FORBIDDEN FLOWER

Violet lifted her glasses and rubbed her eyes; she had been staring at the screen too long and she had a headache. She was about to tell a story that she had never shared with anyone before. She went to the kitchen to drink some water, at 75 she was still very agile and independent, she noticed it was 9.30pm, she’d forgotten to eat dinner again. Since beginning to write her memoirs she had often become so caught up in the past that she forgot to attend to the present, her daughter Moira would have something to say if she found out, so Violet opened her cupboard and fished out a can of soup which she microwaved and put in a mug. Sat back in front of the screen she re-read her last few paragraphs, ‘and that is when I first saw her, the beautiful Mari Gold. Her father and mine were business associates and friends.’

Violet sat back in her armchair and sipped her soup; her mind recaptured the moment.

Paris, France 1938, all those involved in politics and commerce were discussing the potential threats of Hitler and his Nazi Party, at 19 Violet enjoyed attending her father’s parties and relished being included in adult conversations. On the guest list was Oscar Gold the Jeweller and his family, new acquaintances that her father had recently done business with.

When the Golds arrived, her father beckoned her over and introduced Mari, “Why don’t you show Mari around the grounds.”

I rolled my eyes I didn’t want to be stuck outside with a pretty but petulant looking 16-year-old, as we rounded the first corner from the French windows she immediately pulled out some cigarettes “Fumez vous?” she proffered

“Ooh yes please.” I grabbed one, “My parents don’t approve so I haven’t managed to have one since this morning, you are a lifesaver” I inhaled deeply and savoured the taste.

“So please tell me you are not one of those bourgeois women who have no opinion on what’s going on in the world because if I have to talk about Christian Dior’s summer range one more time, I am going to scream.” She said in English.

Our friendship was forged in that moment and in the weeks and months that followed we discovered we were truly kindred spirits. We talked about current affairs we drank wine and we smoked cigarettes it was an amazing summer. Just before she was due to go back to finishing school we had a farewell to summer celebration, just she and I drinking, smoking and making plans for the future, we were in the summer house at her parent’s home,

“So, I’m going to be doing secretarial work at my father’s company from next January and he says if you would also like to do that after you have finished your education just let him know.”

“Ah Oui mon cherie, we cannot break up this dynamic duo n’est pas?” and she kissed me full on the lips lingering as she went. My face grew hot and red, my breath came in gasps and my heart pounded but I could not resist kissing her back. When she pulled away her eyes were shining and she was smiling like the cat that got the cream.

“I knew you were an invert like me.” She kissed me once more and then quite romantically declared “Until we are reunited.”

All the following year we wrote to each other avidly, although her stories of life at school seemed much more exciting than my secretarial work. The only thing that truly interested us both was the situation with Hitler and we would hypothesize how we would assist anyone standing up to him and his tyrannical regime.

By the time Mari got back to Paris war had been declared and we were all living with the threat that Hitler posed.

She started working for my father’s company as a typist and we spent every lunchtime together always debating the ways to antagonise the Nazis and support the allies. Our relationship had blossomed into first love and we clandestinely gave ourselves to each other physically, swearing true affinity and promising lifelong adoration. This became our pattern until everything changed with the occupation of France on the 14th June 1940. Mari’s heritage meant that she could not move around as freely as she was used to, and so I would sneak out with my father’s Riley Falcon saloon and pick her up for trysts whenever possible.

It was after returning from one of those trysts that my father enacted a plan for escape that he had been working on for some months and within 24 hours and without warning or a chance to alert Mari, I found myself in England.

Communications at that particular time could not be trusted and impossible to verify and so with the world at war I resolved to do my bit. I was recruited by the S. O. E. (Special Operations Executive) and began my career as a spy.

Violet shook off her reverie and checked the clock, ‘Midnight already, goodness me! Where does the time go?’ she got ready for bed, despite the late hour she was wide awake, now she had begun that train of thought she knew she would have to see it through to its conclusion. As she settled in her bed her memory took her once more to 1941.

