'They prefer to stay in their houses when the Boche are around,' said Marie-Thérèse confidently.
'No, but the Germans couldn't come either. They like to come in here. They have taken to cider. It makes them sing.'
'Is nobody serious about the war?' the girl suddenly demanded angrily. 'You make it sound as if the Germans are liberators. You're all the same.'
Paul Le Fevre turned in the dimness, the glasses in his hand.
'I wondered why you called them the Boche,' he said. 'If you lived here, you would know that you have to exist with them.
We are their prisoners but in some ways they are
our
prisoners
too. And I have to earn a living in my bar. They pay for their drinks like any other man.' He returned to the table almost stealthily and looked carefully at the girl. 'That is not to say I
love them or what they have done to France. I would kill them
for that. But for the moment I serve them drinks.'
The girl said: 'I am called Dove.' This was a surprise to Ormerod because she had not used the name before. Then he realized that on Chausey they had told no one their names. 'And I'm Dodo,' he added hastily, following her French. He
pointed to the dog sitting tiredly by his chair.
'Formidable,'
he
said.
At the sound of Ormerod's accent some sort of eagerness came into the man's face. He handed out the drinks and now
he sat down and leaned anxiously towards them. 'So, you have
come,' he said. 'From England?'
Marcel, the Chausey fisherman, stood up slowly and drained
his cognac. 'I must leave,' he said, as if not wanting to hear
more. 'I will wake my daughter. She lives near here.
Au revoir.'
They watched him as he walked towards the door. Paul rose
and went with him to unlock it. When it was open he looked into the street first and then let the old man out. Marcel went with a tired wave of his hand but without looking back.
The girl said: 'We need shelter and help.'
'You have both,' said Paul coming back to the table. 'What are you going to do? Can you tell me?' Then with new eagerness: 'There is a goods train at the station. We could blow it up!'
Marie-Thérèse closed her eyes briefly but tiredly. I think we must not run too fast,' she said. I want to know how many men in Granville we could trust to help. It is necessary to form a resistance group. That is my task here.'
'He brought you from Chausey?' he said.
'The Germans did,' said Marie-Thérèse, smiling for once. 'They can be obliging. They are also stupid. But never mind, we need somewhere safe.'
'Here,' said Le Fevre. 'This is safe.'
'You said the Germans come here to drink.'
'So they do. Where can you be better concealed than in among the enemy?'
'But he does not speak French,' she said, nodding rudely to Ormerod.
'Nor do the Germans,' he shrugged. 'They get so drunk on a few glasses of cider that they would not take any notice anyway. As you say, they are stupid. He can hide upstairs if there is an officer around, or somebody who might suspect. But they are not on the alert. They think they have won the war.'
Marie-Thérèse nodded approvingly. 'They will know different,' she said. She looked at him with a hard challenge. 'How many men in Granville love France? Enough to die for her?'
Two hours later, Ormerod, who had just been a spectator during the long conversation, most of which he did not understand, went up the stairs at the back of the bar to the toilet. The door would not shut so he stood peeing with the voices from the room below drifting up to him. A sudden wider beam of light showed that the door down there was opened more widely. He did up his buttons and went onto the landing. Le Fevre was coming up the stairs followed by the girl.
'Is there any question you want to ask?' Marie-Thérèse asked Ormerod as though all at once remembering that he existed. Le Fevre looked intensely ugly in the light of the lamp he carried, like a dwarf in a coalmine. He looked at Ormerod.
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'Questions? Me? No, not really,' said Ormerod. 'I expect you've covered everything.'
She shook her head at Le Fevre. He nodded to a bedroom door just along the landing and then, shaking hands with them both, turned the corner of the stairs and went up a further flight, the lamp diminishing as he went.
'What's happening now?' asked Ormerod. Weariness was hanging on him.
'We sleep. Tomorrow I can begin to organize matters. Here I feel we have a good beginning.' She pushed the bedroom door open and shone her torch into the void. Standing on bare floorboards was a large undulating double bed with a deep white quilt covering it.
