Free Voices on the Wind by Evelyn Anthony Page B

Judy? Didn’t they think it peculiar?’
    â€˜Philippe brushed it aside,’ Kate answered. ‘You couldn’t tell what he was thinking anyway. Judy just complained to the French; she was in a funny sort of mood those last few days. Everything SOE did was wrong and the Gaullists had it right. Fred was like a lost soul when he wasn’t with her. He didn’t speak a word of any language and that was where Michaelson would have been a godsend. I thought to myself, how on earth are we going to keep him hidden when we get over. If he opens his mouth to sneeze, he’ll be caught. But you put those thoughts away damned quickly when you’re waiting to go. If you start worrying, it’s hopeless. We’d been taught to be positive, aggressive. I said to myself, Fred’ll be all right. They know what they’re doing. And of course I was thrilled to be working in the Dulac network. It really was an SOE legend. Again and again they’d made fools of the Germans. There were several hundred of them in that area and they’d done marvellous work in collecting information and sabotaging communications throughout the Midi. I kept wondering, what is Jean Dulac going to be like? Philippe wouldn’t be drawn. “You’ll meet him and you can judge for yourself,” was all he’d say. It could have meant anything.’
    She paused to light a cigarette. ‘I’ve smoked like a chimney,’ she said. ‘Good Lord, look at the time. You must be starving. I forgot about food.’
    Roulier said, ‘This has been quite an ordeal for you, Madame. Let me go into your kitchen and see what I can find. I would be happy with a sandwich.’
    â€˜Oh, there’s plenty to eat, I was expecting my grandsons for lunch yesterday. There’s some Sauternes in the fridge. Are you sure you don’t mind?’
    He smiled. ‘You know Frenchmen are quite at home in a kitchen. We’re not like the English. I’m sorry about your grandsons. But then we wouldn’t have been able to talk, would we?’
    He had to admire the organization. He wondered how they’d managed to re-arrange the plan and get her family out of the way. Katharine Alfurd heard him moving round the small kitchen. He was right, of course. In all the years they’d been married, Robert had never cooked a meal. It was clever of the young man not to break her concentration. A very quiet, professional sort of person. He knew when to prompt, and when to stay silent. There was a sympathy between them, in spite of the age difference.
    It was all becoming so real; memories were becoming thoughts and feelings, projecting her out of the present into the past. She had her dates right; the distant past was clearer than the events of a week ago. When he came into the room with a tray she said suddenly, ‘Do you realize, the very time we were at Wimborne Manor, Christian Eilenburg was on his way to take up his post at Gestapo Headquarters in Nice?’

3
    He had travelled by train overnight from Paris. He had a slight headache after the party given at the Petite Étoile restaurant. It was a happy evening, surrounded by his colleagues. They’d provided some French girls, and he’d spent a couple of hours with a redhead before catching the train at the Gare du Nord. Promotion suited him. He was proud of the Standartenführer flashes on his black uniform. The silver thread was new and it shone. He had proved himself at the Avenue Foch, showing that a young officer could see problems with a fresh eye. SS General Knocken had recommended Eilenburg for Standartenführer’s rank and a letter signed by Heinrich Himmler himself required him to take charge of Gestapo operations in Nice. A strong Resistance had been flourishing in the Midi, run by the Communist-controlled Maquis and British agents. There had been sabotage, serious acts of terrorism against German personnel off duty, and evidence