The S.O.E. was the pet project of Winston Churchill and I was an eager pupil excelling in shooting and memorising long messages. My dual nationality meant I was an excellent choice for covert operations within occupied France. I was parachuted in under the cover of darkness with papers to say that I was a French national working in the Ambulance service. Once I was ensconced in the safe house, I began my ‘job’ driving an ambulance in Paris. It was very strange to be in the city that I’d called home for so long. Throughout our training it was impressed upon us to never try and reconnect with our past lives as it would potentially blow our cover and cost many lives and so whilst I drove around seeing places and people I recognised I knew I could never reveal my true self and risk the operation. I had been informed that I would be contacted eventually by a member of the resistance with the code name ‘The Flower’. In the weeks that followed I did receive contact from the flower although not directly, and so it continued, messages would come to the safe house and I would be directed to assist. One of my main tasks was to help allied troops escape occupied territory which was done by means of the evasion lines. I used the Comet Line that ran from Brussels to Paris and then on to the Pyrenees in Spain. It would start with a message to collect an injured person from a domestic residence, there would be two waiting one of them being an allied soldier or airman, in the ambulance one on a gurney and one underneath. At the hospital while the official patient was being treated the secret patient was transferred to another vehicle and another until they had reached safety. I usually only did the first pick up, other operatives took over after that. For several months this became my routine whilst also taking part in various propaganda exercises distributing leaflets encouraging dissent. I noticed that I would very rarely see the same operative more than once, there was a theory that said most resistance fighters had a lifespan of 3 weeks to 3 months because of the Nazis ability to intercept messages and at that point I had still not met ‘The Flower’.

When Violet awoke that morning, she knew she had dreamt of her time in Paris all night. So, with a fresh pot of tea at her side she knew that it was time to think this through properly before committing it to her memoirs.

It was late January 1942 and I had been back in France for almost 6 months, I returned from my day job to find a message ordering a rendezvous at the hospital for an important mission at 6am. There I met Henri who informed me of our goal;

“We will be heading to Bonneval with an injured American, where a group of Maquisards are also awaiting relief, there are injured comrades that need to be transported. We have a contact at Nantes that will take over from there.”

I was thrilled to be doing something different, and we set out from Paris with a buoyant mood. We passed the checkpoints with ease our van was disguised as a bakery truck and we knew we only had to mention that we were delivering to this SS officer or that for the guards to wave us through, I suppose it was in that moment that I first realised that the lack of enthusiasm on some of those young soldier’s faces was an indication that they were also not choosing this war.

We approached the farm that was the rendezvous, all seemed quiet, we split up to check the perimeter. Suddenly I was grabbed from behind a knife held to my throat and a gruff French voice rasped “Le mot de passe?”

“La Fleur, The Flower”

He then spun me round and embraced me, “Bonjour mon ami!”

Inside the farm house were 5 bedraggled men 2 of them injured and all of them starving, we unloaded the baked goods and Henri kept watch while everyone ate their fill.

I heard a noise above, “Who else is here?”

“La fleur est éveillée.”

“The Flower is here?”

“Oui oui she was on watch last night.”

As the flower entered the room she stared at the bountiful table, “Tres bien, c’est magnifique!” Smiling she raised her eyes to greet us.

I could not believe my eyes, there was my Mari looking as beautiful as ever, if somewhat thin and pale.

“You did not know it was me mon Cherie?”

“No I.. I.. did not.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you since you arrived back in Paris, it was too risky to reveal myself it could have compromised the evasion lines and I could not have that; we have lost too many brave fighters already.”

My heart swelled with pride and adoration, my Mari was brave and true and even more stunning than I remembered. We embraced briefly and she went on to give us our instructions, we were to transport the injured men to a contact in Nantes who would take them on the next leg of their journey. We could not leave until after dark and so Henri and I were showed upstairs to rest and recuperate. A few minutes later tapping on the door as she entered Mari came into the room and we embraced and kissed passionately.

“Mon Dieu! You do not know how long I have been waiting to do that.”

We made love furiously at first until I noticed her wincing in pain.

“What is the matter are you injured?”

“I am afraid so Mon Cherie.” She lifted away the sheet to reveal the large deep bruise around her lower back.

I was mortified “That looks like internal bleeding we need to get you to a hospital immediately!”

She placed a finger over my lips, “It is already too late, and I could not let you go without one more sweet loving moment in your arms.”

As she waved us off that evening, dark circles were already forming under her eyes and I never saw her again.

For the first time in a long time Violet let her emotions have full reign, with her eyes wet and her heart full she sat up and began typing once more.

THE END