The Beekeeper's Promise (Page 38)

Jack tilted his watch towards the light so that he could read it. ‘It’s just gone six. At the bakery, I’d already have been up for hours. One of the advantages of being on the run is being able to lounge in bed with a beautiful woman!’

Eliane blushed, thankful that the lamplight wasn’t strong enough to give her away. She’d never spent a night alone with a man before – not even Mathieu. At the thought of his name, she felt her cheeks flush even more deeply. She hadn’t heard from him for over a year now, but somehow she still felt she was being unfaithful to his memory.

Jack had got up and walked a few metres back down the tunnel to relieve himself. Instead of coming to sit back down beside her again, when he returned he wandered across to the water-smoothed wall of the cavern and pulled out his commando knife. She craned her neck to see what he was doing as he scratched something into the rock. Scrambling to her feet, she brought the lamp over to get a closer look. He’d carved a heart into the bedrock and, with the tip of his knife, was now scratching two sets of initials in its centre: E. M. and J. C.

He turned and kissed her on the top of her head, then stood back to admire his handiwork. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Proof that this wasn’t a dream. Proof that we really were here, you and I. And proof that, in the middle of a war filled with fear and hatred, we found love. Let it be a sign to remind anyone who finds their way into this cave in the future that, come what may, to have known love is the most important thing there is.’

She hugged him tightly, not wanting to be reminded of the world outside, wishing that this moment could last forever . . .

But then they both froze. Faint but distinct footsteps could be heard from the cellar overhead.

Jack gripped his knife more tightly and stepped in front of Eliane to shield her. ‘Get back into the tunnel,’ he whispered, urgently.

The barrel covering the top of the stone steps rumbled as it was rolled back, and Jack tensed, preparing to strike.

A pair of stout, blue-veined calves appeared at the top of the steps, accompanied by a wheezing and a muttered grumbling.

‘Madame Boin!’ Eliane came forward from the shadows.

The cook bent down, with some difficulty as her ample girth got in the way, and peered at them in the dim lamplight.

‘Oh, mon Dieu,’ she complained. ‘I never thought I’d get down those stairs again, at my age. They were nearly the death of me! The things I have to do . . . Eliane, the count says you mustn’t go back down to the mill. It’s not safe yet. The Milice are there. But you should come up to the kitchen so that you’re at work as usual if they come and check the château. That way no one will suspect that you know anything about the whereabouts of Monsieur Lemaître. Good morning, m’sieur,’ she added as an afterthought, as if she’d only just noticed Jacques – though she was clearly here to talk to them both. ‘The count says you are to stay there until they can send someone up from the mill to get you. It shouldn’t be too long – the miliciens won’t find anything and so they’ll soon get bored and go looking to make trouble elsewhere.’

Not for the first time, Eliane was struck by the thought of the network of people secretly working together to get vital messages through. She silently marvelled at Madame Boin’s capable manner. She knew, of course, that the cook would likely have been making her own contribution to the covert activities happening around the château, but in three years the two women had never discussed this. As Madame Boin had said, they made an unlikely secret force – but maybe that was what made them so effective. Obediently she began to scramble up the steps out of the cavern towards the wine cellar. As she did so, Madame Boin tutted. ‘You will have to help me get back up the cellar steps again. You’d better go first and give me a hand if I get stuck. Heaven only knows, I’ll squash you flat if I go in front and have one of my dizzy spells . . .’

Eliane stooped to look back into the cavern. Jack smiled at her and gave her a thumbs-up gesture, then blew her a kiss. She had no idea when she’d see him again, but she fixed her clear-eyed gaze on him for one last, long moment, committing to memory his clean-cut features, his broad shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the way his eyes lit up like the summer sky whenever he looked at her.

Then she rolled the barrel back into its place and climbed the cellar stairs ahead of Madame Boin.

The château’s kitchen was bright and warm after the cool darkness of the cavern, and Eliane blinked as she emerged from the cellar. She reached out her hand to Madame Boin to help her up the last few steps.

‘Go and give your face a wash if you like, my dear, and I’ll get you some breakfast and a hot cup of coffee. Spending the whole night in that dark cave, whatever next?’

