Chapter 50
FIFTY
MARGOT
Margot tried to hide the heaviness that had descended over her as they made their careful way back through the tunnels from the cottage. It still didn’t feel real that Isabelle was leaving with her father that very night.
She told herself over and over again that it was for the best, even with the treacherous journey across the Channel, but she still couldn’t bear to think of the silence that was about to fall across her home or the emptiness of her arms without Isabelle to hold.
And she knew that Theo would miss her terribly as well.
She arrived back in her flat to discover that Madame Cassin had tidied up while Jacob had played with Beatrice.
They were very quiet for children, but the sounds of boots passing along the pavement below and vehicles growling along the road were ample reminders that the enemy was only on the other side of the wall.
‘It’s the least I can do,’ Madame Cassin told her when Margot tried to thank her.
She’d sewn up the torn collar on her coat as well, and it seemed she was ready – although nervous – for the next step of her journey.
She glanced over at her son and whispered to Margot, ‘He’s all I have left. This is the only chance we have.’
There was so much unspoken pain in her words; a woman who had lost her husband, maybe other children too. She would have to face the same dangers as Daniel so that they could save their children. It wasn’t a choice that any parent should have to make.
Margot tried to ignore her fears; the oppressive threat of the enemy, the unknown risks at sea. Even the looming presence of Goring, one of Hitler’s right-hand men. Every now and then, her hands trembled.
She prepared a bag of supplies for them, so they wouldn’t be hungry on their journey: some apples, a little bit of cheese, a small piece of bread, a couple of plain biscuits.
She didn’t have much, but she gave what she had.
And if she kept herself busy, she could try to distract herself from thinking about Isabelle.
Theo was beside Margot as she worked, helping pack away the things they would need.
She saw him scoop up the little teddy bear that had once belonged to his daughter and, for a long moment, Theo gazed down at it.
Then, with a bright gurgle, Isabelle waved her hand towards him and Theo crossed the room.
He handed the bear gently to the little girl and told her, ‘You be sure to take care of him, for Lotte.’
There was already a bruise on her heart as she gathered up Isabelle’s things.
While Daniel played with his daughter, Margot packed what she could under the mattress of Isabelle’s basket – her tiny knitted clothes, nappies, Esther’s copy of The Three Musketeers.
When it was time for them to go, she’d place one of Isabelle’s bottles at the foot of the basket, wrapped in a little knitted cardigan to try to keep it warm.
Then, with a pang, she remembered Esther’s wedding ring.
She forced away her memories that came back as she took it out of her own small jewellery box.
She needed to forget the moment they lost Esther and instead think of what her wedding ring represented – Esther and Daniel’s love, and the little girl who rounded out their family.
She tied the ring securely to the handle of Isabelle’s basket on a length of ribbon and tucked it inside.
The afternoon drew on and Margot and Theo went down to the cellar, waiting for the other escaped internees. Madame Cassin came down with Jacob, sitting on the chairs as though they were in the waiting room of a station. They were reading the books that Margot had given them.
One by one, Margot’s friends from the book club made their way through the tunnels with their charges, before leaving to head home with hugs and words of good luck.
There were no patrols in the tunnels, but Sylvie shuddered as she told her she’d been past the square earlier and seen the SS troops busily piling up the bonfire to burn the books.
It was such an ugly prospect – all those thoughts and ideas, worlds and stories, reduced to ash.
Margot forced herself to smile at their guests, even though her heart was breaking at the thought of saying goodbye to Isabelle.
The internees had all been able to wash away the grime, and, although they were tired from the ordeals they’d already endured, and tense at the prospect of what lay ahead, Margot could sense that they’d been warmed by the kindness of her friends.
‘I’ve had word from our friends in England,’ Theo told the assembly of anxious faces. ‘The boat will be there at midnight. You’ll be safe by dawn.’
Some of the internees nodded, clearly relieved to know that all was going to plan and that freedom lay so close.
They were young, and, although Margot didn’t know for sure, she suspected they were resistance fighters who’d been caught and needed to be taken out of the country.
Others looked more nervous; the old man with the broken glasses wiped the lenses on his handkerchief, his fingers shaking.
Once everyone had arrived, the cellar was full of people. Margot took Theo’s hand as they went back upstairs. She was already pressing her handkerchief to her eyes to hide her tears; time was passing and before the day had ended she’d have to say goodbye to Isabelle.
From outside, she could hear the Germans in the street, knocking heavily on doors and shouting. Margot’s heart leapt in her chest.
A metallic voice, amplified by a loudhailer, echoed along the street. It sounded so harsh, so unnatural, and Margot flinched as a heavily accented voice bellowed in bad French, ‘All residents to go to the fire of books! Six o’clock! Everyone!’