The Lavender Garden (36 page)

“We’re returning home,” Connie replied cautiously. “We live farther along the coast.”

“Ah, the Côte d’Azur. I think there’s no place more beautiful on earth.”

“No, monsieur, I agree.”

“Have you been visiting relatives?”

“Yes,” said Connie, stifling a yawn, “and it’s been a long journey back.”

“Any journey undertaken these days is fraught with difficulty. I myself am an agricultural engineer, so I travel widely and see many things.” The man raised his eyebrows. “You’re traveling unchaperoned?”

“Yes, but we’re almost there,” Connie answered, nervous now at so many questions.

“That’s very brave in these difficult times. Especially as I notice your companion . . .” The young man mimed a pair of closed eyes.

Connie immediately panicked. What was she doing sitting openly in a restaurant with an obviously blind sister of a man wanted by the
Gestapo? “No, my sister is not blind, she’s simply tired. Come, Claudine, it’s time we were in bed. Good night, monsieur.” She allowed Sophia to stand from the table alone and only at the last minute took her elbow and led her out of the room.

“Who was that man?” Sophia whispered fearfully.

“I don’t know, but I’m not sure we should stay here. I—” As Connie’s foot touched the bottom step to walk upstairs, a hand grasped her shoulder, and she jumped in fright. It was the man from the restaurant.

“Madame, I know who you both are.” He spoke in a low voice. “Do not fear, your secret is safe. A friend alerted me to the fact that such a young lady”—he indicated Sophia—“would be traveling down this way, and I was asked to look out for her and help her and her companions. I spotted you at Marseille station and would have introduced myself sooner, but I saw what happened to your friend on the train. I’m to see you safely to the end of your journey. Mademoiselle Sophia’s brother is well-known to me.”

Connie stood silently in an agony of indecision.

“He is a hero, madame,” the man added, gazing at her intently.

At the use of Édouard’s code name, Connie nodded.

“Thank you, monsieur. We’re grateful to you.”

“Tomorrow I’ll escort you down the coast to Mademoiselle’s home. My name is Armand and I’m at your service. Good night.”

“Can we trust him?” asked Sophia as she climbed into bed a few seconds later.

If the Gestapo hadn’t burst in by morning, then Connie knew they could. But she didn’t say this to Sophia. “Yes. I think we can. Your brother, with his many contacts in the Resistance, must have sent word down the line.”

“I wonder when Édouard will join us?” Sophia sighed. “Oh, Constance, I can’t stop thinking of poor Sarah. What can we do?”

“We have to hope she is questioned, then released and returned to us. Sleep now, Sophia, and know that tomorrow evening we’ll be in a place of safety.”

•  •  •

The following morning, after a breakfast of the freshest bread and even a croissant still hot from the oven, Connie felt somewhat
restored. Armand had nodded at her across the restaurant as he drank his coffee, then stood up and looked at his watch.

“It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, madame. I’ll be leaving now to walk to the station to catch the train along the coast.” He smiled at them and left the room.

A few minutes after Armand had left, Connie guided Sophia down the street toward the station, and Armand tipped his hat as he saw them arrive. Having purchased two tickets and taken Sophia to sit on a bench on the platform, Connie watched Armand as he read a newspaper nonchalantly. The little train drew in and everyone clustered around the doors in a very un-British fashion. Leading Sophia onto the train, Connie settled her in a seat by the window. She looked for Armand, but he had obviously disappeared into the second carriage.

The journey to Gassin took just over two hours. Connie looked at the raft of pretty coastal villages, which, in high summer, faced on an azure sea. Now, in early December, the waves below were an angry gray. Connie shivered, hoping only for warmth when they arrived; she was chilled to the bone.

The train journey was thankfully uneventful, and the two of them disembarked at Gassin station in further torrential rain. When the train had trundled off and the small number of passengers had dispersed, only they and a donkey and cart waited patiently for further guidance. A few minutes later, Armand appeared out of nowhere, wheeling two bicycles with him.

Connie looked at him in horror. “Monsieur, you must understand that Sophia cannot cycle. How about the donkey and cart?”

“Charlotte, the donkey, takes the post up the hill to Gassin village.” Armand looked at the animal fondly. “But her disappearance might alert the villagers to Sophia’s presence.”

“But, surely, monsieur, she would say nothing?”

