Operation Kingfisher (7 page)

‘Yes.’ They both answered with a breathless sense of danger and excitement.

She led them outside to where two bicycles stood in a small yard beside the shop. They strapped the haversacks Bernard had given them on the back of the saddles, and shook hands with Madame Delahaie.

‘
Merci, Madame! Merci.
’

‘
De rien, mes amis! Bonne chance
!’

Bernard said, ‘This way.’ He led them across the lock gates and along a tree-lined path that skirted the pool to a narrow road that followed the bank of the Loire. On the far side of the river, the old town rose up to the ruined castle crowning the crag, and ahead they could see the bridge and people on foot and on bicycles crossing in both directions. At the end of the road Bernard stopped.

‘There is a
milicien
on duty at the end of the bridge. Just join the crowd and act naturally. There’s no reason for him to stop you.’

Christine’s heart was thumping as they pushed their bikes across the bridge. Random checks requiring identity papers were quite frequent in all towns, particularly if there had been any resistance activity in the area. She found herself praying that the members of the resistance, if there were any locally, had been keeping a low profile of late.

On the far side, Bernard stopped again.

‘I’ll go ahead. Follow me at a small distance. If I stop and light a cigarette that means I have seen a checkpoint ahead. Wait where you are and I will try to find a way around. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ they both said at once.

Once, as they followed him through the narrow streets, Christine saw soldiers in the hated grey uniforms standing on a corner, but Bernard went forward without pausing. They crossed a second bridge, over a narrower arm of the river, and then a third. Finally, as they reached yet another one, Bernard stopped and turned to them, his broad face unusually solemn.

‘This is where we say goodbye. There’s the Nivernais below us. Take the slope down and you’ll find yourselves on the towpath.’

Christine reached up and kissed him on both cheeks.

‘Goodbye, dear Bernard. We’ll never forget what you and Marie have done for us.’

He hugged her briefly and embraced Luke.

‘Take care. God go with you!’ His voice was husky with emotion. ‘Now go! Go quickly!’

They wheeled their bikes down the steep path to the edge of the canal. At the bottom, Christine looked back but Bernard had already disappeared.

‘Come on,’ Luke said. ‘We’d better get going. It’s going to be a long day.’

O
nce clear of the town, they both began to relax. The path was lined with fruit trees just coming into blossom and there were cattle in the fields, but they saw few people and on this canal there were no large barges as there were on the Canal Latéral. Spring had finally arrived and it was typical April weather, with warm sunshine tempered by a brisk breeze and sudden heavy downpours of rain. Several times they had to take shelter under trees or bridges where country lanes crossed the canal, but the going was easy and they both agreed that they could almost believe that they really were on holiday.

They passed through the pretty village of Cercy-la-Tour without incident, and then the canal began to climb, lock by lock, into the hills. At Biches, remembering Mme Delahaie’s warning, they reluctantly abandoned the towpath and took to the road. Around midday, they found themselves on a plateau with open country spreading out on either side. The sky had darkened again and the clouds looked very threatening.

‘It looks as though we’re in for soaking,’ Luke said. ‘I wish we had some kind of waterproofs.’

Christine scanned the fields on either side of the road.

‘What’s that, over there? It looks like a barn of some kind.’

‘Where? Oh, I see. Yes, you’re right. I wonder if we can get to it before the rain comes down.’

A short distance further on, they found a rough track leading to the barn and reached it just as the heavens opened. It was a Dutch barn, with open sides, half filled with hay. They propped
their bikes against one of the pillars supporting the roof, and flopped down among the loose, dry hay that had fallen from the main stack.

‘Just in time!’ Christine said. ‘It’s raining cats and dogs out there.’

‘And the roads are full of poodles,’ Luke added with a grin. It was an old joke and one they had often enjoyed as children and out of long habit they had both reverted to English.

Christine clapped her hand to her mouth.

‘
Zut
alors!
Luke, do you realize what we just did?’

‘What? Oh, my God! Were we speaking English?’

‘Yes. We must be more careful. Thank God there was no one around to hear us.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s lunchtime. We may as well eat while we wait for the weather to clear.’

Luke fetched the haversacks and pulled out the two chunks of bread and two bottles of water, and for a few moments they both munched contentedly. Suddenly, there was a rustling in the hay above their heads. Christine jumped to her feet.

‘
Mon
Dieu
! What’s that?’

Luke stood up too and peered upwards.

‘There must be an animal of some sort up there. Perhaps it’s a cat.’

‘Cat’s don’t make that much noise.’

‘A dog, then. Or a sheep?

‘Don’t be daft! How would a sheep get up there?’

The rustling noise was growing stronger. Luke looked around him and saw a pitchfork leaning against the side of the barn. He grabbed it and poked into the hay stack.

‘Come on out. Let’s have a look at you.’

His action provoked an unexpected response.

‘Stop! Stop! It’s all right. I’m coming down.’

Christine gasped. Images of German stormtroopers flashed through her mind. But the language had been French. Perhaps it was just a tramp, sheltering like them from the weather?

