The Paris Agent(48)
“Yes,” Jean says stiffly. “That was a very difficult day.”
“I don’t recall much about it, to be honest. Just flashes of images and some vague, troubling feelings,” Dad says. For the first time, I notice how often Dad says things like this when he talks about his memory problems around the time of the war—troubling feelings. Feelings that don’t make sense. A shiver of confusion and concern runs through me, especially when I consider that Dad clearly did not want us to hear whatever it is he has to say to Jean today. Beside me, Dad is finally on a roll but he’s talking almost to himself, his eyes downcast and his voice low.
“I suppose the last time you saw me was when you were dropping me at the hospital.”
“That’s right.”
“Most of my memories returned eventually, but what I recall of those last few weeks is patchy to this day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“By the time I’d recalled even that I was an agent, the liberation was well underway. I waited at the hospital until Paris had been set free, then I went there because I couldn’t remember why but I just had this feeling—” He breaks off abruptly, swallows, then clears his throat. “But…in the end, I was at a loss in Paris too. It wasn’t just my memory that was damaged in those early days, my whole mind seemed scrambled. I couldn’t concentrate or plan properly. I was alone in Paris looking for something that I felt certain was important although I could not remember why. I had no money or documentation and no idea how to get home. I lived on the streets for a few weeks because I didn’t know what else to do.”
On the streets? I blink away hot tears of surprise at this revelation, then reach to rub Dad’s back.
“I’m sorry, Noah,” Jean says. “But if you’ve come looking to confront me about that, I really had no choice about leaving you there. Our team had been given a mission and two of the three of us were out of action. I had to carry on alone.”
“No, no. I’m not telling you that because…” Dad breaks off, flustered. “I just want you to understand. Why I didn’t track you down to thank you right away.”
“To thank me?” Jean repeats blankly, but Dad continues as if he hasn’t heard him.
“It was just fortunate that I saw a poster about the SOE apartment. I don’t know what would have become of me otherwise.”
“SOE leadership had a devil of a time locating us all,” Jean says slowly. “I was rather lost too until a wireless operator told me about that apartment.”
“What was this apartment?” I ask.
“With hundreds of agents spread all across France, some of the key SOE leaders came across to Paris,” Jean explains, “They set themselves up a base and spread word far and wide that agents should come in. Most of us made our way home via that apartment.” His gaze grows cloudy. “Those who survived, anyway.”
He and Dad both fall silent, probably lost for a moment in thoughts of their fallen comrades.
“The SOE brought me back to the UK and that’s when I really started to recover. I reunited with Geraldine shortly after that and life just sped on by, you know? There was never any time to stop and look back.”
“It was much the same for me.” Jean nods, then he and Marion share a quiet glance. “There was a wave of jubilation when the war ended, but what comes next? You have to move on and then you’re focused on career and family and life just rushes on by you.”
“Exactly. But since my wife died, I can’t help but think back. I’d have missed so much if you hadn’t saved me that day. All of those wonderful years with my wife. We’d never have had Charlotte here, her brother Archie, my beautiful granddaughter Poppy—but for you, I’d have missed all of it.” Dad delivers each word carefully and his voice is thick with tears. “I just needed to say thank you.” Dad turns his gaze to Marion and says, “I wanted to make sure that Jean’s family knows that he is a hero.”
I finally flick a glance at Jean, only to find him staring at the ceiling now, visibly uncomfortable. He sucks in a breath then exchanges a slightly panicked glance with Marion who winces and shrugs.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’ve got it all wrong, Noah,” Jean says. “We weren’t alone that day. Do you remember that?”
“Fleur was with us at first but then she was gone,” Dad frowns, then pauses. “Wasn’t she?”
“Well, yes, but—” Jean scratches his neck awkwardly then tries again. “Do you remember the roadblock?” Dad gives a helpless shrug. Jean inhales sharply then to my surprise, he narrows his eyes. “We drove right into a trap and we were virtually defenseless. Do you remember that?”
“I…”
“Do you remember you wanted to surrender? To surrender!” Jean repeats himself as if he can’t believe this even now, his voice rising as he does so. Dad’s mouth falls open in shock. Jean’s fist thumps against the table now and he leans forward as he hisses, “Months of training where they drilled into us to never allow ourselves to be captured and you were telling me to pull the car over and surrender right when the Germans were finally on the back foot! I wouldn’t—Fleur wouldn’t…！”
“Love,” Marion says, her voice low and urgent. Jean breaks off to stare at her. “Stop and take a breath,” she says gently. He nods, swallows, and turns back to Dad.