Tardivat was silent as they walked, and Nancy was grateful for it. The climb was steep and the adrenaline which had powered her through the last few hours was fading. The ache in her head was making her sick and the bruising on her shoulders and side seemed to grow more painful with every step. She had already failed. Buckmaster had told her to turn Gaspard’s troops into a decent fighting force, and she’d walked out on them within twenty-four hours of dropping into France. She had one ally, won at the cost of a parachute, and God knew how long he was going to stay with her. What did she have to offer to this Fournier anyway? Some cash, true enough, but that was obviously as likely to get her killed as anything. Where the hell was Denden?
They must have been walking for a couple of hours when Tardivat stopped and leaned against a low stone wall, overgrown with lichen.
“We rest.”
Stopping was almost worse, every muscle in her body shook.
“I need my radio operator,” she said at last. “He was landed near Montluçon and was supposed to meet me at Gaspard’s camp.”
Tardivat said nothing for a moment, then sniffed. “I can send a message in that direction. Tell him where we are going.”
She looked at him sideways. She could just make out his profile in the darkness, but could not read his expression.
“What do you mean, send a message?”
“The Germans have few friends in these hills, and yes, Gaspard’s men are sloppy and careless, but because of what they do, the Germans keep to the main roads. Messages are passed in the same way they always have been round here, from one farm hand to another, between the women. They will already know you are here and why. We shall ask them to watch for a stranger and tell him which way to come.” He grinned. “Most of the gendarmes in the region would give him directions.”
“Good.” She stood up, and her body swayed. Only Tardivat’s arm under her elbow stopping her falling entirely.
“No more walking tonight,” he said firmly. “There is a cowshed over the next rise. We shall camp there tonight and I will send my message.”
“I want to get to Fournier.”
“Captain, it would be better, I think, if you met him when you are not about to collapse. First impressions, yes?”
She held out her hand in front of her. Even in the pale shadows of the moon, she could see it shake. He was right.
“Very well.”
The cold when she woke up in the morning was sharp. She shrugged the blanket up over her shoulders for just one more second of warmth. It stank of smoke and animals. She opened her eyes. The building Tardivat had nominated for their camp last night was a low stone barn. Nancy rubbed her hands together under the blanket, and pins and needles shot up her arm. She thought of her bed in Marseille, the ironed linen sheets and silk pillows, the coffee and croissant waiting for her, Claudette twitching back the curtains and opening the shutters so the Mediterranean warmth and light could flood into the room. While Nancy drank her coffee, sitting up in bed, Claudette would draw her bath, ask about her plans for the day and for her instructions. Henri left every morning for the office before she even woke, but she would always put her hand into the hollow his body had left in the mattress, wishing him good morning.
And now she was filthy, sore, in a cow barn and so bloody cold she’d have welcomed the cows back in just to warm the place up a bit. Tardivat appeared in the doorway, a bundle of firewood under his arm. She decided it was perfectly reasonable to pretend to be asleep until he got the fire going, then once it looked like it had caught she “woke up” with a theatrical yawn, took the red satin pillow out from under her head and dusted it off.
Tardivat grinned. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning. Is there anything to eat? I could swallow that mutton slop Gaspard was eating last night now. I’m famished.”
He sat cross-legged in front of the flames and opened his bag to reveal a half baguette and a wedge of deep gold Cantal cheese which smelled of summer meadows, and, god love him, two bottles of beer.
“You owe me forty francs,” he said as she shuffled toward him and the fire on her bottom.
“You’re kidding!”
He shrugged, tore off a share of the bread and cut the cheese with his knife. “You want the right people to know a British agent with money is here and intends to pay for what she needs, overpaying for your breakfast is a good way to spread the news.”
Reasonable point. Nancy didn’t reply until she had her share of the bread and cheese in her hand, and the bottle of beer propped up against her thigh.
“You Maquis have no sense of security, do you?”
He shrugged. “The people here won’t tell the Germans anything. If they did their animals might all suddenly get sick and die overnight.”
Nancy tried to chew more slowly. The food was good and particularly welcome after the miserable day yesterday, and the freezing night. She felt like her old self was beginning to stretch and wake up inside her shabby shell.
“You don’t know what they’re like,” she said at last. “They’ve left you alone up here until now, but I think that’s going to change. When they really get a grip on a place, the Germans go mad somehow. The farmers might stay quiet if they think they’re going to lose their cows, but they’ll start talking if someone puts a gun to their son’s head.”
Tardivat paused in his chewing and stared at her, seeming to weigh her words.
“I’m just saying, Tardi, be very, very careful what you tell folks from now on. If they don’t know where we are, or what we’re doing, they won’t have to lie when that happens.”
He shrugged, but Nancy reckoned he’d taken the point.
“Have you lived here all your life?” she asked, once the worst of her hunger and thirst was dealt with.
“Most of it,” he said. “Apart from my time in the army. My father was a tailor in Aurillac; I learned my trade from him. My wife was born into a farming family and when we were first married we’d spend some weeks each year on their land. It is good land. Worth fighting for.”
She watched him eat and realized she’d never enjoyed a lobster and champagne supper more than she was savoring this bread and cheese. But then it was a long time since she had been really, truly hungry. Perhaps she could fight for this France too, the France of Tardivat and his family, the farmers and villagers, as well as her France of sophistication and bright lights. Perhaps.
The purr of a motorbike. Nancy pointed to the underbrush and Tardivat nodded; they skipped over the wall at the edge of the track and kept their heads down. Nancy shifted until she could see through the gap where it had crumbled a little. The thrum of the motor became a throb. It wasn’t until the bike had passed them that she stood up and whistled. The bike stopped and the man riding pillion turned round. Then he waved and hopped down from the seat.
“Denden! My God, I’m glad to see you.”
She chased up the path toward him.
“Nancy! You look an absolute fright.”
He flung his arms around her, and Nancy shut her eyes and squeezed him hard, drinking him in. He chuckled then pushed her away, holding her by her shoulders at arm’s length.
“Now, who is that rather dashing man lurking in the hedgerows?”
“His name is Tardivat. He found me in a tree.”
“Obviously a lucky fellow, but tell me everything. All I know is that security here is an absolute joke. A peasant with a face like the arse end of a sheep flagged us down on the road, and said, calm as you like, that the other British agent is trekking up to the plateau to join Fournier. There I was with all my pass phrases and cover stories gaping at her like a trout pulled fresh from the stream.”
She laughed. “I know, Buckmaster would shoot the lot of them. I’ll tell you everything. How did you manage to get a lift on a motorcycle?”
The man on the motorbike had turned his machine round. He passed them with a curt nod to which Denden replied with a wave, and blew him a kiss. The rider frowned and accelerated away from them.
“Oh bless his cotton socks, he’s gone shy,” Denden said. “Obviously I’ve been making friends, doing a rather better job of it than you by the looks of things.”
Tardivat watched the motorbike retreat down the hill, then approached them. Nancy made the introductions.
“Delighted, I’m sure. Now carry this, will you?” Denden thrust a canvas bag, square-edged, into Tardivat’s chest, who held on to it with a look of skepticism and surprise. “It’s the almighty radio, Mr. Tardivat, and our lives depend on it, so be a love and don’t drop it. Now lead on, and Nancy and I will trot along behind you and have a bit of a catch-up.”