Jackdaws

St‚phame made lunch. They had shopped on the way. There was no meat or fish in the shops, but they had bought some mushrooms and a lettuce, and a loaf of pain noir, the bread the French bakers made with the poor flour and bran, which was all they could get. Stephanie prepared a salad, and used the mushrooms to make a risotto, and they found some cheese in the larder to finish off With crumbs on the dining room table and dirty pans in the kitchen sink, the house began to look more lived in.

"The war must have been the best thing that ever happened to her," Dieter said as they drank coffee.

"How can you say that? She's on her way to a prison camp."

"Think of the life she led before. A woman alone, no husband, no family, her parents dead. Then into her life come all these young people, brave boys and girls on daredevil missions. They probably tell her all about their loves and their fears. She hides them in her house, gives them whisky and cigarettes, and sends them on their way, wishing them luck. It was probably the most exciting time of her life. I bet she's never been so happy."

"Perhaps she would have preferred a peaceful life, shopping for hats with a woman friend, arranging the flowers for the cathedral, going to Paris once a year for a concert."

"Nobody really prefers a peaceful life." Dieter glanced out of the dining room window. "Damn!" A young woman was coming up the path, pushing a bicycle with a large basket over its front wheel. "Who the hell is this?"

Stephanie stared at the approaching visitor. "What shall I do?"

Dieter did not answer for a moment. The intruder was a plain, fit-looking girl in muddy trousers and a work shirt with big sweat patches under the armpits. She did not ring the doorbell but pushed her bicycle into the courtyard. He was dismayed. Was his charade to be exposed so soon? "She's coming to the back door. She must be a friend or relation. You'll just have to improvise. Go and meet her, I'll stay here and listen."

They heard the kitchen door open and close, and the girl called out in French, "Good morning, it's me."

Stephanie went into the kitchen. Dieter stood by the dining room door. He could hear everything clearly. The girl's startled voice said, "Who are you?"

"I'm Stephanie, the niece of Mademoiselle Lemas."

The visitor did not bother to conceal her suspicion."! didn't know she had a niece."

"She didn't tell me about you, either." Dieter heard the note of amiable amusement in Stephanie's voice, and realized she was being charming. "Would you like to sit down? What's in that basket?"

"Some provisions. I'm Marie. I live in the country. I'm able to get extra food and I bring some for... for Mademoiselle."

"Ah," said Stephanie. "For her... guests." There was a rustling sound, and Dieter guessed Stephanie was looking through the paper-wrapped food in the basket. "This is wonderful! Eggs... pork... strawberries..

This explained how Mademoiselle Lemas managed to remain plump, Dieter thought.

"You know, then," said Marie.

"I know about Auntie's secret life, yes." Hearing her say "Auntie," Dieter realized that neither he nor Stephanie had ever asked Mademoiselle Lernas's first name. The pretense would be over if Marie found out that Stephanie did not even know the name of her "aunt."

"Where is she?"

"She went to Aix. Do you remember Charles Men-ton, who used to be dean at the cathedral?"

"No, I don't."

"Perhaps you're too young. He was the best friend of Auntie's father, until he retired and went to live in Provence." St‚phame was improvising brilliantly, Dieter thought with admiration. She had cool nerves and she was imaginative. "He has suffered a heart attack, and she has gone to nurse him. She asked me to take care of any guests while she's away."

"When will she come back?"

"Charles is not expected to live long. On the other hand, the war may be over soon."

"She didn't tell anyone about this Charles."

"She told me."

It looked as if Stephanie might get away with it, Dieter thought. If she could keep this up a little longer, Marie would go away convinced. She would report what had happened, to someone or other, but Stephanie's story was plausible, and exactly the kind of thing that happened in Resistance movements. It was not like the army: someone like Mademoiselle Lemas could easily make a unilateral decision to leave her post and put someone else in charge. It drove Resistance leaders mad, but there was nothing they could do: all their troops were volunteers.

He began to feel hopeful.

"Where are you from?" said Marie.

"I live in Paris."

"Does your aunt Valerie have any other nieces hidden away?"

So, Dieter thought, Mademoiselle Lemas's name is Valerie.

"I don't think so-none that I know."

"You're a liar."

Marie's tone had changed. Something had gone wrong. Dieter sighed and drew the automatic pistol from beneath his jacket.

Stephanie said, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You're lying. You don't even know her name. It's not Valerie, it's Jeanne."