Page 10 of The Resistance Book Club

Then she heard a tap on the door that opened from the cellar into the tunnels that ran beneath Cordeval. The book club members were here.

Margot opened the heavy oak door, and the smell of the sea came in; cold, and heavy with salt. She could hear the waves whispering, the sound amplified by the tunnels.

Aunt Sandrine arrived, bringing her friend Henriette, a farmer’s wife with ruddy cheeks. Madame Guerin appeared at the same time as Claudine, and after them Sylvie and Brigitte, and each took a place along the picnic table to start wrapping the books. Colette arrived next, the tips of her delicate fingers green from arranging flowers.

Not far behind came Esther, who emerged from the shadows in the tunnel, with Isabelle safe in her Moses basket, bundled in her blanket with her goose tucked in beside her.

The little girl had been a ray of sunshine in Esther’s life after her husband had been lost at sea on his fishing boat. And in Isabelle’s features, Margot could see Daniel’s shadow. She shared his dark eyes, that sparkled when she blinked up at her mother. Esther kept his memory alive for their daughter.

Margot hugged Esther. ‘How are you?’ Her question went deep; one young widow speaking to another. ‘Are you both all right?’

Esther nodded, but her face was drawn with worry. ‘I hadn’t thought—’ She shook her head. ‘That man is dangerous.’

Margot thought again of the officer in the staff car with the duelling scar carved down his face.

‘I hate to see those monsters in Cordeval,’ Margot replied. Trying to reassure her friend, she went on, ‘Let’s hope they don’t stay long. There’s no Chevalier here.’

Esther put Isabelle down on a chair in her basket, and the women joined the others in wrapping the banned books.

‘I loved readingGrand Hotel,’ Madame Guerin said, as she wrapped a copy to be hidden somewhere in the village. ‘So glamorous! Even though I’d probably be working at the hotel rather than staying there. No wonder the Germans have banned it; they don’t want anyone to have fun, do they? A bit of harmless escapism.’

Esther nodded. ‘And some welcome elegance.’ She looked over at Sylvie. ‘I pictured them wearing the sort of gowns that you make to send to Paris. Shimmering!’

Sylvie beamed at her. ‘Oh, exactly! I filled a page of my sketchbook with the gowns I was picturing. All that silk, all those embellishments…it’d be a joy to make them.’

‘I’d love to wear one,’ Colette said, a daydreaming tone in her voice as she tied a bow in the string. ‘I’d dance down that sweeping staircase at the big hotel in Clarenville!’

‘These books’ll be a treat for whoever finds them,’ Brigitte said, as she wrapped a copy of the novel in a sheet of newspaper. ‘Like being given a box of chocolates!’

The women chuckled. When had any of them last seen a box of chocolates for sale in the shops, let alone tasted them?

‘I remember watching the film,’ Henriette said.Grand Hotelwas a world away from her life of draughty cowsheds and muddy fields. ‘I was transported. Remember Greta Garbo?’

‘I vant to be alone!’ Margot heard Beatrice before she saw her, her impression of Garbo echoing along the tunnel a moment before she emerged into the candlelight.

‘Beatrice!’ Margot chuckled. Teasing, she said, ‘I thought it was Garbo herself for a moment.’

Beatrice beamed and dropped into a bow. ‘I’m just like her, I know.’ With a laugh, she tucked the hair that had escaped from her plait back behind her ears, then turned to greet the other women with a nod, as bold now as ever. ‘Who d’you think that is in the staff car?’

‘Beatrice,’ Esther whispered. ‘You shouldn’t?—’

But Beatrice wasn’t about to be deterred. ‘It’s the Prof’s brother, that’s who. He’s getting slaughtered on the best red over the road right now and he’s telling everybody who’ll listen that he and Adolf are like that.’ She held up her hand to show entwined fingers. ‘So I’ll bet you the Prof’s his mate too. Germans are all the same, aren’t they?’

Margot’s grip tightened on the book she was holding.

‘I’m sure there’s a lot of SS officers who want everyone to think they’re best friends with Hitler,’ Margot said, glancing at Esther. ‘That doesn’t mean it’s true. And are you sure he’s the Professor’s brother?’

‘He said it himself,’ Beatrice said and Margot wondered again at this child, sneaking beneath the village at midnight as her mother held court with the Germans. ‘And the Prof was supposed to be playing the piano at the bar tonight and didn’t show his face.’

Margot didn’t say a word as she absorbed this. She closed the door to the tunnel and pulled the latch down securely, before coming back to join the others at the table.

Esther looked towards Isabelle as she murmured, ‘His name is Obergruppenführer Felix Lauterborn.’ She looked towards Beatrice, her eyes heavy with grief. ‘He’s a murderer. Beatrice, you and your mother…’

But the words fell away because what was there to be said? They all knew that Joséphine would take his money if it was offered. Yet Joséphine loved her daughter.If she knew she wasn’t safe in her bed now, Beatrice would be in trouble. Beatrice was good at sneaking out and, so far, her membership of the book club had remained a secret.

‘They’re all murderers,’ Brigitte remarked bitterly as she smoothed out a sheet of newspaper. ‘Every Nazi has blood on their hands.’

They’d all read the stories in the newspapers about the invasion; the lines of escaping French civilians strafed with bullets from planes.