Night Sky (61 page)

Maurice smiled slightly. ‘All right.’

Julie ran back. The old man shrank away at the sound of her steps. ‘It’s all right,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’ve come to take your blindfold off.’

‘Thank you. How kind.’ She leant over and untied the handkerchief from round his head. The old man blinked and put his hand up to his eyes. Then he smiled up at her. He had large, dark, sad eyes; again Julie was reminded of a rather mournful dog.

She smiled back at him. ‘I’ll bring you more food later. The guard has water when you want it.’

‘Thank you. You really are very kind.’

Julie touched his hand quickly then went back to the others waiting by the door. Maurice exchanged smiles with her. Roger avoided her stare and put his face to the gap in the door.

‘All clear?’ Maurice asked.

Roger nodded and, opening the door, led the way out. As Julie stepped out into the daylight she looked up and found Roger staring at her. She almost gasped: there was rage and hatred in his eyes. For a moment she was bewildered. Why? The blindfold? Such a small incident – but what else could it be? She looked desperately at Maurice, but he had seen nothing.

God, Julie thought, the man’s terrifying – and no-one knows it but me.

Vasson made himself smile to conceal his irritation.

The girl had outdone him, and he didn’t like it.

It was time to get away. He said, ‘I’ll go now. Across the fields.’

Maurice looked up sharply. ‘But do you know the way?’

‘Oh, I’ll find it, don’t worry. Anyway, it’s about time I found my way around. In case of trouble.’

‘Careful not to speak to anyone.’

Vasson almost sighed with annoyance: Maurice must have told him a dozen times. ‘Don’t worry! I won’t.’

‘It’s the accent. They’d know you were an outsider straight away.’

‘But then they wouldn’t tell, would they? Being good Bretons …’ Before Maurice could answer, Vasson turned and walked briskly away.

He went round the barn, over a wall and into a field. He spotted a gate on the far side and began to make his way across the field towards it. Almost immediately he regretted it: the field had just been ploughed. He pressed on, cursing under his breath as his feet slipped and stumbled over the hard, bumpy ground.

Finally he reached the gate, went through, and paused. He looked over his shoulder: nothing. The others were going back by the road. He looked ahead: nothing either. Away to the right he could hear the faint sound of surf and calling gulls: the sea.

He went on, across four smaller fields until the village came into view over a slight hill. There was a farmhouse immediately ahead and, he realised, a road beside it. He would have to cross the road then, to skirt the farmhouse and the village and reach the main Morlaix road.

He approached the wall which hid the road, peered over it and, climbing carefully up the rough stonework, jumped down. He crossed the road and prepared to climb the opposite wall. He stopped: there was someone walking down the road towards the village.

It was the girl.

She had seen him. He leant against the wall and waited. She approached, walking fast, her eyes down. When she was almost level with him she moved to the opposite side of the road. Then she was past, swinging on down the hill. He watched her for a moment. The trousers were ridiculous, he decided. They revealed and accentuated the movement of her bottom. She probably wore them on purpose. Bitch.

He shinned up the wall and dropped neatly over on to the other side. It was a pasture this time, with a few sheep pulling at the scant grass. The solitary farmhouse was nearby. He decided to skirt the buildings close, rather than risk being seen wandering across the fields.

He came up behind the barn and moved along until he could peer round the corner. There was a yard and, on the opposite side, the farmhouse itself. There were some iron railings with a gate which separated the yard from the pasture. He would have to walk along the railings in view of the farmhouse. He waited a moment, just to make sure that everything was quiet. Then, just as he was about to set off, he stopped.

Someone had entered the yard from the other end. It was the girl again. She was walking slowly towards the farmhouse. She was looking around cautiously.

He ducked back behind the wall and wondered if she was looking for him.

He peered out again. She was at the back door of the farmhouse, pushing up the latch. She paused again and looked around.

He pulled back before she saw him.

