The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,44
at his daughter Livia.
‘Some of them are so good looking,’ Livia said enthusiastically. ‘That uniform … oooh là-là!’
It was the first time Livia had ever shown Marc anything other than a sneer, and her attraction to German soldiers made him even keener to join up.
‘Do you think they’ll let French boys join?’ he asked. ‘When I’m older, obviously.’
A wiry man who often sat in the Café Roma smoking a cigar and drinking Espresso shocked Marc by cracking him around the back of the head.
‘Think of France,’ he said bitterly. ‘These are your enemies. These are the ones who drop bombs on us. In Poland they rape the women and treat the people like cattle. Our time will come.’
Marc was affronted at being hit by a man who’d never even spoken to him, but he remembered the sad look that crossed Jae Morel’s face whenever her two missing brothers were mentioned. On the other hand, Marc didn’t feel very patriotic. What had France ever done for him?
‘Blond hair and blue eyes,’ Livia said, as she looked at Marc. ‘You’d make a good little Aryan soldier.’
Marc wasn’t sure what Aryan meant, but he was excited by the sudden communication with Livia.
‘I expect they’ll take all the French boys they can get when they want to fight the British Empire,’ the wiry man said. ‘The Führer’s not fussy about whose blood he spills.’
Another huge column of troops had rounded the corner and Marc was annoyed that the wiry man was killing the mood. Livia seemed almost to read Marc’s mind.
‘Buzz off, you old misery,’ she said. ‘Nobody’s interested in what you’ve got to say. Would you rather they came through like this – or blowing up Paris, one street at a time?’
Affronted, the man turned to walk away, but before he did he scowled at Livia. ‘I fought in the last war,’ he spat. ‘Italian fascists! I suppose you’ve been on their side all along.’
Marc and Livia exchanged a look, as if to say What’s his problem?
*
An hour later, Marc was back in the house. He’d stood Henderson’s glass-fronted cabinet back up, but the collection of vases was smashed to pieces. He switched the radio on and listened to the BBC French service reporting on the orderly occupation of Paris and rumours that the French Government had begun negotiating surrender for the rest of France.
In contrast, Radio France continued to portray the surrender of Paris as a tactical withdrawal and boldly predicted a counterstrike that would sweep the Germans from French soil. Marc was twelve years old and he’d led a sheltered life, but even he could tell it was propaganda of the feeblest sort.
It was a warm day and Marc sat in an armchair with his shirt thrown on the floor beside him. When the news turned to music he closed his eyes and became engrossed in his tank commander fantasy: conquering countries in his smart German uniform by day and conquering pretty girls like Livia by night. Hitler would award him medals for bravery. He’d have a pretty wife in the country and a mistress or two in the city. One day he’d return to Beauvais in his officer’s uniform with a massive horse whip. He’d haul Director Tomas into the village centre and thrash him until he passed out. Then he’d run over the old fool’s legs in his tank.
The thought of Director Tomas with squashed legs made Marc laugh aloud. But his mirth was curtailed by a thunderous knock on the front door. He dived out of the armchair and crawled up to the bay window, where three men stood on the doorstep. One wore a pale suit, the other two wore the black uniform of the Gestapo – Hitler’s feared secret police.
When they didn’t get a response, the younger Gestapo officer ripped a pistol out of his holster and shot the lock off the front door. Marc jumped with fright, then switched off the radio and ran into the hallway as one of the Germans barged the front door open with his shoulder. This forced him to double back and squeeze into a gap between the wall and an armchair.
‘Henderson has left for the south,’ the man in plain clothes said irritably to one Gestapo officer, as another ran to search upstairs. ‘He knows we compromised all the leave-behinds in France. He’s got no reason to remain in Paris.’
‘No,’ the Gestapo officer said firmly. ‘Henderson will remain and try to set up a new spy network. I’ve questioned