As they reached the door, about to leave the aircraft by a set of wide metal stairs, Aimée’s head jerked back and her eyes opened. ‘Put me down, Daddy,’ she said wriggling, ‘I’m not a baby.’
Mitch lowered her onto the landing at the top of the stairs and holding his hand Aimée reached up and grabbed the handrail above the metal side of the moveable staircase. Pale from having just woken up, she beamed a smile at Mitch and Claire.
The baggage claim hall, large, bare and very cold, reminded Claire of an aeroplane hangar. After twenty minutes the luggage arrived on open trailers pulled by squat tractor-type vehicles. Mitch found their suitcases, and because Montréal St. Hubert’s airport was half a military airbase, and Mitch was a captain in the RCAF, they were waved through security and passport control and were in the arrivals hall before the other passengers.
‘Alain? Alain?’ Claire turned at the sound of Mitch’s Christian name being called by someone in the roped-off public area. ‘Over here!’ Claire looked in the direction the voice was coming from. Searching the crowd of people waiting for friends and family from England she spotted a young woman waving frantically. ‘Alain?’ she shouted again. Then, pushing her way to the front of the crowd she ducked under the rope and ran across the concourse. Smiling at Claire, she threw her arms around Mitch’s neck.
Almost losing his balance Mitch dropped the suitcases and picked the woman up. ‘Aimée?’ he shouted, swinging her round. Laughing, he set her down and held her at arm’s length. ‘This beautiful young woman,’ he said, turning to Claire, ‘is my baby sister, Aimée.’ Claire was stunned how alike the siblings seemed. Aimée was pretty and petite, Mitch tall and broad-shouldered - and they had different mothers - yet they were unmistakeably a pair.
After hugging Claire and kissing her, Mitch’s sister dropped onto one knee and said, ‘Hello Aimée.’
Aimée, tired more than shy, swayed a couple of times and looked up at her mother. Claire raised her eyebrows and nodded encouragingly. ‘Hello,’ Aimée whispered.
Mitch was fond of his half-sister. So fond of her that he and Claire had named their daughter after her. She had written to him regularly throughout the war. When he returned to England after several years working with the French Resistance, and several more years in a prison, there were dozens of letters waiting for him. They still wrote to each other, though not as often now she was married and ran a business with her husband.
People coming out of the restricted area into the arrivals hall were having to stop and walk round the Mitchell family as they gathered around Aimée the aunt and Aimée the niece.
‘We’re blocking the way,’ Claire said. Mitch grabbed the cases and Claire took their daughter by the hand. They followed Mitch’s sister to the public area where they were met by a rugged-looking young man. Standing six feet tall with a healthy all-weather complexion and fair hair, he shook their hands vigorously introducing himself as Aimée’s husband, Dan.
A second later, Dan had whipped the suitcases out of Mitch’s hands and was striding across the airport to the main exit. ‘I’ll get the car,’ he said, setting down the suitcases by a row of chairs just inside the door.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Mitch said, running to catch up with Dan.
While they waited for their husbands, Mitch’s sister told Claire and Aimée about Dan’s logging business, in Quebec.
‘Does he cut the trees down?’ Aimée asked.
‘He used to. But now he drives a big machine called a crawler tractor.’ Aimée looked puzzled. ‘It has big loading arms that Dan has to guide.’ Mitch’s sister demonstrated using her own arms. ‘One is straight,’ she said, her left arm at right angles to her body, ‘and goes under the pile of logs, and one is called a claw.’ She lifted her right arm, bent it at the elbow and made a hook of her hand. ‘The claw goes over the top of the logs and hooks around them so they don’t fall off. Then it lifts them up, drops them onto the back of a big lorry, and they’re taken to the river.’
‘Is that where you live?’
‘Yes, but not where the logs are. They’re taken to a big river called the Ottawa River. Dan and I live in a cabin upstream.’ Aimée made an O of her mouth and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. ‘From my kitchen window I can see the River Gatineau.’
‘Are there any shops near your cabin?’
‘Yes. We live on the outskirts of a town called Hull. Would you like to visit us one day and see how the logs in the forest are cut down?’
Aimée’s eyes grew wider with each revelation about logs and cabins. ‘Can we, Mummy?’
Before Claire had time to answer, Dan came running into the building. ‘Are you guys ready?’ The women quickly got to their feet and gathered their belongings. ‘Sorry to rush you,’ he said, ‘but we can’t park for long out front. Alain is standing guard with his ID at the ready in case anyone tries to move the car on.’ Dan picked up the cases and led the way out of the airport.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was ten miles from the airport to the apartment where Mitch, Claire and Aimée would be living for the next three months. The wind, by the time they had driven into Montréal, had enough rain in it for Dan to have to put on the windscreen wipers. He pulled up as near to the apartment building’s main entrance as possible. The women jumped out of the car and ran for the
