currency and passports for those who had lost the right to stay in France. He thought Bruno would have done the same, had he lived.
Raoul’s network had operated for nearly two years before it was betrayed, his comrades arrested and sent to the notorious camp of Le Vernet. Raoul only evaded capture because he was away from base when the police came. With everything gone, no papers and no means of support, he’d been forced to return to the anonymity of his home town of Carcassonne. To his grieving mother treading the boards of their tiny, sombre flat on the Quai Riquet, with only Bruno’s ghost for company.
Raoul hated it. He was unsuited for civilian life and missed his brother even more in Carcassonne, in the streets where they’d grown up together. So when, a few months ago, César Sanchez, one of Bruno’s former comrades in the International Brigade, had approached him to see if he’d join a group of patriots in Carcassonne, Raoul hadn’t hesitated.
He looked up and realised he’d already arrived in Place Carnot. He glanced at his watch again. He was still too early, so he kept walking across the square and into rue Georges Clemenceau. César worked in the print shop attached to the Café des Deux Gares. If he went there first, Raoul would at least have the chance before the meeting to tell César he’d found Antoine’s chain at the river.
Chapter 9
‘ H ere we are,’ said Lucie, parking at the kerb in front of Sandrine’s house.
Max got out and unstrapped the bicycle from the rack. ‘Where do you want this?’
‘There’s a gate into the garden at the back.’
He nodded and disappeared around the corner. Sandrine watched him go.
‘Max is nice,’ she said.
Lucie’s eyes lit up. ‘I know, isn’t he?’ She leaned over and opened the door. ‘There you go.’
Sandrine didn’t move.
‘You all right, kid? You need a hand getting inside?’
Sandrine shook her head. ‘The thing is, I’m thinking I should go to the police. Report what happened.’
Alarm flashed across Lucie’s face. ‘That’s not a good idea,’ she said immediately.
‘I know you don’t believe me—’
Lucie interrupted. ‘It’s not that . . .’
‘—and I don’t blame you,’ Sandrine continued. ‘But I know what I saw. The police should be told.’
Lucie was frowning. ‘I absolutely don’t think you should get the police involved. It could be difficult for Max, and,’ she hesitated, ‘in any case, you’re all right. No real harm done.’
‘But I was attacked,’ Sandrine said, taken aback by Lucie’s opposition. ‘What if he does it again? Attacks some other girl?’
‘You’ll never be able to persuade the police that’s what happened,’ Lucie said. ‘You’ve got no evidence.’
‘What about this?’ Sandrine said, touching the cut on her head.
‘That’s not evidence, they’ll simply say you took a fall. And . . . if you report it, it might come out that we were there. That Max was there. The police will have your details. You don’t want that, surely? No one wants that.’
‘A man is missing,’ Sandrine said quietly. ‘What about him? His injuries were . . .’ She stopped, picturing the rope marks on his wrists, the bruising, the agony on his face. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
‘Wait until you’ve talked it over with Marianne. I’m sure she’ll agree with me.’
‘But his family might be looking for him. Someone might have reported him gone.’
‘At least change your clothes before you do anything,’ Lucie said, trying yet another approach. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘If I do that, it’s even less likely they’ll believe me,’ she said. ‘Look at me. They’ll be able to see I’m not making it up.’
‘They’ll see you came off your bike, that’s all,’ Lucie said stubbornly.
Finally accepting the girl wasn’t going to come round, whatever she said, Sandrine decided the only thing for it was to make her own way to the police station once
Raoul’s network had operated for nearly two years before it was betrayed, his comrades arrested and sent to the notorious camp of Le Vernet. Raoul only evaded capture because he was away from base when the police came. With everything gone, no papers and no means of support, he’d been forced to return to the anonymity of his home town of Carcassonne. To his grieving mother treading the boards of their tiny, sombre flat on the Quai Riquet, with only Bruno’s ghost for company.
Raoul hated it. He was unsuited for civilian life and missed his brother even more in Carcassonne, in the streets where they’d grown up together. So when, a few months ago, César Sanchez, one of Bruno’s former comrades in the International Brigade, had approached him to see if he’d join a group of patriots in Carcassonne, Raoul hadn’t hesitated.
He looked up and realised he’d already arrived in Place Carnot. He glanced at his watch again. He was still too early, so he kept walking across the square and into rue Georges Clemenceau. César worked in the print shop attached to the Café des Deux Gares. If he went there first, Raoul would at least have the chance before the meeting to tell César he’d found Antoine’s chain at the river.
Chapter 9
‘ H ere we are,’ said Lucie, parking at the kerb in front of Sandrine’s house.
Max got out and unstrapped the bicycle from the rack. ‘Where do you want this?’
‘There’s a gate into the garden at the back.’
He nodded and disappeared around the corner. Sandrine watched him go.
‘Max is nice,’ she said.
Lucie’s eyes lit up. ‘I know, isn’t he?’ She leaned over and opened the door. ‘There you go.’
Sandrine didn’t move.
‘You all right, kid? You need a hand getting inside?’
Sandrine shook her head. ‘The thing is, I’m thinking I should go to the police. Report what happened.’
Alarm flashed across Lucie’s face. ‘That’s not a good idea,’ she said immediately.
‘I know you don’t believe me—’
Lucie interrupted. ‘It’s not that . . .’
‘—and I don’t blame you,’ Sandrine continued. ‘But I know what I saw. The police should be told.’
Lucie was frowning. ‘I absolutely don’t think you should get the police involved. It could be difficult for Max, and,’ she hesitated, ‘in any case, you’re all right. No real harm done.’
‘But I was attacked,’ Sandrine said, taken aback by Lucie’s opposition. ‘What if he does it again? Attacks some other girl?’
‘You’ll never be able to persuade the police that’s what happened,’ Lucie said. ‘You’ve got no evidence.’
‘What about this?’ Sandrine said, touching the cut on her head.
‘That’s not evidence, they’ll simply say you took a fall. And . . . if you report it, it might come out that we were there. That Max was there. The police will have your details. You don’t want that, surely? No one wants that.’
‘A man is missing,’ Sandrine said quietly. ‘What about him? His injuries were . . .’ She stopped, picturing the rope marks on his wrists, the bruising, the agony on his face. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
‘Wait until you’ve talked it over with Marianne. I’m sure she’ll agree with me.’
‘But his family might be looking for him. Someone might have reported him gone.’
‘At least change your clothes before you do anything,’ Lucie said, trying yet another approach. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘If I do that, it’s even less likely they’ll believe me,’ she said. ‘Look at me. They’ll be able to see I’m not making it up.’
‘They’ll see you came off your bike, that’s all,’ Lucie said stubbornly.
Finally accepting the girl wasn’t going to come round, whatever she said, Sandrine decided the only thing for it was to make her own way to the police station once
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