It was more than two hours, just past nine, before the Terrier eventually came to meet her. By this time the café had filled up and all around her people were making conversation as they started their day. Vivi didn’t notice him straight away. It was uncanny the way he blended in until he sat down at her table. He had an energetic charm, appearing a couple of years younger than herself, with thick, dark hair, and soft brown eyes that assessed Vivi.
At first, she assumed he was someone making a nuisance of himself, and she told him in French in no uncertain terms that the chair was taken. But the Terrier ignored her, continuing to occupy the table, and pushing back the beret on his forehead, he smiled.
‘You are not what I was expecting,’ he said, revealing his identity to her. ‘But, of course, if the seat is taken and you prefer to sit here for the rest of your life, I’m happy to go back to my bed. I’m not used to taking care of customers with your taste in seafood so early in the morning.’
This handsome Frenchman was her agent; once again she’d expected someone more professional-looking. The man who sat in front of her seemed like he’d be good for an eventful evening with a glass of beer and a game of poker, but not for serious espionage. Vivi nodded, hastily picking up her suitcase. He stopped her by lifting his hand.
‘I need a cup of coffee, mademoiselle. If I am to be up so early, I need some help to stay awake.’ He signalled to the café owner, who brought him what was plainly his regular drink, and he sipped it slowly as he watched Vivi with interest.
5
After Terrier was revived by his second cup of coffee, Vivi quickly understood where he’d picked up his nickname. He took off down the road, and even with the weight of her wireless under his arm, Vivi found it hard to keep up with him. He scurried down alleys, snaking across town in a manner that made her feel dizzy, finally arriving at a dark doorway, which she guessed was his home, where two rusting bicycles stood leaning against a fence. He handed one to her.
‘We have to cycle to Morlaix, which is the closest town with a train 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.’
Vivi felt apprehensive, knowing the longer she was anywhere, the greater chance there was of being exposed. Anne-Marie must have perceived her fear and placed a hand on her arm.
‘You are secure here, Sparrow. No one knows of this place.’
‘We only use it occasionally,’ Terrier added. ‘I live in Le Diben and I hate involving my sister in my adventures.’ He stamped out his cigarette, waves of smoke coiling up from his lip. ‘But it is the only way. There is nowhere appropriate here for a female operative to be overnight without raising suspicion. You and I will travel together in the morning,’ he added.
That surprised Vivi. She’d expected to be making the journey alone but was grateful she would have his company.
As the day wore on, they settled into easy conversation. Terrier had a great sense of humour, and Anne-Marie was the perfect foil for his jokes and stories. She playfully punched him on the arm or shook her head in mock disbelief as he regaled Vivi with funny anecdotes of their childhood.
Anne-Marie cooked them a lovely late lunch, and after two glasses of wine, Vivi had to pinch herself to remember that she was undercover on her way to Paris to be a spy. She felt as if she was abroad visiting friends. They talked and laughed about all manner of things, avoiding conversations about their work in the war or the occupation as she had been trained to do.