Page 10 of The French Wife

Amélie took a step backwards. It was almost as if the woman had been waiting behind the door for her, like a spider in its web. ‘It’s from the mayor. It’s to let you know that a German officer will be billeted with you. They will be arriving soon.’

‘German officer?’ The old woman’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘Why would I want one of those savages living here?’

‘I’m very sorry, madame. The orders are from the Germans. You’re not the only one, anyone with a spare room was chosen.’

‘I only have a spare room because my son is a prisoner in Germany!’ the old woman snapped.

‘I’m very sorry, madame,’ Amélie said again, and backed away when the woman slammed the door.

The other person she spoke to was an old man, living in a large house overlooking the abbaye, who also got angry when she told him what was in the letter.

‘I don’t want one of those uncouth Boche lodging here!’ he said. ‘I have many valuables in my house. How can I watch them all? How can I secure them? Those devils will try to make off with my precious china and jewellery, I’m quite sure of that.’

When she got back to the mairie, darkness was falling over the square and the mayor and the commissaire were getting ready to go home.

‘What a terrible day for France, and for St Marie,’ Monsieur Colbert sighed, locking his filing cabinets and emptying his ashtray. ‘Please do be careful on your way home, Madame Garnier.’

‘Of course,’ Amélie replied. ‘See you tomorrow.’ And she went downstairs and out of the back door of the mairie to collect her bicycle. It was about five kilometres to Amélie’s farmstead, Le Châtaignier, along a dirt track that ran through the river valley between the vineyards.

It was dark as she pushed her bicycle out onto the alleyway, switched on the lights and headed for the river. The darkness didn’t bother her. She liked the freshness of the early evening air, the sense of space she always felt as she cycled between work and home in the winter months under the sparkling stars. Even with the Germans occupying the town, the journey held no fear for her. It was what waited for her at the other end of the ride that caused her heart to sink and filled her soul with dread.

FOUR

AMÉLIE

Bruno was waiting in the kitchen when Amélie got home that evening. He was seated in his usual place at the head of the table, in a cloud of cigarette smoke, his tankard of beer at his elbow. She could tell from the high colour in his cheeks that he must have already drunk a couple of tankards.

‘You’re late,’ he said, stubbing his cigarette out and standing up as soon as she came into the room.

It was warm inside the kitchen, the range was already lit, and Amélie felt her cold skin tingle and warm up immediately.

‘I’m a bit late, yes. You know what happened in St Marie today, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. A couple of the men were in town getting supplies when the Krauts marched into the square. They saw what those evil bastards did to Daniel and the others, and they came back and told me all about it.’

‘I saw it too,’ Amélie said quietly.

He didn’t react to this, just sat down again and leaned back in his chair, the skin of his large, hairy midriff visible between the buttons of his gaping shirt. ‘I suppose the Boche have taken over the mairie by now?’

She nodded and took off her coat, hanging it up on the back of the door.

‘I expect old Colbert rolled over for them. Such a weak man…’ When she didn’t respond, he asked, ‘Does it mean you’re out of a job?’

‘No,’ she said, going to the pantry in the corner, wondering what to cook for the evening meal. ‘The German officers have ordered me to stay and work for them.’

‘Work for them?’ he scoffed. ‘Work for the Boche? Be a traitor to your country?’

‘It wasn’t possible to refuse,’ she said, opening the meat safe and taking out a plucked chicken complete with its head, beak and claws. She looked around for potatoes, but there were none in the sack.

‘Couldn’t refuse?’ Bruno repeated, his voice full of scorn. ‘If you had any loyalty to France at all, you wouldn’t be able to do it.’

Amélie breathed out heavily, wishing the conversation were over. She’d known he would react like this.

‘We’re out of potatoes,’ she said, ignoring his barbed remarks. ‘Are there any in the cellar?’

‘Don’t go down there,’ Bruno snapped. ‘There are things I wouldn’t want you to see. Not now you work for the Boche.’

If she wasn’t so used to his insults, those words would have had the capacity to hurt her. But she merely sighed. She knew Bruno helped the Resistance and that he sometimes hid things for them in the cellar. He let members stay in the herbergerie with the other workers sometimes if they were operating in the area, and he always gave them work if they were passing through. But Amélie was well aware it wasn’t the love of his homeland that prompted Bruno to offer help to the Resistance. No, it was self-interest, like almost everything else Bruno Garnier did. Since so many men had been drafted into the French army, it was very difficult to find extra people to work on the farm. The local Resistance leaders knew Bruno would always put up their members, either in return for money or work. It was the only way he could keep the farm going. That and the income Amélie brought home from her work at the mairie.