Ormerod's Landing (41 page)

'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,

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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.'

Dubois smiled uncertainly. 'It is good to joke in bad times,' he said eventually. His head gave a small jerk. 'Ah, now.' He had one earphone to his ear and now he slipped the other on. He looked like a face in a frame. He began to tap a call sign on the morse key. 'Already today I have contacted them,' he said. 'It was someone with the name of Percy. Every day I speak to them but so far, until today, I have not had anything important to say. Now I can tell them you have arrived at Granville.'

An answering series of bleeps came from the set and Dubois began tapping eagerly. 'Dove and Dodo, that is correct is it not?' he queried.

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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 I 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 apprecia
tion. 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 en
couraging 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.'

Dubois smiled uncertainly. 'It is good to joke in bad times,' he said eventually. His head gave a small jerk. 'Ah, now.' He had one earphone to his ear and now he slipped the other on. He looked like a face in a frame. He began to tap a call sign on the morse key. 'Already today I have contacted them,' he said. 'It was someone with the name of Percy. Every day I speak to them but so far, until today, I have not had anything important to say. Now I can tell them you have arrived at Granville.'

An answering series of bleeps came from the set and Dubois
began tapping eagerly. 'Dove and Dodo, that is correct is it not?' he queried.

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'It is correct,' nodded Marie-Thérèse.

Monsieur Dubois looked concerned. He tapped a little harder as if that might make some difference. 'They do not seem to know who you are,' he muttered. 'They are making inquiries.' His cheek had gone white.

'That's great,' said Ormerod in a disgusted tone. 'Just bloody great that is. Forgotten us already. Typical...'

'Hush,' said Marie-Thérèse. It was obvious by her expression that she was disconcerted. Then the morse began to return more surely and Dubois's visage cleared. 'Ah, it is all right. They have found you in the files.' His blue nose turned towards them. 'It is good for me also. I thought for a moment, maybe you were the Nazis.'

I could see we'd put the wind up you,' mentioned Ormerod.

Marie-Thérèse handed the man a piece of paper on which she had written a message. She saw Ormerod straining his neck to look. 'It is just to say that we have arrived here and I am establishing my contacts,' she said. 'There is not much more to report at the moment. Later it will be different. Ah, yes ...' She took the page back from the operator's hand. 'There is something. We have cut the size of the German army by two. I must tell them that.'

Ormerod shrugged. 'Hardly the turning point of the war,' he said. 'But if it makes you feel better, tell them.'

She scowled. 'It does make me feel better. I am sorry it does not do the same thing for you. Here.' She returned the message to the listening Dubois. He began to tap it out. When he had finished he waited and within two minutes the morse began to bleep from the other side. When it had finished he took the earphones from his head and turned his bruised nose. He handed the transcript back to Marie-Thérèse. She read it. 'It says "Carry On",' she said flatly.

'Just that? Not a lot to cheer about in that,' said Ormerod. 'But at least they remember now who we are. That's comforting.' The girl's face had fallen to disappointment like a failed pupil who had expected to do well. 'They will remember us in
future?
she said sullenly. 'Many people will.'

When it became dark that evening Marie-Thérèse went out

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from the Bar
Belle Helene,
leaving Ormerod and
Formidable
in the room. The Englishman lay on the large bed and stared at the crazed ceiling. He began to wish he had brought a book with him. He wondered, without conviction, if the Germans permitted the sale of French-English dictionaries in Granville.

After an hour or so he heard the conversation in the bar below thicken and he realized the Germans were coming in for the evening. He sat up on the bed, anxiety nailed to his face. The talk grew in volume. It was like sitting above an engine room. Another hour went by before the laughter became raucous and the singing began. There were German and French songs and the solitary, recumbent Ormerod, to pass the time, began to sing too where he could pick up the words of the repeated choruses. Then
Formidable,
who had begun dozing beneath the bed, got up and loped across to the door where he began whining against the crack. Ormerod could hear someone outside. He had half risen from the bed, intending to get hold of the dog, when the door was opened. Paul Le Fevre had said that locked doors created suspicion.

A German soldier who had just been to the toilet stood on the landing in the half light. Ormerod's breath stopped. The German looked at him and he looked at the German.
'Bonsoir,'
said Ormerod thinly.

'Ach so, gute Nacht,'
replied the soldier, amiably enough.
'Bonsoir, gute Nacht.' Formidable
had gone onto the landing and now proceeded to descend the stairs. Ormerod, making anxious noises, followed him. The German laughed at him chasing the mongrel and came down behind.

Ormerod got into the room. It was crowded with German soldiers and a few French civilians. Paul's wife was working behind the bar. Their little girl was sitting in the corner watching the revelry. There was hanging smoke and the sharp odour of Normandy cider everywhere. Cecile Le Févre quickly handed Ormerod a large tankard across the counter. That was as good a concealment as any. The German soldier who had discovered him had returned to a group of his comrades in one corner and was joining in their bellows of laughter at some joke. Ormerod was hugely relieved at this and picked up
Formidable,
went to a corner and sat next to an old and stoic French

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couple who were watching the scene with heavily passive eyes. He put the dog on his lap.

He drank the cider and enjoyed it. Suddenly the German who had come upstairs appeared and handed him another tankard.
'Merci, danke schon,'
said Ormerod anxiously. The German grinned and drank his large tankard clean in one long swallow. He nodded at Ormerod inviting him to attempt the same. There was nothing for it but to try. Several of the soldier's comrades gathered to watch. Ormerod took a deep breath and with a skill born of considerable practice on British ale drank bis way through the glass also. He began to feel he was entering into the spirit of the thing. The Germans cheered and clapped and another two tankards appeared. The soldier took one and handed the second to Ormerod. The Englishman caught the troubled eye of Cecile from the other side of the bar. He winked at her confidentially. This time the German and he had a race. They drained their tankards and Ormerod felt the cider bubbling inside him. He had not had such a feeling of well-being for a long time. Another one?
A h, oui. Danke schon!
Two more tankards appeared.