There was the sound of voices. Hers, and a high-pitched voice: a child’s. He put his eye back to the corner.

A small boy was jumping up and down beside the girl. She reached down and took his hand and, with one last look over her shoulder, pulled the child inside.

At last Vasson understood. The girl lived here!

She hadn’t wanted him to know. He smiled to himself. It could be rather useful.

He looked at his watch: only fifteen minutes to go. There wasn’t time to make the enormous detour which would keep him out of sight of the farmhouse.

He sauntered out from behind the wall and walked casually along the railings. He was being watched, he felt sure.

He walked past the house and then straight down the next field to a stile in the corner. He climbed over it and glanced back. He was out of sight of the farmhouse.

He went diagonally across the next field and the next so that he was skirting the village. Finally he reached the main Morlaix road and, after checking that it was empty, walked along it until he came to a small crossroads. Then he settled down to wait.

After half an hour he was still waiting. He wasn’t surprised: everything in this bloody godforsaken place was always late.

Finally, the small battered bus came into view, its engine roaring. Vasson waved it down and jumped on board.

He settled himself in a seat and decided that the day might not turn out so badly after all: there was still time to get a decent lunch off Baum. There was only one thing still bothering him: the girl. She was suspicious of him. And he didn’t like that, he didn’t like it at all.

‘Mummy, what are you staring at?’

Julie reached down and stroked Peter’s head. ‘Nothing, darling.’ She moved away from the window and, going to the sink, started to peel some potatoes for the midday meal.

Jean came in through the parlour door and looked at Julie. ‘I thought I just saw someone in the back pasture.’

Julie kept her eyes down. ‘Oh?’

Jean reached onto the mantelpiece for his tobacco, then remembered he didn’t have any. ‘Yes, I’m sure I did. But … Probably just one of the lads. Eh?’

‘Probably.’

It had been Roger; she had seen him.

He had been prowling around; he reminded her of a cat. She shuddered and thought: I don’t like it any more. The sooner Peter and I are away the better. It wouldn’t be long now. The moon was on the wane: the boat would come soon.

There was a rapping on the back door. Julie jumped and looked at her uncle. Jean shrugged and went to open it.

There was a short exclamation, then Michel strode into the room. His face was like thunder.

Julie gasped, ‘What’s the matter?’

Michel said bitterly, ‘
You
should be able to tell
me
!’

Julie pulled Peter up from the table. ‘Go to your room.’ The boy left, closing the door quietly behind him. Julie sat down. ‘Now! Explain, please!’

Michel breathed in, then, pulling up a chair, began talking slowly, as if speaking to a disobedient child. ‘Last night, in Brest … The Germans were expecting us. At the fuel dumps. Three of my comrades died. Three! We were only able to fire one of the main tanks. The whole thing was a fiasco—’

‘Wait!’ Julie said sharply. ‘These fuel dumps, what have they to do with us?’

‘It was a diversion, of course!’

Julie was amazed. ‘For the scientist? You did it especially for
him
?’

Michel dismissed the question with an arm movement. ‘Yes … No. Well, we were planning it anyway. But the point is, they were waiting for us!
They were waiting for us!
How did they know, Julie,
how
? My friends are asking questions! They—’

Julie stood up. ‘I think it would be better if you didn’t go on. To start with, nobody here ever knew
when
the operation was to be—’

‘But I told you!’

‘You said only that it would be the end of the week. Also we had no idea you were planning a diversion of that kind. And, Michel, the old scientist
did
get away. If they’d been warned, then they would hardly have let him escape!’

Michel stood up, his face hard and cruel, and hissed, ‘But my comrades are
saying
this! They are saying, why is it that the first time we work with your lot, we get sold down the river! They are saying, we knew we should never trust that lot and look what happens! They are saying ugly things. They are talking of revenge. What am I to say to
them
?’

Julie felt the anger rising in her throat. She walked up to Michel until her face was close to his. ‘You will tell them this! That they should look for a shark in their own ranks. Or bad planning! Or – something! Just don’t look to us for a scapegoat! Because it was not one of
us
!’

