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

There isn’t much on it, so I shouldn’t be long,’ she said, taking in her surroundings and making a mental note of everything she saw. The cafés and bars around the square were teeming with Gestapo. ‘It is turning into a very grey day. Greyer than we were led to expect, don’t you think?’

‘Much greyer,’ Alain agreed.

‘Be careful what you say, cousins, in case any of them speak French,’ André warned. They walked along the pavement past dozens of German officers sitting outside bistros and cafés. Lounging arrogantly in their chairs, legs outstretched, ignoring anyone who wanted to pass, they told jokes and laughed loudly – and threw cigarette butts in the path of passers-by.

‘There are a hell of a lot more than I thought there would be,’ Alain said, when they were out of earshot.

‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ André said. ‘There’s easily twice as many Gestapo here this week than there was last.’

‘The influx must be recent, or London would have said something.’

‘While you buy provisions, Claire, Alain and I will call on Jacques, see if there are any messages. Afterwards, I shall go home to Thérèse. What will you do, Alain?’

‘Buy a newspaper and sit outside one of the bars. I’ll have a beer, watch the world go by, and listen to a few conversations. Frenchmen are still allowed to frequent the cafés and bars, I hope?’

‘Yes, but I needn’t tell you to keep a low profile. You too, Claire, try not to attract attention,’ André said, before walking on slowly.

‘Not easy with legs like yours,’ Alain whispered.

Claire felt the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘See you in Café La Ronde at one,’ she said, looking back at the café so Alain couldn’t see her blush.

They parted company on the west side of the square. Alain followed André, and Claire crossed the road and walked along the north side until she came to a parade of shops. There was as little in the shops of Gisoir as there had been in Morecambe and London. She stepped into the doorway of a grocery shop as someone was coming out. When he drew level, Claire saw it was a Gestapo officer. He smiled and her stomach lurched. She smiled briefly and walked to the meat counter.

‘Hello, Miss. What can I do for you?’

Looking down and concentrating on the meagre slices of pale meat alongside a dozen sausages, Claire heard the door close. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath and exhaled noisily. The shop owner nodded.

‘He took most of my produce,’ he said. ‘This is all I have left.’

‘I’ll take five slices of meat. And can you spare five sausages?’

‘Yes. When the food is gone, it is gone!’ he said in a tired and resigned voice.

Claire smiled sympathetically. She took out several food tickets and put them on the counter. She knew the Gestapo didn’t pay for their goods and wished she could buy more. She walked over to the patisserie counter and gazed at a couple of sticky fruit buns. Her mouth watered, but she didn’t have enough coupons for cakes. She had money, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself so she thanked the shopkeeper and made for the door.

‘Miss?’ he called after her. As she turned she saw he was bending down. He stood up with a bounce and beckoned her conspiratorially. Claire walked back to the counter and the baker held up a sultana loaf with a sweet glaze on the top. ‘My wife made it. Try it and tell me what you think.’ He put the loaf on the counter, sliced off a chunk, and handed it to her. ‘Well?’ he said when she had taken a bite.

‘It is wonderful,’ Claire mumbled with her mouth full. ‘I haven’t tasted anything like it since before--’ The shopkeeper nodded that he understood and shrugged his shoulders. When she had eaten the delicious bread she licked her fingers.

The shopkeeper cut off another slice, wrapped it in greaseproof paper and said, ‘Put it in the bottom of your shopping basket.’ He wagged his podgy forefinger. ‘Do not let anyone see.’

Claire stood, open-mouthed. Dare she offer him money? He appeared to dislike the German officer who had just left his shop, but it wasn’t wise to trust anyone. Deciding against it she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t pay you.’

The rosy-cheeked retailer shook his head and leaned forward. ‘Enjoy.’

Claire looked into the man’s kind eyes. The French were proud people. He would probably be insulted if she gave him money now. She bit her lip. Professor Marron had told her when she was in Cullercoats that such generosity had once been commonplace in small market towns like Gisoir. He said people used to greet you in the street, pass the time of day, and smile when they served you in shops and cafés. Now there were so many Germans in France that people didn’t speak unless they were spoken to – and who could blame them? ‘Thank you very much,’ Claire said. Smiling her gratitude, she stowed the treat under her shopping, put her purse on top, and left.

Café La Ronde, like all the other cafés on the square, was packed with Germans, mostly officers. Claire greeted the manager with a smile when she entered, and he nodded towards the back of the café where Alain sat in a booth.

‘It’s busy in here today,’ Alain said, as she sat down.

‘Too busy for comfort. Learned anything?’

‘Yes! I’ll tell you later. You?’

Claire patted her shopping basket. ‘I’ll show you later,’ she laughed. ‘Damn!’

‘What?’

‘Three stripes at ten o’clock. Must have followed me from the shop. He was coming out as I was going in. Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed so loud.’

‘Don’t worry about him. He’s a man doing what men do.’ The frown lines on Claire’s forehead deepened and she