Nathalie was still fast asleep when Mme Reynaud knocked on her door with her breakfast; a piece of baguette, a pat of butter, plum jam, a boiled egg and a cup of real coffee.
‘I made the butter myself with the skin from boiled milk,’ she said with a smile. ‘As for other things, it pays to have a few friends around here. I give them the occasional bunch of flowers and they make sure a few things are kept aside for me. It saves us having to queue up for hours on end. Even so, rationing is hitting us all hard, but we manage.’
She put the tray on a small table by the window and went over to the stove. A few pieces of wood had been hastily shoved inside, ready to be lit. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t light it yesterday. We couldn’t be sure when you’d arrive and we didn’t want to waste the wood. Antoine will bring more up for you today.’ She sat on the bed whilst Nathalie threw on some clothes.
‘We didn’t want to discuss everything the network does last night. You were too tired and needed to rest. I do hope you are aware of the danger you’ve put yourself in by coming here. What we are doing is not for the faint-hearted.’
Nathalie began to eat her breakfast and listened.
‘Naturally, I cannot divulge everything,’ Mme Reynaud continued. ‘Your job will be to act as a courier; possibly a few other things, depending on the circumstances.’
‘What other things?’
‘Keeping watch whilst an operation is taking place. The odd surveillance work, etc.’
‘That doesn’t sound too difficult.’
‘None of it sounds difficult, but when you can get shot or deported to Germany, simply because you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or someone takes a dislike to you, then it becomes dangerous. We also operate after curfew which means you can be shot on sight.’
‘I am aware of all this,’ Nathalie answered. ‘We weren’t immune to it at home either. After I saw my first public execution, something snapped and I was determined not to let them beat me.’
Mme Reynaud saw the steely look of determination in her eyes. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Why don’t you spend the day getting to know the neighbourhood? You are welcome to join us for dinner this evening.’
She picked up the tray and left the room, leaving Nathalie to mull over her words. She knew she was risking her life, yet at the same time she couldn’t deny there was a frisson of excitement about being a part of something dangerous.
She looked out of the window. The rain had stopped, the sky was a cloudless pale blue, and the autumn sun was shining, casting a glorious glow on the Parisian rooftops. The Reynauds had given her an apartment at the top of the building on the fifth floor. The first floor was their own, and the others were occupied by two couples and an elderly widower who Antoine said they’d known for years and who kept very much to themselves. The building was typical of others in the area; elegant and fashionable blocks, built in the heyday during the days of Louis XIV and Baron Haussmann. The apartment was certainly not luxurious, but it was adequate and well appointed, and she was grateful to have it. When she looked at the wood heater, with its art nouveau green and white tiles, her heart sank. The fireplace hardly seemed big enough to heat the room, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to afford the luxury of a fire every day. Winter wasn’t going to be easy.
Before she left the house, Antoine gave her a map and pointed out the nearby sites. After taking a stroll along the Seine towards Pont Alexandre III, she headed towards the Hotel Ritz, which she knew had been taken over by the German hierarchy. Throughout the walk, she noticed small groups of people silently huddled together, reading notices plastered on walls. She stopped to read them. They sent shivers down her spine. All were printed on red paper bordered in black, and the text was written in both German and French.
Each one pertained to one violation only: Shot for Spying, Shot for participation in an anti-German demonstration, Five Communists guillotined, etc. The lists were endless. Each one bothered her, but it was the last two in particular that resonated. Henceforth, all French people arrested will be considered hostages. When a hostile act occurs, a number of hostages commensurate with the seriousness of the act will be shot. Another stated that a reward of a million francs would be paid to anyone who denounced the perpetrator of a particular deed. In times of hardship, there were plenty of people who would sell their mothers for such a tempting sum.
She continued walking until she came to the Place Vendôme, festooned with huge red and black Nazi flags. Gleaming black cars lined up outside the Ritz. Most likely the only Frenchmen entering would have to be collaborators, and very soon they would have the French people to answer to, because of their treachery. Nathalie didn’t loiter. Her drab clothing alone would attract unwanted attention. She scurried away, disgusted.
On her way back, she bought a newspaper and stopped at a busy café with tables set out on the pavement. The cakes looked delicious and she decided to treat herself to one. With sugar rationed, she wondered how they could still make such delights. One look at the clientele answered her question. Most of them were German officers who had the money to pay for such luxuries. A sense of normalcy had to be maintained.
Natalie sipped her coffee and ate her cake, which cost her far more than she could afford, and read the newspaper. Apart from Vichy propaganda, which she glossed over, some of it centred on the Jews. Declarations were made that most of the foreign Jews had left the country of their own free will. No one could surely believe this, she told herself. Who on earth would leave all their worldly goods behind at such short notice and surrender themselves up to the people they had run away from?
Her thoughts drifted back to the last six months in the village. Her parents and Dr Arnaud had helped over a hundred Jews, and that was just their network. How many others had been fortunate to escape over the perilous mountains? Nathalie was well aware that in July 1942, the homes of at least 7,000 foreign Jews had been raided. Almost 18,000 were rounded up. A quarter of them were children. Almost all of them ended up in Poland. It was a national shame.
Later that evening over dinner, Mme Reynaud announced that they would be having visitors who she’d like her to meet.
Six people arrived that night. Five men and a young, blonde girl, Sylvie, who Nathalie surmised was not much older than herself. The men ranged between their twenties to late middle age. One of the men in particular caught her attention. Pierre was a softy spoken man in his late twenties or early thirties with dark hair and astonishingly warm, hypnotic eyes. His mouth was full and soft – almost too feminine, but sensuous all the same. But most of all, it was his face that struck her. He looked drawn and haunted. She couldn’t be sure why and wanted to know more about him. A tall, balding man, who introduced himself as Paul, took charge of the meeting. With his wire-rimmed glasses and grey goatee beard, he reminded Nathalie of a science professor.
After welcoming her to Paris, Paul set about outlining the things they needed to discuss. The most important topic that night was the twelve Jews who were being hidden in a church crypt by a Priest. Over the past few days, there had been intensive searches in the area and the priest feared that it would only be a day or two at the most, before the church came under further scrutiny.
As the evening wore on, Nathalie learnt that one of their main escape routes was via the coal barges that plied the Seine. The barges stopped at various pick-up and drop-off points all the way down through the canal systems until they reached the river Yonne. From there, the escapees took a circuitous overland route towards the Pyrénées. She recalled that none of the people her parents helped had ever mentioned how they got there for fear of the information getting into the wrong hands.
‘There will be a barge arriving tomorrow,’ Paul said. ‘We’re going to have to move our “package” out quickly.’
The plan was to get the Jewish escapees from the crypt and into the Paris underground sewer system, where they would exit next to the Pont de l’Alma, a stone’s throw away from the house, and near the Seine. It was to take place after midnight.
‘Are you up for it, Nathalie?’ Paul asked.
Everyone looked at her, waiting for her reply. This was it, she thought to herself, as his words sank in. It wasn’t a game. This was the real thing.
‘Certainly,’ she replied.
‘Good girl.’ Paul turned to Sylvie. ‘The two of you will work together. You know the ropes.’
Sylvie nodded in agreement. She was to pick Nathalie up from La Vie en Fleurs, and they would meet him at the specific place near the entrance to the sewers at the Pont de l’Alma.
After more discussions about safe houses and a cache of guns that had recently been acquired, the group dispersed. Nathalie also took her leave. Antoine had lit the fire in her room and she sat in front of it for a while thinking about the events that were to take place. In no time at all she was fast asleep.