As she smoothed back her hair and tied the scarf in place, Eliane smiled to herself, remembering Jack’s arms holding her in that other world, beneath their feet; a world where love was something simple, carved in stone; a world so very far removed from the complexities of reality.

Later that day, as Eliane and Madame Boin were preparing dinner, a black car pulled up at the main door of the château. The general climbed out of the back, followed by Oberleutnant Farber, and two other men got out of the front of the car. Unlike the soldiers, they wore black shirts and long overcoats, in spite of the heat, but their caps were emblazoned with the same insignia as the army uniform – an angular, silver eagle with wings outspread – and around the top of their left sleeves they each wore a bright-red armband displaying a black swastika on a white circle.

Madame Boin peered at them from the kitchen window, her eyes narrowing, and then turned to Eliane, drying her hands on the skirt of her apron. ‘Looks like the Gestapo are paying us a visit. Keep calm, my girl. Remember, they know nothing. And – more importantly – neither do you and I.’

For a moment, Eliane was anxious that they might head towards the chapel in search of Monsieur le Comte. But a knock on the kitchen door a few minutes later proved that it was his staff that they’d come to see.

Oberleutnant Farber stood there, looking more tense than usual. Eliane could see the muscles in his jaw working as he swallowed, before saying, ‘Please, Madame Boin, Mademoiselle Martin, would you be so good as to accompany me to the drawing room? Some gentlemen would like to ask you a few questions.’

The two women untied their aprons, folding them over the back of a chair, and Eliane pulled off her headscarf, smoothing back her hair as she followed the oberleutnant and Madame Boin along the passageway from the kitchen to the main entrance hall. The drawing-room doors stood open, but once the women were inside the oberleutnant closed them with a soft click that made Eliane jump slightly, her nerves on edge.

The general and the two men in their black coats were sitting on the sofas, which faced the vast fireplace at one end of the room. Above the solid-stone mantelpiece, the coat of arms of the Comtes de Bellevue was carved from a slab of limestone the same pale-cream colour as the rock of the cavern walls hidden beneath them. Eliane fixed her eyes on it as she and Madame Boin walked forward, taking strength from the Latin motto, which was chiselled into a banner above the pair of heraldic lions that held a shield between them: Amor Vincit Omnia. It was a reminder that love would help her withstand whatever ordeal was ahead: her love for her parents; for Yves out there in the hills somewhere; and for Jack Connelly. Was he still hiding in the cave beneath their feet? Or had someone been able to come up from the mill by that time to spirit him away down the tunnel and off to hide with the Maquis?

Madame Boin and Eliane stood side by side in front of the men, with their backs to the fireplace now, and Oberleutnant Farber perched on an elegant Louis XV chair – and under other circumstances the contrast of this with his grey uniform and sombre expression would have seemed almost comically frivolous.

‘Ladies.’ The shorter of the two Gestapo officers – a weaselly-looking man with no discernible chin – spoke French, although his accent was harsh and guttural in comparison with that of Oberleutnant Farber. ‘It has come to our notice that an enemy agent has been living in the village of Coulliac. Unfortunately, he has disappeared. However, we are sure that all good citizens of the community will wish to do their patriotic duty and help us find him – and indeed any other traitors in our midst, who may have aided and abetted him.’

He paused, waiting for the women to speak.

Madame Boin turned to Eliane with a look of convincing astonishment on her face. ‘An enemy agent! Living in Coulliac? Who on earth could that be? Do you have any idea, Eliane?’

Taking her cue from Madame Boin’s perfectly executed performance, Eliane shook her head slowly, as if trying to rack her brains. ‘I can’t think. What a shock to know such a person has been living in the middle of our community, though.’

‘Who is this agent, may we ask, messieurs?’ Madame Boin asked.

The short officer tutted. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of playing games with us. Either you know already, or you have no business knowing at all. Have you seen or heard anything in the village? Perhaps when you were out shopping there? Or . . .’ He turned his narrow-eyed gaze towards Eliane. ‘When you were at your market stall? We have received information from a concerned citizen who thinks you may have even consorted with this person.’