Page 43 of The Resistance Book Club

‘Be careful,’ he said as he began to slowly descend the steps, one hand trailing on the wall. ‘It’s really steep.’ The torch beam swept down over the steps and he turned to tell her, ‘No water coming in; we’ll check the tunnel door, just to be sure.’

Lucy breathed out, relieved. She had noticed an old Bakelite switch just inside the door. Instinctively, she flicked it, but the light didn’t come on.

She followed Sébastien down into the cellar, taking each gritty step with care. She tried to focus on her footsteps, but she kept glancing into the room and in the edges of the torchlight she saw crates and boxes stacked against the walls. She wondered if it’d been Mémé or Margot who had left them there.

Sébastien paused at the foot of the stairs. He ran the torch beam over the room.

Lucy gasped. The light picked out chairs in the middle of the cellar – old and wooden, arranged in a circle. A candle on a saucer had been left on one of them; a book with a plain, cream-coloured cover on another.

‘The chairs…they’ve left them just as they were during the occupation!’ Lucy reverently touched the back of one of them, wondering which had been Margot’s. ‘It’s as if everyone from the Resistance Book Club’s just about to come in from the tunnels!’

‘She never said they just left it,’ Sébastien murmured. He turned to look at Lucy and said, ‘D’you know about this?’

Lucy nodded. ‘Oh, yes, it’s all in the memory box that Mémé and Beatrice put together.’ She picked up the book from the chair and held it out to show Sébastien: Thomas Mann’sDeath in Venice.

Just as she did, the cobwebbed lightbulb above their head suddenly twitched into life and threw its glow around the cellar. It illuminated the circle of chairs, the boxes and crates, the old plaster walls, and the heavy old door to the tunnels. She saw, pinned to one wall, an old map of the area, and black-and-white photos – were they surveillance photos? Standing on a crate, she saw an old radio, with a large dial and buttons, and a mesh speaker. A Box Brownie camera stood next to it.

‘They read the books that the Nazis had banned,’ Lucy said, ‘and hid them around Cordeval for the other villagers to find. Among other things they did for the resistance. They were so brave.’

She wondered if, somewhere in the memory box, she would find out which member of the book club had been killed in the square.

Sébastien smiled. He ran his free hand back through his rain-slicked hair and said, ‘Granny Bea and her mum were both in the book club. Real resistance fighters. You wouldn’t believe what Joséphine had to do for the war effort; they would’ve tarred and feathered her for it if not for the other women speaking out for her.’

Lucy put the book back down on the chair. She lightly touched Sébastien’s sleeve again; she was relieved he already knew that particular part of the story.

‘I’d just found out about that too,’ she admitted. She thought of Lauterborn’s photograph, the cruel eyes and the duelling scar down the side of his face. ‘It must’ve been horrible for her, but…well, she must’ve found out all sorts of things from Lauterborn. She?—’

Lucy gazed around the room, taking in the crates and wondering what was inside. Maybe there were more banned books down here. And then, she noticed something on the wall. She’d thought it was spidery cracks in the plaster but then she realised it was writing.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, heading over to look at the piece of wall beside the tunnel door.

In pencil, someone had written on the rough surface:

The Resistance Book Club met here from 1941–1945. ‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité.’

‘There’s a message on the wall!’ Lucy read it out loud. ‘They met here for four years, all the way through to the end.’

‘Kicking Nazi butt right to the last day,’ Sébastien remarked approvingly. ‘I feel like the whole village should know about this, but they don’t. I’ve got a feeling you know a lot more than I do; all I’ve heard about are a few hidden books and some slashed Nazi tyres.’

‘It’s quite a story,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ll show you the memory box, if you like, but I’m still trying to get all the details straight. There’s so many bits of information…and so much old handwriting to wrestle with!’

‘I’d love that.’ Sébastien smiled. ‘Our grans were best friends, so I don’t think they’d mind you sharing.’

Lucy grinned at him. ‘I don’t think they’d mind at all.’

If her wedding day had gone to plan, right now Lucy would’ve been in the Dorchester, celebrating with her friends and her family. Right now, she’d be married. Instead, she was standing in a dusty cellar that had been left untouched for eighty years.

She gazed around the room again, taking in the circle of chairs, the radio, the photos, the message on the wall. ‘It’s a time capsule from the war. I can just picture Margot and Joséphine, Esther and Beatrice, and all the others, right here. Of all the presents that I could’ve got, this is the best wedding day gift of all.’

Sébastien cocked his head to one side and asked, ‘This is your wedding day? Look, Granny told me what happened withyour arse of a fiancé, so I’m wondering…why’re we standing in a cellar instead of toasting the fact that you’re well rid of a man who must be blind as well as stupid?’

Lucy chuckled. ‘That’s a very good question!’ she replied. ‘Let’s go and have a drink.’

They closed up the cellar, then crossed the road to the bar. The storm was dying down now; the thunder and lightning were far in the distance, and the rain had eased off. As Sébastien opened up the bar, Lucy fussed over Galette, and, one by one, the locals arrived.

Three houses close to the beach had been flooded out, and their distraught, bedraggled residents had headed straight to Jojo’s while the fire brigade pumped out the water. Sébastien didn’t hesitate to sit them all down and give them dinner for free, and Lucy helped carry the food to their tables.

Soon Jojo’s rang with the cheers of Sébastien and his customers. And when Lucy joined in, raising her glass, she felt for the first time as if she was part of Cordeval too.