“Charlotte, certainly, is trustworthy.” A glint of a smile appeared in his eyes as he and Connie shared the absurdity of the statement. “But her master, the postman, I cannot vouch for. The château is a short bicycle ride of five minutes. Sophia will hold tight to me.”

“No!” Sophia was aghast. “I cannot.”

“Mademoiselle, you must. Now”—he glanced at Connie—“take
this.” Armand handed her Sophia’s small suitcase, which Connie placed in the bicycle basket in front of her. “And help me get Mademoiselle aboard.”

“Please don’t make me!” Sophia moaned in fear.

By now dripping wet, Connie lost her patience. “Sophia, for goodness’ sake, get on, before we all die of pneumonia!”

The sharpness in Connie’s voice quieted Sophia’s protests, and the two of them helped her climb onto the saddle.

“Put your arms about my waist and hang on tight,” Armand instructed, standing astride the bicycle in front of Sophia. “Right. Here we go!”

Connie watched as Armand wobbled off along the bumpy road, Sophia clinging on for dear life behind him. Connie followed, and several minutes later, as raindrops cascaded from her white-blond hair, Armand turned off the main road. A few yards down the narrow track, he stopped to let Connie catch up with them.

“There, mademoiselle! Your first bicycle ride.” He handed a shaking Sophia from the bicycle and laid it down, indicating Connie to do the same. “We must walk from here, the track is too rough for wheels. We’re entering by the back of the château, which takes us through the vineyards and directly to the
cave
. The good news is that we haven’t passed a soul since we left the station.” He led Sophia carefully along the potholed, puddled track. “The rain has been on our side.”

“We’re here?” asked Sophia.

“Yes, we’ll be at the
cave
in a few minutes,” he said reassuringly.

“Thank God,” cried Sophia, panting with fear and exhaustion.

“Jacques is expecting you,” said Armand.

The sound of the name seemed to spur Sophia’s feet forward. A large, rendered building came into view, and Armand pulled open the high wooden doors in the center of it. Connie felt like crying with relief herself as they stepped inside out of the rain.

The interior of the building was a vast, dim space, filled with the scent of fermenting grapes. Huge oak barrels lined its sides, and a figure appeared through a side door between two of them.

“Sophia? Is that you?” a voice whispered from the shadows.

“Jacques!” Sophia reached out her thin, childlike arms, and a tall, heavyset man in his thirties, his face lined and tanned brown as a nut by the relentless sun, walked up to her.

“My Sophia, thank God you’re safe!” The man clasped her against his wide, strong chest, and Sophia sobbed onto his shoulder. He stroked her soaking hair and whispered to her tenderly, “Don’t worry, Jacques is here now. I’ll look after you.”

Connie and Armand watched this display of affection silently. Then Jacques looked toward them.

“Thank you for bringing her home,” he said to both of them, his voice cracked with emotion. “I didn’t believe she would make it. Did anyone see you arrive here?”

“Jacques, we couldn’t see two centimeters in front of us in this rain.” Armand laughed. “It couldn’t have been better.”

“Good. So now, ladies, there’s a fire lit in my cottage, and you must both change out of your wet clothes.” Jacques took his arms from around Sophia and strode over to Armand. “Thank you, my friend. I’m sure the comte will never forget what you’ve done for him.”

“I did very little—it’s this lady you should thank.” Armand indicated Connie.

“Where is Sarah, Sophia’s maid?” inquired Jacques of Connie.

“Monsieur, I—”

“Sarah was arrested just before Marseilles,” interjected Armand.

“Then who is she?” Jacques’s eyes narrowed at Connie.

“A trusted friend of the comte and one of us. But no doubt Constance herself will explain in good time,” said Armand.

“Right.” Jacques seemed pacified. “Come, Sophia, we must get you warm. I’ll no doubt be hearing from you soon,” he said, nodding in the direction of Armand.

“Of course. Good-bye, Madame Constance. I’m sure it will not be the last time we meet.” Armand smiled at her pleasantly.

“Thank you from both of us for your help,” Connie said with feeling. “Do you have far to go?”

“That’s not a question we ask in these times. I have many homes.” He winked at her and, pulling his dripping jacket up pointlessly around his ears, left the c
ave
.

