The Beekeeper's Promise (Page 23)

Eliane thought it odd that he used the same jokey term as Monsieur le Comte did when referring to the Germans. She also thought she heard the sound of the truck door opening and then softly closing again, but Gustave was chatting animatedly to Madame Boin, so perhaps she was mistaken.

Her father seemed to be in no great hurry to depart, discussing the latest news reports and passing on snippets of local gossip gleaned on his rounds that morning. ‘Lisette had a tiring day yesterday. Madame Leblanc’s labour lasted seventeen hours! So she was up all night long. But all is well – a bouncing boy finally delivered at five this morning. Lisette was catching up on her sleep when I left . . .’

He tailed off as the count appeared. ‘Bonjour, Monsieur le Comte.’ The two men shook hands. ‘As you can see,’ Gustave pointed at the sack of flour propped against a chair, ‘I’ve just made an extra delivery.’

‘That is greatly appreciated, Gustave. Thank you for thinking of us. All is in order.’ It sounded to Eliane more like a statement of fact than a question.

The miller nodded. ‘Well, I’d better be going. If Lisette’s woken up she’ll be wondering why I’m taking so long to finish my rounds. Good day, monsieur; Madame Boin.’ He paused in passing to plant a kiss on the top of Eliane’s head, saying, ‘See you later, ma fille.’ And then, having climbed back into his truck, he gave them all a jaunty wave as he drove past, heading for home.

When she got back to the mill that evening, Eliane paused beside the river for a few minutes, standing beneath the sheltering canopy of the willow’s branches. She had got into the habit of doing so almost every day since Mathieu had left, spending a few minutes thinking of him and remembering the times they’d spent together on the riverbank. She gazed across the river at the fields and then the woods beyond the fields, visible as dark shadows in the moonlight. On the far side of the woods, the faint rumble of a passing train faded away into the distance.

Mathieu was out there, somewhere, beyond those woods, over the railway line and across yet more fields, on the other side of the steep, narrow valleys of the Périgord where the higher land opened out to become the meadows and pastures of the Corrèze, helping his father and brother manage the farm near Tulle. She wished, with all her heart, for a message from him. Just a few words to let her know that he was safe and well and that he was still thinking of her. She thought back to the days they’d spent beside the river, picnicking in the sunlight and idly making plans for a future that they’d been so sure of sharing. She’d known then, with such certainty, that they were destined to be together. But who could have foretold that France would become a country divided by a line drawn on a map? And that that line of demarcation would so quickly become an un-crossable barrier?

Just then, the darkness of the blackout was illuminated for a moment as the door of the mill house opened and light spilled from the interior across the dusty grass to where Eliane was standing, concealed, behind the veil of the willow’s leaves. Lisette stepped out, closing the door again quickly behind her; and, as Eliane watched, her mother walked over to the barn carrying something carefully before her. Eliane heard the soft clink of china rattling on a tin tray and caught the fleeting smell of something savoury – soup, perhaps? Or a stew that her mother had made?

How strange. Her mother was taking a meal out to the barn. But then it had been a strange day, with the morning walk in the silk headscarf and her father turning up at the château like that. Eliane stepped out from the shelter of the willow tree just as Lisette hurried back out of the barn, empty-handed now.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, pressing her hand to her throat. ‘It’s you, Eliane. You startled me!’

‘Sorry, Maman, I didn’t mean to.’

‘How was your day?’ asked Lisette.

‘Oh fine. The same as usual,’ Eliane replied. Although she was curious as to who could possibly be eating their supper in the Martins’ barn, she knew better than to ask questions if her mother didn’t want her to.

‘Papa is in the kitchen. I think he wants a word with you.’

Eliane followed her mother inside, blinking in the light.

‘Here she is!’ Gustave pulled out the chair next to his and gestured for Eliane to join him at the table. ‘You did a fine job today, ma fille. That walk you took was an important one.’

She shrugged. ‘It was just a walk.’

He grinned at her and ruffled her hair. ‘It was a walk that enabled things to happen. Things that must stay behind the scenes for the moment. But things that will make a difference.’

