Michel said brusquely, ‘Right, no talking. No noise at all. And stick in line. Freymann, behind me. Then Peter. Julie, you come last.’ Julie saw for the first time that Michel had a machine gun slung over his shoulder.
Julie whispered, ‘What about guards? On the cliff?’
‘There’s no guard. Not if we’re quick!’
They set off at a cracking pace. Julie immediately worried that Peter and the old man wouldn’t be able to keep up. But they strode out, the two of them, and in no time they had reached the bottom of the path.
But the path was a different matter. Even before they were a short way up she could hear Freymann panting. He’d never make the top without a rest. Nor would Peter.
Freymann slowed up then stopped altogether. She heard him apologising breathlessly to Michel. Julie leant forward and caressed Peter’s cheek. There was a pause, then they were off again, but much more slowly. After that they stopped regularly. It took twenty minutes to reach the rim of the cliff. She could almost feel Michel’s impatience.
Just below the clifftop Michel signalled them to wait and crawled on ahead. Julie found herself praying. Then Michel was back, waving them forward.
Julie came up onto the clifftop just behind Peter and, seeing Michel move rapidly off, grabbed Peter’s hand and started to run. Almost immediately she tripped over something and, glancing down, almost screamed. It was a body. Wearing a helmet. Lying inert. The guard.
She ran on, pulling Peter behind her. Ahead Freymann was in trouble again. As soon as she drew level with him she slowed down and stayed with him.
David thought: I can’t go on! It’s not physically possible. I’ll ask them to leave me behind. Then I’ll make my own way.
He staggered and fell to his knees, gasping for breath. The girl stooped down beside him. ‘Come on! You can do it. Not far now! Not far!’
There was fire in his lungs. He tried to speak but there was no breath to spare. Instead he shook his head.
Now the young man was back. ‘Get up! Quick! We’ve got to get to the road! Come on!’
David rasped, ‘Go … on … Don’t … wait!’
The young man sighed impatiently. ‘No! We can’t leave you here. You’d be a bloody danger! Come on! You’d ruin it for
us
!’
David blinked. He hadn’t thought of it like that. Right then. He got unsteadily to his feet and prepared to set off. Roughly, the young man thrust his shoulder under David’s arm and half-carried, half-dragged him across the uneven ground.
It was downhill now. David tried to take more of his own weight: he could hear the young man panting with the effort of supporting him. But his legs were weak and, however hard he tried, he never seemed to be able to regain his breath.
Finally they came to a low wall. David disengaged himself and, determined to make an effort, climbed resolutely over. The others were over ahead of him and the young man led the way across what David realised to be a field. David followed unsteadily, wondering if he could ever keep up. The pace was slower now, the young man moving cautiously, like a cat. But even so, David knew he couldn’t go on much longer.
Suddenly he realised that no one was paying any attention to him. He could hide here and no one would know. He wouldn’t be a danger to them here.
Gradually he dropped back until the others vanished into the darkness ahead. Then, gently, gratefully, he dropped to his knees and lay down, one hand on the ground, one hand against his aching chest.
They were skirting the village, to the north. Where was Michel taking them? To Morlaix maybe … But where could they hide there? At his apartment? Terribly risky. It would be risky wherever they went.
She turned to look for David. No sign. She waited for him to loom up out of the darkness. He didn’t. Michel came up. ‘What the hell’s the matter?’
‘It’s David – I can’t see him. I’ll have to go back.’
‘We haven’t time!’
‘Well, I’m certainly not going to leave him there! Here – look after Peter while I go to look.’ She turned and strode away into the darkness.
Almost back at the wall … He had to be somewhere near here.
Then she saw him. Lying on the ground. She ran up. ‘David! David! Are you all right?’
For a moment she thought he was dead then he groaned slightly. ‘Sorry … sorry … leave me here … Leave me.’
‘Absolutely not! Come on! You’re too important. Anyway, I need you! Where you go, I go.’
‘Leave me. It’s no good … Please …’
‘But the Germans will find you!’
‘So?’ he rasped. ‘All they can do is kill me.’
‘No. No! They’ll take you back to Germany and make you work. They’ll get hold of your family and force you to work. Don’t you see? Come on.
