‘Édith!’ Claire shouted. The bright winter sun was shining directly into Édith’s eyes. She may not be able to see me, but she has heard me, Claire thought, as Édith turned her head in her direction. ‘Édith?’ Claire shouted again. And shading her eyes with her left hand, Claire watched as Édith gripped the top of a walking stick with her right. Claire gasped. Her friend was bent over and leaning heavily on the stick. She looked older than the last time Claire was in France. But then she was older. It had been three years.
The platform attendant opened the carriage door and Claire waved at Édith. Édith returned the greeting, brandishing her stick in the air as she limped towards Claire. Édith’s son André arrived at that moment. ‘Here, let me.’ He took Claire’s suitcase and set it down so his hands were free to help her off the train.
‘Claire, Ma chère,’ Édith Belland said, her eyes bright with tears. She held out her free hand.
‘I am so pleased to see you, my friend,’ Claire said, taking Édith’s hand before wrapping her arms around her. ‘And André,’ she said. With one arm around Édith and one around André, she kissed them both in turn. ‘It has been a long time.’
‘Too long,’ André said, taking a step back. ‘Welcome home.’ Claire had fought the emotion that had been building up inside her since leaving England, but she could hold her reserve no longer and gave into tears. Édith and André, their arms around her, cried with joy.
Gisoir station, but for a lick of paint, hadn’t changed since Claire was last there. André, carrying her suitcase, walked on ahead to the car park, leaving Claire and Édith to follow at a slower pace.
‘Are you well, Édith?’ Claire asked.
‘Yes, quite well. Except for arthritis in my knee and hip.’
‘How long have you been using a stick?’
‘A year, maybe a little longer. I don’t need it in the house. I use it when I go out to the shops. It’s for support more than anything. I fell on the cobbles when I was in the market last year and ever since André has insisted I use the stick.’ She squeezed Claire’s arm. ‘He worries about me, says I’m not getting any younger. Who is, I ask him?’ Édith laughed.
Claire looked out of the window as they drove from the station to the centre of Gisoir. The Town Hall, which had once been Gestapo Headquarters, where Mitch was held before he was taken to the prison in Périgueux had been reclaimed by Gisoir’s town councillors when Germany surrendered. Any damage done by the allied forces had been repaired. From the outside, the building looked the same as it had done the last time Claire, Mitch and Aimée had visited Édith. Claire hadn’t been inside, she hadn’t wanted to.
A cold fist clutched Claire’s heart and she turned her head away. They had plastered over the bullet holes and taken down the Nazi adornments, the red Swastikas and the portraits of Hitler. They had painted the walls and re-hung white shutters at the windows. But just looking at the building made Claire want to vomit. There was nothing that councillors, or painters and decorators could do to change the evil that had been done in that building and others like it all over France during the German occupation.
They drove past Café La Ronde. The striped awning was pulled down and a table and two chairs had been placed on either side of the door, but they were not occupied. It was too cold to sit outside.
André’s wife, Therese, was at the window when Claire and Édith got out of André’s car. By the time they had walked up the short path, Therese was at the front door. She welcomed Claire, hugging her and kissing her on both cheeks. Taking her by the hand Therese showed Claire into the kitchen. ‘It is so good to see you,’ she said.
While Édith put the kettle on to make coffee, Therese took cups and saucers from the cupboard. When she had laid the table, Therese sat down next to Claire. ‘How was your journey?’
‘The sea was rough. It was blowing a gale and there were particles of ice in the air, but it was more comfortable and a lot less frightening than the first time I crossed the English Channel to France.’ Claire shuddered at the memory. ‘Sitting on a cold metal floor in the belly of a Halifax, holding onto a safety line knowing I had to jump into the pitch of night through a hole in the bottom of the aeroplane, and then land goodness knew where.’ Claire shook her head. ‘All I could hear was the deafening roar of the aircraft’s big engines. I was scared to death,’ she laughed.
‘And when you landed, there was no reception committee to meet you,’ Édith said. ‘I remember that night very well.’
‘I was convinced we’d been betrayed, or the Resistance cell had been compromised and we had fallen into a trap, but Alain wasn’t worried at all. He had every faith in the Resistance.’
‘How is Alain?’ André asked, entering the kitchen with Claire’s suitcase.
Édith took the coffee pot from the stove and filled four cups of steaming black coffee. Claire added cream to hers, and took a sip, to give herself time to think how she was going to tell her friends that her husband, their comrade, was suspected of being a German agent. ‘The truth is, I don’t know,’ she said, looking from one to the other of her friends. ‘He has been