The haystack shook and a man slithered down in a shower of
straw, then fell back with a cry of pain as his feet hit the ground. He was in civilian clothes, but he certainly did not look like a tramp. He was quite young, around thirty she guessed, slim and athletic looking, and though his dark hair was rumpled as if he had just got out of bed, and he had a couple of days’ growth of beard, he was wearing respectable grey flannels and a tweed jacket.

‘Don’t be afraid!’ he said. ‘I don’t mean you any harm. I was asleep until I heard your voices.’

‘Are you hurt?’ Luke asked.

‘Yes, yes. I seem to have sprained my ankle – or it may be broken, I don’t know.’

Christine looked at his feet. On one, he was wearing an ordinary town shoe; the other was bare and the ankle was visibly swollen.

‘How did you do it?’ she asked.

‘It was just a stupid accident. I was out walking and I tried to take a short cut and tripped over some barbed wire.’

‘How long have you been here?’ Luke enquired.

‘Since yesterday morning.’

‘All that time? And hasn’t anyone been along who could help you?’

‘Not a soul.’ He looked at Luke’s bottle of water. ‘You couldn’t spare me a drink, could you? I’m absolutely parched.’

‘Of course. Here.’ Luke handed him the bottle and he drank thirstily.

‘You’ve been here since yesterday without anything to eat or drink?’ Christine said.

‘Well, I had a bit of food with me, but that soon went.’

‘You can have the rest of my sandwich if you like,’ she offered. ‘I’m afraid I’ve bitten it, but you’re welcome to it if you don’t mind.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, go ahead.’

He took the baguette and bit into it, then said with his mouth
full, ‘I’m sorry. I’m forgetting my manners. I should introduce myself. My name is Cyrano.’

‘I’m Luke,’ he responded with automatic courtesy. ‘And this is my sister, Christine.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ He chewed and swallowed. ‘Are you from round here?’

‘No.’ Brother and sister exchanged glances and he went on, ‘We’re on holiday – a cycling holiday. Do you live locally?’

‘In Corbigny.’

Christine remembered the map Bernard had shown them.

‘Corbigny? That’s quite a way from here, isn’t it?’

‘Not all that far.’

‘It must be fifteen kilometres. That’s quite a long walk, in those shoes.’

He glanced down.

‘I agree. Silly of me. I should have worn something more suitable.’

‘You don’t sound like a local – your accent, I mean.’

‘Chris.…’ Luke frowned at her, with a look that said: ‘don’t ask so many personal questions’.

Cyrano smiled.

‘That’s probably because I’m not from here originally. I grew up in Paris. Look, I hate to be a burden, but do you think you could help me get to a telephone? I really need to contact someone to come and collect me.’

‘We could go to the nearest farm and ask them to call an ambulance,’ Luke suggested.

Cyrano shook his head. ‘No! No, don’t do that. I don’t want to bother the ambulance people. It’s only a sprain. If I can just get to a phone and a road, someone will pick me up.’

‘Well,’ Luke said dubiously, ‘maybe you could ride one of our bikes. I could push you.…’

‘Oh yes! That sounds like an excellent idea.’

Christine plucked at her brother’s sleeve. ‘Luke!’

‘What?’

‘Come outside a minute. I want to speak to you.’

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

She almost dragged him out of the barn and, once they were outside, she lowered her voice almost to a whisper.

‘What are you thinking of? We don’t know anything about him. He could be anyone.’

‘So what? He looks pretty harmless. And he needs help.’

‘But doesn’t it strike you that there’s something funny about him? You don’t go country walking in that suit and those shoes. And that accent. He says it’s Parisian, but we know what that sounds like. It’s almost right, but not quite.’

‘Do you mean he’s not French at all?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

‘Oh, come on, Chris! What do you imagine he is? A German spy?’

She considered.

‘No, I suppose not. Why would a German hide in a barn for two days? Unless … unless he’s a deserter. That would make sense.’

‘Well, if that’s the case, I don’t see why we need to worry. He’s not going to shop us to the authorities.’

‘I suppose not.’ She caught her breath suddenly. ‘Luke, you don’t think he’s English, do you? A POW trying to escape. Or a downed pilot?’

‘It’s possible. But we can’t very well ask him, can we?’

‘Not without telling him who we are,’ she agreed doubtfully. ‘And if it turned out he is just what he says he is, he might decide to hand us over.’

‘We can’t just leave him here,’ Luke said. ‘I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we take him as far as Baye and tell the lock-keeper what we suspect? We know he’s involved in helping escapers. They must have ways of checking if someone is genuine. Let him deal with it.’

Her face cleared.

‘Luke, that’s brilliant! OK, let’s do that.’

When they returned to the barn, Cyrano had hauled himself
into a standing position. His expression was tense and one hand was deep in a trouser pocket.

‘It’s OK,’ Luke said. ‘We’ve just been discussing the best thing to do. We’re heading towards the village of Baye. We can take you there on my bike, like I suggested. I’m sure someone there will have a telephone.’

Cyrano visibly relaxed.

‘Oh, that would be very kind. Thank you.’

