The Seven Letters by Jan Harvey

Author:Jan Harvey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2016-10-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty Six

The men were dead.

They lay flat against the pavement, eyes glassy and wide open, faces grey. The buckets of water were turned over and the brushes they had been using were lying across the road. They had been shot in the back and the blood that had seeped across the backs of their shirts formed ragged wet patterns in the cloth. Claudette tried to avert her eyes but she was drawn to the scene, to the dead men and the fact that people were passing by and not looking, not wanting to see, avoiding all involvement.

She hurried on, remembering the way she had walked with Keber. There was a café with green painted woodwork, a German eating onion soup with a sophisticated French woman. A grey horse, its head hung low, stood in the shafts of a cart piled high with wooden cases of wine. Two men were unloading and taking the cases into the café. They weren’t talking, their faces looked strained and uneasy.

Claudette watched them just a bit too long as she walked by. The German saw her and looked around, his eyes questioning. She hurried away and reached the house at five o’clock, she could never have believed she would be so happy to get back safely. She put her parcels of fabric by the kitchen door and ran straight upstairs to change. When she came back down to the kitchen, Jacques was lighting the stove with great difficulty.

‘I hate this bastard and it hates me, bastard,’ he was saying as he struck another match and began a long diatribe of offensive words about chores and hard work. Finally it lit and he stepped back. Claudette took the folded paper out of her handbag and handed it to him. He took it to the corner of the kitchen and held it up to the light.

‘Where did you find it?’ he whispered.

‘Nannette’s room.’

‘Very good, I’ll pass it on.’ He stuffed it into the pocket of his gilet. Perrine arrived and, pulling her headscarf off, she placed a basket on the table.

‘I got the medicine, the doctor said he’s due for the monthly check tomorrow anyway.’

‘Are you ill?’ asked Claudette.

‘No, Eva is, she has a fever and earache.’

‘Shall I take it up?’ Claudette offered.

‘Oh, would you, that would be lovely, my feet are aching. I’ve walked miles. I’ll make you a lemon tea and then I can get the vegetables done for tonight.’

Claudette took the brown bottle and a spoon up to Eva’s room on the second floor. She knocked, but the reply was muffled. Eva was in bed, the covers pulled tight around her. Her teeth were chattering and she was wet with perspiration. Claudette made her sit up, plumping up her pillows. She was tiny; her face, without make-up, was childlike, the skin soft and clear of blemishes.

‘Here Eva, I have medicine for you.’ Claudette spoke softly as she poured it onto the spoon and lifted the girl up to sip it. ‘You poor thing, you are really unwell, aren’t you?’

Eva nodded.

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