Voices on the Wind (26 page)

‘Yes, of course,' Kate answered. She wasn't going to tell her that Jean had been bitter and contemptuous when she told him.

‘She's frightened,' he had exploded. ‘What about all the rest of us? What about Ma Mère, hiding out in the hills, Beatrice standing in front of a firing-squad? Can't stand up to it, is that what she said? What a selfish little brat she is – I'll send her back, don't worry, and the sooner the better!'

‘He'll look after you and Pandora,' Kate assured her, and they went into the empty, dusty building and up the stairs, carrying the receiver between them this time.

‘We're ready for the convoy,' Jacques said in his hoarse whisper. ‘I'm getting a hundred men from Vercours. They're bringing their own arms.'

‘Good.' Jean Dulac pressed his arm. ‘Good. One more week, that's all.'

‘What about the supplies?' Jacques queried. ‘They're guaranteed,' was the answer. At 1900 hours Kate switched the set to receive, and adjusted her earphones. There was static for some minutes. Everyone was silent; the tension was prolonged as they crouched by the radio set, waiting, watching the still figure of the girl with the earphones, adjusting the set to cut out the interference. Suddenly she jerked her head up. It was a moment that Kate was to live over and over again in her memory. It would be clear in every detail like a photograph, with the yellowed figures fading with the years.

The message was clear at last. It wasn't coded. ‘The candle of the wicked shall be put out.' Kate repeated it in a voice that trembled. She passed the receiver to Jean Dulac. He repeated it, thrust it at Jacques, who couldn't understand.

‘The candle of the wicked shall be put out!' He forgot to whisper. His voice rose in a cry of triumph. ‘Invasion,' he shouted. ‘The Invasion has begun!' Remembering it afterwards Kate saw the figures in the frame leap into life, throwing their arms round each other, kissing, some in tears. She was hugged and held by Jacques and Gaston and then she was in Jean's arms, holding on to him and laughing with excitement. She could never forget their joy. The joy of a long hope realized, the hope of Liberation after years of despair. Invasion. The Allied Invasion of Europe had come.

They forgot about caution. Jacques stood and roared, ‘Vive la France! Death to the Boche!' Gaston was hopping from one foot to another, shaking his fist. And Jean Dulac, his face ablaze with emotion, caught hold of Julie's hand and forgave her everything in that supremely happy moment.

‘My friends,' he said, ‘we all know what to do! We've waited and planned for this moment. And at
last
, the time has come!'

In the upper room of the factory the leaders of the Resistance movement made their joint plans that night. Euphoria swept them all along on the same high tide of daring. Jacques promised the destruction of the rail link to Marseilles. German supplies would be halted, troop movements forced to take to the roads where they were vulnerable to ambush. The contingency plan for disrupting this vital line of communication was agreed as part of the Allied Invasion. Echoing Jean Dulac, he exulted, ‘At last, our time has come. And I swear to you, comrades, we won't fail you. After tomorrow there won't be a train leaving the area!'

Jean Dulac proposed an immediate attack on the power station, bringing all local factory production to a stop, and plunging the Germans into darkness. It would be a signal for a general revolt of the civilian population. And he ended by saying, ‘We fight to our last bullet! Long live France and Liberty,' in a voice that brought tears to their eyes. Once more they embraced, the ill-assorted bedfellows of French Resistance, with wet cheeks and joyful laughter.

One by one they slipped out into the street and went their separate ways to gather their comrades together for the opening stages of the final battle. It was accepted that many would die without seeing the Liberation. They would be the heroes of tomorrow. Gaston and Marie would act as couriers for Dulac. There was a total radio silence from the BBC French Service that night. No coded messages were broadcast. This confirmed the news sent direct by radio to Cecilie. They didn't go to bed that night; there was nothing to do but listen to Dulac's excited explanations of the attack prepared against the power station. And after that, he went on, they would attack the convoy, with what men he had left, and undoubted help from people only waiting for the Allies to invade. He would leave as soon as the curfew was lifted the next morning.

Pandora stood up and said to Julie, ‘I'm going with him. You tell him for me.' There was nothing she could say to stop him, and the two men clasped each other's hands in token of their mission.

