Chapter 40
FORTY
MARGOT
The candles were lit and the circle of chairs stood in the middle of the room again. Margot held Isabelle tight, rocking her, trying to force away the images of the blindfolded figures as they’d fallen one by one to the bloodied ground. Theo sat beside them in what had once been Esther’s chair.
Sylvie kept dabbing her eyes. ‘I’ve been making a new dress for Madame Guerin. It’s pinned to my mannequin. I just can’t believe that she’ll never wear it…’ Claudine put her arm round her shoulders.
‘I want to leave some flowers in the square for Madame Guerin – for all of them. But I daren’t,’ Colette admitted.
Beatrice was there but Joséphine was absent; she’d been spirited away to dinner by Lauterborn at the very hotel where the murdered doorman had worked.
Margot could well imagine what people in the village had to say about her.
‘Thank you for letting me come to your meeting,’ Theo said. ‘I— my brother— I’m sorry for what he has done.’
Henriette shook her head. ‘When you refused his gun, I thought to myself, You are a good man. A brave one, too.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself for what your brother does, Theo,’ Margot said gently. ‘You’re nothing like him.’
She’d already said these words as they’d left the square and headed home. But he was so disgusted by his own brother that he struggled to forgive himself for being from the same family.
Theo gave her the ghost of a smile, then said, ‘We’ve lost a lot of people.
Daniel and Esther were our leaders; when Esther died, Madame Guerin took that role.
’ He swallowed and went on. ‘Now, that job’s been given to me.
I’m organising the region’s resistance and I want to show you all how the codes work, so you understand in case something happens to me. ’
Now it made sense. Once the book club had been safe in Petit’s basement, Madame Guerin had been the first to leave, saying she was going home. But she hadn’t. She must’ve met up with the other resistance members in the tunnels and been caught.
And now Margot wondered, when she’d looked through the windows of the café on the square and seen Madame Guerin with her head in a book, just what she had been reading.
Secret messages from her fellow resistance fighters could easily have been slipped between the pages, and no one would’ve thought anything odd about the bookworm reading behind the counter.
Margot tensed as her panicked imagination showed her a blindfold tied round Theo’s head, his hands behind his back as he waited for his brother to pull the trigger.
Still, she wanted to fight, too. And the fact that none of the other women in that room pushed back their chairs to leave meant that they felt the same. They were all willing to take the risk, even if it meant they too could one day be shot in the square.
‘I taught Daniel to play piano before the war,’ Theo explained. ‘Our code is communicated in music. Do any of you read music?’
There were some nods, and some shrugs. Claudine said she couldn’t read music, but was happy to learn.
‘When I send a message, I compose on my piano,’ Theo explained. ‘But the radio needs to be hidden, so I play my own messages on a chromatic harmonica. Others might use a violin or whatever instrument they have. Let me show you how the decoder works.’
The women gathered around him. He produced a sheet of tracing paper with dots on it, and laid it over a Bach piano piece. The larger dots aligned with specific notes, and some of them had smaller dots beside them – one or two.
Theo patiently explained that each dot that aligned with a note represented a specific letter.
When Margot and her friends looked puzzled, he told them that he was so used to doing it now that he could decipher simple messages without the decoder.
And with a little practice, they’d be able to as well.
Margot was impressed at how ingenious it was, and how skilled Theo was when it came to music.
It couldn’t be cracked without both sheets of paper, or the background knowledge of how the smaller dots worked.
And it didn’t take a musician to understand it, either, but a musician could add their own complexities to it.
But then Theo started to explain another kind of code, which could be used if all you had was a radio to broadcast it.
It wasn’t an existing song or piece of music, but still consisted of notes.
If you listened to each one and how long they lasted, they corresponded to a letter; like Morse code.
Unscrambling the message was straightforward, but encoding it needed someone who could read music.
‘I’m hoping for a transmission from Daniel himself tonight,’ Theo said. Then he dipped his head and told Isabelle, ‘Your daddy, little one. At last!’
Isabelle giggled at Theo and curled one chubby fist round his collar.
‘And we don’t only use music,’ Theo explained. ‘Those who can, do. But there are a hundred other ways to get messages past the Nazis.’
Nobody spoke as Theo unpacked the radio from its case and turned it on. A hum of static filled the air before the sound of a piano playing started. It was the opening bars of Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’. At the sound of the melody Theo whispered, ‘It’s not Chevalier.’
Margot had expected to hear the code come through in music but instead a female voice said, ‘This is Clair de Lune.’
‘Savant,’ replied Theo. ‘I had hoped for Chevalier.’
‘The music will tell,’ said the woman. ‘Commencing in ten seconds, Savant.’
