station, to get you to Paris,’ he whispered, cramming her case with the radio into a basket on the front of his bike and covering it with old sacking. She did the same, buckling her small suitcase into a basket with its white paint peeling off.
‘We cannot take the direct route, just in case someone is watching us,’ he continued as she mounted her bike, him cycling off down the dark passageway before her.
Vivi looked over her shoulder. She realised, suddenly, that she needed to be consciously aware, as they had taught her during her training. This sleepy little town had momentarily lulled her into complacency. With relief she noted that the alley behind them was empty.
Terrier led her down a back road and out along a farm path, which was muddied, grooved and difficult to navigate due to tractor tracks and horse manure. Vivi clung onto her handlebars, trying desperately to steer her way through. Along the way they passed whitewashed cottages with stone walls and slate roofs. They were acknowledged by the odd buxom housewife, hanging out lines of dripping grey washing, who stood and stared at them, or waved and shouted a greeting to the Terrier as he passed by on his bicycle. They stopped occasionally to rest and drink a little water before continuing and soon they were on level roads. Even though the weather was brisk it was invigorating to be cycling through the beautiful French countryside. Rolling hills and tiny farmhouses with a scattering of chickens and tired-looking cattle watched them as they sailed by.
It took them nearly three hours before they were finally on the outskirts of Morlaix. Even from a distance she could see the spectacular viaduct that towered over the city, transporting the people of Brittany to the rest of France via the railway. Morlaix, though bigger than Le Diben, still was a lovely quaint French town. The main road ran through the town square, framed on either side by shops. The rows of buildings, built in the traditional French style, housed a multitude of tiny mullion windows that peered out, wide-eyed, from their ornate stone window sills.
Terrier cycled off down a side street and, after winding down another alley, stopped and dismounted his bicycle. Vivi did the same, grabbing her case of clothes as Terrier bundled her radio, still wrapped in the sacking, under his arm. He approached a dark doorway then tapped a rhythm onto the door. When the door opened, Terrier ushered Vivi quickly inside. Once the door was locked behind them, even though he was sweating and exhausted by the ride, he lapsed back into his previous charm. With great affection, he greeted the woman who had opened the door. Although Vivi and he had barely spoken en route, and without even being informed, Vivi could tell that she was his sister. The same dark eyes and thick, black hair with a similar slender build, and she stood at about the same height as her brother as he greeted her, kissing her on both cheeks, and introducing her to Vivi.
‘Anne-Marie, this is the Sparrow, or Claudette,’ he stated, using Vivi’s undercover names.
Anne-Marie glanced at Terrier in confusion. ‘At this time of day? She did not arrive in the familiar way?’
Vivi surmised they were talking about the fact they’d expected her to parachute in, the usual way SOE operatives landed.
‘Our newest little songbird sailed in this morning.’
Anne-Marie showed Vivi to a guest room, where she placed down the wireless and arranged it under the bed as SOE had directed her, just in case there was a raid. She stretched: the exertion of riding three hours across mostly rutted tracks, on virtually no sleep, was starting to have an effect on her body. She could feel it in her stiff shoulders and aching calves. However, Vivi had no desire to rest, with the anticipation of what lay ahead keeping her wide awake. And after taking a minute to freshen up, she found the siblings in the kitchen.
Terrier was sprawled across a chair, smoking a cigarette and chatting with his sister when Vivi walked in.
‘We were discussing the next part of your trip,’ he informed her. ‘When operatives parachute in during the middle of the night, it is easier. Unfortunately, you shall have the pleasure of our company for a while longer. There is only one train that runs to Paris, and that leaves early in the morning. As you came in when you did, you’ve already missed it.’