I really had to?’
Rosie nodded, but Paul remained mute, his lips turning slightly blue.
‘Snap out of it, son,’ Mr Clarke said, as he snatched the cushion from Paul and shook him by the shoulders.
‘What now?’ Rosie asked, as her father dragged Madame Mujard into the apartment and shut the door.
‘We’ve got to leave,’ Clarke said. ‘If someone heard that shot they’ll fetch the police. Run into your rooms and grab your stuff. We’re leaving in two minutes.’
‘But I’m covered in blood,’ Rosie protested. ‘I need a wash.’
Mr Clarke groaned with frustration as he tucked the German’s gun inside his jacket and walked towards the bureau. ‘Rosie, I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy being locked in a police cell when the German artillery starts blasting the city. So give yourself a quick wipe down if you have to, but that’s it. Once you’ve got your things, there’s a paper bag with some food for the journey on the kitchen table – make sure you grab that before we leave. I’ve got my travelling bag in the car already, but I want you to go in my room and fetch my gold cufflinks and your mother’s jewellery box.’
‘Right.’ Rosie nodded loyally. But she sounded a touch put out as she rubbed her wet eyes. ‘Aren’t you going to help?
Clarke shook his head as his hand hovered over the telephone. ‘I’ve got to call a colleague. He has connections inside the Paris police and with luck he’ll be able to smooth this mess over.’
As the children rushed off to change and pack, Mr Clarke got an operator to connect him with the British Embassy.
‘Embassy main switchboard,’ said the woman on the other end.
‘I need to speak with Charles Henderson in section E,’ Mr Clarke said.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but Mr Henderson is no longer at the Embassy and I don’t believe he’ll be coming back. The only staff who haven’t been evacuated are myself, the Ambassador and two military attachés.’
‘Damn and blast,’ Mr Clarke growled. ‘What about Henderson’s secretary, Miss McAfferty? Can you get me her new number in London?’
‘I might be able to find it, but I don’t think there would be much point. All phone lines between France and Britain have been down since yesterday afternoon. We’re communicating by radio only.’
Mr Clarke was exasperated. ‘OK,’ he gasped. ‘If you do see Henderson, tell him that there’s been a spot of bother at my apartment, but that I’m going to head south as planned.’
‘I think it unlikely I’ll see him, but I’ll certainly try,’ the receptionist said. ‘Good day, sir.’
‘Keep safe,’ Mr Clarke said, as he put down the receiver and stood up. ‘Come on, kids,’ he shouted. ‘Action stations.’
A few moments later Paul emerged from his bedroom wearing a shirt and long trousers that made him look like a proper French boy. He was clutching a small suitcase and a satchel crammed with comic books and art supplies. He still looked horribly shaken and if there had been time Mr Clarke would have given him a hug.
‘We’ll get through this, champ,’ Clarke said, tousling his son’s hair, acutely aware that his gesture was inadequate.
Rosie emerged from the kitchen holding the bag of food. ‘I stuffed everyone’s clean clothes into the big case, but it’s too heavy for me to lift down the stairs. I grabbed the photo albums and your camera, too.’
‘Good thinking.’ Mr Clarke smiled, as he waved his children towards the front door before grabbing his briefcase with one hand and the large suitcase with the other.
Trying to avoid the sight of the two bloodied bodies just a metre from his feet, Paul stepped into the corridor outside.
Rosie had lived in apartment sixteen since she was five years old. She felt sad as she pulled closed the door for what was surely the last time.
Paul finally broke his silence as he chased his father and sister down the narrow staircase. ‘Dad, are you a spy or something?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
There were a few knocks, a couple of sprains and one nun with a broken arm beneath the boys piled up on the landing, but the orphanage had survived its brush with annihilation. The stricken German dive bomber had clipped the roof, shattering chimney pots and dislodging a chunk of brickwork. A great pile of rubble had clattered down the chimney, causing clouds of dust and ash to erupt from all the fireplaces on the east side of the house.
In wintertime burning embers would have blown across every floor of