CHAPTER NINETEEN
ROSE
Rose held her head high and kept her shoulders straight. She knew she looked glamourous, more like she might have before the war, or at least before Peter had been taken from her, and it gave her the confidence to play her character. The red lipstick had transformed her in front of the mirror, and she’d taken one look at the face staring back at her and known she could do it. It was like looking at the old her, the Parisian her. Only she’d not expected to see that face again any time soon.
‘I’m a confident sales representative for cosmetics,’ she murmured to herself, her lips barely moving. ‘I love make-up. It’s my passion.’
She needed to live and breathe her new legend. She’d always loved fashion and make-up, like any of her friends with money to spend. But that life seemed, well, a lifetime ago, and since then the closest she’d come to being the glamourous woman she’d once been was brushing her hair out at night and twisting it up off her face before bed.
Rose clutched her bag tighter, not thinking about what was inside. She had codes written into her silk underskirt and two small parts in her case that could be used to build a new radio or repair an old one, as well as money. If she was caught, she’d be killed. It was as simple as that. Which was why she wasn’t going to get caught, because she wasn’t going to let herself get put in that position.
She had a special pass, since her work meant she had to travel, so the Gestapo shouldn’t bother searching her like they would most others. Besides, she had the advantage of creamy white skin and bright blue eyes, features the Germans seemed to like well enough even though her hair was brown and not blonde, and something shared by the original agent whose place she had taken. It was the reason why she’d been unfortunate enough to be earmarked for the role in the first place. She only had to hope none of them took too much of a liking and tried anything on. The thought alone made her stomach turn.
It was never going to get easier however often she did this, she knew that, but she had to remember why she was doing it. She and she alone could keep the various cells working. If the Normandy landings went ahead and they were able to keep disrupting the Germans, then they might actually win this godforsaken war.
Rose reached the station and looked around. There were Gestapo waiting, watching, laughing amongst themselves. But this time she didn’t have to fear them. She straightened her shoulders and pinned a bright smile firmly on her face. She was Roseanne DuBois and she was the best make-up representative in the country!
Rose tried to sit up straight but her body kept slumping forward every time she fell asleep. She’d been on the train for some time, and now that it was dark she was trying to let herself sleep, only it was almost impossible to do sitting upright. There were no private sleeping cars, so Rose had to sleep in her seat, freezing cold and uncomfortable, rather than sleep in a car with men. There were few women on board and she didn’t want to put herself in that position.
She rubbed at her eyes and then realised she’d probably ruined her make-up. Rose wiped more carefully across her skin, clearing her throat as she shifted and trying to make herself more comfortable. Surely the journey was almost over? She wanted to get rid of the package, dispose of the message she had to relay and then breathe a huge sigh of relief. She was wishing she hadn’t brought their spare parts with her.
Rose sat and listened to her own breath going in and out, trying to enjoy the motion of the train and the solitude of her journey. She’d hardly spoken to anyone since she’d left the chateau. A nod to the Gestapo man who’d asked to check her papers, followed by a brisk thank you as she’d boarded the train. Then another nod to yet another German, before finding her seat and refusing to make eye contact with any of the other passengers. Given how long she’d lived with Sophia, and how often she’d had a house guest waiting to be rescued, she’d become used to having someone to talk to, or simply with her, at all times, so solitude was an unusual notion now.
It was also the first time she’d truly let herself think about what she’d left behind when they’d fled her house by the coast.
My baby. She let the words move slowly through her mind, mentally grasping them and replaying them over and over. My baby. My baby.
Sophia had helped her bury the baby she’d delivered, so early that he hadn’t had a hope of surviving. He’d been months too soon, but still, he’d been perfectly formed. His head and body tiny, small enough to fit easily in the palm of her hand. Her heart had broken in a way that couldn’t even compare to losing Peter when she’d looked at that little human who had come too early to join the land of the living. Her body had been wracked with pain, the blood had covered the bed she’d managed to crawl up on, and then she’d managed to pull herself together and wrap her tiny, unviable child in a towel. All night she’d held him, sobbing, stopping only to crawl over to Sophia on the bed beside her and make sure she hadn’t died. And then she’d realised that her new guest wouldn’t survive without her help, and she’d placed the baby down and pushed her own pain aside to save another.
Sophia had repaid her that favour a hundred times over. She’d helped her to bury her child, holding her when she’d cried, despite the physical pain it must have caused her to even rise from the bed. And then she’d been her one and only confidante – they had both been to each other – and from then on Rose had vowed to do anything to keep Sophia safe. She would happily take a bullet for her strong-willed, capable friend if it meant ensuring she survived the war and made it home to her Alex. At least Sophia still had someone to return to, could hold on to the hope that she would be in her loved one’s arms again.
‘Do you speak German?’
Rose jumped at the intrusion, the man’s voice shaking her from her thoughts. A tremor of fear circled through her as she collected herself, quickly smoothing down her skirt to make sure it hadn’t risen up.
She forced herself to smile at the man despite the fact he’d almost made her jump out of her skin as she’d stared out the window into nothing.
‘A little,’ she replied, not wanting him to know that in fact she spoke quite excellent German. ‘You . . .’ She smiled, pushing her shoulders up into a little shrug, and switched from German to French, hoping he might understand. ‘Frightened,’ she said. ‘I do not know the word for frightened.’
He laughed, understanding when she jumped and flapped her hand to her heart. She hated how handsome he was, how easy the smile of this Gestapo man was when he no doubt was as cruel-hearted as the rest of them.
