Page 77 of The French Wife

‘Thank you, Hans,’ she said, gripping his hands and looking into his eyes. ‘Thank you for telling me. I need to go right now.’

Without going back to her own office, she flew down the stairs and out of the back door, where she grabbed her bicycle and set off towards the farm as fast as she could pedal. It reminded her of the time she’d ridden home to warn about the round-up, only this time felt more urgent, more serious. In the back of her mind hovered the nagging question: who had betrayed them? Who had tipped off the SS about Resistance activities at the farm? But she pushed the thoughts aside. She needed to focus all her attention and energy on getting there as quickly as she could; she thought she had a shrewd idea who it might have been.

The rain was still falling; the road slippery and the farm track sodden. Amélie’s front tyre kept getting stuck in the rutted, muddy surface so the going was slow. She thought her heart would burst with exertion as she pushed on through the valley and up the hill towards the farm, praying she would get there before the SS soldiers, who could well be advancing on foot through the woods.

The rain kept coming, soft but persistent, and without a coat or hat, soon Amélie’s clothes were soaked through, her dark hair plastered to her forehead, but she barely noticed. She continued up the road through the grey-green maquis where the track rose and she was cycling between the rows of vines, verdant with spring growth. At last the farmhouse came into view at the top of the rise, smoke curling from the kitchen chimney, just as it always did.

She heard the first gunshot when she was halfway up the hill and rounding the bend that skirted the house, followed by the desperate screams of a woman. Her scalp tingled with horror. Then came another shot and then another. A sob rose to her throat – a sob of frustration and anger. She was too late. The soldiers were already there.

But perhaps it wasn’t the soldiers after all, perhaps it was Bruno hunting wild boar in the woods, or could it be the résistants doing target practice in the clearing? She got off her bike and pushed it frantically up the hill towards the buildings, and although terror burned through her, she knew she couldn’t turn round and pedal away to safety.

She reached the top of the rise and headed towards the courtyard gates. Another gunshot rent the air and she spun around to look at where it had come from, her heart hammering. At the edge of the forest, she glimpsed movement and shock washed through her. A line of soldiers dressed in grey-green raincoats and helmets was advancing towards the farm buildings, rifles drawn. She heard the woman scream again before more gunshots rang out and she realised the soldiers were being fired at from behind one of the barns. Maybe there was still hope.

The next second all hell broke loose: a fierce battle started, with volleys of gunfire hammering out from behind the barns and being returned by the German soldiers.

Amélie stood beside her bicycle, paralysed with fear and guilt. This was all her fault. People were losing their lives because of her.

She pulled herself up. There was no time for regret. She needed to find shelter, to get out of sight of the soldiers. But she had no idea where to run.

At that moment, Bruno appeared in the gateway in front of her. He was carrying a rifle, his eyes were blazing, his hair wild. He swung sideways and fired a round of shots towards the soldiers, and out of the corner of her eye, Amélie saw one of them drop to his knees, clutching his stomach, but the others carried on advancing, firing as they went.

Bruno swung back to face her. He was walking towards her, his rifle trained on her.

‘Bruno!’ she shouted. ‘What are you doing?’

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he yelled, still moving forward. ‘You tipped them off! You told your Kraut lover everything!’

‘No!’ she shouted, horrified. ‘I came to warn you!’

But still he kept on coming, walking towards her slowly, his gun to his shoulder. Bullets pinged around him, but it was as if he wasn’t aware of them; he just carried on walking.

‘I know it was you!’ he shouted. ‘Shame on you, Amélie Benoît!’

Three shots rang out from his gun. Amélie glimpsed three flashes of light from the muzzle and felt the bullets slam into her chest. Pain exploded in her body, and she flew backwards and hit the ground. She lay there, paralysed, stunned, tasting blood in her mouth, her chest on fire with hot pain. She began to choke and splutter, felt the blood bubbling from her mouth, trickling down her throat. A thick, white mist was descending on her and although she tried to keep her eyes open and fight against it, the force of it was too strong. She gradually felt it envelop her, fill her eyes and her ears and her mouth, stopping her breathing, stopping her heart pumping, stopping everything.

As she finally gave in to it and stopped struggling, she saw an image of Hans’ face in front of her, gazing at her; his beautiful, blue eyes caressing her face. Although she tried to reach out and touch him, she couldn’t lift her hand. But she felt the heat of his love fill her body as she gradually slipped away.

TWENTY-FIVE

EMMA

2010

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time Suzette Vernay was nearing the end of her long story about her time at Le Châtaignier during the war. Emma had listened in rapt silence as she had described how Amélie Garnier had tried to warn her parents about the round-up, how the soldiers had come earlier than expected and had caught them still at home. With tears in her eyes, she described how she’d hidden in the attic and, through a gap in the hatch, had witnessed the SS soldiers dragging her parents out of the apartment. They were kicking and screaming, grabbing onto the furniture. She’d told of how Amélie had come to find her and taken her to the farm and looked after her there. And finally she described the raid on Le Châtaignier by the SS and the gunfight between Bruno’s men and the résistants against the German soldiers.

‘It was such a shock when the soldiers came,’ she told Emma. ‘We had no warning. They came through the woods on foot, emerging from the trees with their rifles drawn. The dogs heard them first and started going crazy in the barn. When I saw what was happening, I managed to run into the forest and hide. Bruno and some of the men somehow managed to get their weapons. Firing broke out on all sides. The fighting was fierce and I had to cover my ears, the gunshots were so loud. I was terrified, but I knew there could still be soldiers in the forest and I didn’t dare try to get to the cave Amélie had shown me. I thought I might be discovered. So I hid inside a clump of flowering broom and watched it all happen. I can’t smell the scent of broom flowers now without picturing that dreadful day.

‘Several of the soldiers went down during the first minute or two, then, in amongst the shots, I heard frantic shouting. It was Bruno. I saw him coming out of the courtyard waving his gun. He looked furious. He was yelling at Amélie. He was accusing her of betraying him to the Germans, to her German lover. She denied it, of course.’

Suzette closed her eyes and tears rolled down her lined cheeks. ‘I can still hear her voice today, pleading with him, shouting desperately that she’d done nothing wrong, that she’d come home to warn them. But Bruno was in a frenzy. He didn’t want to hear it. He lifted his gun, fired three shots and she went down.’

Emma gasped. After everything she’d discovered about Amélie, she felt she almost knew her, and this was a shock. ‘Was she killed?’

Suzette nodded. ‘She died immediately, I’m sure of it. The gunfight carried on for another half hour or so, but eventually Bruno and his men ran out of ammunition and the soldiers surrounded them. Bruno and all his workers, Raoul, the leader of the Resistance, and the two Jewish families were forced at gunpoint into trucks and driven away. Then the Germans loaded their dead onto a lorry and took them away too. But they left Amélie lying there, as well as the bodies of the two résistants who’d been shot down: Ivy and Henri. They left them sprawled at the edge of the trees.

‘I waited until I was sure the lorries had gone before I dared to leave the shelter of the forest. I ran straight to where Amélie lay and knelt beside her. I was shocked at the sight of her. She’d been shot through the heart and there was blood everywhere, on her chest, in her mouth, blood soaking through her shirt, but in a strange way she looked peaceful, lying there with her eyes open. It was almost as if she was staring up at the clouds. I was crying so much I could barely see, but I reached out and closed her eyes. I couldn’t bear to see them open like that.’

Emma felt tears pricking her own eyes. She took Madame Vernay’s hand. So Amélie hadn’t lived on as Emma had thought might be possible. She’d died after all on that fateful day in spring 1943.