Dark Summer in Bordeaux by Allan Massie Read Free Book Online Page A

coffee.
    ‘So?’ he said, ‘What do you think?’
    ‘It’s terrific . . . ’ ‘Terrific, but . . . I hear a “but” coming . . . ’ ‘Two “buts”, actually. Everything you say is true, that’s to say, I agree with it entirely. But, first, I think we should tone down your criticism of the Marshal.’
    ‘All I say is that he’s a vain old fool.’
    ‘And that he has betrayed France.’
    ‘So he has. You can’t deny it.’
    ‘I don’t. Only if we are to have an effect, then we have to remember that lots of people who loathe the Occupation and don’t like Vichy, nevertheless have a high regard for the Marshal and don’t think of him as a traitor. So it’ll get their backs up. There are some who think of him as our shield and of de Gaulle as the sword. So let’s say that, while the Marshal’s patriotism can’t be questioned, his policy is misguided and in Vichy he is subject to evil counsels. Something like that?’
    Alain pushed the lock of hair away from his eye and lit a cigarette which he passed to Léon before lighting another for himself.
    ‘Pity,’ he said, ‘I enjoyed writing that, but maybe you’re right. You’ve a better political brain than I have, Léon. What’s your other “but”?’
    ‘What you say about the anti-Jewish laws . . . ’
    ‘I thought you’d approve of that.’
    ‘Of course I do. How couldn’t I? But, again, some of those we want to stir up don’t much like the Jews. It may even be the one bit of Vichy they approve of. So again, let me tone it down, just a bit.’
    ‘Well,’ Alain said, ‘you’re the Jew. So your word on the subject’s law. How soon can you get it typed and run off on your duplicator?’
    ‘Tomorrow, I hope. Then we’ve the problem of distribution . . . ’
    ‘For this first one, let’s just scatter it about,’ Alain said, ‘and see if we get a response.’
    ‘It’s good to be doing something. At last.’
    ‘Good and necessary. Now I must fly to beat the curfew. It’s exciting, isn’t it?’
    ‘Don’t forget it’s also dangerous. We must be careful . . . ’
    They both got to their feet. Alain gave his friend a hug. Léon brushed his cheek with his lips.
    ‘I love you,’ he said aloud as the door closed behind him. ‘If only I had the courage to tell you.’

    A couple of times Léon had spent the night on a couch in the backroom of the bookshop. Henri wouldn’t mind, even if he knew. He was tempted to do so this evening, to type and duplicate Alain’s article, but then he thought of how on the other occasions his mother had been alarmed when he hadn’t returned, afraid that something had happened to him – an accident, even an arrest; there were all sorts of things to frighten her now, especially since her nerves were weak and she never spoke as she used to of what they might do next month or next year. So he had better go home, and get there before the curfew too. He put Alain’s notebook where it wouldn’t be found, surely, on a shelf behind volumes of eighteenth-century sermons which nobody was ever likely to be interested in. As he locked the bookshop door, he heard singing. A lorry full of German soldiers lurched down the street. He pressed himself into the shadows and waited there till the singing died away. He was shivering, though it wasn’t a cold night for the time of the year. It would have been so easy for them to scoop him up; and then what? He lit a cigarette to calm himself, and found that his hands were shaking. It was absurd.
    A figure stepped out of a doorway across the street and approached him. Léon’s fear sharpened but the man only asked him for a light.
    ‘I’m late,’ he said. ‘But glad to have caught you.’
    ‘What do you mean? Who are you?’
    ‘I think we go back into the shop. Unlock the door, will you?’
    Léon hesitated. The man gripped his arm hard, just above the elbow, pressing on a nerve.
    ‘Just do as I say. That’s better. Switch on a light, only one. Let’s make it