Chapter 32
B y the time Lizzie reached the turning to Fabian’s farmhouse, she was hot and thirsty from the long ride and gasping for a drink. In her rush to leave the house, she’d forgotten to fill the empty bottle with water and pop it in her basket.
Uncle Charles’s office telephone was out of order since the lines hadn’t been repaired, but Sophie told her she couldn’t have called Fabian anyway as there was no telephone at the farmhouse.
Panting slightly and perspiring in her heavy coat, she glimpsed the farmhouse nestled in the shade of an old oak tree that looked like it had stood there undisturbed forever.
Vibrant orange and yellow wallflowers dotted the grey stone, basking in the warm rays of the sun, and daffodils arched tall and proud, swaying in the gentle breeze as she crossed the path and approached the front door.
It was a glorious spring day, the kind Lizzie remembered from her school holidays with her cousins, and she breathed in the pungent scent of blossoms mixed with the salty sea air, her bike resting on her hip as she gazed about the grounds.
The granite farmhouse was homely with its traditional shutters that needed a fresh coat of paint. Maintaining his paintwork was the least of Fabian’s worries, by the sounds of it.
Lizzie propped her bicycle against a wall and used the iron ring to knock twice.
There was no sound of movement from inside, so Lizzie knocked again.
Several minutes passed, and then she retrieved her bike and walked around the property, to where they had sat outside drinking coffee in the backyard.
The gate creaked, and she walked slowly, coughing to alert Fabian in case he was working, or wanted to warn Judith.
She scanned the area, which was much like it had been last time. The yard was scattered with pieces of old furniture, and tools lay on a tabletop nearby. Lizzie noticed a pair of shabby women’s sandals, and she guessed they were Judith’s.
Lizzie knocked on the back door but was met with more silence.
She shrugged her arms out of her coat and walked over to the small wooden well Fabian had collected water from on their last visit.
There was an earthen pitcher full of water, and Lizzie washed her hands and then formed a cup with her fingers and sipped the cool, refreshing well water.
It seemed likely Fabian had drawn the water earlier that day and had gone out.
She would wait for him, but in the meantime, this was the ideal time to send her message to London.
She had planned to confide in him if necessary.
Fabian was risking his life by hiding Judith, so she hoped she could trust him to keep her secret. What choice did she have anyway?
But with no one at home, there was no need.
The fewer people involved in her operation, the better.
On one side of the yard there was a flourishing vegetable garden, which made Lizzie wonder why Aunt Giselle had sent fruit and vegetables, but she knew the answer and smiled.
Mothers would be mothers. Her own mother’s face appeared in her mind, and she hoped all was well at home.
A pang of fear clutched at her as she thought of her grandparents.
She didn’t know how she would have the strength to tell her father that Seagrove had been requisitioned and his parents had been evicted from their home.
Worst still, she didn’t know where they were.
How could she tell him that? It would break his heart.
The family didn’t express it in words, but she sensed the common thread keeping them all going through this horrific war was the hope that Nan and Pops were alive and well, living at Seagrove and soon, somehow, they would all be reunited in Jersey. It was a naive hope, but they clung to it.
The idea that had taunted her since soon after her arrival forced its way into her thoughts again.
What if she travelled to Jersey and searched for her grandparents?
It was beginning to seem like the only thing she could do if she were to live with herself when this mission was over.
Not trying to check on her grandparents when she was this near to Jersey seemed wrong.
They were not getting any younger and were presumably living under harsh conditions, like everyone under Nazi occupation.
This might be her only chance to see them again.
Based on the hold the Germans had over the Jersey coast and the major plans for the Atlantic Wall fortification, which seemed to involve Jersey, this could be the last window of opportunity an agent would have to get onto the island.
Lizzie built her case for going to Jersey as though she were talking to Val.
She didn’t imagine she was talking to Jack because there was absolutely no way he would approve the plan she had brewing, which refused to leave her in peace.
Further into the garden, a small grassy mound indicated what looked like the site of a stone storage chamber that led back to the kitchen door. This must be the underground storage, so she descended the stone steps and reached a wooden door that moaned as she pushed it open.
An earthy, musty smell assailed her nostrils, and her eyes moved to the tiny window near the ceiling, which wove rays of pale daylight across the thick stone walls.
Stacked crates lined wooden shelves, and baskets covered by cloths stood against the walls.
They must be for whatever produce Fabian grew in the vegetable garden and orchard.
It was pleasantly cool below ground after the strength of the morning sun, and Lizzie’s shoes scattered the sawdust on the floor, and she let out a piercing sneeze as she walked around the small cavern.
Her plan would work, but the light was too dim to set up her radio.
After running back up to the garden to get the equipment and making sure the grounds were still deserted, she extracted her tiny torch and began assembling the radio the way she had been taught on her latest training at Bletchley Park where they showed her how to use the new technology radio crystals.
So many agents and Resistance members had been caught, it was no longer practical for a network to depend on a solo wireless operator.
Agents who infiltrated France alone must be self-sufficient and multi-skilled.
They had to know how to set up a radio and send and receive messages quickly, without detection, often whilst constantly on the move.
The range of skills agents needed, to have even a slim chance of operating successfully and surviving their missions was becoming more complex by the day.
She worked in silence, her hands deftly putting the pieces of the machine together and preparing her system on the surface of a low, dusty table.
The thick stone walls would muffle any sounds, which made this the best possible spot for transmission.
Lizzie sat back on her heels on the ground, satisfied with her handiwork.
