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Since the Nuremberg Laws had passed, and Jews were no longer allowed to work, Jacques had been entering Heligoland via Denmark with false papers as opposed to straight from Germany, in the hope that it would mean he could get out easier, if they ever decided to check his documentation properly. Soon, though, they decided that false documentation would be safer all around and Freddie helped him with that.
It wasn’t something he had shared with Elodie, however. But even as he’d assisted, Freddie had warned his brother-in-law, telephoning him before he left. ‘I think whatever you’re doing there, it’s time to wrap it up, things aren’t cooling down on that front.’
He meant Hitler’s attitude towards the Jews.
In Germany, Jews had been stripped of their citizenship, and Jacques was careful not to travel that way just in case he was subjected to any unwanted attention. But how long would that route be open for him? Jacques agreed. ‘I just have to finish up the season, and then I think you’re right, it’s time to think of other things, closer to home.’
‘Good man. I believe they’ve turned a blind eye for some time to the island but that won’t be forever.’
‘I’ll just be another few months, the government is beginning a bit of a reclamation project soon to restore the eroded land, so we want to finish up what we can.’
Overhearing this, Elodie nodded. ‘The sooner the better.’
Jacques repeated to Freddie what she said and he agreed. ‘Yes. And I believe you have someone new to think of too.’
Jacques looked up from the telephone and whispered, ‘You told Freddie.’
She grinned and nodded. ‘Yup.’
They shared a smile.
‘Exactly, my friend,’ said Jacques. ‘I hope you’re getting excited to meet your new nephew or niece.’
‘Too excited. I’m already picking out a mini pétanque set and a beret.’
Jacques laughed. ‘They’re going to love you.’
After Jacques packed up his bag, he sat on the end of the bed, next to the old cat, Pattou. ‘I could just stay,’ he offered.
Elodie squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t tempt me. You know I’ll tell you to.’
He leaned against her shoulder and sighed, then touched the belly. ‘Six weeks,’ he promised. ‘Then I’ll be home.’
‘Six weeks,’ repeated Elodie.
But she couldn’t stop the tears when he did finally leave. She watched him go down the gravel path, and in the distance a pair of crows seemed to call farewell.
To distract herself she re-opened the restaurant.
Everywhere there was Marguerite’s presence, but it was a good thing, she found. Like her home, it was a place of familiarity, of memory and comfort. She put on her grandmother’s apron and got to work.
She was in every pot and pan Elodie’s fingers touched. The radio, when she switched it on, was playing some of her favourite music, and Elodie felt a sense of coming home.
On her first day back, it appeared like every villager was in attendance, Monsieur Blanchet amongst them.
When she and her new kitchen helper, Jean, a young boy of fourteen, another one of Jacques’ cousins, brought out the plates of cassoulet, they stood up and applauded.
Elodie lifted up the corner of the apron and dabbed her eyes. ‘Thank you all,’ she whispered, touched.
With Jacques away, she cooked for Monsieur Blanchet, who came around often to keep her company, most likely on Jacques’ instructions to ensure that she didn’t wallow in Grand-mère’s bed, wearing her old clothes, which was of course all she wanted to do.
They forged new ground, and unlocked their own friendship through chess. One evening, after dinner, he’d suggested a game, and when she admitted she’d never played it before, he was amazed. He set up a beautiful hand-carved set that unbeknownst to her had been kept in her grandmother’s living room for decades.
While a cheery fire glowed, he rubbed his thick, bushy moustache, twisting the corners upwards, and then he smiled as he explained the rules. ‘It is a two-person game. There are sixteen pieces of six types for each player and each one moves in its own unique way. Want you want to do is capture your opponent’s king.’
‘So that is the most powerful piece on the set?’ she asked, looking at the black king, bigger than all the others, with a solemn expression, that he was pointing at.
He raised a brow. ‘Oh no, m’dear,’ he said, moving to another slightly smaller piece. ‘While the king is important, of course, he can only move in one square in any direction, so long as a piece is not blocking its path. The queen, however,’ he said with a smile, ‘can move in any direction and in any number of squares. In terms of raw power – she’s the one that holds all the cards.’
‘Interesting,’ said Elodie.
They played chess after that every night. It was a game of strategy, of being just a few steps ahead of your opponent.
Elodie found, to her surprise, that she was a natural at it.
