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Elodie’s heart quickened as she read. She didn’t like the sound of this. It was starting to seem as if the polite façade between the researchers and the navy was beginning to slip.
She fished out a piece of paper from her grandmother’s writing desk and began to respond with a frown.
I’m worried, Jacques. I don’t like the sound of this… come home. I’m sorry to be so direct but I think, let’s rather be safe than sorry here… please, I know you love me, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t absolutely believe in my bones that you need to get out and now. Your father agrees with me, just come home to us. The island will look after itself, let us keep you safe now.
Elodie
She waited anxiously for the post the following week, half-expecting to see either the postman or Jacques walking up the gravel path. Either one would be welcome. She knew that Jacques would not ignore her request. Wary of being a demanding wife, she almost never put her foot down on anything, but she absolutely had to insist and she knew that he would respect that and would agree.
But when Wednesday came – the day her letter from Heligoland usually arrived – and no letter came, she began to worry.
Monsieur Blanchet came past early that afternoon, just after she’d closed the restaurant for the day.
‘Anything?’ she asked him. He shook his head, tugging at his moustache in his anxiety.
They made their way back to her farmhouse and Monsieur Blanchet said, ‘It’s probably because he decided to leave straightaway after you sent your letter.’
She had, of course, told Jacques’ father what she’d written and he’d nodded, giving a hollow laugh as he said to her amazement, ‘I wrote the same thing.’
Elodie reached over and squeezed the old man’s hand now. ‘I think you’re right.’ She smiled in relief. ‘It’s late because he is on his way.’
He nodded, and smiled too, but the worry was still in his dark eyes, even as he suggested a game of chess to calm their nerves.
By the following week Jacques still hadn’t arrived, and neither had any post.
Elodie sent a telegram asking for any news, but nothing came.
‘I don’t like this,’ she said. ‘Someone should have answered that at least.’
Monsieur Blanchet agreed. ‘Send another,’ he suggested. So she did. She sent four more.
Nothing came.
She telephoned Freddie hoping that with his position in government – he was now working as a senior secretary for the prime minister, Neville Chamberlain – he would be able to find out what was happening.
‘I’ll try my best, El. I noticed that the letters stopped too, but I was hoping it was because he’d done the sensible thing and come home. But let’s not panic, it could be something as simple as a storm delaying the mailing ship.’
Elodie let out a breath. ‘Oh, Freddie, I hope that’s the case.’
‘It may well be. Try not to panic, El. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know what’s happening – give me a few days, it might take some digging.’
She nodded, but of course he couldn’t see her, and when she hung up, she told Monsieur Blanchet who was standing nearby what Freddie had said. In answer, he made the sign of the cross and began to pray.
She closed her eyes and did the same.