Come on
. David, make an effort,
please
.’
He didn’t move and for a moment Julie thought he had given up completely. Then at last he groaned and, leaning on her, got unsteadily to his feet. Slowly, his arm over her shoulder, they set off down the hill.
Michel and Peter were waiting. Michel said impatiently, ‘Hurry! We’ve really got to hurry!’
They left the village behind and struck out across the fields towards the south-west. After a while Julie realised they must be approaching the small road that led from Tregasnou to the estuary and Kernibon. Once they’d crossed the road, there was nothing but fields for miles. How far did Michel expect them to go? David was in a bad way, his breath coming in long shallow rasps. Peter was tired too, poor chap, dragging his feet, shoulders drooping.
A hedgerow loomed up. Then a gate leading onto the road. Michel disappeared into the darkness of the hedge. Perhaps they were to wait here for a while.
She followed Michel in towards the hedge, then stopped in alarm. Someone else was there, waiting in the shadows. She froze, but then recognised something familiar about the figure. Slowly she went forward. ‘Jean!’
He took her arm. ‘Quick! Into the van!’
‘The van?’
Jean led her into the darkness of the tall hedge and there, parked close beside it, was the old Peugeot van.
Michel was opening the back door. He took Freymann’s arm. ‘In here. And you.’ He helped Peter up into the back. ‘Julie, you drive.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, unless you want to take the Sten.’
For a moment she didn’t understand what he meant, then she realised he meant the gun. It was an ugly great thing: she wouldn’t have the first idea how to use it.
She grasped her uncle’s arm. ‘Jean, thank you! Thank you!’
‘Don’t thank me! It was Michel.’
‘Take care of Tante Marie. And
please
, don’t get caught!
Please!
’
He said gruffly, ‘Off you go! Quick! There’s no time to spare.’
She hugged him and, climbing in through the passenger door, eased herself across into the driver’s seat.
Jean was opening the gate. He disappeared for a moment, then came back into view and waved them forward. Michel swung on the starting handle and the old engine burst into life with an ear-splitting roar. Michel jumped into the passenger seat. ‘Out of the gate, turn right. Go!’
Her heart in her mouth, Julie threw the gear lever into first and the van jumped forward. She pulled the wheel hard over and they shot out of the gate into the lane. There was no chance to wave to Jean.
It was pitch black. ‘I can’t see anything!’ she cried.
Michel reached down and flicked a switch. The lights came on but they had been well hooded: they cast only the faintest glow over the walls and hedgerows lining the road.
Julie peered forward, trying to keep the speed up. A sharp bend reared up and she almost missed it. She pulled the wheel over and the bumper crunched into the wall with a loud bang. ‘Sorry.’
‘Keep going!’
They shot through a tiny village and then down a hill towards some crossroads. Julie almost asked, ‘Which way?’ when Michel said, ‘Straight over!’
She kept her foot down and the van shot across the crossroads. Michel looked rapidly right and left, then stuck his head out of the window to look behind. He pulled his head back in and said, ‘Nothing!’
Another hill, leading down to the estuary. Julie realised they were on the road to Kernibon. It was a dead end.
As they neared the village Michel leant over and turned off the ignition. The engine petered out and they coasted down the hill in eerie silence. ‘Right at the harbour!’
As they approached the bottom of the hill Julie resisted the temptation to brake too much and the van was still travelling fast as she yanked the wheel across. They shot round the corner and along the road encircling the landward side of the cove.
Finally the van slowed right down and Julie pulled in towards the side. Michel jumped out, opened the rear doors and bundled the others out. Julie climbed out, trying to stop herself shaking.
Peter ran up and took her hand, then they were following Michel along the side of the tiny harbour. Suddenly he lowered himself over the sea wall and, climbing down, disappeared.
There was a slight clatter, some muffled movements, then Michel’s voice floated up. ‘The old man first!’ Freymann lowered himself gingerly over the edge and hovered for a moment, searching for a foothold, then he moved on down the wall.
Julie peered over and saw that there was a metal ladder and, below, a small dinghy floating on the water. She sat Peter down and, turning him face to the wall, put his hands on the rungs of the ladder. ‘Careful. Take it slowly.’
