Chapter Fifteen #2
Between them, Yves and Sanglier managed to carry the pilot upstairs and lay him on a mattress in an upstairs bedroom across the corridor from Mathilde’s. Doctor Pailleau arrived on horseback an hour later, gave the patient a thorough examination, cleaned his wound and put a compress on the leg.
‘The next few hours will be crucial,’ he told her. ‘I think the fever’s about to break. Change this compress in two hours’ time and encourage him to drink: Odile’s elderberry tea should do him good, with plenty of honey. I’ll be back mid-morning.’
Mathilde dozed in a chair by the Englishman’s bed for the rest of the night, taking the back stairs down to the kitchen every few hours for fresh tea and lavender water.
She should have been concentrating on the pilot but she couldn’t help wondering when she’d be able to talk to Yves in private and show him her map.
As dawn broke, Mathilde woke with a start to find the Englishman sitting up in bed, staring at her. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘Am I dead?’
She didn’t speak much English but she could understand this. ‘I’m Fleur,’ she replied, ‘and you’re alive, I’m happy to say.’ He looked pale and exhausted. The sheets were damp with sweat but his forehead was cool.
‘I’ll make you some more tea,’ she said, straightening his bedclothes. ‘And maybe something to eat?’
His eyes were closing already, though, and he’d fallen asleep by the time she’d reached the door. Madame de Courcy was already in the kitchen, filling a kettle with water.
‘He’s made it through the night,’ Mathilde told her. ‘The fever seems to have broken.’
‘I know,’ the countess said. ‘I looked in an hour ago and you were both sleeping peacefully. Thank you for taking care of him. I’ve made it clear to Yves we can’t have this happening again.’
‘I was happy to,’ Mathilde said. ‘I’ve enjoyed being able to help someone else for once, instead of accepting other people’s kindness.’
‘I can imagine. But you’re a member of staff here now, don’t forget, and earning your keep.
’ The countess paused, as though looking for the right words.
‘You’ve fitted into the household very smoothly and I hope that will continue.
We shall be busier than ever once harvest starts – don’t let yourself get distracted. ’
‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ Mathilde said, though she had her suspicions.
‘My dear, I hope you’ll take this advice as kindly as it’s meant.
’ Madame de Courcy looked at her gravely.
‘If your mother were here, she’d warn you to stay well away from Yves Toussaint.
He might be charismatic but he’s leading a dangerous life and it’s not one he’s ever likely to share with a woman, tempting though the idea might be.
I’ve seen the way he looks at you and it’s enough to turn any girl’s head. ’
‘Not mine,’ Mathilde replied, the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘I have no interest in him whatsoever – not in that way.’
The countess raised her eyebrows. ‘If you say so.’ And then luckily Odile arrived, and the subject had to be dropped. ‘We have a guest upstairs in the attic,’ Madame de Courcy told her. ‘He needs building up. Are there any eggs to spare?’
‘I suppose so.’ Odile took off her hat and hung it on the hook. ‘And who have we got this time? Another lawbreaker?’
‘I must let you know he’s a British pilot,’ the countess replied.
‘I understand if you’d prefer not to work in the house while he’s here, but I’ve come to believe it’s our duty to care for him, out of common humanity.
Should a German pilot be shot down over France, I’d willingly look after him too. ’
No, you wouldn’t, Mathilde thought; not if you’d seen the things I have. She couldn’t have looked after a German, Nazi or not, couldn’t have touched such a man or heard him speak without wanting to kill him. But she knew better than to say so when Madame de Courcy was laying down the law.
‘It’s all very well for her to have these lofty principles,’ Odile grumbled when they were alone together, ‘but you know we’d get shot if he was discovered? All of us, not just her.’
‘Then we’d better hope he isn’t,’ Mathilde replied tersely – though she could appreciate Odile’s point of view.
The pilot was still asleep when she brought the tea upstairs, and he was asleep when she checked on him at midday, too.
Doctor Pailleau had visited an hour earlier, Odile reported, and was pleased with their patient’s progress; he’d changed the compress and applied honey to help the wound heal.
He would return that evening to check all was still well, but the danger seemed to have passed.
‘So let’s hope we can get rid of the man sooner rather than later,’ Odile added.
In the late afternoon, Mathilde was working in the vineyard when a figure climbed the slope towards her. She could tell from the man’s build and gait that it was Yves.
