The incident was not spoken of afterward, and if anyone had anything to say about Anne’s arrival in camp they kept it to themselves. Nancy had most of the day to prepare her notes for Denden and whatever officer SOE sent in after her before Tardi found her.
He slammed his way into the bus. She hid the notes she’d been making under the satin pillow and waited calmly for the onslaught.
“Mateo thinks you aren’t going to do it, but you are, aren’t you?”
She’d never seen him like this, his face flushed, voice raised. He seemed to take up all the oxygen in the narrow space of the bus, leaning toward her. She let her hand rest on her side arm.
“This German is lying to you!”
“Tardi,” she said calmly, “I have to do it. If there is any chance that Henri is alive, I have to trade my life for his. I love him. He would do the same for me.”
Tardivat slammed the flat of his palm against the side of the bus, making the world lurch. “Bullshit! You’re not in France for him, you’re here for us. That’s what you said, that’s what you swore.”
Nancy felt a sweep of cold anger through her bones. “I’ve done enough for you! God, Tardi, don’t panic! There will still be plenty of drops, lots of parachutes. Find some other girl to make dresses for.”
He rocked back for a second as if she’d struck him, then came forward again. “We need you! No one man is worth the damage losing you will do.”
She stood up quickly, forcing him to back off. “Henri is worth ten of me!” she said. “A hundred of me. You don’t know, Tardi, you don’t know him. You don’t know either of us. My God, if there is any chance… I’d die for these men, but I’d die a thousand times over for Henri.” The anger died from his face as she spoke, leaving grief, bewilderment. “You’d do the same for your wife, Tardi. Don’t deny it.”
She took her hand off her gun and he moved a step back.
“Maybe, mon colonel,” he said, his voice bitter, “but I thought you were better than me.”
Then he left. Nancy sat back down heavily, her head in her hands, and for the first time since she had come back to France, she realized she was shaking.
When Nancy woke the next morning the nest on the floor she had made for Anne had been tidied neatly away. She felt a brief pang of guilt at leaving the child, but Tardi and Mateo would look after her. Nancy pulled herself up on her elbows and looked out of the window. All quiet. She had not seen Tardi again yesterday, and no one else had visited to tell her what she should or should not do. That meant Mateo hadn’t told Fournier or Denden about the offer and Tardi had kept her decision to himself. Good. It would be easier this way.
She would sort the men into groups for training with the bazookas and get René to brief the senior fighters on their tactical use. Then, when they were all occupied she would tell one of the junior officers who hadn’t heard about Böhm’s offer, Jules perhaps, that she was going to search for another drop site closer to Montluçon and be on her way.
She wondered what mood Mateo would be in. Would he have forgiven her for the bloodletting in the café? Maybe forgive was the wrong word. For him to forgive her she’d have to admit she was wrong—and she wasn’t wrong. He’d get over it. And Gaspard would be watching her too, looking for some way to pay her back for the incident with Denden. He’d crow when news of her departure spread round the camp. Couldn’t be helped. Fournier would be able to stand up to him now.
At least she had some meat to throw at the buggers. The prospect of big action would focus their minds. Denden had received a message from London last night. They wanted Nancy’s group to take a bite out of a German army group forty miles south, to draw off some of the troops and help clear the way for the British to land at Marseille. Thank God they had the bazookas. Time to throw some bones: she’d consult as to strategy, as Fournier knew that part of the country well; Gaspard could pick which of the men they should train with the bazookas. Let them rub that on the sore spots of their egos.
She dressed quickly and went off to relieve herself in the woods, then walked up the track to the main camp.
What the…? Tardivat had Anne by the arm. She was cowering in front of him and his arm was raised.
He saw Nancy and released the girl, throwing her forward onto the ground.
“Mon colonel, this stupid child set a fire going out of cover! She was sending smoke signals into the air for hours.”
“Stop scaring the kid and put it out then,” Nancy said.
“I made bread, Madame,” Anne said, pointing at a dozen rolls sitting on a napkin on the grass. “I saw the oven last night and thought I would make a special breakfast for you, to say thank you.”
Stupid girl. You don’t use up resources to make special thank you meals for officers. What next? Birthday cakes? But poor kid. Nancy remembered her first days as a runaway, and the kindness of strangers.
“OK, Anne. Just don’t do it again.”
Anne scurried past her, loading rolls into the skirts of her dress and retreating toward the old bus. Tardivat stamped out the cooking fire, swearing fluently.
“Seen any planes?” Nancy asked.
Tardivat shook his head. “But it’s a clear day. They could be far enough off and high enough to see the smoke without us seeing them.”
Nancy thrust her hands into her pockets. “Tell the guys to keep an extra-sharp lookout. And I need you, Fournier, Mateo and Gaspard in the bus, quick as you like. New messages from London.”
He hesitated. “You’re still going?”
“Yes. Afraid I’ll give away our position?” She couldn’t keep the sneer out of her voice.
He looked hurt. “No, I am not afraid of that. I am afraid Böhm lied, that you are breaking your promise to us for nothing.”
She turned away. Not much chance Mateo would feel like getting over yesterday if he heard about Anne’s mistake, then of course he’d be ten times worse when they found out she’d gone. Enough. She was done explaining herself to these men. Another hour and then her job as peacemaker, mother, confidant and nanny was over. They could sort themselves out. She walked back toward the bus.
“Madame, I’m so sorry.” The girl was scampering at her side, like a puppy.
Nancy looked down at her; such a fragile little thing. How old was she? No more than eighteen. Only a year or so older than Nancy had been when she fled her home. And God knows Nancy had made enough mistakes then, only she’d had the luxury of not running away during a war.
“It’s my fault, Anne. I should have taken you through the security protocols last night. Rolls looks good, though.” Anne smiled. “My officers are coming in for a briefing, maybe they’ll forgive you when they eat them.”