Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,5
of bombs hitting the port several kilometres east.Cardiff Bay
As a nurse attended the asthmatic father, PT and Rosie followed muddy footprints to a vaulted warehouse where trawlermen stored equipment and gutted their catch before taking it to market in Bordeaux.
The building stank of fish guts trapped in the open drains and the hosed water was bitter cold. Once the worst of the mud was gone, Rosie and PT sat outside by a hurriedly built fire. Local women rushed between their homes and the quayside bringing coffee, towels and blankets.
Rosie sat in the gravel by the fire, with her life jacket as a seat. She was very conscious of everything showing through a wet summer dress. She caught her breath while an enamel mug warmed fingers that stung with numbness. PT squatted alongside and their bodies touched through wet clothes. Circumstances were desperate and Rosie craved this intimacy, even though they were strangers.
‘Can I take your names?’ a man asked from behind. The well-fed priest had pin-prick eyes behind thick glasses. He licked the tip of his pencil before impatiently drumming it on his spiral-bound notebook.
‘That’s my business,’ PT said peevishly.
Priests expected deference, and Rosie was both shocked and impressed by PT’s lack of respect. The priest raised one eyebrow before explaining impatiently.
‘I’m taking all the names and where you come from. People are coming ashore at spots all along the river and on the opposite bank too. We’re listing names and telephoning from the parochial houses so that people can find one another.’
‘There’s nobody gonna be looking for my name,’ PT growled. ‘But thanks all the same.’
Rosie had no idea why PT was keen to hide his identity, but the Gestapo were after Henderson, Paul, Marc and herself so she didn’t want her name on any lists either. The trouble was, she wanted Paul to be able to find her and had to think fast.
‘Valentine Favre,’ Rosie said. ‘Thirteen years old.’
If Paul saw the list he’d surely recognise his sister’s age and late mother’s maiden name and work out what she’d done. The Nazis would be unlikely to make the same connection.
‘Were your parents aboard?’ the priest asked, as he looked down his list for any other Favres.
‘Just my kid brother, Michael,’ she said, giving Paul’s second name. ‘He’s eleven.’
As the priest headed away a stooped Englishwoman queuing for coffee tapped Rosie on the back. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, her voice barely more than a croak. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing. I was on a lifeboat and we pulled a boy aboard. Ten or eleven. He looked somewhat like you, but rather slimmer.’
‘That’s him!’ Rosie smiled, bouncing up so fast that she splashed hot coffee over PT. ‘Where was this? Did he seem OK?’
The woman sucked her lips into her mouth, and Rosie near burst with anxiety as she realised it was going to be bad news. ‘He looked poorly,’ the woman said. ‘He was bloody. After coming aboard he vomited and passed out.’
It wasn’t a perfect answer, but not Rosie’s worst fear either.
‘But he’s alive?’ she said hopefully. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘We landed on the embankment on the other side of the harbour. If you walk back behind the warehouse and past the shop on the corner, there’s a slipway heading down to the water.’
Rosie glanced down at PT, unsure about the depth of their bond. ‘Are you coming with me?’
‘I’ve no idea if he’s still there,’ the elderly woman interrupted, before PT got a chance to answer. ‘They might have taken him to a doctor or something by now.’
Rosie had been re-energised by hope. She stepped around the bodies by the fire and followed directions, belting behind the warehouse and turning by the shop.
She found her bare soles slapping on a stone path, the Garonne on one side and a windswept field on the other. The path led down to an embankment – much smaller than the one where she’d washed up across the harbour – and a jetty used for fishing. Another barefoot runner closed in. She glanced back and was pleased to recognise PT, but didn’t slow down until she reached a group of local women holding candles over a body writhing on the ground.
Rosie feared the worst, but there was a horrific moan that clearly came from a woman. As she closed up Rosie saw that she was pregnant, clutching her swollen belly and with blood streaked down her thighs.
‘Is that the doctor?’ a local woman shouted desperately, as Rosie came to a breathless