20
Over the next few days, Vivi continued to nurse the Frenchman, and as he grew stronger, he told her his name was François. Though he never said as much, she wondered if he was French Resistance, though the fact he had been flying to England was scant evidence. Even if he was, she knew he couldn’t talk about what he was doing in detail, but she desperately wanted to know if he had heard any more about the family that she’d been living with when she’d been in Paris.
One evening, Vivi got the answer she had been hoping for. She had been assigned to the night shift and as she had been checking on François he started mumbling in his sleep and she heard clearly the words quarante-huit and then the word ‘Prosper’. Prosper was the name of the leader of her network. Her heart skipped a beat, her instincts had been right – this was a French Resistance fighter. It all made sense to her. And though she knew she should probably be cautious, Vivi found she desperately wanted to connect with someone to see if there was any news from her fallen cell.
The next day Vivi had finished giving him some soup, and he was sitting upright in bed, watching her, as he usually did, as she continued performing her medical duties. His eyes revealed nothing as he listened to her chattering to him in French.
‘I know you probably can’t talk about it if you are, but you said something in your sleep last night about… Prosper.’
His face showed nothing. Convincing her even more he was an agent.
‘I’m sure many patients say ridiculous things in their sleep, why are you interested?’
She took her heart in her hands. She knew being impulsive was one of her weaknesses, but her need to know about the Renoirs was keeping her awake at night. She was desperate for any information.
‘I have some interest in that word,’ she said carefully.
He just nodded without saying anything as she changed his bandages. She didn’t want to give anything else away and she felt a great sense of disappointment at his silence.
Over that week as his strength started to grow, she looked forward to visiting François. Was it their possible shared experiences or the fact he was so attractive? She wasn’t completely sure, but she knew attending to him was the highlight of her day.
One afternoon, Vivi brought him a book she’d found in the family library that was written in his native French.
‘I thought you might like something to read,’ she informed him as she handed it to him.
He thanked her, though his expression, as always, appeared cautious, as though he didn’t totally trust Vivi. She remembered from her own training with SOE that you were always taught to hedge towards caution when dealing with anyone. You could never be sure that the person you were talking to was actually who they said they were. But as the days went on, he seemed to be feeling more confident around her and started to open up to her.
One day, she decided to find out for sure if he in fact was an agent. As she wheeled him out into the garden, she used a phrase that she had been taught to identify herself as an agent.
‘I have noticed it is hard to get daily newspapers on Sundays,’ she said, holding her breath.
He looked up at her, searching her face before whispering back, ‘But books are of course still available.’
It was the correct response to her code and her heart leapt as she knew at once he had to be an agent.
When she had been undercover she wasn’t really supposed to talk about her work in France, but what could it matter now? And maybe he would have information about the Renoirs. Maybe, when he was well and continued on his mission he could let her know if they were safe.
‘I was a member of Prosper Network,’ he informed her in quiet tones. ‘Do you know of it?’
‘Of course.’
He went on to talk about the cell she remembered. Her heart gladdened with his knowledge of the people and of the organisation she’d been a part of and surely if he knew so much he could be trusted. Vivi wouldn’t give out anything classified, places or agents, but she was so desperate to make a connection.
‘I was also working in Paris,’ she informed him in a whisper. ‘I was a wireless operator for a while before there was…’ She stopped to collect herself. ‘A tragedy.’
He nodded, observing her closely. ‘You are very fortunate that you made it out alive. I know the cost to the operatives has been…’ He faltered too, choosing his words carefully. ‘The cost of life there has been high in F-section.’
She nodded, relieved to finally talk to someone else about it. Since his arrival she had grown to really like this man, and once this door was open, he too appeared to need to unburden himself.
Vivi talked about her time in France before the war, and he spoke about his family in the Alsace region and how he’d grown up on a farm. As he spoke about the vineyards that his family still owned and the love he had for it all, it affirmed to her once again why they were fighting this war – to protect people like François.
‘Why did you join the Resistance?’ she asked him one evening, as she was reapplying his bandages.
He looked desolate. ‘My brother,’ he whispered. ‘My brother was killed. He was the one. The one who was supposed to take over the vineyard. He was taller, smarter, brighter than me. He was the most obvious choice, and he loved working alongside my father. But he was killed by a German soldier over the price of our wine, just slaughtered there in front of my mother. I wasn’t there,’ he continued sadly. ‘But I will not rest until these animals are defeated.’
He became agitated as he spoke, shifting his weight in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position.
‘My father and sister have been devastated ever since and my mother has barely spoken. If Marcel had gone off to war and been granted a hero’s death, that would have been one thing, but to be killed in his own vineyard over a ridiculous dispute… I will never get over the senselessness of it all. I left my family then and journeyed to Paris to see what I could do. Since then I have joined Prosper and I’ve been working undercover.’
As she nursed him they often talked about the people they knew in Prosper and the people that she missed. So many, he had informed her, had gone missing or were killed. She found herself being drawn to his gentle and easy spirit, though he seemed agitated, clearly wanting to get back into the fight.
One day she decided to ask him for the help she so desperately needed. ‘There was a family I lived with, and the day I left Paris I didn’t have time to check on them. I have great concerns for their safety. Is there any way when you go back you can check for me?’
‘Write their names down,’ he told her. ‘I will memorise them then I can check for you and get back to you with their well-being.’
She hesitated for only a moment, studying his face for any sign of distrust, but his blue eyes conveyed nothing but a desire to help. Quickly, she wrote their names and the address.
‘How long do you think it will be before I can leave?’ he asked. ‘I need to get back. There is important war work to do.’
‘Soon.’ She smiled. ‘We have to wait for your leg to set properly and you still have a few injuries that we are taking care of. We need to watch for infection. I understand your desire, but we need to make sure that you’re in one piece before you go back to work.’