‘That makes sense,’ said Prunier, nodding. ‘I’ll call the Mayor of Beynac and get him to organize the gabarres and send them to Envaux. You start evacuating people to the quayside there.’
‘Please make sure the control centre here knows that Envaux is to be the evacuation point,’ said Bruno at the door. ‘And that the Mayor of Envaux knows to keep that quayside open. If there are volunteers who can help elderly and disabled people get aboard the boats, even better.’
‘Consider it done,’ said Prunier. ‘Now, get going.’
Bruno delivered his final load of evacuees to the quayside at Envaux just after two in the morning. Several lights were on and a group of people stood on the quay but there was no boat in sight. The local Mayor, whom Bruno had met when dropping off the first group, came to the Land Rover waving a mobile phone. As Bruno opened the door she said, ‘I just spoke to them at Beynac. The gabarre is finally on the way. The skipper was nervous about running aground if he sailed at night but finally agreed.’
‘How many evacuees do you have now?’ he asked.
‘With the people in your vehicle, about thirty, all either old or disabled. After that we’ll have to get our own people out. We’ve been told the bridge at Allas is off limits and the radio said the fire is moving fast towards Milandes. So here at Envaux we’ll require a second boatload.’
‘Do they have a reception group organized at Beynac?’
‘Yes, I’ve been told they have doctors and social workers standing by and they’ve set up a basic medical centre in the castle.’ She paused, then gave him a tired smile. ‘It’s really impressive how people are working together on this.’
‘A pity we can’t do it all the time.’
She nodded, still smiling, and he liked her at once. He could imagine the pressure she would be under, organizing the evacuation of her own village while trying to cope with the carloads of the elderly and disabled being brought to her quayside by Bruno and other volunteers. An attractive woman in her fifties with fine eyes, her hair was tied up loosely in a bun that somehow looked as if it had been done with care. This was a woman proud of herself, he reflected, elected by her neighbours and evidently efficient. She smiled at him again and to Bruno’s pleasure the tiredness left her face. He had a sense of how she must have looked two, three decades earlier. He thought she looked even better now.
‘We can offer you coffee, mineral water, wine, a cold beer or a cognac along with a jambon-fromage,’ she said. ‘I thought you might need food.’
He wasn’t hungry but the idea of a baguette stuffed with ham and cheese was tempting since Bruno assumed he’d be working all night. ‘Thank you, madame. I’d love a baguette and a petit rouge. Have you heard from the command post?’
‘Yes, I was on the phone to them just before you came. They said you were bringing the last of the evacuees but they stressed that the wind is veering, now coming from the south-west. I’m to tell you that they are gathering the pompiers and volunteers at Castelnaud-la-Chapelle. They want to save the castle.’ She paused and looked at him. ‘Your face is filthy from smoke and I imagine you could use a bathroom. Come with me.’
She led him into a house whose door was open. Inside was a simple office, two desks and bookcases filled with files. She showed him to an anonymous bathroom, bare but sufficient. He assumed it was part of the Mairie. He washed his face, neck and hands and ran water over his head. When he emerged she was waiting with a baguette in a paper bag and a full bottle of red wine, already opened with the cork stuffed halfway in. He looked at the label and his eyes widened when he saw it was a Margaux from 2015.
‘I’ve got the files and papers ready to put on board,’ she said. ‘I can’t take the wine but I wouldn’t want a bottle like that to go to waste. You should have it. Thank you for what you’ve done tonight. I heard it was you who had the idea to use the gabarres.’
‘Somebody else would have thought of it. By the way, I’m Bruno,’ he said. ‘From St Denis.’
‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I’m Marguerite.’
A boat horn sounded from the river. They went to the door and saw the gabarre approaching.
‘Good luck at Castelnaud.’ She turned and went to the quayside, giving instructions for the stretcher cases and wheelchairs to board first. Bruno took an appreciative mouthful of the wine, straight from the bottle, followed by a large bite of baguette. He chewed and swallowed and washed it down with another mouthful of wine. He replaced the cork, went back to the Land Rover to stash the food and bottle, and then began helping the evacuees to board.
‘What did you see of the fire on the way here?’ he asked the skipper after introducing himself. It had almost reached the southern bank of the river just before Milandes, he was told.
‘What about the chateau?’ he asked. Milandes was a place he liked and knew well, and he felt a twinge of concern for the fate of its collection of hunting hawks.
‘The village and chateau looked okay, protected by its big car park. But from the island down to Milandes, it’s woodland all
