Vincent’s parting kiss was firm and lingered but not for long enough. He stepped away and quickly shook the hands of the others, and then he was gone.
28
Betrayed
France, 1944
They heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance, and as it neared, Yvette held her breath. If it was Florian he would be driving slowly, turning on his headlight for a second only to light the way, but the chug of the engine would remain constant, the old bone shaker breaking through the silence of the night. Lights could be seen for miles around in the pitch darkness, so it was necessary to avoid detection like in the blackout at home.No, don’t go there.
It was always a risk, going out during curfew but the chances of anyone being seen amongst the vast expanse of the Loire countryside was minimal, unless it was a Boche ambush, and then it was all over for them. When the chugging slowed Yvette scrambled from her hiding place behind the dense thicket and crouched. Sure enough a faint beam shone for a second and then was extinguished, a few seconds passed and again, a faint light. As the truck travelled further into the heavy woodland the lights stayed on, but still Yvette couldn’t see who was driving or if there were one or two occupants.Please God let there be two.
Remembering Vincent’s orders and wary of this being a trap, Yvette scurried back to the undergrowth and watched with the others as the truck passed by. Once it reached the shrine a few metres ahead, the engine stopped. Plunged into darkness they heard a door open, feet land on the ground and the strike of a match. A shadowy figure emerged from the other side of the truck and the cigarette smoke carried across the night air, as did the voice of Florian.
‘Yvette.’
For a heartbeat she didn’t respond, she couldn’t see over the side panels of the truck and what if German soldiers lay there, waiting to pounce? Then another noise, a groan, male, and Florian ran to the back of the truck and simultaneously Yvette broke cover… Vincent.My Vincent is injured. She heard the others following but when she reached the truck it wasn’t Vincent lying there it was Claude.
‘Oh my God, what happened? Where is Vincent, where is he?’ Yvette could hear the panic in her own voice and when she saw Florian rub a hand over his hair, unable to meet her eye, she snapped, grabbing his shoulders as she screamed, ‘Tell me, Florian, where is Vincent?’
When the answer came the forest fell still, the world stopped and so did Yvette’s heart.
‘He is dead. I’m sorry, Yvette, but Vincent is dead.’
Florian had found Claude by the side of the road, his Solex in the ditch. There was blood gushing from the gunshot wound in his leg and after Florian tied a tourniquet to stem the flow, he managed to manoeuvre Claude to the back of the truck and here, the barely conscious man told him what happened.
As Florian repeated the tale, Yvette and the others listened in silence.
‘Vincent arrived at the old farmhouse where Claude was hiding out. He’d only been there a few moments when the Boche arrived. It was a Gestapo car, four men, all armed. Claude told Vincent to run but he ignored him and tried to shoot his way out. Claude managed to escape but took a bullet in the leg as he drove off… the last time he saw Vincent he was on the ground, the Boche stood over him, then a gunshot… they killed him, Yvette. The Gestapo chased Claude, but he took a back road and managed to lose them. He must have lost consciousness and control of the bike. That’s when I found him.’
Yvette trembled; her body unable to stay still. It wasn’t true, Claude was wrong, so she climbed onto the back of the van and began to shake the injured man awake.
‘Claude, Claude, wake up, wake up.’ How she managed not to slap his face when he moaned, she did not know, instead he lapsed in and out of consciousness. ‘How do you know he’s dead, Claude? You can’t be sure, you can’t be.’
When strong arms gripped her shoulders, Yvette desisted and listened to the voice that accompanied them.
Konstantin spoke firmly. ‘Stop, Zaya, he is too sick to answer you and even if Vincent is still alive, they will have taken him… I’m sorry but you know this is true. Now come, we must make decisions and go. We have to leave; it is too dangerous to stay here.’
Feeling the fight leave her body as the words hit home, Yvette slumped against Konstantin and let Florian take the lead.
He began by agreeing with Konstantin. ‘You are right, we leave now. If we follow this track it will lead us past the village. We can use the truck until it is light, hide, then continue until we run out of fuel. There is no way we can go all the way on foot, not with Claude in this condition, and we cannot leave him here, not now.’
Teddy usually remained silent, but his panicked voice cut through the darkness. ‘Can’t you find someone to care for him? He will slow us down!’
‘No! They will start searching the houses at first light, I am sure, and whoever is found sheltering Claude will be punished. He is one of us and we do not leave him behind.’ Florian sounded adamant.
Yvette spoke next. From her pit of grief, fuelled by anger she clawed her way out as adrenalin began to pump through her veins and a terrible rage engulfed her. ‘We have been betrayed. Vincent was right, the network is falling apart. None of us can stay here now. Let’s go, quickly. We will keep going until the fuel runs out, then we will walk, somehow, with Claude. Two of you can ride up front with Florian, one of you will have to stay here with me. I will not let the traitor end him like they ended Estelle and Vincent.’
‘I will stay with Yvette.’ Konstantin gave a jerk of the head, motioning to Teddy and Jakob that they should go to the cab. He remained on the flat bed and dragged Claude away from the back then settled himself into one corner while Yvette took her place in the other.
Once again, the truck moved slowly off into the night and as it creaked and rolled over the bumpy track, taking Yvette further away from the village she called home, she swallowed down tears as she thought of Tante Helene, Xavier, the others and, of course, little Polo. But the image that stayed with her for the whole of the journey and for many years to come was that of Vincent, the man she loved, lying in a pool of blood, murdered by the Gestapo and betrayed by one of their own.
The wind whipped across the headland, sand stinging Yvette’s bare legs that were cut, scratched and filthy. Pulling her collar up to shield her ears before wrapping her arms around
her body, she listened in the darkness for the sound of boats. The others were hiding in the dunes, waiting like her. Just as Vincent had said, once they made contact with Davide he knew what to do which was fortunate because Yvette was lost in a pit of grief, the arms of a monster sucking her further and further with every passing hour. All she wanted now was for the boat to come, the evaders to be gone and then she could be alone and wait at the headland for Vincent, in body or spirit. He would come, he had to.
A noise carried on the Atlantic wind reached all their ears: an engine, then nothing. Then a light tapping out Morse code, then action. Davide broke cover first and led Konstantin, Jakob and Teddy to the shore, two of the local Maquis dragged Claude across the sand by his arms, a crude and no doubt painful movement, but speed was essential. He had survived the journey in agony, rambling and delirious for most of it, riddled with infection, but once he was in England he’d be fine. She had done her best for him, saved his life and not left him behind to suffer the fate of others. Her sprint across the sand, Florian close at heel, was not in order to board the dinghy that would take them to the gunboat, it was to say goodbye. They had already thanked her many times but until they were safely on their way, Yvette couldn’t accept their words or relax.
She watched from the shore as they all boarded, following the orders of the black clad men. When Konstantin turned and held out his hand before he stepped into the shallow waves, she kept hers dug firmly in her pockets and met his eye with determination and resolve.