‘I’ll get my bike,’ Luke said, and went out.

Cyrano was groping around in the hay.

‘What are you looking for?’ Christine asked.

‘My suitcase. I had a case with some clothes and stuff in, in case I decided to stay away for a day or two. It must be here somewhere.’

Christine shifted some hay and revealed a small attaché case.

‘Here it is.’ She picked it up and almost dropped it. ‘What on earth have you got in it? Gold bars? It weighs a ton!’

He reached out with more urgency than seemed necessary and took it from her.

‘No, no. It’s my flute. I’m a musician, and a teacher. There’s quite a lot of sheet music in the case. That’s what makes it heavy.’

Christine’s suspicions grew. She wondered why anyone out for a walk should burden themselves like that; but before she could ask any more questions, Luke returned with his bike and between them they manoeuvred the injured man onto the saddle. It was clearly impossible for him to hold onto the case at the same time, so Christine took it back.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.’

‘Hang onto me,’ Luke instructed. ‘The ground is pretty rough until we get to the road.’

The two of them wobbled away across the field and Christine called after them, ‘I’ll be with you in a tick! I just need to spend a penny.’

When she rejoined them, carrying the case, her expression was different. She gave Cyrano a broad smile and said in English, ‘It’s
all right, you can stop pretending. I know who you are, and you needn’t worry. We’re all on the same side.’

‘Chris!’ her brother exclaimed in dismay.

‘What is she saying?’ Cyrano asked in French.

‘I looked in the case. You’ve got a radio set in there. You’re a British agent, aren’t you?’ Her face was alight with excitement. ‘And you can trust us, because we’re English too.’

‘Chris, for God’s sake!’ Luke broke in. Then, to Cyrano, ‘Take no notice of her. She’s joking.’

‘English?’ Cyrano looked from one of them to the other. ‘Then I wasn’t dreaming. I thought I heard English voices back there, but I’d been dozing and I thought it was a dream. Is it true?’

‘Yes! Yes!’ she said impatiently. ‘Tell him, Luke.’

Luke hesitated and Cyrano said suspiciously, ‘Just a minute. What the hell would two English kids be doing having a cycling holiday in France in the middle of a war?’

‘We’re not having a holiday. That was just an excuse. We’re trying to get back to England.’

‘On bicycles?’ He gave a brief sceptical laugh.

‘No, of course not. We … we’re hoping to meet up with some friends who will help us.’

He looked from her to Luke again.

‘So what are you doing in France in the first place?’

‘We live here. Our mother is French and our father is English, so technically we’re British. That’s why we have to get out.’

Cyrano’s eyes were still on Luke’s face. ‘Is she telling the truth?’

Luke nodded unwillingly. ‘And is she right, about you?’ he countered.

Cyrano leaned heavily on the handlebars of the bicycle, his head drooping. He spoke in English for the first time.

‘OK. I’m going to trust you. Yes, she’s right. I’m a British agent and I was dropped by parachute two nights ago. I should have been met but I was dropped in the wrong place. I landed badly and, as you can see, I’m more or less helpless. I’m going to have to rely on you to get me somewhere where I can contact friends.’

‘You see?’ Christine exclaimed triumphantly.

‘We’ll do our best,’ Luke said. ‘There’s someone in Baye who may be able to help. We’ll get you there, at any rate.’

‘Thank you.’ Cyrano lifted his head and gave them a weary smile. ‘What an incredible stroke of luck that you happened to come along.’

‘Do you think you can ride?’ Luke asked.

‘I’ll have to try.’

Cyrano pushed off with his good foot and steered an erratic course for a few hundred yards along the road, with Luke and Christine following. It was obvious at once that pedalling the bike with only one foot was not as simple as it sounded. On the downward thrust there was no problem but as the pedal rose, the momentum faltered and he had to hook it up with his instep. Added to which, the other pedal tended to catch his bad ankle and even to rest his foot on it was painful. They covered a short distance but then he came to a stop.

‘I’ll have to take a breather.’ He was sweating and his face was pale.

‘Tell you what,’ Luke said. ‘Lean on my shoulder and I’ll push you.’

They made better progress like that but by the time they rejoined the canal, beyond the village of Bazolles, it was obvious that Cyrano was in a lot of pain.

Christine looked at the swollen ankle.

‘You could do with a cold compress on that.’

‘Good idea,’ he agreed. ‘But I don’t have anything to make a bandage with.’

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you sit on the bank and dangle your foot in the water for a bit, and I’ll see if I can find anything suitable.’

Cyrano slid off the saddle.

‘That sounds like a wonderful idea.’

Luke helped him to the edge of the canal, and he lowered his foot into the cold water and gave a small cry of mingled pain and
relief. Meanwhile, Christine was rummaging in the haversack containing their clothes. She had dragged out the cotton petticoat she had been wearing under her skirt when she left home. Her coat was too bulky to fit in the haversack and she had rolled it up and tied it to the back of her saddle. Now she undid it, and felt in the pocket for her penknife. A sharp nick opened a seam in the petticoat and she was able to tear off a long strip of material.