Ormerod looked into the room. 'Where's mine?' he inquired.
'It is for both,' she said practically. 'They have no other room.'
She pushed him firmly before her like a mother shoving a reluctant child. Ormerod stepped forward. 'I'll sleep on the floor then,' he said. I expect those bare boards could be made comfortable.'
She walked in after him and closed the door. 'There is no necessity,' she said briskly. 'The bed is for both. You need to be rested as well as me.'
He looked at her carefully but she waved an impatient hand at him. 'In our situation we can have no time for modesty,' she said. 'You are so obvious, you English.'
'All right... but...' he stumbled. 'Don't blame me ..'
'There will be nothing to blame you for,' she replied firmly. 7 am going to sleep. We will often sleep together. We will have to. Surely you realize that.'
'Maybe we ought to have announced our engagement,' muttered Ormerod in the dark.
'Do not worry, monsieur,' she said, taking her shoes off and pulling her jersey over her head. She had put out the torch and she moved in the dark like a shadow. 'If we have any danger here it will not be to your virtue. If you wish to know ... I do not have time or thought for sexual matters. They are nothing to me now. Not even a necessity, like eating. So you are safe. In any case, I prefer small, elegant men.'
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With that she dropped her trousers and rolled into the bed. Ormerod began to undress more slowly. 'All I hope is that I don't forget myself in the night,' he muttered as he got tentatively into the other side of the bed, wearing his shirt and underpants.
She had almost disappeared under the blankets. He eased himself down into the soft luxury. 'Do not worry Dodo,' she said as she yawned. 'If you do forget I will kick you or poke my fingers in your eye. Then you will know I am not your wife.'
'Don't count on it,' he said. 'That's the sort of thing she does.'
Seagulls woke him the following morning. He stirred and turned towards a stick of sunlight that was poking between the window shutters. Marie-Thérèse had gone out with Paul Le Fevre leaving a message with Madame Le Fevre that he must stay in the house until her return.
Ormerod was grateful for the sleep. He eased himself from the bed and took his time over his ablutions and dressing. Madame Le Fevre, a surprisingly pretty wife for such an ugly husband, brought him some coffee, bread and
confiture,
apologizing for the lack of butter. Apparently the Germans had used all the butter. 'They eat it without bread,' she said in disgust. 'Like ice cream.'
He remained in the room, cleaning his pistol, and then lying back on the bed and wondering, not for the first time, what he was doing there. Marie-TheYese returned before midday.
'Dodo, I have a radio contact,' she said with restrained eagerness. He could see the enthusiasm in her eyes. 'And three men already who are waiting to help. There are others also. This is much better Dodo.'
'You're very keen aren't you,' he said quietly. 'You can't wait to start some trouble here.'
'Of course not,' she replied. I want to give the Boche trouble.'
He sighed. I know you're right. But logically, logically I'm saying, not emotionally or anything, this place seems to me pretty much like it was before the war. I'm only guessing,
99
because I wasn't here. But it looks peaceful enough and nobody's been shot. There's a shortage of butter I understand, but that's not disastrous, is it? We don't have much on the ration in England...'
She interrupted him. Not angrily as she had before but with a surprising sort of pleading. He was sitting on the side of the bumpy bed and she stood before him and said: 'Look, you have no idea. These people in this town are ruled by a foreign soldier. Don't you understand what that means? They are at his disposal. They could be taken away and shot or put into concentration camps. Anything. And - in any case - please realize this - the Boche have no
right
to be here. No right!' She turned away abruptly and went towards the window. It looked out on the old backs of some other houses with a small segment of sea showing pale blue between two slate roofs. 'God,' she said. 'How could I be sent with a coward?'
Ormerod bridled at that. 'I'm not a coward,' he pointed out carefully. 'Although I'll run away with the next man. All I can see is a peaceful town - occupied though it is - and what I can see in the future is trouble. If you start something here, start blowing up something or shooting Germans, they're going to come down on the ordinary people here like a bloody ton of bricks. They might not catch us, we'll be away by then ...'
