Page 60 of The French Wife

‘I had to cycle down to St Marie to get some floor polish. We’ve run out,’ she said smoothly, meeting his gaze. It sounded a feeble excuse, but it was all she could think of.

Bruno eyed her suspiciously, but said nothing further about it. ‘We caught a couple of wild boar today,’ he said. ‘They’re hanging in the barn. That should provide us with a fair few meals in the coming weeks.’

‘That’s good,’ she replied. Then, after a pause, she asked, ‘What did you say to Étienne?’

‘I told him we didn’t have anything for him or his father.’

‘Oh? They won’t be pleased.’

‘I don’t need extra workers at the moment, I’ve got enough help with our visitors,’ he said. ‘And I don’t have to pay them. Suits me fine.’

‘The Moreaus need the work, Bruno,’ Amélie said. ‘The mother is sick, you know that.’

‘I’m not a charity, woman,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘And, besides, they’re trouble, the both of them. The father’s a drinker and the boy doesn’t pull his weight.’

Amélie fell silent and went to the pantry to start supper. There was nothing she could do to persuade Bruno to give Étienne and his father any work, but somehow it didn’t seem fair after all the years Jean had worked loyally on the farm.

Uncomfortable feelings about Étienne and his family troubled her on and off for the rest of the weekend. She couldn’t help feeling a little guilty that because of Bruno’s attitude, they had no source of work.

But on the following Monday, something happened to drive all those concerns from her mind.

TWENTY

It was almost the end of the working day, and Amélie was preparing to go home. She’d spent nearly all day typing letters for Monsieur Colbert, and she hadn’t seen Hans because every time she’d passed his door, he’d been locked in discussions with Glock.

Both Monsieur Colbert and Monsieur Gilles had already left, and Amélie was just pulling on her coat when the office door opened. Hans came into the room and closed the door behind him.

‘Hans?’ she said quietly, alarmed at the look on his face. It was drained of colour, his eyes downcast. ‘What’s happened?’

He came up close to Amélie and took both her hands in his, something he’d never done in the office before. He looked her in the eyes. She saw the deep distress in his and her heart squeezed with pity for him.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘There’s going to be a round-up,’ he replied, his voice choked. ‘I’ve been doing my best to prevent it, or at least to delay it. But Glock has it in his sights and he won’t be dissuaded.’

‘A round-up?’ she repeated, her stomach churning at the very word. ‘Of Jews?’

He nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Amélie. I told you I would let you know if anything more came of the register.’

‘When? When is it going to happen?’ she asked, her scalp tingling with horror. How could this be happening in their peaceful little town?

‘In two days’ time,’ he said. ‘On Wednesday morning. Very early.’

She knew she had to act quickly. ‘I have to go,’ she said.

‘Of course,’ he replied.

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. In his she saw compassion and understanding, and she could also see that he knew what she had to do.

She left the office and hurried outside into the dank cold air of the market square, which was echoing to the sound of German boots marching up and down. The barked orders of the officers rang out in the evening air, sending shivers down her spine. Pulling her coat around her, Amélie hurried away, ducking down an alley and hurrying to the Boulevard des Promenades, which was eerily dark and quiet in the early winter evening.

The boulangerie, like all the other shops in the street, was closed – metal shutters pulled down over the shopfront. Amélie went to the door at the side which she knew led to the Lalouches’ apartment. She rang the bell. There was no answer. She waited a few seconds then rang again. She had to ring three times before she heard footsteps inside and the door opened a crack. Monsieur Lalouche peered at her through the opening.

‘Madame Garnier?’ His voice sounded surprised and relieved. ‘I’m sorry I took so long. We are suspicious of every visitor now. Ever since we had to register with the police.’

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘But could I come in, please? I have some news.’

He pulled the door open and, glancing furtively up and down the street, held it open for her to enter. ‘Come on upstairs. Josephine and Suzette are in the living room.’