China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Madalyn Morgan (books to read in your 30s .TXT) 📖

promised the son of a French professor I stayed with while I was training that I would visit his mother in Paris if I got the chance.’ No one spoke. ‘And I thought another safe house in Paris, which the house may well become, would be useful. We have lost so many.’

‘You are right – but you will deliver the money first?’ André asked.

‘Of course. Once I’ve handed it over, I’ll spend a couple of hours looking for Madame Marron’s house. If I find it and I think it’s safe to introduce myself, I will. If I don’t find it, or find it and don’t think it’s safe, I’ll come straight back. ’

‘What’s your cover story?’

‘If I’m stopped on the train I shall say my grandmother lives in Paris. My parents are worried about her, so they have sent me to look after her. I’ll say the same at the Marron house, but if I get a hostile reception, I’ll apologise and say I have the wrong address.’

‘And what if you’re stopped by the Gestapo, or the gendarmerie, and they find the money?’

I shall keep a third of it in my own purse. If they search me and find it I’ll tell them the same story, but add that the money is for my grandmother. I will of course give them a false address.’

‘You’ll be carrying money for Paris Centre too?’

Claire nodded. ‘Granny’s francs will be in my bag – easy to find – and the money for the Maquis will be in my shoes. Hopefully if I am stopped they’ll be satisfied that they’ve found some money and won’t search me for any more.’

Everyone agreed with the plan. Before he left, Pierre shook Claire’s hand and wished her luck. ‘I’ll see you on my return from Paris,’ she said, kissing him on both cheeks.

‘I look forward to it,’ he said, and after shaking hands with André and Frédéric, he kissed Édith goodbye and left.

‘Phew!’ Claire blew out her cheeks. ‘I’m really going to Paris!’

‘You are, but it is not a holiday,’ Édith warned. ‘Remember, it is dangerous to travel to the capital these days. It is dangerous too, in the streets of the capital. You must not trust anyone. Before you hand over the money you must be certain it is to the right person.’

‘Keep the money in the wallet,’ André said. ‘Loose notes are not easy to pass to someone without being seen.’ Claire nodded that she understood. ‘Buy a newspaper – most Parisians get a paper on their way to work. Then if the contact’s held up, or isn’t able to approach you for some reason, you will have something to do. This is the rendezvous address.’ André handed her a small piece of paper. Claire read it and gave it him back. ‘There is one more thing,’ André said. ‘These are the questions you will be asked and the answers you will give. If one word is different from what is on that paper, you are to get the hell out. Do you understand?’ Claire started reading the questions and answers and committing them to memory. ‘Claire?’ She looked up. ‘If the questions you are asked by Thomas Durand, the leader of Paris Centre, deviate in any way--’

‘Don’t worry, I will learn them verbatim and if there’s the slightest difference to what is on this piece of paper, I shall suddenly notice the time, excuse myself and high-tail it to Granny’s.’

André explained to Claire again, as they drove to the railway station at Orléans in Father Albert’s old car, how important it was to be vigilant. If she felt in danger, or compromised in any way, she was to return home immediately.

Claire thought André was fussing, but didn’t say so. She felt comforted that André, Frédéric, and Édith, who Claire had become very fond of, cared for her; cared for her safety. She assured him that she would do as he said.

There was a bomb crater where Orléans station’s car park had once been, so, because it was almost time for the 9.05 train to Paris to leave, Claire jumped out of the car and ran into the station. With only minutes to spare she bought her ticket, ran across the concourse to Platform Three and boarded the train. She found a carriage with one vacant seat and quickly claimed it. Closing the door, she threw her holdall onto the overhead rack and sat down. Almost immediately the door opened and a young gendarme entered. With pale green eyes, shorter than fashionable blond hair, and a sharply ironed uniform, he looked more like a member of the Hitler Youth movement than the French gendarmerie.

People fidgeted in their seats. Some took their papers from their pockets, and others, like Claire, took them from bags and cases on the overhead rack. Returning to her seat, Claire held her identity papers as casually as she was able. Her heart was beating so loud she thought the young policeman would hear it and think she was concealing a ticking bomb.

He went first to an elderly woman, the only one in the carriage who hadn’t found her identity papers. ‘Papers!’ he said, as she searched in her handbag. He tapped his foot on the floor impatiently and shouted, ‘Papers!’

‘Ah,’ the old lady said, trembling. ‘Here they are. I am sorry,’ she said, as the policeman snatched them out of her hand. He looked at her with contempt, before glancing at her papers. He returned them to her with an unnecessary flick of the wrist that made her jump. She nervously muttered thank you, but was so frightened she could hardly formulate the words.

The gendarme moved from one person to another, looking at their identity papers and nodding, until he came to Claire. She handed him her papers as everyone else had done, but instead of looking at them and moving