Pied Piper (25 page)

Howard asked after her hand. ‘It is nothing,’ she said. ‘When a bomb falls, the glass in all the windows flies about. That is what did it.’

‘I am so sorry.’

She turned to him. ‘I would not have believed that there would be so much glass in the streets,’ she said. ‘In heaps it was piled. And the fires—houses on fire everywhere. And dust, thick dust that smothered everything.’

‘But how did you come to be mixed up in it?’

She said: ‘It just happened. We had been to Le Conquet, and after
déjeuner
we set out in the motor-car to return here. And passing through Brest, Aristide wanted to go to the Bank, and I wanted tooth-powder and some other things—little things, you understand. And it was while Aristide was in the Bank and I was in the shops in the Rue de Siam that it happened.’

‘What did happen?’ he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was an aeroplane that came racing low over the roofs—so low that one could see
the number painted on the body; the targets on the wings showed us that it was English. It swung round over the Harbour and dropped its bombs near the Port Militaire, and then another of them came, and another—many of them. It was the German ships in the harbour, I think, that they were bombing. But several of them dropped their bombs in a long line, and these lines spread right into the town. There were two bombs that hit houses in the Rue de Siam, and three or more in the Rue Louis Pasteur. And where a bomb fell, the house fell right down, not five feet high, Monsieur—truly, that was all that could be seen. And there were fires, and clouds of smoke and dust, and glass—glass everywhere …’

There was a little silence. ‘Were many people hurt?’ he asked at last.

She said: ‘I think very many.’

He was very much upset. He felt that something should have happened to prevent this. He was terribly concerned for her, and a little confused.

She said presently: ‘You must not distress yourself on my account, Monsieur Howard. I assure you, I am quite all right, and so is Aristide.’ She laughed shortly. ‘At least, I can say that I have seen the Royal Air Force at work. For many months I longed to see that.’

He shook his head, unable to say anything.

She laid her hand upon his arm. ‘Many of the bombs fell in the Port Militaire,’ she said gently. ‘One or two went wide, but that was not intended. I think they may have hit the ships.’ She paused, and then she said: ‘I think John would have been very pleased.’

‘Yes,’ he said heavily, ‘I suppose he would have been.’

She took his arm. ‘Come in the salon and we will drink
a Pernod together, and I will tell you about Jean Henri.’

They went together into the house. Aristide was not about; in the salon Howard sat down with the girl. He was still distressed and upset; Nicole poured out a Pernod for him and added a little water. Then she poured a smaller one for herself.

‘About Jean Henri,’ she said. ‘He is not to appear in this himself. Aristide will not have that, for the sake of Marie. But in Le Conquet there is a young man called Simon Focquet, and he will take a boat across with you.’

The old man’s heart leaped, but all he said was: ‘How old is this young man?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Twenty—twenty-two, perhaps. He is de Gaullist.’

‘What is that, mademoiselle?’

She said: ‘There is a General de Gaulle in England with your armies, one of our younger Generals. In France nobody knew much about him, but now he will carry on the battle from England. He is not approved by our Government of Vichy, but many of our young men are slipping away to join him, some by way of Spain and others in boats across the Manche. That is how Simon Focquet wishes to go, because he is a fishing-boy, and knows boats very well.’

‘But the Germans will stop that, surely.’

She nodded. ‘Already all traffic has been stopped. But the boats are still allowed to fish around the coast and by Ushant. It will be necessary to devise something.’

He said: ‘Where will he get the boat?’

‘Aristide has arranged that for us. Jean Henri will hire one of his boats for fishing to this young man, and Simon then will steal it when he leaves for England. Jean Henri
will be the first to complain to the gendarmerie, and to the Germans, that his boat has been stolen. But Aristide will pay him for it secretly. You should pay Aristide, if you have so much money.’

He nodded. ‘How much will it be?’

She said: ‘Five thousand five hundred francs.’

He thought for a moment. Then he pulled out his wallet from his hip pocket, opened with the deliberation of age, and studied a document. ‘I seem to have forty pounds left on my letter of credit,’ he said. ‘Will that be enough?’