She found it helpful not to focus on the risk of what she was doing and just take it step by step or fear would immobilise her.
In moments like this, she had learnt to act, not think.
She laid a thin blanket, which she found on a shelf, over the equipment and then walked back up to the gardens for one last check before beginning her transmission.
Her bicycle was concealed in a small shed at the back of the farmhouse, and just as she was about to descend the stone steps after looping around the property and knocking on the back door again with no response, she heard voices echoing from the front of the farmhouse.
Damn it. She was so close.
The voices grew louder, chatting in French. The gate creaked open, and Lizzie rushed back up the steps and sat on a bench, panting slightly, near Fabian’s workspace as if she was waiting for him.
Two figures came into view. Fabian and a young woman at his side. For a second, Fabian froze when he saw her.
‘Li—Rose,’ he said, recovering quickly. ‘What are you doing here?’
Lizzie stood and went to greet him. ‘Not quite the welcome I expected,’ she said, her tone lightly teasing.
Fabian removed his brown farmer’s cap and pushed his fingers through his thick hair. ‘Forgive me. How rude of me. What I meant was, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!’
Lizzie laughed, and they kissed, their affection for each other clear.
The young woman hovering behind him was petite, with dark hair and guarded brown eyes.
This must be Judith Cohen. Lizzie detected a hint of fear in their soft brown depths, but then Fabian introduced them, and she stepped towards Lizzie with a shy smile playing around her pale lips.
‘Rose meet Fleur. She is a friend of the family and helps me out with the workload. Fleur’s house in Brest was bombed in a terrible raid, and her family sent her here for safety.’
Lizzie knew Brest was a major naval base, and the Allies had bombed it repeatedly, which resulted in droves of refugees fleeing the raids.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Lizzie said, smiling warmly, going along with their fake cover story. ‘I hope your family is safe.’
Judith said that she hoped so too, but she hadn’t heard from them in some time. They made small talk and discussed the hardships of wartime as Fabian unlocked the backdoor and went inside to make them coffee.
Lizzie’s thoughts kept straying to her radio lurking beneath the blanket. It would be obvious to anyone entering the underground chamber, and she excused herself and went to bring her bicycle from the shed to buy herself some time.
Judith looked as if she was trying to figure out why she had hidden her bicycle.
‘I didn’t want to risk it being stolen whilst I looked for you,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s my only mode of transport back to St. Malo!’
Judith replied, saying that sadly she was right to be cautious and even neighbours could no longer be trusted not to steal each other’s possessions. ‘We really should secure this back area so no one can enter when we’re not here.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘Yes, I’m evidence of that, although I’m glad you didn’t secure it yet.’
Their eyes met, and they laughed. Lizzie instantly took to Judith and wished things didn’t have to be so complicated.
Her heart ached for Sophie and how she was doing the best she could for her dear friend.
The irony was crushing. Lizzie and Judith were both using false names, and Lizzie felt bad that she was keeping the fact that she knew Judith’s real identity from her, but Sophie said it would be for the best so as not to alarm them.
When Fabian emerged with a small tray filled with coffee and slices of fresh bread, Lizzie pointed to the supplies she had brought, now arranged on the table. ‘From your mother,’ she said.
‘Ah, my dear mother. Though why she insists on sending us apples when we have our own apple trees is unclear.’ He smiled ruefully.
‘I confess I wondered the same,’ Lizzie said.
They all laughed and sipped their hot coffee and nibbled the bread, conscious there would be no second helpings.
Lizzie said, ‘There was a jar of your mother’s delicious strawberry jam, which would have gone wonderfully with this bread. Unfortunately, it was confiscated at the St. Vincent gate on my way out of the city.’
Fabian cursed when he heard how the soldier had helped himself to the jam. ‘Thieving bastards, helping themselves to anything and everything they fancy. You’d think I’d be used to their behaviour by now, but it still incenses me.’
Judith said, ‘Fabian gets furious at any mention of the occupying forces.’
‘Understandable,’ Lizzie said. ‘It must have been awful to fight in the war and then come home to be ruled by them.’
Lizzie noticed Fabian and Judith were careful not to show any obvious signs of being a couple, but she detected the deep connection between them, whether it was because she knew the truth, she couldn’t say.
Either way, she was pleased Fabian wasn’t stuck out here all alone and lived with his love in these dark times.
Fabian crossed to the table. ‘What have we here then?’ He picked up the novel and passed it to Judith with a smile. ‘I believe this is for you, Fleur.’
The cousin she knew and loved wasn’t much of a reader, so it made more sense now. Aunt Giselle was taking care of Judith too.
Fabian gathered the apples and cabbage and said he would stash them in the storeroom.
Lizzie flinched, worried he would see the blanket-covered radio.
She jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll walk with you,’ she said, unable to think what else to do.
Fabian looked taken aback at the awkward gesture but nodded, and she joined him, leaving Judith alone after excusing herself.
As they neared the steps, he said, ‘What’s going on?’
Lizzie cleared her throat. This was the moment when she must reveal her real reason for visiting him.
She hoped he wouldn’t be angry with her for endangering them like this.
It had occurred to her he might be, given they were protecting Judith, but she couldn’t think of another way to message London safely.
Another transmission from inside the city walls was out of the question, and there were no other safe houses she could use.
Conversely, learning about Judith’s presence at the farmhouse had helped her decide to trust him. If he knew people who created false identity papers for Jews, he was sympathetic to the Resistance.
They descended the steps, and he opened the door for Lizzie.
‘It’s probably best I show you,’ she said.