Free Operation Kingfisher by Hilary Green Page A

Madame.’
    They dumped their belongings and left almost immediately, explaining that the lieutenant had to go on duty. By the time they returned, it was late and he went straight to his room. Soon afterwards, Isabelle heard him coughing; a harsh, racking cough that went on and on. She was about to go to his room to ask if he needed anything when the batman appeared in her kitchen.
    ‘Madame, would it be possible to make the lieutenant a warm drink? Sometimes it eases the cough.’
    ‘Of course,’ Isabelle responded immediately. ‘Would he like some warm milk?’
    ‘If you can spare it, Madame.’
    While she was waiting for the milk to heat, Isabelle asked, ‘What is your name?’
    ‘Schulz, Madame. Fritz Schulz.’
    ‘You are worried about Leutnant Hoffmann.’
    ‘Yes, Madame. He is not strong. He has a weak chest. We were on the Russian front and he got very ill. That is why we were transferred here, so he could recuperate.’
    She looked at him. His face was creased with genuine concern.
    ‘Have you been with him for long?’
    ‘Since the beginning.’
    ‘Really? He doesn’t look old enough.…’ She checked herself. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not my business.’
    Schulz shook his head.
    ‘Please, it is kind of you to concern yourself. He is older than he looks, but he was always a sickly child.’
    ‘You knew him, before the war?’
    ‘I worked for the family. We joined up together.’
    ‘You both speak good French. How is that?’
    ‘The lieutenant’s mother is from Alsace, Madame. She always spoke French.’
    ‘From Alsace? So he is half French? That must make things very difficult.’
    ‘Yes.’ The little man sighed. ‘It is not a happy situation for any of us.’
    The milk was hot. Isabelle poured it into a mug and reached for a bottle of brandy on the shelf above the range. ‘Perhaps a little of this will help him sleep?’
    ‘You are very kind, Madame.’
    After Schulz had left, Isabelle wondered at herself. How could she behave like this to members of the enemy force that was occupying her country? She heard Hoffmann coughing again and sighed. Enemy or not, she had a sick boy under her roof. German he might be, but first and foremost he was a human being. That was something to hold on to.

    Next morning, she came face to face with her unwanted guests in the hallway. Hoffmann clicked his heels and gave a little bow.
    ‘Good morning, Madame Beauchamps. I want to thank you for the hot drink. It was most helpful.’
    Isabelle restrained an impulse to smile and replied coolly, ‘I’m glad to hear it. Did you sleep well?’
    ‘Excellently. It was the best night’s sleep I have had for a long time.’
    To Isabelle’s relief the need for further conversation was dispelled by the sound of the postman’s van drawing up outside. She took the envelope he handed her and was unable to suppress a gasp of mingled shock and relief as she recognized the handwriting.
    Hoffmann was watching her with a smile.
    ‘Good news, I hope, Madame?’
    ‘A letter from my son.’ She shrugged in what she hoped was a suitably casual manner. ‘I wasn’t expecting to hear from him so soon.’
    ‘Ah, we young men!’ he responded. ‘We are not good at writing letters. My own mother often rebukes me for being so lazy about it.’
    ‘Well, I expect you have other things on your mind,’ she said. ‘I’m sure your mother understands.’
    He looked at his watch.
    ‘I must be on my way, or I shall be late for duty.’ He drew himself up, clicked his heels again and saluted. ‘Until this evening, Madame.’
    ‘Until then,’ she replied, and narrowly prevented herself from wishing him a pleasant day.
    Hoffmann left, with Schulz following, and Isabelle slit open the envelope, her mind a whirl of anxious speculation. The postmark said ‘Digoin’. What on earth was Luke doing in Digoin? It was nowhere near the route he should have been taking. Dear God! Had he gone and joined the Maquis after all? She unfolded the