She said: ‘I think so. Aristide will want all the payment that you can make because he is peasant, Monsieur, you understand. But he wishes to help us, and he will not stop the venture for that reason.’

Howard said: ‘I would see that he got the difference when the war is over.’

They talked of this for a little time. Then Nicole got up from the table. ‘I must go and see the children in their beds,’ she said. ‘Madame Arvers has been very kind, but one should not leave everything to her.’

‘I will come too,’ he said. ‘They have been very good children all day, and no trouble.’

The children were all sleeping in one room, the two girls in the bed and the three little boys upon a mattress on the floor, covered with rough blankets. The peasant woman was tucking them up; she smiled broadly as Nicole and the old man came in, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Ronnie said: ‘My blanket smells of horses.’

Nothing was more probable, the old man thought. He said: ‘I expect you’ll dream that you’re going for a ride all night.’

Sheila said: ‘May I go for a ride, too?’

‘If you’re very good.’

Rose said: ‘May we stay here now?’

Nicole sat down on her bed. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘Don’t you want to see your father in London?’

La petite
Rose said: ‘I thought London was a town.’

‘So it is. A very big town.’

‘I like being in the country like this,’ Rose said. ‘This is like it was where we used to live.’

Ronnie said: ‘But we’re all going to London.’

‘Not all of you,’ the old man said. ‘You and Sheila are going to live with your Aunt Margaret at Oxford.’

‘Are we? Is Rose going to live with Aunt Margaret, too?’

‘No. Rose is going to live with her daddy in London.’

Sheila said: ‘Is Pierre going to live with Aunt Margaret?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Pierre and Willem are going to America to live with my daughter. Did you know I had a grown-up daughter, older than Nicole? She’s got a little boy of her own.’

They stared at him incredulously. ‘What’s his name?’ Ronnie asked at last.

‘Martin,’ the old man said. ‘He’s the same age as Pierre.’

Pierre stared at them. ‘Won’t you be coming with us?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Howard said. ‘I think I shall have work to do in England.’

His lip trembled. ‘Won’t Rose be coming?’

Nicole slipped down by his bed. ‘It’s going to be lovely in America,’ she said gently. ‘There will be bright lights at night-time, not like the black-out we have here. There
is no bombing, nor firing guns at people from the air. There will be plenty to eat, and nice, sweet things like we all used to have. You will live at a place called “Coates Harbor” on Long Island, where Madame Costello has a great big house in the country. And there is a pony for you to ride, and dogs to make friends with, like we all used to have before the war when we had food for dogs. And you will learn to sail a boat, and to swim and dive like the English and Americans do, and to catch fish for pleasure. And you will feel quite safe then, because there is no war in America.’

Pierre stared up at her. ‘Will you be coming with me to America?’

She said quietly: ‘No, Pierre. I must stay here.’

The corners of his mouth dropped. ‘I don’t want to go alone.’

Howard said: ‘Perhaps Rose’s father will want her to go too. Then she would go with you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Sheila said: ‘May Ronnie and I go, Mr. Howard? Can we all go with Pierre?’

He said: ‘I’ll have to see about that. Your Aunt Margaret may want you in England.’

Ronnie said: ‘If she doesn’t want us, may we go to Coates Harbor with Pierre?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘If she wants you out of England you can all go to Coates Harbor together.’

‘Coo,’ said the little boy unfeelingly. ‘I do hope she doesn’t want us.’

After a time they got the children settled down to sleep; they went downstairs again and out into the garden until supper was ready. The old man said:

‘You know a good deal about my daughter’s house in America, mademoiselle.’

She smiled. ‘John used to tell me about it,’ she said. ‘He had been out there, had he not, monsieur?’

He nodded. ‘He was out there with Enid for a time in 1938. He thought a great deal of her husband, Costello.’

She said: ‘He told me all about it very early one morning, when we could not sleep. John loved America. He was
aviateur
, you understand—he loved their technique.’

Not for the first time the old man wondered doubtfully about the nature of that week in Paris. He said absently: ‘He enjoyed that visit very much.’

He roused himself. ‘I am a little bit worried about Pierre,’ he said. ‘I had not thought of sending anybody over with him to America.’

