An hour passed before he heard a faint tap on the back door. He opened it without putting on the light and Claire stumbled in. ‘I thought they would never leave,’ she hissed, from between chattering teeth. André closed the door, turned the key in the lock and slid the bolts at the top and bottom of the door into place. ‘God, I’m freezing,’ Claire said, her voice hoarse, and her throat sore from being outside in the freezing air for so long.
André took her suitcase out of her hand and put it in the scullery, before guiding her out of the dark kitchen and into the sitting room.
‘Good Lord, child,’ Édith exclaimed when she saw Claire. ‘Your clothes are soaked, you’ll catch pneumonia. Come here and warm yourself.’
Shaking from being so cold, Claire fell to her knees in front of the fire. She put out her hands, but quickly pulled them back. ‘They’re too cold,’ she croaked, ‘I must warm them slowly.’
‘I’ll get Claire a blanket, then make her a hot drink,’ Therese said. ‘Maman?’
Édith shook her head. ‘Not for me, but Claire must have something.’ Therese looked at André.
‘Yes, but first I need to take a look around outside. And I must lock the back gate. I won’t be long.’ Therese followed her husband out of the room.
Claire fell sideways against the settee where Édith was sitting and Édith put her arm around her. When Therese returned, it was with a winter skirt, a blouse and a thick woollen cardigan. The two women helped Claire out of her wet clothes, replacing them with the dry ones - and Therese wrapped a knitted blanket around Claire’s shoulders.
When André came back he was smiling. ‘No sign of them,’ he said, ‘and this time I have locked the gate.
‘Then I shall make coffee and we shall all relax.’ Therese jumped up. ‘And we should eat. If someone is watching the house, and we don’t eat, they’ll think it abnormal.’
‘You are right. I made soup this morning. It’s in the larder. I shall heat it through,’ Édith said, pushing herself up from the low settee. ‘We won’t be long, my dear,’ Édith called over her shoulder to Claire as she and Therese left.
Claire smiled her thanks. She crossed her arms, put her hands under her armpits, and scrunched up her shoulders. ‘Argh! The pain,’ she said. ‘In England, when our hands are so cold that they hurt when they get warm, we call it the hot-aches.’
‘In France we say, hot-throbs,’ André said. ‘Not heartthrobs, but hot-throbs.’ Unable to help herself, Claire chuckled.
‘Coffee?’ Therese called, carrying in a tray with a pot of coffee and cups and saucers. ‘Pour Claire a coffee, darling. I’ll fetch the cream.’ Therese was back a second later with a small jug which she placed next to her husband, before returning to Édith in the kitchen.
‘Mm…’ Claire held the coffee cup with both hands and sipped. ‘This is good,’ she said, and closing her eyes breathed in the coffee’s rich earthy aroma. The two old friends drank their coffee in silence.
‘Maman is bringing in the soup,’ Therese said, nudging the sitting room door open with her knee. She carried a tray with soup dishes, spoons, and a basket of bread rolls, over to the table.
Édith followed her daughter-in-law into the room carrying a tureen of soup. ‘Come now,’ she said to André and Claire, as she spooned soup into the four bowls that Therese had placed on the table, ‘eat it while it’s hot.’
Claire pulled herself up, stumbled, and held onto the arm of the sofa. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, as André spun round to help her. ‘I’m just a bit stiff after sitting in one position for too long.’ She shook out her shoulders and bent her ankles and knees. ‘That’s better.’
‘Have you thawed?’ Therese asked.
‘Just about. Oh?’ Claire said with surprise, ‘I’ve got my voice back.’
‘And here was I thinking we were going to have some peace and quiet while we ate,’ André said.
Édith looked up at the ceiling and rolled her eyes, Therese wagged her finger at her husband and Claire laughed. ‘It is good to be back,’ she said, looking around the table at her friends.
‘It’s good to have you back, Claire,’ Édith said. And after placing a bread roll on each side plate, Édith put her hands together, closed her eyes and thanked God for the food they were about to eat, and for bringing Claire safely back to them.
When they finished eating, Édith and Therese cleared the table and took the dirty dishes to the kitchen, returning with a refreshed pot of coffee and a galette. Édith poured the coffee while Therese cut the cake.
‘Is that a king cake? A galette des rois?’ Claire asked.
‘She remembers,’ Édith said, beaming a smile to the others at the table. ‘You remembered, Ma chère,’ she said to Claire.
‘Of course. But did you remember to put a bean in it?’
‘Yes, child, I always put a bean in the galette - for luck.’
‘What a good memory you have,’ André said.
‘I haven’t really. It’s just that in the war, when I lived here, king cake reminded me of English Christmas puddings. When I was a child my father used to drop a silver threepenny bit into the Christmas pudding while my mother was mixing it, in the same way that you put a bean in your galette.’ Smiling at the memory, Claire picked up her coffee and took a sip. It was hot, but not so hot that she didn’t enjoy it. She took another sip, relieved to feel warmth in the palms of her hands without the pain of hot-aches.
‘I owe
