Collaborateur – Magpie Tales

July 6, 2014July 6, 2014freyathewriter 28 Comments

“Mademoiselle Dupont? Elodie? What are you doing here?”

Sarah stiffens, lowers her newspaper and her heart sinks. Her skin crawls with anticipation and fear. She hopes her husband is long gone from his spot in the shadows..

“Gunther! What a wonderful surprise! How have you been?” she trills, her voice light and carefree, or so she hopes.

The young officer, crisp and correct in his grey uniform waits to be invited and then sits down. He looks a little older than when they met last year, there are grey hairs, frown lines and a scar on one cheek. He is no longer fresh-faced, but his smile is still as beguiling as ever.

“Liebchen, I have missed you,” he says quietly, urgently, leaning forward so that only she can hear his whispered words. He strokes her cheek gently with his index finger.

Sarah blushes and looks down, unable to ignore the rapid beating of her heart.

“Putain! Filthy putain!” hisses the waiter as he glides past their table. This evening he has seen her sip fine French wine with a brave, loyal Frenchman and now she intends to guzzle rough German hock with an officer of the occupying forces. It is too much.

He slips outside, silent as a wraith in the steam and clatter of the kitchen, grim-faced

“Hsst! Guillaume!” he has reached the shadows beyond the streetlights, seen the tell-tale glow of the Gauloise that tells him the man is still there, watching, waiting.

“Oui, Gaston. I am here. What is it?”

“Your wife, she is a putain, uh? A traitor! Have you seen her cavorting with the German pig? Did you know, huh? Did you?”

The two men stare into the restaurant, watching the couple together at their table. They are completely absorbed.

“I see her, Gaston. Believe me, I did not know,” says the man quietly. He drops his cigarette on the ground, grinding it under his heel. He sees his action as a symbol of what happens next.

“You will do it, Gaston? You will deal with her?”

“I will. Bien sur, I will.”

They turn away from the restaurant, too soon to witness the German officer stand and leave, Le Figaro held firmly in his hand.

——

Here’s my latest entry to Magpie Tales. This story follows on from my entry last week, so please feel free to read that one first, or just read this in isolation. To me, the man in this photo represents the angry waiter!

I hope you enjoy it – and please do visit Magpie Tales for more poetry and prose!

Croix de Guerre – Magpie Tales

June 29, 2014freyathewriter 31 Comments

A Game of Patience, 1937, Meredith Frampton

‘They don’t know who I am,’ thinks Sarah, placing the cards deliberately, slowly, carefully on the table in front of her. The waiter walks past with a tray of drinks. He is heading to the back room, the private room, which hasn’t been available to anyone but a select few for several months. It is what it is, for now.

“Mademoiselle Dupont?”

The voice is firm and confident. Good, he has belief.

“Oui, Monsieur Levillaine. But please, call me Elodie.” She gesticulates to the chair opposite her, sweeps the playing cards together and returns them to their tattered cardboard case.

“And please, call me Guillaume.”

He takes a seat, places his newspaper on the table, a half-smile playing around his lips. He is handsome, with a five o’clock shadow just beginning to show even at this early hour. It covers the light scar creasing his jaw line from earlobe to chin – the scar that Sarah knows so well.

Drinks are brought to the table and sipped, and desultory conversation follows. The streetlights glow as evening descends. The men in the private room prepare to leave, chairs scrape the parquet floor as they gather scarves, coats and hats. The mood appears to be light, oiled by brandy. They have no reason to be serious or concerned, after all.

Her guest takes his leave just before the private room empties. He places his hat on his head at a jaunty angle as she stands and they faire la bise – one, two, three – then he is gone.

The grey-uniformed men flow past, paying no attention to the quiet woman sitting at the corner table, reading Le Figaro intently.

The pack of playing cards is safely ensconced in her guest’s coat pocket. The next link in the chain is complete.

The man stands outside in the shadows, lights a Gauloise, watching his wife through the windows of the restaurant. He has never been more proud, never been more afraid for her.

Hidden in plain sight is a dangerous, dangerous game, even in these desperate times.

——

Here’s my latest entry to Magpie Tales. I’ve not heard of this artist before but I do love this painting. I have no idea why my mind went to World War Two and the Special Operations Executive – but there you are. She just looked like she was waiting for something.

I hope you enjoy it – and please do visit Magpie Tales for more poetry and prose!

Over and Out – Sunday Photo Fiction

June 1, 2014freyathewriter 17 Comments

Shoes. I hadn’t seen a pair for years, not proper, shop-bought, complete shoes that had a hope of keeping your feet dry.

I remember the patent red pair that Mum had bought me as a little girl. I had loved those shoes, loved how they reminded me of cherries. I could barely remember the taste of any fruit, not any more. Yet still my mouth watered at the thought.

I shielded my eyes from the fierce sun as the shoes danced back and forth, tantalizingly. I bet the wires from which the shoes dangled hadn’t carried messages for a decade.

My feet ached for those shoes. I had made up my mind to retrieve them when a rogue cloud covered the sun. The land around me lost its bleach and I saw that the hillock on the ground was more sinister. It was the remains of a man, long dead, his arm reaching up in a last attempt to gain his prize.

This was a trap. No doubt there were live wires buried in the telegraph pole, ready to pass on their own message to us rebels. We will kill you all.

Not me, not today, I thought.

————–

Here’s my latest entry into Alistair’s Sunday Photo Fiction. He supplies us with his own wonderful photos, so deserves our support! Happy Sunday, all….

Do take part if you have time, or just pop over and read the other entries.