Chapter 10
TEN
MARGOT
That evening after closing the shop, Margot headed off to see Esther.
They met up several times a week, not just at the book club, and Margot always tried to take something with her.
She’d been to the grocer’s and was relieved to find they had a small packet of biscuits.
Margot bought it and added it to her basket.
Her walk up to Esther’s cottage on the edge of the village was the perfect opportunity to hide one or two banned books. After Felix Lauterborn’s visit, she knew she was being reckless, but she wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing as the Germans took over France.
She hoped she looked as normal as ever. When she walked past Petit’s, Fernand, the cheerful barman, gave her a friendly wave. She smiled back as she returned his wave.
She passed the florist’s on the street corner where Colette worked, although she couldn’t see her friend behind the counter.
It’d lost its smell of flowers that she remembered from before the war.
The Germans put in orders for large arrangements of fresh flowers that went straight to the fancy hotels in Clarenville, leaving only silk imitations in the shop’s display vases.
She reached the top of the road and darted into the village square. It was already getting dark and the shadows of the linden trees were long. The windows of homes that overlooked the square were dark, the lights out or hidden behind thick curtains, and the shops were closed for the day.
Margot spotted Madame Guerin. She’d nearly finished bringing in the chairs and tables from the café terrace with its owner, an older man with thinning hair, whose sleeves were always rolled up whatever the weather.
Their customers had apparently gone indoors, and there didn’t appear to be anyone else in the square.
Holding her breath, Margot slid into the shadow cast by one of the trees as chairs scraped across the stone. Ordinarily, she would’ve waved hello to her friend, but she didn’t want to draw the café owner’s attention to herself.
The door to the café slammed shut, and Margot peered round the edge of the tree.
They’d finished bringing in the chairs and tables and had gone inside.
Madame Guerin was now standing behind the polished zinc counter, her head bowed.
Margot realised that she was reading a book that she’d tucked under the counter out of sight.
Margot’s hand was shaking as she reached inside her basket.
Don’t be silly. I need to be brave.
She tucked a carefully wrapped book just under the bench that ran in a ring round the base of the tree. In the morning, someone would walk through the square, take a seat on a bench, and then find a little gift waiting for them.
She looked up. There was still no one around. Her job done, she crept through the shadows, heading for a side street.
Margot could barely see in the blackout, but she knew her way instinctively.
Down this street, fishermen left lobster pots and the wicker baskets they unloaded their catch into.
She decided to leave a book tucked just behind them too.
This time as she reached into the basket, her hand wasn’t shaking as much. She felt bolder.
Then she froze: she heard heavy footsteps and voices talking in German.
Three men rounded the corner, all wearing the uniform of the SS.
They were chatting among themselves, laughing and joking about something as they made their way through the square.
Aside from their uniforms they might have been any other young men, but in those grey clothes and heavy helmets, the twin silver flashes of the SS on each collar, they were terrifying.
More of them had poured into the area over the past week and every night they patrolled, seeking Chevalier, who was as evasive as a ghost. From his suite in the Grand Hotel, Lauterborn oversaw it all, but plenty of his men were living here in the village, keeping an eye on everyone and everything.
‘Pardon, madame!’ one of the young men called in heavily accented French. Lauterborn’s had been perfect, but these young men were clearly not so cultured as he fancied himself to be.
Margot swallowed and gripped the handle of her basket tightly as she turned. ‘Monsieur?’ she said, unable to hide the fear. But she had to be brave and think of Chevalier, whoever he was and wherever he was.
‘My friends and me are going dancing up at the spa,’ he told her, earning a nudge from one of the other soldiers. ‘Will you join us for a few drinks? Maybe bring a friend of your own?’
Margot shook her head, lowering her eyes as if she was an innocent.
‘You are very kind to invite me, monsieur, but no, I must be getting home.’ From the corner of her eye, she could see back into the square.
Madame Guerin, behind the counter, turned a page of her book.
She couldn’t see what was happening. Margot was isolated with her fear.
‘Just one drink?’ he persevered, and Margot wondered whether he had already enjoyed more than that, because he appeared none too steady as he approached. ‘You should be nice to us, you know.’
