China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) by Madalyn Morgan (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

Getting? The contents of Claire’s stomach rose to her throat with every gust – and had done since leaving England. It was windy crossing the Channel, and getting progressively worse over the coastal towns and villages of France. The plane rose and fell again, and Claire looked at the brown paper bag she’d been given in case she was sick.

‘Whoa!’ The plane plunged and Claire swallowed hard. ‘Wasn’t like this in training, was it, China?’ Not daring to speak, Claire forced a smile between tight lips, while keeping an eye on the brown paper bag.

‘OK! I’ve got the River Loire in my sights. Prepare to jump if you’re going to, Captain,’ the pilot shouted. ‘We’re over Blois. I can see the island in the middle of the river. Now I can see lights,’ he whooped, a few seconds later.

‘Okay. Let’s do it. We’ve got a reception committee, China. You ready?’ Mitch shouted.

Claire put both thumbs up. ‘See you in France, Alain.’ She moved to the door and looked down. Lights were twinkling below. They reminded her of the sparklers Lord Foxden gave her and her sisters on Guy Fawkes Night. She could hear the rumble of thunder and feel the wind buffeting the plane. If she didn’t jump soon she was sure she’d be sick.

‘Go!’ Mitch shouted and she let herself fall out of the plane into the night. Freezing rain numbed her face. She pulled on the parachute cord and held her breath until she felt the tug and whoosh as it began to open. Against the natural force of gravity, she was dragged upwards. The parachute opened fully and she breathed again. She pulled on a riser and the great mushroom that loomed above her tilted slightly. She pulled again, and this time it was angled enough to keep the icy wind and rain from blinding her. For a second she enjoyed the feeling of floating. Then she bent her knees before her feet touched the ground and landed well.

She began to run, but soon slowed and the parachute wafted around. She unfastened her harness and looked up. A slice of moon peeped through the storm clouds giving enough light for her to see Mitch was down and folding his parachute. Claire flattened hers and began to fold it.

‘You okay here on your own?’ Mitch shouted. ‘We’ve been blown off course. I’m going to look for the drop.’

‘Don’t go yet. Look!’ Claire pointed to half a dozen men walking across the field. Mitch ran to meet them and Claire followed.

‘Hello, sir. Miss,’ one of the men said, shaking Mitch’s hand and then Claire’s. The British SOE operatives and French Resistance members stood and looked at each other. They would go no further until coded questions had been asked and answered, Claire thought. She smiled at them.

‘I am Alain, and this is Claire.’

‘André,’ the Frenchman said. ‘Why are you here?’

‘To visit an old friend in the town of Gisoir. You might know him. He is a flamboyant fellow. He loves to bake.’

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. ‘Bake what?’

‘Cakes. Is he baking tonight?’

‘No, sir, he does not have the ingredients.’

‘Then I shall visit him tomorrow at twelve. No.’ Alain put his hand up. ‘At twelve-ten. And I shall give him the ingredients.’

‘Welcome to France, Alain,’ André said, shaking Alain’s hand. ‘Claire, welcome.’ After introducing them to his brother Frédéric, friends Pierre and Marcel Ruban, and the rest of the Resistance cell, he instructed the men to fetch the crates and packages from the drop and take them to the barn.

He beckoned Alain and Claire with a wave of his arm. ‘My mother has made food and prepared rooms.’ Once through a small wood, Claire saw a farmhouse, the outline of a barn and a row of outbuildings. André lead the way to the house, where an attractive middle-aged woman was laying the table. ‘My mother,’ he said, ‘Édith Belland. Mama, this is Alain and Claire. Excuse me while I see to the drop.’ He turned and left.

‘Welcome,’ Édith Belland said, with a warm smile. ‘Let me take your coats. You are soaked to the skin, both of you.’ Claire and Alain struggled out of their wet outer clothes and Madame Belland laid them over a large fireguard in front of an iron range. ‘Sit down, please. You must be hungry.’ She pointed to a large oblong scrubbed oak table surrounded by six chairs.

‘Can I do anything to help you, Madame?’ Claire asked.

‘Thank you, but no,’ Édith Belland said, taking a large earthenware pot from the oven next to the fire and placing it in the middle of the table. At that moment André returned with his brother Frédéric. ‘Wash your hands, boys,’ their mother said, ruffling her youngest son’s hair. ‘Dinner is ready.’

Dinner was meat and spicy dumplings in an aromatic gravy, with carrots and green beans. There was a large crusty loaf in the middle of the table that the Belland brothers pulled apart with their hands. André poured them each a small glass of red wine, raised his glass in a welcoming gesture and drank to Alain and Claire – the others around the table followed. Claire took a sip. The dry and slightly sharp taste made her want to smack her lips. She resisted and sipped again. This time as she swallowed the taste was crisp and fruity. In England she only drank beer, but she could get used to drinking wine, she thought, and raised her glass in thanks.

‘Let us go through to the front room,’ Madame Belland said, when they had finished eating. ‘There is a fire, it is warmer. André, bring another bottle of wine.’

Spring sunshine played across Claire’s face. She opened her eyes. The wooden shutters at the window, closed when she went to bed the night before, stood half open. She stretched her legs until her feet