As she counted down from ten, Theo took a notebook and pencil from his pocket.
As soon as the countdown reached zero, a cello piece began to play and Theo scribbled the notes down in the book.
The women watched him work, as the black notes danced across the paper where the pencil nib scribbled.
As the music ended and the low buzz of static returned the woman said simply, ‘Message ends.’
‘Message received,’ Theo replied. ‘Good evening, Clair.’
‘Bonsoir, Savant,’ she said. Then Theo switched off the radio.
There was silence for a moment and Margot thought she felt the chill from the tunnels. She hugged Isabelle tighter. Somewhere, a piano had just played, broadcasting the message.
The women gathered round again as Theo decoded the music, explaining each step as he went.
The piece of music was unrecognisable, and would be written anew for each message that needed to be sent.
There had been deep, slow notes, fast high notes, and pauses between, as well as notes in the mid-range that alternated speed.
Margot had worried that they’d need to be concert trained and pitch-perfect in order to pick out each note, but, as Theo explained, it made more and more sense to Margot – each note was clearly different and the message emerged:
Liberated Vichy internees in care of Chevalier. Seven souls for extraction via Savant network in next 48 hours. Chevalier extraction confirmed.
A shiver ran through Margot. Isabelle’s father was still out there, risking his life to save others.
‘Extraction,’ said Beatrice. ‘What’s that mean?’
‘It means they’re going to be met and taken to England,’ Theo explained. ‘Esther got so many people out. This will be my first.’
Aunt Sandrine frowned. ‘And the little one?’ she asked. ‘We’ve not talked about that. Will she stay with us, or will she go with her father?’
Isabelle had grabbed Margot’s thumb and was grinning at her. Her huge eyes were full of love, and Margot had adored every moment that she’d been given with the little girl – the baby she and Serge had never been blessed with. But she wasn’t hers.
‘She should go with her father,’ Margot decided. She swallowed, trying to hold down the words that wanted to come out; selfish words, to protest and to keep Isabelle with her. ‘She needs her family, and it’s not safe for her here. She can’t even go outside, poor little thing.’
Beatrice’s lip trembled and she whispered, ‘She’ll come back one day, won’t she?’
‘I’m sure she will,’ Margot said softly, even though she wasn’t sure she could make such a promise.
‘Don’t let her just go,’ Bea implored. ‘We want to say goodbye before she goes with her dad.’ Then she slipped from her seat and went over to the baby.
Margot realised she wasn’t the only person trying to hold back tears. The other members glanced away, or wiped their eyes. Isabelle had let go of Margot’s thumb and her pudgy little hand gripped Beatrice’s finger. If Isabelle could tell them what she wanted, would she have asked to stay?
The meeting had come to an end, and Claudine cautiously opened the door into the tunnels, listening carefully for any sign that the SS had a patrol down there.
Then she turned round to the rest of the book club and gave a thumbs-up; it was safe for them to go.
Margot hugged each of her friends as they left.
Then she locked and bolted the door, before she and Theo headed up the stairs.
‘Would you like a drink before you go to bed?’ Margot asked him as they reached the first landing and the door to her flat. Isabelle was resting her head on Margot’s shoulder, but she seemed to be resisting sleep.
Theo nodded. He murmured, ‘She’s a lovely presence, isn’t she? That powdery scent babies have; it reminds me of my Lotte. Sometimes the loneliness is overwhelming, don’t you find?’
‘It’s unbearable,’ Margot replied, her words fighting through the weight of her unshed tears.
She let them into the flat, then looked up at Theo; at his good eye, at his neatly trimmed moustache, at the gentle friendliness and deep warmth she saw in him.
She said, as if she’d only just fully realised for herself, ‘But since you’ve been here, I haven’t felt it. ’
‘I enjoy our evenings,’ Theo replied. ‘It’s nice to spend time with someone.’ Then he tutted. ‘No. With you. It’s nice to spend time with you.’
For the first time in years – since Serge had last held her hand by the harbour wall so long ago – Margot’s heart fluttered.
‘Oh, Theo… I feel the same way.’ She still had Isabelle in her arms, but she leaned her head against his shoulder. Although she wasn’t sure she should, it felt right. ‘I’ll miss Isabelle so much, and I know you will too. But you’ll still be here, won’t you?’
Theo nodded. ‘I promise,’ he said. But they both knew that neither of them could keep a promise like that, not with the danger that stalked the streets of the once-sleepy little fishing village that was their home.
Margot saw the warmth of love in his gaze. She felt so drawn to him that she brushed her lips gently against his and gave him the softest kiss; a kiss to seal an impossible promise.