Page 55 of The Resistance Book Club

‘Oh, Professor, what a mess!’ Margot gasped. ‘But what about the radio? Did they find it?’

The Professor shook his head. ‘They were looking for human beings,’ he reminded her. ‘The radio is beneath the floorboards.’ Then he added, ‘They’ve taken some of our people tonight. If they name names, they’ll take me too. Please look after the sheet of music I gave you, Madame; if anything happens to me, another member of the network will ask you for it.’

Margot shuddered with terror at the thought that the Professor might be taken away. She wondered who the SS had caught in the village. They could be anyone; her customers, old friends she’d known at school.

‘O-of course,’ she promised him. ‘Let me help bandage youup, Professor. And we need to move the radio out of your flat…maybe you could put it in the cellar? If they find it, we could tell them someone must’ve got in through the tunnels and hid it there.’

‘Oh, my leg,’ he said, as though he had completely forgotten it. ‘Yes, I should clean it. And the radio…if you think your friends won’t mind, that would be a great help. I’ll show you how to use it, in case?—’

‘Don’t say it,’ Margot said. She laid Isabelle down on the sofa, then picked up one of the cushions, smoothing it down before she placed it beside the sleeping baby to make a nest for her. ‘The people they’ve taken tonight won’t name you – they won’t.’ Margot wanted to sound as if she believed her own words, but she had no idea what the SS would do to people to make them talk.

The Professor settled on the sofa beside Isabelle. ‘I did tie a bandage round it, but it was all such a panic.’ He sighed. ‘They’ve changed the patrol routes. They followed some of our people right to the meeting.’

Leaving the Professor with Isabelle, she hurried down to her flat, and returned with a first aid kit and a bowl of warm water. There was nothing she could do to push back the Germans, but she could do small things to help.

She knelt down on the rug in front of the Professor and pushed up the leg of his trousers, trying to ignore how intimate it felt. She drew away the untidy bandage that he’d hastily put on, revealing the rough wound and clotting blood.

‘It must be sore,’ she said as she bathed it. She kept glancing up at him, hoping she wasn’t hurting him. She wondered when the last time was that he’d been close to a woman. But then, it’d been a long time since she’d been this close to a man.

‘They touched my photos of Serge when they were searching,’ she told him. ‘Why couldn’t they leave him alone?’

‘They can’t leave anything alone,’ the Professor murmured. ‘They exist to destroy things.’

Tending to the bullet wound stirred her memories, and Margot battled with herself not to cry as she remembered Esther, her blood pooling on the stone floor.

‘They destroyed my friend,’ Margot said. ‘Poor Esther. I haven’t even gone back to her cottage.’

‘She’s been laid to rest beneath the oak trees in the graveyard.’ The Professor whispered it confidingly. ‘Somewhere tucked away, where nobody will notice the disturbed soil.’

Having no choice but to leave Esther where she was had been so hard; it’d felt so disrespectful to her friend. ‘You’ll have to tell me exactly where she is one day, so I can pay my respects and take her some flowers. And a stone – she told me Jewish people leave a stone. We’ll make sure she has her name on her grave one day. So Isabelle will know where to find her. Now, you must stay safe,’ Margot urged him. ‘I don’t want to lose you as well.’

The Professor blinked, as though Margot’s words had surprised him. Then he said, ‘I value your friendship very much, Madame. And your courage.’

Margot shook her head. ‘I do what I can.’ She carefully tied on a fresh bandage, and smiled as she looked up at the Professor again. ‘And you don’t have to call me Madame. Please, call me Margot.’

‘Theo,’ he replied with a smile. ‘Thank you, Margot. You’re as kind as you are brave.’

Margot felt that warmth between them again, and she held it in her heart. She had an awful feeling that they didn’t have much time.

THIRTY-SEVEN

LUCY

2025

The cellar flickered with candlelight. A new copy ofGrand Hotelwaited on each chair. A table was set up with some nibbles that Sébastien had prepared – slices of fresh bread with Camembert and honey, which Lucy knew was from his garden, pork with Normandy apple sauce, and little plum tarts with cream. Margot and her friends could only have dreamed of having such a plentiful spread during the war.

Lucy had spent the afternoon with Sébastien, trying to help him cook, although she was sure she had only got under his feet. He’d teased her when she’d forgotten about the apple sauce and it’d burned on the bottom of the saucepan; she’d teased him for the ear-splitting music. It’d been fun, and she was so pleased that she’d made such a good friend in Cordeval.

While they were cooking, Beatrice had texted Sébastien to let him know she’d just got home. When he told her about the book club meeting that evening, she’d replied in seconds to ask if she could come.

Lucy borrowed Sébastien’s phone to reply:We can’t havethe book club without one of the original members. You’ll be our guest of honour! Lucy xxx

And now Lucy was alone in the cellar, waiting by the door for the women to come through the tunnels. She was on edge, listening for them, as she wondered what they’d think of the club, and was nagged by memories of that awful evening when she’d sat on her own with her copy ofWolf Hall.

But right on time, she heard the buzz of excited voices echoing along the tunnels. How different it was today for the women who were able to laugh and chat as they made their way to the book club, while their ancestors had been forced to creep and whisper.

Then came the knock that Lucy had been waiting for. She opened the door and a shaft of candlelight fell across the tunnel and the smiling faces of her new friends. She was especially pleased to see Beatrice, who, despite her age, had insisted on going through the tunnel as well.