Jean said goodbye to Kate in the room they had shared upstairs.

‘I love you,' he said. ‘If I don't come back, you must never forget that. But I will come back, and we'll have our life together when the war's been won. No goodbyes, my darling, just kiss me.'

For a long moment they embraced and she didn't say the word that was forbidden. Not ‘goodbye'. Just ‘God be with you. Be careful if you can,' then he was gone.

Julie was crying. She had tried to be calm, to be brave and confident for Pandora's sake, but it crumbled away when he took her in his arms and she held tight to him and wept. ‘You shouldn't go,' she said, over and over. ‘You didn't come out for this.… Oh Freddie, Freddie, I can't bear it.'

‘I came out here to give those buggers a kick in the teeth,' he said. ‘And I'm going to do it, any way I can. Just for poor little Beatrice, remember? Don't worry, love, I'll be all right. I'll be back and we'll be dancing in the streets. Chin up now, just to please me?'

For a long moment they looked at each other. ‘There's my sweetheart,' he said gently. ‘Good girl. Any idea how much I love you?'

‘As much as I love you,' Julie said. ‘I'll die if anything happens to you.'

‘Then you're going to be a very old lady,' he smiled at her. Then he too was gone, and both women came downstairs and took each other by the hand without saying anything. It would be forty-eight hours before the power station was attacked.

There were twenty men converging on the main electricity supply centre for Nice and the surrounding countryside. They were armed with sten guns and grenades, and a supply of dynamite. They moved in the darkness, sheltered by a clouded sky which hid the moon. They had blacked their faces with soot, and were dressed in rough camouflage. They came on foot and by bicycle, their weapons packed on their backs. Dulac had given orders that anyone intercepted by the German patrols was to kill as many as possible before turning their guns upon themselves. The heroism of their Maquis comrades, wiped out in their magnificent sabotaging of the railway link, inspired them with selfless courage.

The Allies had landed in Europe; rumours flew and were readily believed. A massive airborne army had dropped at Dunkirk, revenging the defeat of four bitter years ago. Liberation was a reality at last. The time had come to drive the enemy from the blessed soil of France. There were no women among them. Wives and daughters waited at home, and prayed. Kate and Julie were part of that sisterhood that night. They had left the kitchen windows unshuttered; the lights of Nice flickered in the distance through the trees. They were too far away to hear the noise of battle or the detonation of the charges that would black out the countryside for miles around. They didn't talk; Julie was tense and silent. Once or twice Kate heard her clear her throat and guessed that she was fighting down tears.

The time didn't pass, it crept; every moment lengthened into one hour, then two, three. Kate went to the window. Nothing had changed. The lights glimmered in the distance; the night was quiet. ‘Something's gone wrong,' she said at last. ‘They were due an hour ago.'

Julie came and stood beside her. ‘I knew it,' she whispered. ‘I knew it when I said goodbye to him.… Oh look, Cecilie, look!'

Every light was snuffed out. Julie burst out laughing; it had an hysterical note in it. ‘They've done it … they've done it, they're all right!'

Kate sank down on a chair. ‘Thank God,' she said. ‘Close the shutters, I'll light the candles and we'd better get the fire going in the stove. They'll want something to eat when they get back.'

Julie did everything with feverish cheerfulness. She chattered nervously, talking about Pandora, laughing at her own fears, and Kate didn't dare think what would happen if he wasn't one of the survivors. The power station was heavily guarded. Sentries and patrols had been increased since the attack on the railway terminal; Dulac expected casualties. The stove was hot enough to boil water and they drank tea while they waited. Kate almost fell asleep; even Julie had calmed down and was dozing. She woke and looked at her watch. ‘It's three in the morning,' she exclaimed. Kate wasn't in her chair. She was out of the room, and for a moment Julie panicked. She called out, and opened the door into the passageway.

Kate came towards her. ‘The lights are on,' she said. ‘They didn't blow it up.'

‘Where are you going?' Antoinette asked him. He dressed quickly. She sat up in the handsome new bed in their bedroom at the villa, her head a little on one side, a worried frown on her face. The telephone call had wakened them and he sprang up after only a few words. Eilenburg said, ‘There's been an attempt to blow up the power station. I must go, sweetheart. Don't worry, go back to sleep.'

