Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
MARGOT
Margot walked through Cordeval the next day, wrapped in her warm coat and scarf. Although the day was chilly, the strong breeze had blown away the clouds, and the low autumn sun shone down on Cordeval.
She couldn’t help the smile that kept creeping onto her lips.
She shouldn’t be happy – Isabelle would soon be escaping with her father, and she’d miss the little girl dreadfully.
And life under the thumb of the SS was one nightmare after another; she couldn’t face even the thought of walking through the square.
But she held on to her one thread of happiness, Theo.
She was collecting supplies for the escaped internees who would flee alongside Isabelle and Daniel.
They would only have the clothes they stood up in, so Margot was visiting her book club friends for whatever they could spare; clean clothes, even if they were a little worn or darned, food, medicine.
As Margot passed some SS troops, who paid her only the briefest attention, she knew she looked like an ordinary woman with just an innocent shopping basket over her arm.
One of the troops glanced towards her, then turned to his colleagues and murmured something in German. They laughed and looked her up and down.
They must’ve seen her in the square with Theo, the man who’d declared he was a good German in the face of his brother’s brutality.
Let them laugh, she thought to herself.
And then she heard a sound that made her catch her breath with fear; the now-familiar purr of Lauterborn’s Mercedes.
The hood was up to enclose the car but the troops snapped to attention at the very sight of the gleaming bonnet as it rounded the square.
This time when the chauffeur climbed out he stood even straighter than usual, if that was possible, and, when he turned to open the kerbside rear door as one of the soldiers moved to open the other, Margot caught a gleam of excitement in his eyes.
With a lurch of horror that made Margot feel as if the ground was tearing open beneath her feet, she realised she recognised the rotund man who was climbing out of the car, his uniform bristling with medals.
He was one of Hitler’s top brass: Hermann Goring.
Monsieur Delafosse, in his tricolour sash of office again, rushed up to greet the senior Nazi.
‘Welcome to our humble village, monsieur!’ he exclaimed. Instead of reaching out a hand to shake, Margot watched in disgust as their mayor shot up his arm in a Nazi salute. Goring acknowledged the salute with a lazy gesture, his plump face brightening with a broad smile.
‘Monsieur Le Mayor!’ he declared in French as Lauterborn cast his gaze across the street, puffing his chest out with pride. ‘Thank you for your invitation to visit your pretty village. All the prettier now the vermin have been chased out, eh?’
‘Of course, of course!’ Delafosse gabbled. ‘Our citizens are exemplary, apart from those bad apples who your countryman dealt with.’
Margot had seen Delafosse in the café in the square before, chatting amiably with Madame Guerin over the zinc counter.
But he evidently hadn’t shed a single tear for her, even as he’d seen her being shot right in front of him.
How he could’ve allowed Lauterborn to drag everyone into the square to witness those atrocious murders – even children – she would never, ever understand.
If she was feeling generous, she’d suspect he was doing his best to keep the village safe by going along with the Germans to an extent.
But she struggled with that thought, because the course he’d chosen had led to the murder of her friend.
He’d always loved his position as mayor, strutting like a Napoleon, even though Cordeval was a small place, and she suspected he enjoyed leeching off their power.
‘Please come and take a drink of our local speciality, our calvados, Monsieur!’ Delafosse went on to Goring. ‘The best is served in the café on the square.’
Margot suppressed a shudder of deep disgust. He was inviting Goring to the very place where Madame Guerin had lived and worked.
Lauterborn turned towards the SS troops and barked an instruction in German.
Margot couldn’t understand what he said, but she recognised two words: ‘Professor Lauterborn’.
Moments later, the soldier was stalking towards her shop.
Margot went cold. Her feet seemed to freeze onto the pavement. Not Theo. No, they couldn’t take Theo. And at that very moment, he was looking after Isabelle.
But she daren’t say a word and draw attention to herself. Instead, keeping an anxious eye on her shop, Margot attached herself to a group of local gossips who had gathered on the pavement to stare at Cordeval’s infamous celebrity visitor.
She watched the soldier as he crossed the street and approached the door to the shop. Clearly he wasn’t aware of the alleyway that led to the back entrance, where the door to the flats could be found.
She barely heard Delafosse prattling on to Goring about the delights of the village.
All she could hear was the sound of her own heart, beating so fiercely it might’ve burst from her chest. She pictured Theo cradling Isabelle, his face soft with affection for the motherless little girl who reminded him so much of his own lost daughter.
Then, in her mind, she saw Madame Guerin collapsing lifeless to the blood-soaked ground.
Don’t hurt them, please don’t hurt them, Margot pleaded silently.
The soldier raised his fist and knocked on the door as the mayor and his German guests strolled away, with every eye watching them go. When no reply came, the soldier knocked again, then stepped back and peered up at the building.
As he did, a window on the top floor opened and Theo called down something to the man in German.
There was some back and forth before Theo gestured to Margot and called in French, ‘Madame, I cannot come down at present; I am engaged in a precise moment of composition! Will you let the gentleman in and ask him to wait?’
‘They’re very clever with music, those Germans,’ one of the gossips said to another, who nodded in agreement.
‘Of course!’ Margot called in reply. Later, perhaps they would laugh about Theo referring to Isabelle as a precise moment of composition, but laughter was far away from her at that moment.
She separated herself from the crowd and hurried across the road to the shop. She unlocked the door and gestured for the soldier to follow her inside. There were some French–German dictionaries on a shelf near the door, and she hoped he’d notice them as they waited for Theo.
