervous, but at the same time curious to see more of the town, whose elegant towers perched tantalisingly on the hilltop in the distance. And the distraction of the market would be a very welcome one.
Having been cocooned within the chateau and its environs, it was a thrill to walk along the road winding up the steep hill, joining a stream of others as we made our way along boulevards shaded by spreading plane trees to the Place aux Herbes in the centre of Uzès.
I couldn’t help wondering whether pairs of eyes were watching us from behind the shuttered windows of the houses we passed, and if they were, were they friendly ones or did they belong to those who might denounce us?
I tried not to look self-conscious, sticking close to Janina, who seemed far more relaxed than I felt, smiling easily and occasionally raising a hand in greeting to some of the stallholders.
We bought some potatoes and a large vegetable shaped like a lumpy football, which Janina called seler.
I later discovered it was celeriac, although this wasn’t something I’d ever been familiar with back home.
We also purchased a jar of honey, and some scarlet tomatoes – far larger ones than any I’d ever seen before.
There was no meat at the butcher’s stall, but he let us have a bag of bones for making stock.
‘We’ll make a delicious soup with these and the seler ,’ Janina explained.
‘With a few pickles chopped into it, and plenty of fresh dill from the courtyard, you’ll see what a feast it can be. ’
I noticed, though, that she discreetly handed the butcher a slip of folded paper when he gave her the soup bones.
So her regular trip to this market was about more than simply buying provisions.
The network of maquisards must be operating here, I realised.
I wondered what might be in that message, and how word might be delivered when the time came for me to be extracted, but I knew better than to ask any questions.
Once we’d finished our shopping, we walked down from the top of the town to wander along the esplanade, making the most of the opportunity to gaze out at the views across the wide valley beneath us before we had to return to the confines of the chateau.
I craned my neck to gaze up at the elegant, soaring towers of the town above us, fine examples of architecture from centuries past, wishing I had more freedom to be a tourist and explore in more detail.
But the sun was climbing in the sky, our shadows shrinking before its growing intensity, and it was soon time to walk back down the hill carrying our laden baskets.
The air seemed to have grown heavy and humid suddenly, pressing down on us as we went, and I couldn’t help glancing anxiously towards the west. From the viewpoint of the esplanade, I’d noticed dark clouds were gathering there. The weather was changing.