His voice trailed. She had turned and was staring at him. He nodded. 'Okay, okay,' he said. 'You win. You're right. It's war. You have to do these things in war. I remember seeing a film like that not all that long ago.'
'If you want to quit you can quit,' she said, her voice sulky. I can manage on my own. I think that you will be a liability thinking like you do. A pacifist can be a dangerous man.'
He stood up and walked the two paces towards her and put his large hands on her arms. It was the first time there had been any intentional physical contact between them. She looked at him, still hurt and annoyed. 'I'm no pacifist/ he said. 'Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm a coward. But I'm not just a coward for myself. I'm a coward for a lot of other people as well.'
'I understand what you are saying,' she said quietly. 'But you cannot think like that and also fight.'
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'I'll fight, don't worry,' he said with half a grin. 'I'll be there with you.'
'You promise?' she said doubtfully. 'I would prefer it if you ran away now instead of at some time when I needed you urgently.'
'Don't worry, I'll stay,' he said. 'The next ferry to England won't be for another ten years or so, unless the Germans start one. I'm with you, Dove.'
It was the first time he had used the name. It seemed to
reassure her and she smiled tightly and for some reason they
shook hands. 'Right,' she said in a businesslike way. 'Now I
tell you. I have found a man willing to keep radio contact with
England. He has a transmitter which he kept after the surrender, although to do that is risking his life. When the resistance group is formed here he will be of great value, and of even more value when the invasion to liberate France comes. I will take you there now.'
They went from the room. Le Fevre's little daughter, who
had been playing on the stairs, curtseyed shyly as they went by, part of some private game then occupying her. Ormerod bowed
gravely and the child put her finger in her mouth.
Outside it was an airy day.
Formidable
was on a length of
string and he found the smelly pavements full of delight after the familiar grass and rock of Chausey. Two German soldiers
on bicycles came wobbling by along the street and one of them whistled at the dog as they went by. Marie-Thérèse and Orme
rod smiled at the soldiers.
I think our dog is going to be useful,' said Ormerod.
'It is a good cover,' she agreed. 'It is something to remember
for the future. It's a pity he smells.'
They turned a corner and another, catching a view of the fishing boats in the harbour, and then went down into the
basement by some crumbling steps. There were some unkempt
potted plants on the steps and an old bicycle against the wall. The girl knocked with three short and one long knock - the
morse V-sign - and the door was cautiously opened. Standing
there was a man wearing small rimless glasses perched on a nose as blue as a badly bruised thumb.
'I have brought him,' she said, nodding at Ormerod. The
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man nodded and let them in. 'I speak English,' he said to Ormerod enthusiastically. 'My name is Pierre Dubois.'
The room was crowded with unwieldy pieces of furniture and smelled of leather and sawdust. A door at the back was half open and as he moved Ormerod saw it was an upholsterer's workshop. Dubois went immediately into the workshop and fumbled in the guts of a large sofa which looked as if it had exploded on the floor. He pulled out a wooden case and brought it with some pride into the room. 'My secret,' he said to Ormerod. 'I took it from beneath the pigs of the Boche. I mean the
snouts
of the Boche.'
Ormerod nodded with what he hoped looked like appreciation. The man set the box on the floor, then, with a quick thought, went to the door and pedantically locked it. 'Nobody can see through the window,' he said. 'We are too deep here.'
Dubois began to turn the knobs and the dials, a pair of earphones held ready to pull over his head. 'Also I listen to the BBC,' he said proudly. I know all the news from my other radio set. I like Workers' Playtime too. Have you heard that? And all the national songs of the Allies - the anthems. They play those on Sundays. They last a long time, you know monsieur, it takes twenty minutes to play them all. It is very encouraging to know so many countries are on our side.'
'Very,' said Ormerod caustically. 'Especially as most of them are occupied. It's a long time to stand to attention though, isn't it, twenty minutes? If we didn't have so many allies it would be easier on the feet.'