‘I understand,’ he said back to her, conversing again in German. ‘I’m sorry.’
She could see the irony in him apologising to her. If he only knew what she was carrying, he’d be smacking the back of his hand in a practised arc into her cheekbone instead of extending his hand politely. To him she was merely a pretty French girl, nothing more.
‘Kurt,’ he said, his smile wide, eyes sparkling at her as if they were two people meeting at a dinner party rather than in her country, which his country had conquered. ‘And you are?’
She took his hand, slid her palm to his warm, soft one. She was freezing, but he was dressed in a big, warm coat and had no doubt been enjoying a private car.
‘Roseanne,’ she replied, holding his hand just long enough before retrieving it and folding both hands back into her lap.
‘You’re freezing,’ he said, frowning. ‘Cold,’ he said again, as if he was unsure of how much she could understand. He rubbed his hands together and then blew on them. ‘Here,’ he said, shrugging out of his overcoat and gesturing for her to lean forward.
Rose’s skin was crawling at the mere thought of taking his coat, every part of her wanting to rebel against any offer of kindness from a man like him, but she gratefully accepted it and moved over so he could sit beside her. She snuggled into it, knowing that her ice-cold bones would soon start to thaw. It was so big that she was able to ball her hands inside, too.
She wondered if he would get into trouble for lending it to her, but she supposed he didn’t care what anyone else thought. There were other people around them, but no one dared to look at them, and the other Gestapo on board probably had better things to do than worry about one of their own flirting with a Frenchwoman.
‘You are travelling alone?’ he asked.
Rose nodded and pointed to her case. ‘I sell make-up,’ she said slowly, pointing to her lips for effect and pretending to put on lipstick. ‘I have to travel.’
He smiled and she wondered if they were actually so different. Sometimes she thought that not every member of the Nazi Party could be so terrible. Surely many of them had joined merely to blend in and save their families, while knowing in their hearts that what was happening was wrong. But then she thought of Sophia, the secrets she’d confided in her about finding her mother that day, the way her father refused to spare even his once-beloved wife when she was found to be keeping Jews safe in their home.
‘Ah,’ he said, nodding and gesturing to her face. ‘You are so beautiful, you must be very successful.’
Rose laughed and raised her hand to hide her mouth, glancing away coyly. She needed to play the game, and Roseanne was single and would surely be attracted to a handsome young German paying her so much attention.
‘You must miss home,’ she said, careful to say the words slowly so she didn’t give away her knack for languages. ‘Are you, ah, married?’
It was Kurt grinning this time. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘No wife. And you?’ He glanced at her hands, no doubt looking for a ring. She’d entrusted her wedding ring to Hazel while she was gone, and as she rubbed her thumb across her fingers, she felt bare without the weight of it there.
‘No, no wife,’ she said, knowing she’d made a mistake but expecting him to laugh at her mistake.
He did, grinning at her and shaking his head. ‘Husband,’ he said slowly, ‘you would have a husband if you were married.’
She giggled and hated how easy she found it to be silly and immature. She was fortunate that she looked so youthful and could pretend to be unmarried and in her early twenties.
The train slowed then, suddenly jerking, and Kurt threw his arm out to stop her from shooting forward. His hand brushed her and he smiled and pulled back.
‘It was lovely meeting you, Roseanne,’ he said as the train groaned.
It wouldn’t be long before they were at the station, and she knew he’d have work to do now. He might be about to check identity cards and passes again, perhaps search bags, and she gritted her teeth as she made herself smile back at him. It was a dangerous liaison to be having, flirting with Kurt, but it would have been even more dangerous if she’d ignored him and been rude when he’d clearly been so interested.
‘I hope to see you again,’ she said, shaking her head at how stilted her words sounded. It pained her to speak a language she knew well so poorly, but she was enjoying playing her character, like an actress performing on a stage.
‘Let me,’ he said, taking the coat from her shoulders when she leaned forward, before putting it back on himself. He bent down and reached for her hands, nodding. ‘At least you warmed a little.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
As the train continued to slow, Kurt stepped sideways and reached up, his hands closing over the handle of her case before she could protest. Instead she sat frozen, waiting, certain that he was about to open it – or worse, that the handle would give way and her case would fall open, the pieces she was carrying spilling all over the floor.
‘Here,’ he said, passing it to her.
‘Thank you,’ she said again, ready to pass out as her fingers clenched the handle and she pulled it closer to her body.
He gave her one last look, his mouth still tilted up to make his entire face light up, and then finally walked away.
Rose had thought she was tough. She thought she had nothing left to live for and nothing to be scared about. But Kurt had shown her how close she’d come to being found out, how easy it would have been for him to ask to look inside her case. And then she would have found out just how easily the charming young German could turn into a cruel captor, of that she was absolutely certain.
Rose prepared to stand, holding on as she rose, legs frozen cold, her toes locked and aching as if she had frostbite. But she kept the most pleasant look on her face that she could muster and pushed through the pain. All she had to do was deliver the codes to the other cells and pick up the radio parts, make appearances at a couple of stores that were in the business of selling make-up to at least make her cover story look legitimate if anyone was observing her, and then get back on the train and return to the chateau.
Her role was clear and her job simple so long as she wasn’t stopped and searched. All she had to do now was convince everyone between here and there that she was indeed a glamourous young woman passionate about her job.
She might not feel glamourous anymore, but she certainly knew what it meant to be passionate about a job.