she draw the blackout curtains across the low, salt-scoured windows. The wind from the sea made the boats in the harbour jostle and nudge one another with the promise of a fresh breeze at dawn, when they would head out beyond the harbour walls once again to plough their way through the waves.
At last she heard them coming up the path and then stamping their boots on the rough seagrass matting at the front door to remove the sand. She waited for the door to open and then close behind them, making sure they were safely inside and hidden from view before going to meet them. In the darkening cottage, it took a few moments for her father to register that the figure standing before him in the hallway was Claire. Without a word, she held out her arms to him. And then he stepped up to her and buried his face in her hair as he wept.
She hugged him tightly, pressing her face into his chest, overwhelmed by the simultaneous strength and the fragility of this man – her father – who had lost his wife and one of his sons and had seen the remainder of his family torn apart by the war. Beneath the rough wool of his fisherman’s sweater, she felt his body heave with silent sobs, and her tears mingled with his as she kissed his cheek.
While their supper simmered on the stove, Claire asked for news of Jean-Paul and Théo. But her father just shook his head sorrowfully. ‘There’s been no word for months now. We just have to hope that they are together and that they are keeping their spirits up. They’d be proud to know that their little sister is playing her part in getting this war finished so that they can come home to us.’ Despite the warmth of his words, offering hope, it seemed to Claire that a darkness shadowed his eyes, betraying his anxiety.
Later, over hearty bowls of fish stew, Marc, Claire and Fréd talked about the war and about their experiences, while Claire’s father, who had always been a man of few words, watched his daughter’s face with an expression of bewildered wonder at having her back in the family home so unexpectedly.
Marc checked his watch. ‘It’s time for the broadcast, Papa.’ He got up from the table and crossed to where a wireless set sat in the corner of the room. It took a few seconds to warm up, but then the crackle of static cleared and the sound of a German propaganda station filled the cramped room. Very carefully, Marc adjusted the dials, turning down the volume and retuning the set. There was a snatch of dance music and then it stopped. After a brief silence a voice said, ‘Ici Londres! Les Français parlent aux Français . . .’
And then the distinctive opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony played: three short notes followed by one more, stronger and more sustained. Claire looked at Marc in surprise. He held a finger to his lips.
Fréd leaned close to her, to explain. ‘It’s the letter “V” in Morse code. “V” for Victory,’ he whispered. ‘The Free French transmit these messages every evening from the BBC in London. They always open with these notes, encouraging Europe to resist. And then they let the networks know whether or not certain operations are to go ahead. It drives the Germans crazy – they know these messages are being transmitted but they can’t decode them because they sound like complete nonsense! And some of them are dummies to camouflage the real ones. Listen out for a message about “Tante Jeanne”. That’s the one for us, Monsieur Leroux said. If we hear it, we know everything is in place for tomorrow night.’
She held her breath, as the broadcaster announced, ‘Before we begin, please listen to some personal messages . . .’ There followed what sounded to her like a jumbled collection of meaningless phrases.
And then she heard it. ‘Tante Jeanne has won the dance contest.’
Fréd grinned broadly and Marc got up to switch off the radio set, carefully retuning the dial to the German station and turning the volume back up before he did so.
She stood up from the table to clear the dishes, but as she did her father reached out his hand to take hers. ‘You’ve changed, Claire. Your mother would have been so proud of you. For everything. For your work in Paris and the work that has brought you here