Jean tapped Michel firmly on the arm with his pipe. ‘Perhaps some of your own people used the opportunity, eh! Perhaps they wanted to get rid of some of their precious comrades, heh? And they wanted you to blame us!’

There was a silence. Michel looked unhappily from one to the other. Eventually he exclaimed, ‘All right! I’ll do my best to convince them! I just hope that—’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘– that what you say is true! But, for God’s sake, don’t blame me if—’

Julie said coolly, ‘If what?’

‘If – emotions run high!’

She said, ‘I think they already have!’ She went to the back door and opened it wide. ‘Goodbye, Michel. Please don’t ever come here again.’

When he had gone she sat stunned, and thought: It’s all falling apart again, just like before.

The pâté was very good but the steak was not as tender as it might have been. Vasson decided to leave the rest and, pushing the plate to one side, leant back in his chair.

Baum smiled across the desk. ‘Better?’

‘Much.’

‘I’ll send across for some of their
tarte maison
, if you like. It is really delicious.’

‘Yes. And some decent cheese.’

‘Of course!’ Baum pressed the buzzer on his desk. Vasson noticed that he crooked his little finger as he did it. The man was probably a queer. Vasson wondered how he got his thrills.

Baum smiled again, his thick lips drawing back to reveal rather yellowing teeth. Vasson decided he would prefer to deal with Kloffer any day. Baum tapped the telephone and sighed. ‘The Navy – not very efficient, you know. You would think they would have come back to us by now. When did we call? Yes, half an hour ago at least!’ He picked up the piece of paper he’d written his notes on and peered at it. ‘This – er – Freymann, he’s a Jew, I suppose?’

Vasson nodded.

‘Then I doubt he’ll be of much consequence. Nevertheless—’ He placed his fingers together in a neat arch. ‘Nevertheless, it will be rather satisfying to sweep him up into our little net, won’t it? Then we can deliver him back from whence he came. Yes?’ He smiled sweetly across the table. A raving poof, Vasson decided.

Baum tapped his fingertips together impatiently. ‘Now, now! Where
is
Schultz? You must have your dessert!
And
your cheese!’ He leaned forward and pressed the button again. Vasson heard a buzzer sound in the office next door.

The door burst open. A young man, presumably Schultz, stood at the door. He looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. ‘Herr Oberst! The telephone, it’s Paris! General Oberg!’

For a moment Baum froze, then, swallowing hard, he reached for the telephone as if it were glass. He lifted the receiver carefully to his ear and said precisely, ‘Ja? Ah, Herr General!’

In the next few moments Baum seemed to say ‘Ja’ rather a lot. Then the German jerked his head and looked hard at Vasson, a look of amazement on his face.

Vasson tensed. It was something big. Concerning him. And Freymann. It must be Freymann!

There was a torrent of German from Baum and then he was replacing the receiver carefully in its holder.

Baum stared at Vasson for a moment, his lips quivering nervously. Finally he said, ‘That was General Oberg. The head of the
entire
Gestapo in France.’ He paused, as if to assimilate the information, then continued, ‘It appears that this man – Freymann – is important to us. In fact, more than that! Vital!’

Vasson smiled slightly.

Baum leant forward, his pale eyes round with anxiety. ‘We
must
get him back, do you understand? We must not fail! It is absolutely essential!’

Vasson looked away, already calculating how he could take all the credit.

He regarded Baum for a moment and said casually, ‘Nothing is ever guaranteed.’

Baum nearly went purple. ‘What do you mean by that! I thought you
had
the man!’

‘Oh, I do! I do! But, when I am relying on your men to close the trap, then nothing can ever be guaranteed.’ Vasson stood up. ‘Now, it’s about time we made a plan, isn’t it?’

Baum nodded violently. ‘Yes! Yes! Whatever you say!’