“Non.” She smirked. “Well, not anymore, but my skills have proven useful.” With efficient motions, she rifled through the items and pulled out several articles of tattered clothing and a long, blonde wig before closing the lid and replacing the floor boards. “Quickly, you must change. Then I will do your makeup, and we can get you on your way. I received word this morning the Germans are sweeping the entire province. You must have done something very bad for them to be this tenacious in their search.”
“We left a Vichy police officer dead.”
Her eyes rounded. “That would do it. Please return the bureau to its place.” She hurried from the room and closed the door behind her.
Emily snatched the clothes from the bed. “Uh…”
“We’ve no time for modesty. I will turn my back, and you do the same. Our hostess is correct. We must waste no time. The Germans could be here at any time.”
Her face heating, she nodded then kicked off her shoes before pivoting on her heel. She peeled off the layers of shirts, and the air chilled her skin. She removed all but one pair of slacks and drew the dress over her head. Shapeless and stained, it draped over her like a potato sack. She pushed her feet into the scuffed boots, surprised to discover they fit perfectly.
Behind her, the sound of rustling stopped. Gerard must have finished dressing. “I’m ready. Are you?”
“Yes.”
She turned, and her jaw dropped. Too-short brown twill pants were cinched to his more than six-foot frame, with a rope belt. A few inches of hairy legs were exposed above the tops of his equally scuffed boots. The matching brown shirt was ill-fitting and torn. A ragged blanket hung on his shoulders, and a slouch hat was pulled low on his forehead. If it weren’t for his riveting blue eyes, she might overlook him in a crowd. “You’re transformed.” She put her hands on her hips. “Except for your expression. You need to look less…uh…”
His lips quirked. “Like a man on a mission?”
A giggle escaped. “Yes. You’re still scouring the room.”
“How’s this.” His gaze took on a vacuous stare, and the left corner of his mouth drooped.
“Wow. Much better. You could have a career in Hollywood when this is all over.”
“Yeah, that’s how I want to spend my days.” He shook his head then grinned. “Pierre’s mother is going to have her work cut out. Despite the shabby appearance of your outfit, you’re too lovely. The Jerrys will never believe you’re a homeless, helpless Frenchwoman.”
Her toes curled, and she nibbled her lower lip. He thought she was attractive. “Yes, well, that’s one man’s opinion.” She folded her discarded clothes, lifted a couple of floorboards, and then tucked the items into the cubbyhole. Focus, Emily. Just because he thinks you’re pretty doesn’t mean he has feelings for you. She forced a smile and climbed to her feet. “I’ll be in the living room, Hercules. Hide your stuff before you put back the dresser.”
He chuckled.
Her heart skittered. If she didn’t get a grip on her emotions, the entire mission to escape could be in jeopardy. She left the room on heavy feet.
“Ah, good. Now, sit. I will do something with that beautiful face of yours.”
The second time in two minutes, she’d been referred to as good looking. Emily frowned. They’d obviously never seen her sister Cora, the one whose appearance turned heads everywhere she went. As Pierre’s mother dabbed cosmetics on her skin, Emily closed her eyes.
“Voilà. You are finie.”
“Much better,” Gerard’s voice rumbled.
Emily’s eyes flew open. “Ugly enough for you.” She clambered from the chair.
“Never.” His eyes shuttered as he lowered himself on the seat. “I’m assuming you know how to make me appear dirty, not wearing cosmetics.”
The woman dipped her head. “My abilities have not failed me yet.” Seconds later, he was nearly unrecognizable.
The unmistakable thunder of a vehicle sounded outside.
Heart pounding, Emily froze. Very few people owned cars except the authorities.
Gerard sprang into action. “Put the cosmetic case in a closet, and pray they don’t choose to search the premises. Emily, you lie down and pretend to be ill. I’ll sit by your side and look distraught.”
Emily swallowed against the nausea that roiled in her stomach. It wouldn’t be difficult to act the part. She hurried to the sofa and stretched out on the lumpy cushions. Pierre’s mother raced into the room with a shabby blanket, and Gerard laid it over Emily’s body. She wrapped her arms around herself under the scratchy wool fabric. The woman’s makeup abilities were about to be put to the test, especially if Sturmbannführer Krause was part of the group.
Heavy knocking sounded at the door. “Open the door.”
“Un moment.” Pierre’s mother wiped her hands down her skirt then straightened her spine. She walked across the small space and opened the door.
Three gestapo officers strode into the house.
Cracking an eyelid, Emily nearly wept in relief. Krause was not among the haughty, twentysomething-year-old men. She and Gerard were not out of the woods, but their chances had increased by his absence.
The shortest of the trio, a bulldog of a man, pointed at Emily. “What is wrong with her?”
Gerard sniffled. “I’m afraid it might be influenza. Her symptoms came on quickly. We’ve not had chance to send for the doctor.”
“Influenza?” The man stepped back and held his hand up to his mouth. “This house should be quarantined.” He narrowed his eyes at Gerard. “Why are you here? You look healthy enough to me. Why are you not fighting for with the Vichy der führer?”
“I am on leave from the factory where I work. My maman died, and I was given time to attend her funeral. On the way back, we decided to get married, because life is too short. This morning my wife took ill. I’m so worried.”
“She doesn’t look sick to me.”
Emily broke into a paroxysm of coughing. Her throat burned as she faked the attack. Would the nasty man believe her or at least be so put off by her possible contagion, he’d leave?
Gerard dabbed at her forehead with his handkerchief.
Through her shirt, goose bumps formed at his touch. Her face warmed. Hopefully, the officer would interpret her blush as part of her sickness.
The wiry officer leaned toward Bulldog. “Sir, perhaps it would be best if we moved on. You don’t want to be infected, do you?”
“Nein, but this could be a performance for our benefit. You two search the house, and I will check their papers.”
“Jawohl.” They headed to the bedroom where bumps and thuds were soon heard.
The man held out his hand, palm up. “Your identity cards, marriage certificate, and travel papers.”
“Oui, monsieur.” Gerard jumped to his feet and grabbed his rucksack. He retrieved the requested documents and held them out to the officer.
He snatched them from Gerard’s grasp and scanned the contents. His head jerked up. “It seems you’ve found favor with us. Mayor Reneau signed your license and Standartenführer Weber issued your visas. Impressive. You don’t look important enough to warrant their attention. How did this come about?”