She smiled back at him, tucking her straight, honey-coloured hair back behind her ears. ‘And is one of those things eating supper in the barn right now?’

Lisette gasped. ‘I told you it was too much of a risk letting him stay there,’ she scolded Gustave.

‘Don’t worry, chérie. Eliane has already played a part in this and she knows not to say anything to anyone outside of this house. It’s only fair that she be told. In any case, he’ll be gone tomorrow when Yves and I deliver him to his new digs, along with the flour for the bakery. And it’s after the curfew now, too late to move him safely tonight.’

Gustave turned to face Eliane. ‘As you have gathered, we have a “guest” at the moulin for the night. Like your “guests” at the château, he’s a foreigner – he’s English. He crossed the weir today, having parachuted into the unoccupied zone last night. He’ll be around for a while, helping out behind the scenes. More than that, you need not know.’

‘I see.’ Eliane nodded, thoughtfully. ‘And did my walk today have something to do with his arrival?’

‘Indeed it did. You let certain people know when the coast was clear. You helped keep him – and others – safe.’

‘May I ask you one more question, then?’

‘Just one more. But I can’t promise you an answer.’

‘Did you deliver more than just a sack of flour when you came to Château Bellevue today?’

He looked into her candid grey eyes, considering his reply. ‘The answer to your question is “yes”, Eliane. But I cannot say any more than that.’

‘That’s okay. I understand, Papa. I won’t ask any more questions.’

When she’d climbed the stairs to her attic room, Eliane took the scarlet headscarf from her apron pocket and spread it out on her bed, running her fingertips across the smooth, richly coloured silk. She knew it was a beacon, and that today it had sent an important signal out from the hilltop to the countryside around. Against the white counterpane, the scarf seemed to blaze with a triumphant message of hope. She willed it to keep the stranger in the barn safe, and to protect her family here and in Paris; she thought of Monsieur le Comte, whose mother had worn the scarf once, and hoped it would surround him with light up there at the château, whatever he was up to in the midst of all those German soldiers; and, most of all, she prayed that it would somehow be a beacon, like the beam from a lighthouse sweeping across a darkened ocean, that took her love to Mathieu on the other side of their divide.

There was a strange man sitting at the kitchen table when she came downstairs the next morning. His clothes were non-descript and workmanlike, but his features were distinctive: an aquiline nose and square jaw suggested a physical strength that was softened by the faint expression of amusement in his eyes, which were the shade of the dark-blue cornflowers that grew along the edges of the wheat fields. At the sight of Eliane, he set down his bowl of coffee and scrambled to his feet.

She stooped to kiss her father, who was seated at the end of the table nearest the door. ‘Bonjour, Papa.’

‘Bonjour, Eliane. Allow me to introduce you to Jacques Lemaître.’

The stranger stretched out his hand to shake hers. ‘Enchanté, mademoiselle. Je suis ravi de faire votre connaissance.’

His French was flawless, with perhaps just the faint hint of an accent that was difficult to place. Without knowing otherwise, one might assume he was from further south – the Basque country, perhaps, or maybe the Languedoc.

‘Jacques will be working at the bakery in Coulliac and staying in the apartment above it. He’s a friend of the family’s who’s come to lend a hand now that Monsieur Fournier’s arthritis is so bad these days.’

She nodded. ‘They’ll be pleased to have your help, m’sieur.’

Jacques smiled. ‘That is a very beautiful scarf you’re wearing, Eliane.’

‘Thank you. It was a present from my sister in Paris.’

It felt as if they were all practicing their roles, rehearsing them in private so that they would be prepared for a more public performance.

Downing his coffee, Gustave pulled a large, spotted handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his moustache. ‘Right then, Jacques, let’s get going. Monsieur Fournier will be wanting his delivery of flour before the rest of Coulliac wakes up.’

‘Au revoir, Eliane,’ the stranger said. ‘I look forward to seeing you again soon.’

‘Welcome to Coulliac, Monsieur Lemaître,’ she replied. ‘I hope you will settle in well.’