There was a whoosh, pure shock delivering a sucker punch of panic and when it hit Yvette she reacted instantly by sitting up and enfolding Estelle in her arms, holding her tightly, eight red fingernails, two chipped and bare, splayed across her back. Right at that moment, Yvette didn’t care about rules and training or Hitler because this was her friend, not an agent. And as she rocked her to and fro, and let her cry, she whispered in her ear.
‘Me too, Maudie, me too.’
22
Estelle and Yvette
Nantes, 1944
They lay side by side on the bed. Estelle was indeed correct, and a glass of cognac did wonders, not just for sleep but the onset of panic, and now they were both more relaxed and found comfort in being with one another.
From the lumpy mattress, both were treated to a view of the beautifully moulded ceiling covings, stained by winter water leaks and adorned by cobwebs far too high to reach, had Estelle been remotely inclined to do so. The apartment was small, a lounge and bedroom combined, a slim galley kitchen with a two-ring stove and a sink, little else apart from empty cupboards stood next door to a tiny bathroom. It had elements of style, remnants of previous occupants with taste, like the walnut cabinet on which stood a gramophone player and three or four records in tattered sepia covers. The drapes were elegant but worn velvet, sagging in places due to missing hooks, their tasselled fringes faded by the sun.
Estelle told her that whoever had lived there before had left in a hurry, either that or they were taken by the Gestapo, their worldly possessions left behind. Sometimes she imagined they would just walk back in, make themselves at home and other times she felt their presence, like ghosts, an essence of them lingering on their belongings.
Yvette had thought that from outside, the apartment block appeared grand whereas once inside, the silence and shabby decor told another story. It was as though it had given up. The winding stone staircase was deserted and all the doors on each landing firmly closed. Not a sound emanating from within. While outside the city bustled and faked it, behind these walls she imagined the inhabitants were free to think and fear and hate, taking shelter like caged mice because out on the streets prowled the cats, ready to pounce, sly-eyed and hungry. It wasn’t what Yvette had expected. She had mistakenly projected onto Nantes an image of London where despite its troubles, the spirit of freedom remained. Pray God it continued back home.
The record had come to an end and Yvette was relieved because she wanted peace. It was time to talk, like they had the night before they left England, in hushed tones that were laced with honesty.
‘Tell me what it’s like here, so I can imagine it when I’m back at Tante Helene’s. It was so busy during the walk from the station and I was concentrating hard on finding the way and checking I wasn’t being followed so I didn’t have time to take it in properly.’
Estelle took a drag on her cigarette then passed it to Yvette. ‘The best way I can describe it is like living in a twilight world where one has no concept of what’s real. I suspect everyone, trust only a few. While people get on the best they can, making the most of their sorry lives, there is an undercurrent of hate and bitterness because the Boche behave as if this was their city now, but it isn’t. Below the surface there are people like us, doing our best to rise up and take it back but with that comes risk. My role here is to provide a safe house while playing the socialite, make connections any way I can, gathering information to pass on, which I do. But I cannot describe the courage it takes for me to go out of that door, to paint on my mask and wear it in the sight of those who I despise, yet I am duty bound to consort with.’
‘Do you sleep with them?’ Yvette wasn’t judging her friend, merely curious.
‘No, never! I flirt, attempt to look good on their arms and flatter their pathetic egos but no, I will not sleep with them and anyway, if I did then I would lose my allure. It is best to keep them waiting, and in the meantime I sit and laugh and drink and listen, and watch.’
‘Good, I would hate to think of you, you know, having to sleep with anyone you didn’t want to although I am sure others do and they are far braver than I, and more self-sacrificing.’ Yvette wasn’t naïve enough to believe that other agents didn’t end up as mistresses to the enemy and she was thankful for not having to play that role.
Estelle had a question. ‘Do you love him, Vincent?’
‘Yes, I do. It all happened so quickly, like I was grabbing happiness with both hands because I have no idea what the future holds or how long we have. I want to make every minute count just in case. Does that make sense?’ Yvette passed the cigarette.
‘Yes of course, perfect sense.’
Yvette thought for a moment about the Nazi officers Estelle fraternised with and wondered if perhaps amongst the Maquis there was anyone she was keen on.
Estelle was adamant in her response. ‘No, nobody at all.’
‘Have you ever been in love? I hadn’t, not until now.’ There was a lull, voices from the street below invading their privacy, then the sound of motorbikes racing past.
When Estelle answered her voice sounded quite matter of fact. ‘Yes, I’ve been in love, a few times. I still am.’
‘Who with? Is it some dishy earl or a prince, I bet it’s an officer. Come on, you dark horse, tell all.’
‘There’s not much to tell because nothing can ever come of it, no matter how much I love them. They’re from a different world than the one I live in and not only that, my parents, society, would never accept them. It takes Ma and Pa all their time to accept me, my rebellious streak has plagued them so my love, well it would tip them over the edge. It’s how it is.’
‘Oh no, that’s so sad. Is it someone who works on your estate, one of the staff?’ Yvette had heard all aboutLady Chatterley’s Lover.
Estelle reached over and took Yvette’s hand in hers. ‘It doesn’t matter who it is, this world isn’t ready to accept that some of us want to love whoever we want but maybe one day, when we’ve rid ourselves of the fascist Nazi devils, we can make a start on everyone else. Until then, I will be fine by myself, I promise. Now, shush, no more interrogation, you’re like a terrier once you start digging,’
Yvette obeyed, aware that she may have touched a nerve, the sound of the needle spinning on the record was calming, slightly hypnotic. When Estelle stubbed out the cigarette and flipped onto her side, Yvette mimicked her actions.
Estelle’s look was intense. ‘Did you ever for one moment imagine it would be like this? I didn’t. Not for a second, no matter what they drummed into us during training. To me it was like play-acting, a bit of a lark. I never thought I’d really jump out of a bloody plane or meet strangers in cafés and pass squares of paper containing coded messages. How stupid I was, please tell me you feel the same.’
Yvette reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Estelle’s ear and smiled. ‘Yes, I am as stupid as you, and I feel the same, like I’m living in a film or a dark fairy tale.’
‘Oh good. That’s made me happy. Two buffoons together who somehow managed to fool everyone and pass the course. I often think we should have failed on purpose and been sent to the cooler. Now that would have been a marvellous way to sit out the war, drinking whisky and doing the Highland fling with all the other inebriated no-hopers.’