The soldier’s French was halting at best and as he conveyed his message to Margot he mimed it with his hands too, pointing first to the ceiling, then to the street, before pantomiming someone playing a piano keyboard.
‘Tell him,’ the soldier said slowly, ‘Obergruppenführer Lauterborn requests he come to the café and play the piano for Reichsmarschall Goring.’ Then he shook his head exaggeratedly.
‘No refusal. He must come now. You understand? You tell him?’ He patted the holster at his hip and repeated, ‘No refusal.’
Margot nodded urgently, then hurried away through the shop and up the stairs to Theo’s flat. She knocked. Even though they were close now, they both kept their doors locked in case anyone should get into the building.
‘Theo!’ Margot called. ‘Goring’s just arrived. Your brother wants you to play the piano for him, in the café on the square. Now!’
Theo opened the door and reached to take Margot’s elbow. He drew her inside, then closed the door and whispered, ‘Why would Goring be here?’ He frowned. ‘Surely they can’t know about Daniel coming?’
Margot had been so alarmed to see Goring arrive in her village that she hadn’t thought of that.
‘I don’t know – maybe it’s a coincidence.
If I was a famous Nazi, I wouldn’t want to risk crossing Chevalier’s path; the resistance would mow him down.
I don’t think they know. Goring might just’ve booked himself into the spa in Clarenville and your brother couldn’t resist showing him the sights of Cordeval while he’s here. ’
‘You’re right,’ he replied. He looked over to the sofa, where Isabelle was merrily coddled in the cushions with her beloved goose and bear. At her side was a dog-eared storybook that had been a gift from Aunt Sandrine. ‘I was telling her one of her stories; she’s such a bright little thing.’
From the foot of the stairs there came a bark in German, and Isabelle frowned, pausing in her game.
Theo moved quickly to sweep her up from the cushions and cuddle her close as he told Margot, ‘I have to do as they say; and I might hear something worth knowing. If you can, try and get hold of anyone on the radio. Don’t worry about the code, just tell them that Goring’s here.
Use Savant as your codename.’ He dashed a kiss to Margot’s cheek and bundled Isabelle into her arms. ‘Let’s hope some wine loosens his tongue, eh? ’
Margot kissed Theo in return. ‘Come back safe, won’t you?’ she said.
She laid Isabelle in her basket, gave her the knitted goose and Herr Knuddel the bear, and promised her she’d be back soon. The little girl picked up her toys again and seemed content, but still Margot didn’t like having to leave her on her own, even for a couple of minutes.
Margot followed Theo down the stairs and through the shop so she could lock up behind him.
She didn’t dare say a word as she watched Theo leave with the soldier, even as her heart felt as if it was tearing in her chest. He had to come back.
This couldn’t be a ruse to arrest him and take him away, could it?
As she watched them go, she saw two German soldiers making their way along the street, one holding a stack of paper, the other a bucket and a brush.
They’d already left a trail of posters on the shops; one was drying on her window next to the wanted poster for Chevalier.
She wondered if it was an invitation to hear Goring speak.
Margot went outside and saw that the new poster shouted: feu des livres interdit! demain soir à six heures! bonfire of banned books! tomorrow evening at six o’clock!
She clutched her hands, trying to still her fear.
First it’d been Rouen where the Nazis had burned books, then Clarenville, and now Cordeval, right on her doorstep.
She tried to swallow down her revulsion.
She couldn’t go to a book-burning. She couldn’t even bear the thought of it, seeing all those books going up in smoke.
And it was planned for the very night of the escape.
She hurried back inside the shop, locked the door behind her, and ran up the stairs two at a time to fetch Isabelle.
She carried her down to the cellar in her basket, the little girl chuckling as if it was a game.
She opened Theo’s trunk and was faced with the radio.
The frequency was as Theo had left it the night before.
Her heart was in her throat as she flicked the switch and the radio hummed into life.
‘Savant calling,’ she said, the words barely audible as she thought of Goring and Lauterborn in the square, only at the end of the street.
‘Savant calling,’ she said again, trying to sound confident even as her voice wavered with fear.
There was nothing but silence at the other end as Margot willed someone to hear and respond.
She had no idea who or even where the woman who called herself Clair de Lune was, but she seemed like the only hope they had at the moment to get their message out.
‘Is anybody there?’ Margot pleaded. ‘Savant calling. Goring has arrived in Cordeval. Can you hear me? Goring’s in Cordeval!’
Isabelle had started to whine, so Margot lifted her out of the basket and held her on her knee as she repeated the message. ‘Goring is in Cordeval. And they’re burning books tomorrow evening at six!’
‘This is Chevalier,’ a voice suddenly said into the silence. ‘Message received, Savant.’
Margot stared at the radio in amazement, and Isabelle stopped grizzling. Had the baby somehow recognised the deep, rich tones of her father’s voice?
‘Thank you, Chevalier,’ Margot said. She knew she had to turn the radio off in case any Germans found the frequency and listened in.
But she was spellbound – it was the first time she’d heard Daniel’s voice since he’d vanished.
He was no longer a fisherman who’d fearlessly gone out in rough seas, but a resistance fighter, a wanted man.
‘This may change the extraction,’ Daniel said.
‘She’s here, your little one,’ Margot said. ‘She’s with me. She’s safe. I wish you could come and see her.’
There was a moment of silence before he said, ‘My Isabelle? Savant told me – the women of Cordeval are caring for her. Until I can meet her.’ He fell silent as Margot heard a click through the unseen waves of the radio.
Then Daniel said urgently, ‘They’re looking for our frequencies, we have to sign off. ’
‘Goodbye, Chevalier, and good luck,’ she said, and clicked the radio off.