more men, who stood in the darkness alongside a small wooden sailing dinghy, its furled sails the same colour as the ink-black sea. One of the men bent to hold the match to the wick of an oil lamp that had been set down on a rough shelf cut into the wall of the cave, casting a soft glow over the scene.
The boatmen shook hands all round and if they were surprised to see a young woman in the party, they didn’t show it. Claire had no idea how the lines of communication worked within these secret networks, although she supposed messages were passed by notes slipped from hand to hand, as well as by hidden wireless transmitters and the coded messages that were broadcast over the airwaves from the BBC in London. So perhaps they had been expecting her to be there, accompanying Fréd, and he was just the latest cargo to be transported. They clearly seemed to know Marc and her father well, and Claire’s heart swelled with emotion as she realised that they, too, had been playing their part in the Resistance.
As the men prepared to board the boat for departure, Claire drew Fréd aside into the shadows. ‘Here,’ she said quietly, ‘you’re to take this and deliver it to the man who will meet you on the other side.’ She handed him the slim parcel which had been so well wrapped to protect its contents from the lengthy sea journey around the point of Finistère and across the Channel to England.
‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll see it gets there. Thank you, Claire, for everything. I could never have found my way here without the help of you and your family.’ He embraced her warmly and then tucked the package she’d given him into his shirt.
‘Bonne route,’ she said. He turned to leave, but then looked back at her as if he were about to say something more. They were both silent for a moment. And then she said, ‘And I’ll give your love to Mireille, shall I?’
He grinned as he climbed aboard the dinghy, saying, ‘So you’re a mind reader too, are you, as well as a fellow commando?’ And he saluted her before taking his seat, as she handed over the lantern which the boatman extinguished. Then Marc and her father pushed the little sailing boat out on to the open water and it was swallowed up by the darkness.
She listened to the sound of the oars until it, too, was extinguished by the hush of the waves which washed on to the sand in the tiny, hidden cove.
Harriet
With each part of Claire’s story that is revealed, I feel as if the foundations of my life are shifting like wave-sculpted sand beneath my feet.
Before I came to Paris, I had created a framework for my life which was built on the few remnants of family that were all that remained after my mother’s death had swept so much away. I’d boarded up rooms within my mind where painful memories were stored, and shored up the walls with my own loneliness. But now I can see how much I shut out, while I was constructing that carapace. The stories of Mireille and Vivi have encouraged me to unlock some of those doors and take down the blackout on the windows of my own history, allowing me to discover more of Claire’s story.
So now I know that a strand of the fragile threads from which my grandmother’s life was woven connects me to Brittany, to a tiny fishing community clinging to the rocky, Atlantic-battered finger of land that points west. That wind scoured sliver of land produced men who were tough enough to take on the ocean and win, and women who were resilient enough to raise their families against unforgiving odds.
When I relay this chapter of Claire’s story to Thierry, over a shared pan of moules marinière in a bistro in the Marais that evening, he laughs.
‘Well that explains a lot about you,’ he says, depositing an empty shell in the bowl that sits between us.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, immediately on the defensive.
He reaches over and helps himself to a few more of the matchstick chips that accompany the mussels. ‘Brittany is one of the most fiercely independent regions of France, and the Breton people have a reputation for stubbornness and determination.’ He uses the chips for emphasis, pointing them at me before popping them into his mouth. ‘And you are one of the most