Stooping to kiss the top of his head, she said, ‘We’ve all changed, Papa. I know now that no one can escape the stranglehold of this war on our country. But I’ve come to realise that we might be able to endure it if we stand together. Mireille and Vivi have shown me that.’
‘I’m glad to know you have such good friends in Paris.’
‘And I’m glad I have such a good family in Brittany. I’m proud of my roots, Papa, and of the home you have always made for us here in spite of all the hardships. I don’t think I realised before just how much a part of me that is. You and Maman gave me the security and the love that helped me to be brave enough to leave, and to be brave enough to return now too.’
Her father smiled, then said gruffly, ‘It’s time to turn in now. You must be tired after your long journey. Marc and I have an early start tomorrow to get the boat out before sandbanks in the channel become impassable on the low tide. That means we’ll be back early too, though.’
‘I’ll be up before you leave,’ she promised. ‘I want to make your coffee for you just like I used to.’
Marc stood up too, stretching his lanky frame. ‘Yes, time for bed. And then tomorrow evening we will get Fréd here to the cove for you.’
She gave him a questioning look, raising her eyebrows, and he laughed. ‘You’re not the only member of the family who moonlights, you know, Claire!’
The new moon, whose pull had drawn back the ocean to expose the harbour’s muddy floor, was swathed in the shadows of the night when the four figures slipped silently up the hill from the house. They kept to the maze of back lanes between the clustered cottages, out of sight of the sentries in the pill-box on the harbour wall who, they hoped, would have given up scanning the dark expanse of the sea, knowing that the tide was now too low for enemy warships or submarines to get close to the Breton coast.
Claire’s father held out a helping hand as she scrambled up the side of the rocky promontory, through the scrubby pines that lent an extra layer of cover to the darkness. Marc tried to make her stay behind in the cottage, but she was adamant that she needed to come too, mindful that she had to carry out Monsieur Leroux’s instructions to the letter. The oilskin package crackled in her pocket.
Her scalp prickled with a mixture of sweat and fear beneath the dark woollen cap that she wore to hide her hair. She was conscious that they were at their most exposed here, climbing the slope which faced the harbour, and at every moment she expected a searchlight to sweep the hillside or a harsh voice to shout, ‘Halt!’ followed by the rattle of machine-gun fire cutting them down in their tracks. But they climbed on steadily and there was nothing but silence and darkness and the soft night breeze which smelt of the sea and cooled the nape of her neck.
Marc led the way, moving carefully but with a stealth and speed born of familiarity with the terrain. His feet scarcely dislodged the pebbles on the sandy path that was etched into the heathland at the top of the ridge.
And then they began the steep descent into the tiny, concealed cove on the other side of the headland. The bare rock of the cliff face was almost vertical, but Marc pointed silently to hidden handholds and footholds – barely visible in the starlight – that had been chiselled into it here and there, allowing them to make their way down.
The sea had eaten away at the base of the cliffs towards one end of the cove, hollowing out a cave. Usually it could only be reached by wading or swimming through the waves that lapped along the shoreline, but tonight the low water scarcely covered the uppers of their boots.
In the pitch blackness of the cave, all was silent apart from the soft sound of the water lapping against the stone walls. The darkness and the shifting of the sea around her feet almost overwhelmed Claire for a moment, her head spinning with a wave of dizziness, and she might have fallen were it not for her father’s steadying hand beneath her elbow. She jumped, involuntarily, as a match flared, illuminating the faces of two