‘You won't be in any danger, will you?'

‘No,' he promised. ‘There was a skirmish with our troops but it's all over. They've got some of the people and they're bringing them in to Nice.' He crossed to the bed and kissed her. He stroked the top of her head. ‘Be a good girl and lie down,' he said. ‘If I'm not back for breakfast don't worry. I'll telephone you when I can.'

He dressed in civilian clothes, and left the bedroom quietly. She was a nervous girl, tension and disturbance troubled her. If she became anxious about him she had bad dreams. Once outside, he brought the villa to life. Lights flooded the ground floor: his driver was roused and the car skidded round to the front, scattering gravel. He arrived at the Villa Trianon as the lorry with the prisoners was pulling up outside. He went upstairs to his office and called for reports. The army had sent a young Captain to give the up-to-date account of what had happened. Eilenburg told him to sit down, sent for coffee and cigarettes and listened.

Just before midnight one of the patrols had seen a movement at the perimeter of the wall surrounding the main generator building. The men had acted intelligently; instead of investigating and declaring themselves, they radioed for help and kept watch. A group of men broke cover and scaled the wall: the officer in charge ordered his men to stay quiet and allow the enemy to approach and signal others to follow. In all, three groups got into the outer perimeter and the first group penetrated close to the main generator building. That was when the German forces came into the open. The intruders had fought back, killing four men and wounding a dozen. All but six of them were killed and of those six, two were seriously wounded and one had shot himself at the moment of capture. One charge of dynamite had been thrown through the ground-floor window in the generator room and had caused a temporary blackout which was restored within two hours. Eilenburg congratulated the Captain, said good night, and sat alone in his office thinking. Two major outbreaks of sabotage in forty-eight hours, one of them seriously disruptive. The latest had failed, but only because luck had sent the patrol an intelligent NCO. Why? Eilenburg asked that question and could not imagine the answer. Why should a highly organized and clever Resistance suddenly launch itself into suicide attacks? He rang on the internal phone, and ten minutes later he went down into the basement to find out for himself.

It was daylight at last. Julie said, ‘I can't stand sitting here. I'm going to find out what happened.'

Kate tried to bar her way. ‘They could be hiding somewhere, they could be lying low till tonight. For God's sake don't lose your head and go into Nice!'

‘Lose my head?' The words were shrill and angry. ‘Don't you care what's happened to Jean? Don't you even want to know whether he's alive or dead? My Christ, you're a cold-blooded –' She turned and ran out of the room. Moments later she came down. She was dressed, and incongruously made-up for the early hour. Under the powder and scarlet lipstick, she was haggard and sallow. ‘I'm going,' she said. ‘I'm sorry I said that about being cold-blooded. I know you love him, but it's different for Fred. Don't you see how helpless he is? Not speaking the language, if he's lost or hurt.…' Tears welled up and she brushed them away. ‘I've got to go, Kate. Don't worry. I've got my bloody pill if anything goes wrong. Wish me luck; I'll be back as soon as I've got any news.' She shut the door before Kate could say anything to stop her, and seconds later Kate saw her walking down the little pathway. That image stayed imprinted on her memory for all the years ahead. Julie, in a bright cotton dress and sandals, swinging a bag in her left hand, walking down the path to the gate.

‘You're Jean Dulac,' Eilenburg repeated. The man didn't answer. Eilenburg said, ‘You are the lawyer, Jean Dulac. I know all about you. You are just making things unpleasant for yourself by refusing to answer.' According to the army report, he had tried to put something into his mouth when he was taken, and one of the soldiers had bayoneted him through the upper arm. The wound had bled copiously through the field-dressing. He was too weak from blood loss to stand for much longer without fainting, and the pain would be severe. Even more severe when the initial shock wore off, which was happening at the moment. Eilenburg looked at him for a time, asking the question that would condemn him to death with stolid patience. ‘You are Jean Dulac, aren't you?' No reply. Just the eyes, dilated with pain, looking steadfastly into his.