‘I hear the Englishman’s doing well,’ he said, after he’d kissed her on both cheeks. ‘We should be able to move him once he’s a little stronger, so we’ll be out of your hair before the harvest starts.’
She nodded, shading her eyes from the low sun. He looked tired, with a few days’ growth of stubble along his jaw. What had he been doing these past few months? She wanted to know everything, though of course he’d never tell her.
‘There’s no rush to leave,’ she said, looking away.
‘It’ll be safer once he’s gone, though,’ Yves replied. ‘Now tell me: have you been making any progress here?’
Mathilde described her trips around the area and the contacts she’d established. He listened intently, his smile broader as he told her how valuable this knowledge would be.
‘I’ve made a map,’ she said, ‘marked with the safe houses. Would you like to see it?’
‘Very much,’ he replied, and she felt absurdly gratified. ‘I could come to the chateau this evening, after you’ve finished work?’
Mathilde hesitated. ‘Madame de Courcy has told me to keep away from you,’ she said at last, embarrassed about being forced into such an admission. ‘She thinks you’re a distraction.’
He laughed. ‘Does she indeed? A distraction from what?’
‘The harvest, I suppose,’ Mathilde replied. ‘But who cares about that? We’re only making wine for the Germans to take. The work you’re doing is far more important and I want to help you however I can.’
‘Good. In that case, come to our camp tonight and bring the map with you. I can meet you at the barn after dark and take you there. Actually it would be good for you to know where we are, just in case.’
In case of what? Mathilde wondered later, though it wouldn’t be long before she found out.
They agreed a time and she watched him walk away, cutting across the hillside to the woods beyond.
He was indeed a charismatic man, there was no doubting that, but she’d told the countess the truth: she had no intention of falling in love with him.
All she wanted was a chance to fight the Germans and avenge Jacques’ death, and Yves would provide her with that.
When her work for the day was done, she made her way down the hillside and entered the chateau via the kitchen door.
It took her a few seconds to realise something was wrong: Odile should have been standing by the stove, but the room was empty and quiet, and the noise of some disturbance floated through from the hall.
Hurrying nearer, she heard a woman shout, ‘Where is he? I know he’s here somewhere, I saw his horse. Of course he is – he’s always damn well here!’ It was Madame Pailleau, her hair coming loose from its pins and her cheeks flushed.
Odile was holding her back by the arm. ‘Madame, please calm down. The doctor is busy but he’ll be down in a moment.’
‘Busy in her bed, no doubt.’ Madame Pailleau made for the staircase, dragging Odile with her.
At that moment, Madame de Courcy appeared from the salon. ‘Whatever is this about?’
Madame Pailleau recoiled as though she’d been slapped. ‘I’ve come to fetch my husband,’ she said, attempting dignity. ‘He’s needed at home.’
And now the doctor himself was walking quickly along the landing. ‘Claudine? What’s the matter? Has something happened?’
‘I won’t put up with this any longer, Edouard,’ she replied, her chest heaving. ‘That’s what’s happened. Everyone knows what’s going on and they’re all laughing at me behind my back.’
‘I’m caring for a patient,’ Doctor Pailleau replied, keeping his voice low and steady. ‘There is nothing “going on”, as you put it, apart from that.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ his wife said.
‘Then come and see.’ The doctor stood back.
‘Yes, please do, Madame,’ the countess urged, waving an arm towards the staircase. ‘And afterwards perhaps you’d be kind enough to leave quietly. We have a sick man upstairs and this commotion will do him no good at all.’
Odile and Mathilde exchanged glances as Madame Pailleau climbed the stairs to her waiting husband.
Mathilde had no idea whether the countess and the doctor were having an affair; he seemed to spend a lot of time at the chateau, certainly, but whether he was sharing the countess’s bed was another matter.
Yet she couldn’t help feeling sorry for his wife, losing control so publicly.
‘Supper’s almost ready,’ Odile said, nudging her arm. ‘Let’s go to the kitchen – we’re not needed here.’
Unlike Paulette, Odile wasn’t a gossip. She had her opinions, though. As she was dishing up the bean and mushroom stew, she muttered, ‘You see? That man’s causing trouble already. There’ll be more to come; you mark my words.’
How right she was. In Mathilde’s mind, the Englishman’s arrival marked the start of it all: the greatest adventure of her life.
There was indeed trouble in store, and plenty of it, but joy and exhilaration, too.
She would have made the same choices and taken the same path even had she known where it would lead.