One of his comrades nodded and patted the holstered gun at his hip. When he spoke, his French was halting and uncertain. ‘We’re nice to you if you’re nice to us,’ he said. ‘What will a pair of nylons buy me?’
Margot couldn’t move; couldn’t speak. Terror froze every bone in her body.
‘It’ll buy you a thick ear when I tell Obergruppenführer Lauterborn that you’re drunk in uniform!’ The voice belonged to Joséphine, who was stalking across the square towards them. ‘Get on your way, the three of you. You’re a disgrace to your officer!’
Margot had never been so relieved to know Joséphine. Warmth was beginning to sweep back into her body.
‘Joséphine,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you!’
‘We didn’t mean anything,’ the first soldier said quickly, with a respectful nod. ‘Sorry, Madame Blanchard.’
Joséphine nodded and dismissed them with a flick of her wrist. Then she took Margot’s elbow and asked, ‘Are you all right? If they give you trouble, just mention me.’ She smiled and whispered, ‘You can pretend we’re friends. They won’t know any better, and it’ll shut them up.’
‘I’m all right.’ Margot nodded. ‘A bit shaken, but… Thanks for coming to my rescue, Joséphine. I appreciate it, I really do. I was only going to visit Esther, and then…’ She gestured back to the square and the direction the soldiers had gone in.
Joséphine patted Margot’s arm. ‘I’ll mention it to Felix.’ She said the name so casually, as though he was just any other man. ‘He won’t like his men behaving like this. Now you get along, forget it happened.’
Margot smiled at Joséphine, even as she wondered, uncomfortably, if she’d be in Felix Lauterborn’s bed tonight. She said goodbye, then headed off down the shadowy side street, her ears primed in the darkness for the sound of any other heavy footfalls or German voices.
She found the fishermen’s baskets and lobster pots halfway down the street, and leaned down to tuck the book just underneath them. It would look like a piece of newspaper that had blown down the street and had got caught, until anyone got close enough to see.
Margot brushed her hands, then she carried on, skirting the edge of the harbour.
In the evening gloom some fishermen, their eyes kept down, were unloading their catch.
Their every move was watched by German soldiers with their rifles slung over their shoulders, as if there was something suspicious about unloading fish at the harbour.
This time, Margot managed to slip past the soldiers without attracting their attention and took the path that led up to the cliffs. Esther lived in a cottage up there, not far from the Professor’s, overlooking the waves that had taken her husband.
A stiff breeze was blowing in from the sea, but Esther’s home was cosy, a long and low timber-framed cottage with a wisp of smoke unwinding from the chimney.
It was screened from the road by a stand of old trees and had its own small orchard.
Esther picked the apples to make her own cider and for putting in the delicious tartes she made.
Esther took Margot from the small, stone-flagged hallway into the sitting room.
Pieces of her mending and sewing lay on the dining table and over the chairs.
There were dresses or suits that belonged to locals and which Esther was paid to mend and darn.
Then there were the lengths of satin and silk, evening gowns that Sylvie contracted out to Esther, and which she worked with her tiny, neat stitches.
A small fire burned in the grate, and Isabelle was on the sofa, cocooned among the cushions, a picture of sweetness and innocence. Margot stroked her round cheek and grinned at Isabelle as the baby cooed at her.
Margot had been here so often, through thick and thin, through laughter and tears. She’d sat at the kitchen table with Esther and Daniel, sharing bread and cheese and drinking cider as they chatted into the night. It was such a friendly place, even though now Daniel’s absence cast a shadow.
‘The Professor came into the shop earlier, Esther,’ she told her friend as she unwound her scarf.
‘He’s found one of the books we’ve hidden.
Then Lauterborn came too, warning me about the Liste Otto.
But on the way here, I managed to leave one book, then these Stormtroopers appeared and…
Joséphine chased them off. It wasn’t about the books, but it’s not safe on the streets for a woman on her own. Not any more.’
‘Does the Professor know?’ Esther asked urgently. ‘Will he tell his brother?’