Chasing Ghosts by Madalyn Morgan (best fantasy books to read .txt) 📕

‘I’m sorry,’ Claire said, putting on a serious face. She couldn’t keep it up and burst into laughter. ‘Come on, you have to admit it was funny. The way you--’ She couldn’t get the words out for laughing.

Thomas strode over to her and pretending to be angry, grabbed the lapels of her coat and pulled her up until her face was level with his. Looking into his eyes, Claire saw the feigned look of anger change to a caring smile. She could feel his warm breath on her cheeks and her heart began to pound. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, letting her go.

‘It’s all right.’

‘I didn’t mean to…’

‘No. Of course not.’ Claire backed away. With her heart still pounding she looked around. ‘So,’ she said, ‘where do we go from here?’

‘Not back up that damn mud bank,’ Thomas said, ‘and not that way.’ He pointed in the direction of the car. He took the map from his pocket. ‘If we went south we would eventually come across the trail to Spain, over the Pyrenees.’

‘Which we know Alain didn’t take.’

‘Right! So, it must be east,’ Thomas said. He rummaged around in his overcoat pockets and then pushed his hand into the inside of his coat. ‘Got it.’ With a stub of pencil, he drew a circle on the map. ‘There are two villages nearby. One,’ he said, leaning towards Claire so she could see the map, ‘is just over that hill.’ She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together making them a thin line, to stop herself from laughing again. Thomas sighed and nudged her, taking her by surprise, and she almost lost her balance. Ignoring her, he continued, ‘The only other village within carrying a body distance is on this road.’ He pointed to a wide straight line leading to a jumble of smaller lines that represented country roads leading to clusters of dwellings.

‘I think we should try the nearest village first. Alain didn’t remember much about it when he got home, but he said it was more like a village than a town.’

Thomas turned the map sideways and squinted. ‘St. Emile it is then. Ready?’

Claire took a deep breath. ‘Ready!’

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was a church that first came into view, and then the building next to it, which Claire assumed was the vicarage. There were probably two dozen houses altogether, built in a semi-circle around a pond. On the walk up to the church they passed a school on the left and a grocery shop and doctor’s surgery on the right. Claire nudged Thomas and nodded towards the surgery. ‘Do you think it could be that doctor who helped Alain?’

‘Possibly. They wouldn’t have two doctors in a village this size, would they?’ Claire lifted her shoulders as if to say she didn’t know. ‘You are sure Alain didn’t tell you the name of the doctor?’

‘Positive. You know yourself names were never exchanged. It was safer not to know someone’s name, then you couldn’t tell the Bosch if you were arrested. What you didn’t know, they couldn’t beat out of you.’

‘I know. I just wondered if he met the woman--’

‘Simone!’ Claire said. ‘You can say her name.’

‘If she was in the Resistance, or the daughter of the doctor - and not in the prison with Alain - she might still be around.’

‘Well we’ll soon find out,’ Claire said. ‘There’s a woman coming out of the church. I’ll ask her.’

Thomas took hold of Claire’s arm. ‘Wait!’ he said, stopping her abruptly. ‘What exactly are you going to ask her?’

‘If she knows of a doctor in the village who helped an injured Canadian airman after he’d escaped from the Gestapo prison who might, or might not, have a daughter named Simone.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘Leave Simone out of it. If she is the daughter of the doctor and she was working for the Germans, chances are the doctor was working for them too.’

‘If that was the case, the doctor wouldn’t have saved Alain’s life. Think about it.’

‘Doctors take an oath to save lives, whatever the nationality,’ Thomas argued. ‘But never mind about that. I just don’t think we should say anything about Alain, the prison or Simone until we’ve met the doctor and got the measure of him.’

‘And how are we going to do that?’

‘Your hands are cut, aren’t they?’

‘Scratched.’ Claire took off her gloves and turned her hands palms up.

‘Good God! They are more than scratched,’ Thomas said, surprised to see the skin on Claire’s hands torn and bleeding. ‘You really should see a doctor. You need to get them cleaned and dressed or they’ll become infected.’

‘They look worse than they are, but you’re right, they do need cleaning, and they will get us into the surgery.’

Thomas rang the bell and stepped back so he was standing next to Claire. The door opened after a few minutes and a young woman in a white nurse’s uniform invited them into the surgery’s waiting room.

‘As this is your first visit to Doctor D’Aramitz I need to take down a few details. We’ll start with your name?’ the nurse said, her pen poised above a large notepad.

‘Therese Belland, Mrs.’

‘And your address?’

Claire had been trained by the SOE to give an address, any address, as long as it wasn’t her own. But that was in the war. It was peacetime now. A dozen reasons why she still shouldn’t tell this girl the truth crowded into her mind. She could hardly say Oxford, England. Should she give Édith or André and Therese’s address? Perhaps it would be better to give a false address …?

‘We are staying in Saint-Gaudens,’ Thomas said. We are only visiting the area, so it might be best to give you our address in Paris?’ The nurse nodded and Thomas gave her