The next day, she set out first thing and found it a pleasant journey. Even though it was early spring, the weather was beautiful in Paris. Vivi made her way to the first house and knocked on the door. A young woman with lively eyes and a mane of blonde hair opened the door and beamed at her.
Vivi introduced herself. ‘Bonjour. My name is Claudette. I am here to instruct the children.’
The woman nodded in response. ‘We’ve been waiting for you, Claudette,’ she said as two school-aged children appeared and peeked out from behind their mother’s back while a younger child cried plaintively in the background. ‘As you can see, the children are ready for some distraction.’
She drew the children into the house as one of them grabbed Vivi’s hand and started to bounce up and down. ‘Are you going to read to us?’
‘I am,’ she responded, smiling down at the tiny beaming face.
The woman’s husband greeted her in the hallway.
‘This is the tutor who has come for the children,’ said the young woman, nodding at her husband.
‘Excellent,’ he said.
Vivi removed her coat, which she had carefully stuffed with rags to make it look bulky, just in case anyone had watched her arrive, and handed it over to the young man, who smiled then retreated with it.
Vivi made her way into the front room, which was alive with the presence of children, toys scattered about the place, and the general dishevelled feeling that went with the house of a young family. She quickly established herself and reviewed the books that the young mother handed to her.
‘Would you like a story?’ asked Vivi. ‘You can call me Mademoiselle Claudette.’
The children eagerly nodded and settled down to listen at her feet. Vivi read to them, and then they painted a picture together. After an hour, she headed off into the study while the children took a break and had something to drink.
The young man, the woman’s husband, introduced himself. ‘I’m Michel.’
‘Claudette,’ she responded.
‘I have completed the task,’ he said, pointing to her jacket on a chair, its pockets now padded.
Nodding, she waved goodbye to the children and put her jacket back on. It was significantly heavier than before, and she wobbled down the road on her bicycle before finally finding her stride. As she rode on her way home, she noticed her calves were beginning to become much stronger with all the physical exercise she’d had since she arrived in France.
Vivi pondered her new work as she glided through the Parisian streets. It was harrowing: the constant fear of being discovered and the Germans everywhere in the city – there was no doubt about that – but it was also quite exhilarating. She was settling into it and enjoying the feeling of supporting the war effort. The thing she loved most was being with her current host family. They were so kind to her. As she cycled home that day, she looked forward to the meal, not knowing the danger that was waiting around the corner for them all.
12
Present day
As Sophie made her way out of London, she realised it had been several years since she’d been back to Cornwall. She used to go far more often, before her work schedule had become so busy and she had been taking care of her daughter. As she passed through Exeter and on to Plymouth, the road started to open out, and she swore she could already smell the sea, even though she knew it was probably just in her mind.
Her mother, Alice, had not enjoyed coming back to Cornwall as much as Sophie. She had been more of a city girl, happy to remain close to her mum, Bessy. But to Sophie, there was always something about Cornwall that felt like she was coming home. She loved being close to the water, the stretches of open countryside, and the slower, more leisurely pace of life that appeared to expand through warmer days. It was also almost always a few degrees warmer than London at any given time.
Sophie pulled into Hamilton Manor’s long tree-lined drive. The estate was set back with outstanding gardens. Jean’s son, her second cousin Jamie, now oversaw the day-to-day running of the estate, and though her great-uncle Tom still lived there, his health had declined so much with a recent mild heart attack and ongoing dementia, that these days he did very little on the estate, being more of a guest in his own house. Though her auntie informed her he still appreciated walking about as lord of the manor.
On arriving at the wide oak doors, Sophie took a moment to consider the building. A beautiful example of British architecture with a Tudor wing that had been added in the Georgian era with a façade of smooth white stones that were almost pearl-like in the sunlight. The large steps up to the door were worn and crumbling in places, as were the cornices and corner pieces, but still, it was impressive.
Sophie knocked at the door and was astonished when her great-uncle Tom opened it. The look of confusion and surprise on his face mirrored her own.
‘Alice, is that you? What on earth are you doing down here from London?’ he enquired, mistaking her for her mother, a broad smile breaking over his face.
The pain of her loss pierced her heart but she didn’t let it show. Deciding not to draw attention to his mistake, she slipped into his arms for an easy hug and noted he smelled the way she always remembered – a gentleman’s aftershave mingled with pipe tobacco.
‘Did Jean know you were coming?’ he asked, beaming.
‘She does,’ responded Sophie. ‘Is it a happy surprise, Uncle Tom?’
‘Absolutely. Maybe I’ll get some good cooking now that you’re here. Jean seems to have me on some sort of bland diet of boiled vegetables and chicken. I’m afraid I’m going to start clucking,’ he said, shuffling off towards the main room.
As Sophie followed, she reminded him, ‘You do need to take care of your health, Uncle Tom.’
He poo-pooed her with a hand gesture. ‘It was only a minor heart attack, scarcely a scratch of a heart attack. I expect my ticker just wanted a little rest. So much fuss, and now I have to eat boiled vegetables.’ He grimaced.
Tom made his way to the back of the house and down a set of stairs that took them into the old servants’ section. The main house, which was considerable and chilly, was kept in pristine archival condition, ready for the droves of summer tourists who liked to look around the place where it was rumoured Henry VIII had once stayed overnight on a stop in Cornwall. Opening up the estate was the only way that her family could pay the extortionate heating bills and upkeep of such an ancient building.
As they got to the bottom of the stairs, the warmth of the kitchen stretched out to meet her, and she heard her aunt Jean laughing inside.
‘We have a visitor,’ announced Uncle Tom as he opened the door. ‘One of those escapees from the capital.’
‘Ah, there you are, love,’ said her auntie Jean, putting down a wooden spoon from something she was stirring on the stove and sauntering over to envelop Sophie in a huge hug.
The kitchen smelled of something spicy, like chilli con carne, it was warm and appealing. Her uncle wandered over to the stove and picked up the lid of a pan. ‘Oh, this looks interesting,’ he stated.
Quickly releasing Sophie, Jean hurried over to the stove, taking the lid from him and putting it back down. ‘That’s not for you. I’ve got a nice piece of haddock for you.’