She nodded. ‘He is sensitive, that one. He will be lonely and unhappy at first, but he will get over it. If Rose could go too it would be all right.’

He faced her. ‘Why not go yourself?’ he suggested. ‘That would be best of all.’

‘Go to America? That is not possible at all, monsieur.’

A little fear stole into his heart. ‘But you are coming to England, Nicole?’

She shook her head. ‘No, monsieur. I must stay in France.’

He was suddenly deeply disappointed. ‘Do you really think that is the best thing to do?’ he said. ‘This country is overrun with Germans, and there will be great hardships as the war goes on. If you came with us to England you could live with me in my house in Essex, or you could go on to America with the children. That would be much better, Nicole.’

She said: ‘But monsieur, I have my mother to consider.’

He hesitated. ‘Would you like to try to get hold of her, and take her with us? Life in France is going to be very difficult, you know.’

She shook her head. ‘I know that things are going to be difficult. But she would not be happy in England. Perhaps I should not be happy either—now.’

‘Have you ever been to England?’ he asked curiously.

She shook her head. ‘We had arranged that I should visit John in England in October, when he could get leave again. I think he would have taken me to see you then, perhaps. But the war came, and there was no more leave.… And travelling was very difficult. I could not get a visa for my passport.’

He said gently: ‘Make that trip to England now, Nicole.’

She shook her head. ‘No, monsieur.’

‘Why not?’

She said: ‘Are you going to America with the children, yourself?’

He shook his head. ‘I would like to, but I don’t think I shall be able to. I believe that there’ll be work for me to do when I get back.’

She said: ‘Nor would I leave France.’

He opened his mouth to say that that was quite different, but shut it again without speaking. She divined something of his thought, because she said:

‘Either one is French or one is English, and it is not possible that one should be both at the same time. And in times of great trouble, one must stay with one’s own country and do what one can to help.’

He said slowly: ‘I suppose so.’

Pursuing her train of thought, she said: ‘If John and I———’ she hesitated—‘if we had married, I should have been English and then it would be different. But now I am not to be English, ever. I could not learn your different ways, and the new life, alone. This is my place that I belong to, and I must stay here. You understand?’

He said: ‘I understand that, Nicole.’ He paused for a minute, and then said: ‘I am getting to be an old man now. When this war is over I may not find it very easy to get about. Will you come and stay with me in England for a little? Just for a week or two?’

She said: ‘Of course. Immediately that it is possible to travel, I will come.’

They walked beside each other in silence for the length of the paddock. Presently she said: ‘Now for the detail of the journey. Focquet will take the boat to-night from Le Conquet to go fishing up the Chenal as far as Le Four. He will not return to Le Conquet, but to-morrow night he will put into l’Abervrach to land his fish, or to get bait, or on some pretext such as that. He will sail again at midnight of to-morrow night and you must then be in the boat with him, for he will go direct to England. Midnight is the latest time that he can sail, in order that he may be well away from the French coast before the dawn.’

Howard asked: ‘Where is this place l’Abervrach, mademoiselle? Is it far from here?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Forty kilometres, no more. There is a little town behind it, four miles inland, called Lannilis. We must go there to-morrow.’

‘Are there many Germans in those parts?’

‘I do not know. Aristide is trying to find out the situation there, and to devise something for us.’

The boy Marjan passed through the paddock on his way to the house. Howard turned and called to him; he hesitated, and then came to them.

The old man said: ‘We are leaving here to-morrow, Marjan. Do you still want to come with us?’

The boy said: ‘To America?’

‘First we are going to try to get away to England. If we do that successfully, I will send you to America with Pierre and Willem, to live with my daughter till the war is over. Do you want to go?’

The boy said in his awkward French: ‘If I stay with M. Arvers the Germans will find me and take me away. Presently they will kill me, as they killed my mother and as my father will be killed, because we are Jews. I would like to come with you.’

The old man said: ‘Listen to me. I do not know if I shall take you, Marjan. We may meet Germans on the way from this place to the coast; we may have to mix with them, eat at their canteens perhaps. If you show that you hate them, they may arrest us all. I do not know if it is safe to take you, if it is fair to Rose and Ronnie and Sheila and Willem and to little Pierre.’