Free Madeleine's War by Peter Watson

she peered along the shore “—not so far away?”
    â€œThat depends,” I said. “I hope they
were
separated some way off—the life jacket is German.”
    â€œIt
is
? How do you know?”
    I pointed. “The stencilled writing—there. See? It says SCHWIMM WESTE.”
    She looked out to sea. “And it looks so calm today. How did it get here, do you think?”
    I shook my head. “Let’s hope that whoever was wearing this was in a torpedoed U-boat that was sunk by our boys. Some of the crew got out, maybe, but there was a storm and…Well, this one didn’t make it.”
    We stared down at the life jacket in silence.
    â€œI know what you’re thinking,” I said after a while.
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œYou’re thinking that could be you, very soon.”
    â€œI’m not the morbid type.” She nudged the life jacket again with her foot. “In fact, I was thinking about how lives end. This man, whoever he was, almost certainly died alone. Do you think that matters? Is it better to die at home, in your bed, surrounded by family—or doesn’t it matter? Does it make any difference?”
    She gestured at the life jacket. “I’ll bet he was no older than I am. There could be a U-boat out there right now, looking at us with his periscope. Maybe they know about Ardlossan, what it’s used for. Maybe they know all about SC2. Maybe that’s what this life jacket really means.”
    â€œUnlikely. We’re important to the invasion but not—”
    â€œMaybe they think we know when and where the invasion will take place. Maybe they’re about to attack—invade
us
!”
    I laughed. “Don’t let your imagination run wild like that when you are in France. Keep your mind on the ground.”
    She was suddenly serious. “You really
don’t
know when the invasion will happen?”
    â€œNo, of course not. I should imagine not more than a few dozen people know that.”
    â€œWhy, then, am I wasting my time with someone so low down the pecking order?”
    â€œYou tell me. You suggested walking on the beach.”
    She suddenly skipped away from me, along the sand. Then she stopped and turned back. “Tell me about the women in France. Were there lots? Did you have affairs? Was there someone special, who meant more than the others? Someone you still think about?”
    I didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking back. Madeleine had a way of…She wasn’t forward exactly. But she certainly didn’t like standing still.
    â€œDo you believe people fall for types?” She looked up at me, her eyes big and round. “I mean, do people fall for the same kind of person over and over again—tall people, wild types, quiet souls?”
    â€œYou mean…How does it go?…Like men who always fall for women who remind them of their mothers? Is that what you’re saying?” She looked at me and made her eyes appear rounder than ever.
    â€œI don’t mean that, no. Not exactly.” I looked out to sea. No submarines as I could make out.
    â€œLet’s just say there was one woman who meant more than all the others. And the thing is—she had hair just like yours. Not the colour, butall curly and unruly and unmanageable. She was for ever doing…what you do with your hair, lifting it up, holding it off your neck.”
    â€œWhat was her name?”
    â€œCelestine. Celestine Naucelle.”
    â€œUnusual, but pretty. Was she?”
    â€œYes, on both counts.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    I looked out to sea again. “I killed her.”
    I paused before turning back. “Not deliberately, not directly, of course. But I played a part.”
    We resumed walking along the beach.
    â€œShe was a doctor in a large hospital, an anaesthetist and therefore in demand during operations. She was the first one in her family to go to university and the first