When he was safely in the boat beside Freymann and Michel, Julie lowered herself over. She hated heights almost as much as she hated boats. Finally her foot was in the boat and, wobbling violently, she threw herself into it. She fell awkwardly into the bottom, bruising her shin. She clenched her teeth and stayed silent.
The boat was moving away from the wall. Michel was weaving an oar from side to side over the back. Julie watched him, amazed: she’d never realised he could do this kind of thing.
Then she remembered when she and Peter had come to collect the sow, how they’d surprised him here at the harbour and how secretive he’d been.
They were approaching the fishing boats moored in the centre of the cove. Perhaps Michel was going to hide them here, on one of the boats.
The dinghy bumped alongside one of the smaller boats. Michel pushed the old man to his feet and helped him up the side. Julie went next and, reaching down, pulled Peter up beside her. Michel came last and tied the dinghy’s rope to the fishing boat.
Julie looked around. It was a small boat, completely open and without so much as a wheelhouse. There was nowhere to hide.
Michel was beside her. She pulled his sleeve and said, ‘Michel, we can’t hide here!’
‘No. But it’ll take you across.
‘Across?’
‘To England. That’s where you want to go, isn’t it?’
Julie gasped and stared at him in amazement. ‘Yes but – in
this
?’ It was much smaller than the fishing boat she and Peter had taken from Morlaix three years before. She saw that there was a small bit of decking at the front which came halfway back to the mast. But otherwise it was entirely open. She could imagine the waves coming straight in.
Michel said, ‘Right. Here are some waterproofs. Fresh water and so on are up in the bow. Not much, but it’s all I could get hold of.’
He moved along the boat to the far end and Julie followed, a feeling of hopelessness creeping over her. ‘Right.’ Michel was saying, ‘Here’s the tiller, for steering, and here, the compass. Now, I’ll light the little oil lamp here, beside the compass, but keep it well masked until you’re clear of the land. Now there
is
an engine but there’s almost no fuel for it and anyway it’s too noisy to use near the land so I think you’ll be better off without it …’
‘Michel! What do you mean?’
‘The sails are quite straightforward. One large and one small. If the wind comes from ahead you’ll need both, otherwise you could manage with just the large one …’
‘
Michel! What are you saying!
’
He turned to her and said harshly, ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could come with you, but I can’t.’ He shrugged. ‘I
have
to stay. This is the best I can do for you, Julie—’
‘
No! No!
’ She grabbed his arms and tried to read his face in the darkness. ‘I
can’t
, Michel! I don’t know what to do!’
‘But I’ll get the boat ready and rigged and I’ll sail out with you into the bay. Then all you have to do is point north—’
‘
Michel, I can’t!
’
He took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. ‘You
must
! It’s not ideal, I’ll admit, but it’s a damn sight better than getting caught by the Gestapo. And
that’s
the only alternative!’
Julie stared at him in disbelief. She repeated desperately, ‘But I don’t know how to sail!’
‘I told you, I’ll get you going in the right direction. But we must go
now
! We’re losing the tide!’ He ran forward to the mast and started heaving on lines. Julie grasped the side of the boat and watched him, horrified.
Peter was at her elbow. ‘Mummy, I can help … I think. Richard told me all about sailing … Mummy?’
Julie looked down at the small pale face and automatically touched his hair. ‘Oh darling! I – wish I …’ Then she remembered what the Gestapo did to children and, holding the small face in her hands, she made an effort to smile. ‘We’ll do our best then, shall we? We’ll sail to England, shall we?’ But even as she said it she was filled with despair.
Peter nodded and clutched at her hand. Up by the mast Michel was pulling on a rope. There was a great flapping and beating as a black sail rose slowly into the sky. Then Michel was leaning over the front of the boat, pulling hard on something. Suddenly he ran back, pulled another rope and dived for the tiller. Julie realised the land was moving sideways: the boat was free of its mooring. The beating noise diminished then stopped. She looked up at the sail. Its black curved shape soared up into the darkness, huge against the sky.
The mouth of the tiny harbour reared up ahead. Julie winced and drew back involuntarily. The high brick mole rushed past, an arm’s length away, then they were through, slipping rapidly out into the vast blackness of the night.