“Follow me,” said Jacques, nodding to Connie as he led Sophia through the door between the huge barrels and along a passage to another door. Opening it, he led them through a neat kitchen, and a blissful warmth assailed Connie as she stepped into a tiny sitting room with a log fire burning in the grate.

“I’ll go upstairs and find you both some warm clothes to wear. Those you’ve brought with you will be just as sodden as the ones you’re wearing,” said Jacques, indicating their leather suitcase, which had made a puddle on the flagstone floor.

“Oh, Constance!” exclaimed Sophia as she removed her coat and handed it to her. “I’ve never been so grateful to arrive anywhere!”

“Yes, it’s been a terrible journey, but we’re here now, Sophia, and you can rest.”

Jacques came down the stairs with two thick fleece shirts and woolen jumpers for both of them. “They’ll do for now,” he said gruffly as he handed them each a cloth to dry their soaking hair. “I’ll make coffee and prepare some food while you change.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

“I wonder why Jacques doesn’t take us straight to the château?” said Sophia as Connie helped her out of the rest of her soaking garments. “I have a wardrobe of fresh clothes hanging there.”

Connie, having no idea where the château was in relation to the cottage or what the plan was, shrugged. “I’m sure he felt the most important thing was to get you warm and dry.”

“Yes, and I’m so happy to be here. The château is my favorite place on the earth.” Sophia’s fingers felt for the buttons on Jacques’s shirt, which fell to below her knees.

“Now, sit down here beside the fire and dry your hair,” said Connie, undressing herself and collecting the pile of dripping clothes, which would need to be wrung out in a sink before being placed in front of the fire. Jacques reemerged from the kitchen with a tray of coffee and placed it on the table in front of them.

Connie sipped it silently, listening to Sophia as she chattered to Jacques, asking after the workers at the vineyard.

“Sadly, Sophia, there’s only me here now. All the rest of the men have either gone off to fight or have been sent to Germany to work in the Boche factories. They keep me here in the
cave
as the schnapps
I make powers their torpedoes. There’s a factory making hundreds of them only a few kilometers from here. Last time they came, I said I couldn’t give them what they needed. I told them they’d drunk too much schnapps themselves and I’d run out.” Jacques’s eyes twinkled. “I was lying, of course.”

“But I thought there were few Germans down here?” said Sophia. “That it was safe?”

“Sadly, much has changed since you were here last.” Jacques sighed. “Everyone lives in fear, just as they do in Paris. There was a public execution at the La Foux racecourse near Saint-Tropez only a few weeks ago. The Boche shot four members of the Maquis, of which our brave friend Armand is a member. These are troubled times and we must all be very careful.”

“But what about the château? The housekeeper? The maids?” asked Sophia.

“All gone away. The château is shut up and has been so for the past two years.”

“But who will take care of us when we’re living in it?”

“Mademoiselle Sophia”—Jacques reached for her hand—“you won’t be living in the château. It’s far too dangerous for you to do so. If Édouard has managed to escape, it’s the first place they will come looking for him. And if they find you there, they will undoubtedly arrest you and take you in for questioning. You were, after all, living under the same roof when your brother was conducting his brave double life.”

“But I know nothing.” Sophia wrung her hands in despair. “What would they want with me?! Besides, I don’t even know if my poor brother is alive or dead.”

Connie realized just how protected Sophia had been by Édouard. In terms of physical deprivation, nothing had changed for Sophia in the past four years. She’d still lived the same comfortable life as before the war began. The cotton wool in which her brother’s indulgence and the family wealth had wrapped her had shielded her from any danger she might have faced.

“Sophia, my dear, you must understand that you can’t be seen here by anyone. Did your brother not explain this to you? He wasn’t sending you to the château to live in it openly. You would be removed by
the Boche the moment they knew of your presence here. No, he sent you down to me because he knows, like I do, that there’s a safe hiding place here for you to use until the war is over. And it shouldn’t be for long, I promise.”

“Where is this hiding place?” Sophia asked fearfully.

“I’ll show you later, after we’ve eaten. As for you, Madame Constance”—Jacques turned to her—“you’ll live in the cottage with me. We will say you are my niece, if anyone cares to inquire.”

“Are you sure it isn’t best if I go my own way from here?” suggested Connie. “Perhaps Armand could help me contact a local network and eventually find my way back home to England. I—”