Chapter 19
T hat afternoon, after working in the storeroom helping organise the stock, Lizzie said she was going to take a walk to see the beautiful cathedral.
Sophie said, ‘My parents attend Mass on Sunday mornings. We can go together then if you want some company?’
Lizzie wore her coat and perched the beret on her head at a jaunty angle. Glancing in the mirror, she noticed her black hair gleam in the sun shining through the window. It made her look different, and she still wasn’t used to it.
The bookshop base was proving invaluable as cover for being in the city, but she had to be careful what she said to Sophie. They were so close when they were younger, and Lizzie wasn’t used to keeping secrets from her.
‘Thanks, Soph. I need some air, so I’ll take a walk now, but maybe I’ll come on Sunday as well. Sounds lovely. Will Fabian come too?’
Sophie shook her head, and a tendril of blonde hair escaped its knot and fell across her forehead.
‘He could be conscripted for labour service, despite being wounded in the fighting, so he lies low in St. Lunaire. He’s an amazing craftsman, you know, and eeks a living repairing furniture in the grounds of an old farmhouse, so it suits him. ’
Lizzie had fond memories of Fabian and was curious to see how he was doing living alone in the seaside town.
And if her memory of the Brittany coast served her correctly, St Lunaire would likely be included in Hitler’s plans for the new defence fortifications, so a casual trip with Sophie could be worthwhile.
‘Could we visit him soon?’ Lizzie asked.
Sophie’s eyes were fearful, but she said perhaps it would be possible to arrange it if she could find Lizzie a spare bicycle.
Lizzie wondered what her cousin was afraid of, but didn’t press. If she had learnt anything on her missions in wartime France, it was that everyone had a secret, and sometimes it was better to let them be. Perhaps there was more to what was going on with Fabian than the family felt safe to reveal.
‘I’d like that. It would be good to see dear Fabian again after so long.’
As Lizzie walked, she ached with nostalgia when she remembered the time the family attended Mass at the cathedral together.
It was when Lizzie was very young, and Nan and Pops were visiting too.
The nostalgia twisted into a sharp-edged, painful melancholy at the thought of her grandparents, who were now so close and yet still so far away.
How could she be in St. Malo and not be able to visit them?
The war had a surreal effect, when ordinary things people used to take for granted became extraordinary and beyond reach. Sometimes Lizzie felt powerless, like they were all being swept away on a giant tidal wave they couldn't control.
Images of Seagrove, her family home, tumbled through her mind. Her favourite spot, where she loved to sit and read, overlooked Portelet Bay with its lulling sounds of the waves foaming on the golden sands and the cooing of seagulls overhead.
Her early morning swims in the bay, with the Martello Tower rising from the water as light replaced the shadows of night.
Lizzie assessed each person who passed her, alert for whatever danger might appear as she wound through the narrow streets.
An eerie quiet lay over the centre, which was in sharp contrast to how Lizzie remembered the bustling walled city of her youth.
Even though the afternoon was growing late, several women, two wearing black coats and clearly in mourning, waited in straggling queues outside a grocery store on a little side street.
German military presence was heavy, with soldiers dotted about.
Some sat outdoors at café tables enjoying the fine spring afternoon, and others were on duty observing the locals.
Lizzie avoided eye contact by keeping her head down as she bustled towards the cathedral.
Just because she was prepared for an identity papers check at any moment didn’t mean it was any less dangerous, and the more she blended in as a Malouine, going about her daily duties, the less chance her cover would be suspected.
Every glance, question or move could bring her to the attention of the Wehrmacht.
As St Malo was a key Atlantic port, since her arrival she had noticed many Kriegsmarine milling about.
Today a bunch of off-duty sailors were rowdier than their army counterparts, as they sat outside a café smoking and drinking, their dark navy blue wool uniforms and white caps clearly defining their status.
Lizzie’s heart thudded that bit harder as she wove her way through the tight webs of the German military, hoping she went unnoticed as just another young French woman.
The SOE had trained and equipped her for such a scenario, but the fear never disappeared no matter how many times she faced similar situations.
The longer she spent in London, the more chilling it felt to be dropped back into occupied territory, and it was never more obvious than in the Intra-Muros area.
Paris was densely occupied too, but there were more opportunities to slip out of sight because of its size.
St. Malo was small and contained within the walls, and as a new arrival she felt like she was under a German magnifying glass.
Then the sanctuary of Cathédrale St. Vincent de St. Malo loomed before her, peeking through the buildings, the granite spire set against the blue sky like an old friend welcoming her as she reached the front door of the beautiful gothic cathedral.
The Nazis saw church attendance as a useful tool for keeping the population submissive, and they permitted churches to function.
Lizzie breathed more deeply now that she had reached her destination.
She pulled open the heavy wooden doors that groaned as she entered the vestibule, and her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior.
The smell of incense wafted up her nose, and the cool air caressed her skin as she blessed herself at the holy water font before entering the nave.
There was a confession schedule posted on the wall, and her eyes eagerly sought Father Guérin’s name, but she couldn’t see it.
Lizzie admired the vaulted ceiling before slipping into a pew and kneeling.
There were a few other women in the pews, deep in prayer, but no sign of a priest. Lizzie closed her eyes and prayed.
It wasn’t often she went to church with her family in London, but it felt good to be back in a holy space.
The cathedral reminded her of Reims, and she thought about how far she had come since that first mission.
After what seemed a reasonable amount of time to be seen praying, she opened her eyes and glanced around, hoping to spot a priest she could ask about Father Guérin.
The nave was silent, and Lizzie felt truly at peace for the first time since her mission began.
She savoured the feeling and let herself sit there unmoving for a few minutes, as her eyes strayed to the stained-glass windows that filtered in the light and cast ethereal patterns across the wooden pews.
No one entered and no one left, and the sacred place offered a refuge from the harsh outside world. Then Lizzie caught sight of a priest exiting a confessional booth, and she rose and walked towards him.
‘Excuse me, Father, I was hoping to speak to Father Guérin. When might I find him here?’
‘Bonjour, my child. It’s just a few of us now. Father Guérin may be present tomorrow morning for Confession and Mass,’ the priest said, his face creasing into a smile. ‘I will hear your Confession now if you wish.’
Lizzie thanked him and said she must leave now but would return tomorrow. She had hoped to locate the priest today and perhaps even be able to find the radio, but it was not to be.
Patience was a critical quality to be a successful undercover agent, and sometimes hers wore thin, but this was how the game was played.
It might take three or four visits for her to even meet the priest, and that was only the beginning.
Would he know where Jacques had hidden the radio set, and would he reveal the hiding place to her, even if he did?
Espionage was a game of cat and mouse, and at this moment, Lizzie felt like a weary mouse.
She reconciled herself to the fact that no breakthroughs would be made that day in the cathedral, but at least she could tick off her first attempt to make contact with the priest. She glanced around one last time, checking she wasn’t being watched, and emerged from the sanctuary, blinking in the bright light.
Hopefully, Sunday would bring her better luck.