As they drew near the beachfront, the sweet scent of the Mediterranean Sea greeted them. “Do you know where we’re going?” Amélie asked.
“Jacques gave me good instructions,” Nicolas replied. “He’ll meet us in a café above the beach.”
Fifteen minutes later, they sat in Café Gigi, trying not to stare at their surroundings. The contrast between this beach and the ones they had left at Dunkirk and Saint-Nazaire was stark.
“Do they know we’re in a war?” Chantal whispered, glancing at customers enjoying a full fare of menu items including café au lait and pastries. The aroma blended with scents of spices and marinated beef wafting on the air.
“They’re hoping the war won’t reach here,” Nicolas replied, “and depending on what Pétain does, it might never get here.”
“But our countrymen are dying in the north,” Chantal hissed. “Don’t they care about France?”
Amélie touched her wrist. “Keep your voice down,” she cautioned. “We don’t need to make enemies before we even start.”
Chantal glowered at her. “But—”
Amélie reminded herself that, despite Chantal having “grown up” in a week, she was still a girl, and an adolescent at that. She interrupted Chantal by squeezing her sister’s hand and diverting attention to Nicolas. “Now will you tell us what’s so special about Marseille?”
Nicolas did not immediately respond. Instead, he observed Chantal intently. “Listen, my little cousin,” he said in a kindly tone that carried a stern note. “I love you, and I hate what happened to you, but if you’re going to participate in the resistance, you have a lot to learn, with more growing up to do. A lot of young people your age want to join, but not all of them can handle it. We have to be able to trust that you’ll keep secrets and won’t say or do something carelessly that could destroy an operation or even a whole network. People’s lives will depend on your integrity and competence. Do you understand?”
Taken aback, Chantal stared at him with wide eyes and nodded slowly. Amélie regarded him in a new light. The boy she had known only a week ago had matured into a man.
A waiter brought them water and a menu. They ordered their beverages.
When he had gone, Nicolas spoke again to Chantal. “I’m sorry to say things to you like I just did, but it’s better that you learn early.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “My father will go back to the hell that is now Dunkirk. On the way, and perhaps even there, he might have to pretend that he welcomes and sympathizes with the German invasion. He’ll feel like dying every time, but he’ll do it to stay in the fight.” He leaned over and kissed Chantal’s cheek. “Before this is over, we’ll all do repulsive things.”
The sun had begun its descent. A cool breeze blew in from the sea, and with it the soft purr of waves breaking along the shore.
Chantal put her arms around her cousin’s neck and nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll learn.” She sniffed and sat up, wiping her eyes with a napkin.
Amélie broke the tension. “Now, will you tell us about Marseille? And when will this famous Jacques get here?”
Nicolas chuckled. “When he gets here. Soon.” He glanced around to check for listeners. “I don’t know a lot of specifics, but I can give you a general background. Marseille has always had a culture of independence, from when it first began as a Greek colony a couple of thousand years ago. Even when it was occupied by other armies in times past, its people found ways to rebel.
“It’s our largest commercial city and port, and its position on the Mediterranean makes it a major trading hub. The Germans want it, but they’re already spread thin.” He smiled. “So we have time here to recruit and organize.”
Amélie and Chantal regarded him in astonishment. “You were never any good in school,” Amélie said. “When did you get so smart?”
“I was a terrible student.” Nicolas chuckled, squeezed Chantal’s hand, and kissed it. “As my young cousin knows, war makes a person grow up fast.” He shrugged. “Jacques and I had a long time to talk. He’s the reason I’m smart.” A sardonic grin crossed his face.
The last fragment of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the waiter brought their meals. As he started back to the kitchen, Jacques appeared at their table, stopped the waiter, and quickly placed an order. Nicolas made introductions.
“Ah, Amélie and Chantal,” Jacques said warmly, taking his seat. “I feel as though I know you. Your cousin talked about you both so much.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued.
Jacques broke it. “I’m so sorry. I spoke out of turn. Nicolas told me what happened to you.”
Amélie teared up. “Thank you for what you did for Jeremy,” she said softly.
Jacques acknowledged her sentiment with a nod and a warm smile. After a moment, he said, “May I ask what you’re doing here?”
“They want to join the resistance,” Nicolas said. “They threatened to look for another group if I didn’t bring them along, so…” In a brief aside, he related what had happened to Chantal at the hands of Kallsen and what Amélie had done about it.
Jacques looked back and forth between Amélie and Chantal. “You’ve both been through a lot, but as bad as it’s been, it could get much worse. Some of our people will be captured, tortured, even killed.” He turned to Chantal. “Your age won’t matter to the Nazi SS or the Gestapo.”
She nodded. “They won’t be expecting a girl my age to be active. I can move around in bad areas easier than you can.”
Jacques scratched the back of his neck and inhaled deeply, obviously uncomfortable with the idea but seeing its merit. He shifted his gaze to Amélie. “And what about you? You’ve both been through incredible trauma.” He started to go on, but Amélie interrupted him.
“Exactly,” she
