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

spotted Avenue Gambon to her right. She walked along the avenue until she came to a three-storey brick villa with white shutters opposite the third streetlight. Jacques’ house was exactly as Édith had described it, right down to the terracotta tiled steps and blue planter of red geraniums by the front door. She crossed the road and ran up the steps.

In a state of heightened tension, Claire cleared her throat. Be vigilant and keep the meeting simple, she told herself. No chit-chat – just hand over the money and give the man the message for Colonel Smith. Ask him to repeat it verbatim and if he gets it right, leave. It couldn’t be simpler. She approached the door, and stopped. Damn! Her hands were shaking. They often did when she was nervous. She took a deep breath and, feeling calmer, knocked on the door. There was no reply. She knocked again, this time louder. ‘Yes?’ a man called from inside the house.

‘Are you Jacques?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘A friend. I am looking for a baker who bakes cakes. I’d like him to bake tonight.’ The wireless operator didn’t speak. Claire felt the drum of panic begin to beat on the top of her stomach. She looked down and, pretending to admire the geraniums, scanned the avenue. There was no one about. ‘I have something for you,’ she said, in a loud whisper, ‘but if I can’t give it to you…’ She turned and walked down the steps.

‘Miss LeBlanc?’ Claire stopped at the sound of her name. ‘Quickly,’ Jacques hissed, summoning her, while his eyes darted left and right frantically. ‘I was expecting a male friend,’ he said, ushering Claire into the house. Once inside, he closed the door and locked it. Bobbles of perspiration stood out on his brow, there were circles of damp under his arms and he reeked of sweet cologne. He took a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his chubby face, before waving it at her. ‘You are sure you are alone? As I said, I was expecting to see my male friend again today,’ he said, pulling back what looked like a velvet blackout curtain at a small window overlooking the avenue.

‘I am sorry to tell you that your friend has been taken for questioning by the Gestapo.’ Jacques spun round and fell against the door frame. He put his hand up to his mouth and gasped. ‘Another friend, Édith, suggested I bring you this.’ Claire kicked off her shoes and handed Jacques a wad of notes. His shocked expression turned into a grateful smile. Slipping her feet back into the shoes, she said, ‘Tonight, when you speak to the people who share your love of cake, you must tell them that your friend, The French Can, has been unavoidably detained, but China Blue is safe.’

‘The Can, unavoidably detained, China Blue safe,’ Jacques repeated, nodding. ‘My poor friend,’ he said, stuffing the money into the pockets of a white linen jacket that hung on the end of the stair rail. He mopped his brow again.

‘I must go,’ Claire said, bending down and buckling her shoes. Jacques looked relieved and offered his hand. It was warm and damp – and as she shook it the acrid scent of sweat, mingled with his cologne, filled her nostrils. She wondered if it was guilt or fear that made him perspire so profusely. She decided it was fear. ‘I shall take coffee in the Café La Ronde tomorrow morning at eleven,’ she said, opening the door and stepping out into the warm sunshine. ‘Would you meet me there? Let me know you were able to pass on the message about your friend?’

‘Unavoidably detained, Miss?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt you. Until tomorrow then?’ she said, turning and leaving. Before she reached the bottom of the steps she heard the door shut and the key turn in the lock. The bolt slid into place with a clunk.

Now Jacques’ money had been delivered Claire’s time was her own. She went into the patisserie, bought a pastry, and asked the owner if he had heard anything about the man who had been taken to German headquarters the day before. He had not, and said the Germans were always taking people in for no reason. He told her how some people had been taken to a prison in Paris. Claire’s stomach took a dive. ‘Chains around their ankles and herded onto trains like animals. Like the Jews,’ he said. Before he could elaborate further, Claire thanked him and left.

She walked briskly to German headquarters. The four-storey municipal building had once housed Gisoir’s town councillors. Now the German eagle, with Hitler’s swastika in its claws, adorned the main entrance, and flags with swastikas hung from the ornate iron balconies.

The clock above the entrance door said five o’clock. Claire looked up at the windows on the first, second and third floors. She didn’t know what she hoped to see. Yes she did, but there was no way Alain would be looking out of the window. Claire wondered if he was still there, or-- A couple of office workers hurried past her, interrupting her thoughts. They were talking about catching their train home. The baker had said Alain might be taken to Paris by train. Claire fell into step behind them. While they stood on the platform, she asked the man in the ticket office about trains to Paris.

‘No trains to Paris tonight,’ he said sharply. ‘Trains to Paris are at 9am and 3pm.’ He took a timetable from beneath the counter and ran a shaky finger down it. He’s nervous, Claire thought. ‘The nine o’clock train stops at--’ A man standing directly behind her stamped his foot and sighed loudly.

‘There is no need to explain further,’ Claire said politely, and, without looking at the man, stomped out. At the door she looked back and her pulse quickened. The