The House at Mermaid's Cove(72)

“Good luck.” Jack squeezed my arm as I went over the side. “See you tomorrow.”

As I scrambled down the ladder, I sent up a silent prayer. Tomorrow seemed an eternity away.

I had a strange sense of déjà vu as the dinghy headed for the shore. It was exactly like the last time: the mackerel line in my hand, four bodies in the belly of the boat, the silhouette of a man pulling on oars. The only difference was that this time, I was the only woman.

The handover was easier than it had been on the previous mission. None of those waiting to be picked up had any injuries. I stayed where I was in the stern while one of them rowed back to La Coquille, saving my strength for the next stage of the operation.

There was a moment of panic when what looked like a patrol boat headed in our direction. But it turned out to be a lone fisherman setting lobster pots. I shouted a greeting in French, then wished him more success than we were having with the mackerel. This seemed to satisfy him. He waved as we rowed away.

Jack hadn’t gone far from where he’d dropped me off. I could see his silhouette as he helped the escapees aboard. I didn’t go up with them. I was to row back as soon as they were safely delivered. It would be a race against the clock because of the shortness of the night. I had to get to the harbor at Lannion under cover of darkness.

I rowed as fast as I could, watching the black shape of La Coquille grow smaller and smaller. I felt very vulnerable, very much alone. I did what I’d always done when I was frightened. The prayers were a mixture of the ones I knew by heart and ones I made up: I asked for protection, for courage, and for the ability to look serene, despite my terror.

To find the harbor, I had to go north once I neared the beach where the exchange of men had taken place. I hugged the coastline for a few hundred yards. Jack had said that I would feel the current change as I entered the estuary of the river Léguer, where Lannion was located. A couple of times I stopped rowing to see if I could feel anything. The little boat rocked gently. I put my hand over the side, desperate for some indication that I was going in the right direction. I couldn’t have gone the wrong way, could I? I stared at the sky, wishing I knew more about the patterns of stars overhead. I knew Orion, but that was nowhere to be seen. I searched for the North Star, but the sky was already beginning to lighten. Frantic now, I began rowing again. And then, suddenly, I felt it: the pull of the tide. I hardly needed to row—it was taking me into the mouth of the river.

I glided beneath a stone bridge. Soon I saw the shapes of bigger boats than mine at anchor on both sides. I knew that I had to go under a second bridge, then find a mooring place on the north bank of the river. The next bridge came up more quickly than I expected, looming out of a veil of mist that hung over the water. I steered toward a set of stone steps that led down from the quayside to the water. I made a grab for a metal ring embedded in the wall. My fingers almost slipped on the slimy, weed-covered bricks surrounding it. For a moment I thought I was going to lose my balance and topple into the dark water. But I held on tight and after a few seconds the boat stopped wobbling.

I tied the rope securely then climbed out. At the top of the steps I paused, searching for signs of life. The curfew was due to end at sunrise. It was risky to be on the streets, but I wanted to find the convent before it got properly light. In broad daylight it would be less easy to fool anyone into believing I was a man.

I was still wearing the oilskins I’d put on before leaving Cornwall. The radio parts and explosives were in two bags strapped around my waist under my jacket. I’d memorized the layout of the streets around the harbor, so I didn’t need to refer to the map. The buildings on the riverbank were half-timbered houses with flowers tumbling from window boxes. Even in the gray twilight the old town looked pretty.

I was about to move away from the quayside when I spotted a beam of light moving toward me, farther up the river. Someone was walking by the boats, shining a flashlight at each vessel. I scrambled back down the steps and crouched under the arch of the bridge. I prayed that the patroller wouldn’t come down this way with his flashlight. The dinghy was out of sight and probably not big enough to be of any interest. It was lucky that Jack hadn’t brought me all the way to Lannion in La Coquille. He’d discussed the idea but been advised that it would be too risky with the escapees on board. Clearly the senior officers of the SOE were very well informed.

I held my breath as the footsteps came closer. The beam of the flashlight glanced off the stonework above my head. Then the patroller was gone. I waited a minute longer, then crept back up the steps and darted across to where the houses were. I set off toward a church spire to the east, taking care to stay in the shadows of the doorways. The Ursuline convent was on Rue Jean Savidan—a long street that ran almost parallel to the river a couple of blocks back. I turned left at the church and made my way around the edge of a square.

I stopped in the entrance to a baker’s shop before venturing any farther. The scent of warm bread came wafting under the door, making my stomach rumble. I was just about to step out into the open when two men in uniform appeared around the corner, just yards from where I was standing. The sight of the red armbands with the swastika emblazoned on them paralyzed me. My mouth went dry and my rumbling stomach froze. This was the enemy. The embodiment of the evil I had pledged to fight. Even the way they walked betrayed their arrogance. They were talking to each other as they made their way across the square. I heard one of them chuckle as he glanced my way. For one awful moment I thought they were coming to the bakery. I tried to flatten myself against the wall. To my relief, they passed by without stopping.