The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,39

metallic clank. It was quite an achievement, and Marc was pleased.

After grabbing the pigskin bag and hooking it over his back, he placed his palms against the brick window ledge and pulled his legs up. With the whole window out there was plenty of room to get through, but he didn’t fancy dropping head first on to the sink, so he had an awkward time swinging his legs in front of his body so that he could lower himself into the sink boots first.

Following a quick jump out of the bowl, he stumbled one step forwards on the tiled floor and came to a halt in the middle of the bathroom. Elated, but still scared, he turned the tap and, after a few coughs from the plumbing, clean water spluttered out, washing away the remains of the spider’s web.

Marc cleaned the grit off his hands and arms, then splashed some water up into his face. He glanced at himself in a circular shaving mirror and was surprised by how filthy he was. It was no wonder that the woman in the café had turned her nose up.

He moved out into the hallway, where he was confronted by a gas boiler and a light switch. The pilot light on the boiler was out, but he’d seen the nuns using a similar system on bath-night at the orphanage and he thought he might be able to figure out how to get it going and get some hot water for a bath. He didn’t expect anything when he flicked the light switch, but was startled when three uplighters projected Vs of light along the hallway walls.

The first doorway led into a kitchen. The cupboards were mostly bare, but a few odd tins remained and Marc noted that the writing on some of them was in English. There was also an English packet containing something called Bird’s Custard and three tall bottles of HP Sauce.

The living room was large, and sparsely furnished. Marc felt a touch creepy as the dark boards creaked under his boots. He raised some of the dust sheets for a peek and discovered a radio, a collection of ornate vases in a glass cabinet and a bookcase filled with books. Some were French, but the majority were in English and Marc thought this was a good sign because it seemed highly unlikely that an Englishman would be returning to Paris any time soon.

With his skin and clothes filthy from the rain, Marc decided that his first priority was to have a wash. Then he’d put on the spare clothes he’d taken off the line at the orphanage and have a nap, because he was exhausted. When he woke up, he’d go out and buy some food, or perhaps even investigate the cinema he’d seen by the shops.

Everything felt better now that he had somewhere to stay. His problems weren’t all over, but the idea that he was free to walk the streets of Paris and see a real movie in a real cinema and come home to sleep in a proper bed seemed impossibly exciting.

The good times would only last until the Germans reached town, but that gave him a few days to make plans and learn some of the life skills he’d need if he was going to survive on his own for any length of time.

Marc unbuttoned his shirt as he walked out into the hallway. Before turning towards the bathroom, he noticed a few letters on the doormat and realised that they would tell him the name of the person whose house he had just broken into.

He picked up the most flamboyant letter – a mint-coloured envelope that contained something stiff, like a greeting card or a party invitation – and read the name out loud.

‘Mr Charles Henderson.’

Part Two

14 June 1940 – 15 June 1940

By 11 June the French Government had left Paris and German forces were within ten kilometres of the city. Fearing a bloodbath, citizens continued to pour out and less than half of the population remained.

On the night of the 13ththe French Military Command stated that it ‘aimed to spare Paris the devastation that defence of the city would involve. We cannot justify the sacrifice of our capital and, as a result, all French forces will withdraw to a new line south of Paris.’

The German Army announced that it would enter Paris from the north-west at noon the following day.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

While most of Paris fretted over its destiny, Marc Kilgour had enjoyed the most