The French Promise (11 page)

It was viciously hot and Luc could feel his shirt clinging to his body from the damp of perspiration. He ripped it off angrily and used it to wipe his face. ‘
Alors, satisfaits
?’ he demanded, his tone enough to make a couple of the accusers back off slightly.

‘We talk
English here, mate.’

‘I asked if you were happy now.’ He flung down the shirt, furious that his loyalty was in question, and turned to face them.

Silence fell when they stared at his chest. He stared back, challenge in his glare.

‘Is that a bullet wound?’ His big companion pointed.

Luc shrugged and nodded, surprised at the sudden change in mood. ‘So what if it is?’

The men crowded closer
to get a better look and sounded collectively impressed to see the angry red crater of flesh that had puckered into scar tissue. They swung him round to see the exit scar. One of them whistled.

‘A German bullet?’ the youngest asked, wide-eyed.

Luc remembered the feeling of the bullet hitting him as though it was yesterday; his greatest surprise was not being shot but the indignation that Kilian
had actually pulled the trigger on him. It had annoyed him for years that he had still managed an act of heroism in saving Luc’s life.

‘It was a bullet fired from the pistol of a German colonel during the liberation of Paris,’ he answered with honesty.

This news was met with fresh whistles, sounds of approval and excited chatter.

‘Did you kill him?’

‘I made sure that colonel was dead not long
later, yes,’ Luc said carefully.

‘Onya, mate!’ someone called, and suddenly his hand was being shaken and his damp back slapped by the men.

The big fellow who’d first approached him was grinning, had his hand out. ‘Kraut killer, eh? I’m Richo. This here’s Ron but we call him Drongo. The kid is Shorty, that’s Matty, Billy, and over here is Knackers. Don’t ask why or he might show you.’ Everyone
laughed.

Luc took the meaty hand being proffered and felt his own being squeezed ferociously. ‘I’m Luc,’ he replied, careful again to make it sound as biblical as he could.

‘Froggo from now on,’ Richo joked and Luc heard the
nickname echoed with amusement. ‘Killing a Kraut is more than I can claim,’ Richo continued. ‘You win. What’s that around your neck, anyway?’

‘I hope it’s the Nazi’s
ashes,’ someone quipped. His friends bellowed their laughter.

Luc didn’t answer; he could only imagine what a bunch of tough blokes like this would make of a pouch of lavender seeds. He let the banter flow, glad to sense he’d been accepted because of Kilian’s bullet. Damn the man! Reaching out from the dead … and still saving him.

And as smoko ended and the men began dispersing to their respective
jobs, Richo came up and slapped him again on the back. ‘I hope you do catch up with the smiling bastard some time. Sounds like you owe him one, mate.’

Harry had been left for the day with Ruby, a friend of Johnno’s who Lisette had got to know and like. She’d been terrific with their son for short periods and Lisette was sure that the young woman was ready to have Harry for a day. Ruby was newly married, setting up home and happy to earn the shillings. Harry loved the twenty-year-old, who was keen to start
a family of her own, and watching Ruby at ease with Harry reassured Lisette that he was safe in her care.

They’d taken one of the regional buses and headed for Lilydale; during the journey Lisette could feel Luc’s anticipation like a third person travelling alongside them. With the help of the owners of The Cornwall, who had come to know and like their overseas guests, the lavender growers from
a tiny hamlet south-east of Launceston had been contacted. Luc had spoken to the farmer, Tom Marchant, on the phone, and he had generously invited the Ravens to pay a visit.

The Marchants had welcomed them warmly and before Lisette knew it, Luc had been dragged off by Tom to take a look around the immediate property, particularly his sheds apparently. Meanwhile, she had been left with his wife,
Nel, a tall, curvy woman with a straight way of talking.

‘What on earth are you doing coming here to the ends of the earth looking like you do?’ had been her first words on meeting Lisette.

Lisette was learning fast that Australia was still catching up with the notion that not every woman’s place was necessarily in the home with other women. She tried not to let her and Nel’s exclusion
by the men irritate her. She sighed privately and counted herself lucky that Nel was so instantly likeable, with her tumble of softly red hair, shot through with gold to match her skin, freckled and burnished from years under the sun, and grey-green eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

A tray of fluffy fruit scones had been whipped up and Lisette was being encouraged to break open the plump treats
and smother their steaming middles with Nel Marchant’s own strawberry jam and cream.

‘That cream is yesterday’s from Partridge’s cows at Nabowla. It’s the best in the district,’ she beamed. ‘Eat up, rationing’s over and you can do that scrawny body of yours some good.’

Lisette tucked in, smiling at how quickly familiar they’d become. It was true, she’d never been leaner, not even during the height
of the war. ‘I think I’ve been worried,’ she admitted.

Nel gave a scoffing sound. ‘What’s to worry about, girl?
You’re young, healthy, you’ve got a handsome man and a beautiful son, by all accounts, and plenty more babies left in you. A lot of women in these parts lost their men. They’ve got mouths to feed on whatever income they can find working in shops and the like.’

Lisette chewed
sheepishly. She had much to be grateful for – not the least of which was no immediate financial woes. She couldn’t understand why she’d been feeling gloomy. It was probably the dream. She’d experienced it twice now; passed it off as a nightmare when Luc had put his arms around her when she’d woken, choked by a cry. Remembering dreams was very rare for her but she couldn’t lose this one. It had begun
haunting her since they’d arrived in Melbourne, the first time on that overnight crossing of Bass Strait. And then she’d dreamt it again last night. The dream was unclear but she knew she felt sad in it – that’s what was troubling her most. No tears, no histrionics, just a sense of terrible loss. She’d mentioned it to Luc and he’d offered the placation that she was probably just nervous about
the move to the other side of the world. But she was far too practical for that sort of sentiment.

‘No. Coming here was my decision, remember? I don’t fret once I’ve committed.’

‘What then?’ he’d asked.

‘Maybe it’s a—’

‘I hope the silence is you struck speechless by my amazing scones?’ Nel teased, crashing into her thoughts as she started stacking their tea things
back onto a tray.

Lisette grinned. ‘Sorry. They’re so good, Nel, thank you. What a treat this has been.’ She felt safe with Nel, who wasn’t a lot older – maybe five years between them. And just over
an hour in her company had only deepened her delight in a new friend. She already felt comfortable enough, she realised, to have told Nel most of her recent background, from being recruited in London
to join the War Office’s spy network and a potted history of her time in France. She carefully avoided her mission, keeping her spy activities vague enough to sound almost uninteresting.

‘Whew! What a life you’ve led. Meanwhile, I’ve been making jam and baking scones.’

They chuckled comfortably.

‘This is a lovely place you’ve got here, Nel. I feel so at home.’

‘It belonged to Tom’s folks.
I suppose it’s got the history of two families growing up in it. I hope I can make it a third generation of Marchants here … we’ll see,’ she said. ‘His grandfather ran cows here and grew hops. And Tom’s father worked at the sawmills; it’s Tom who’s taken on the farm properly again with potatoes and the like. But there’s no big money in it.’ Her new friend looked at her gently. ‘You know, I would
love it for you and your family to move out our way. But do you think you can live here, Lisette? I mean, it’s so far away from what you know. Launny’s got to be hard enough after living in London and Paris! But Nabowla …?’ She gave a sad laugh. ‘Are you two crazy, or what?’

Lisette shrugged. It was a fair question. ‘Luc will slip into this way of life with ease,’ she admitted and believed it.
‘It’s what’s been missing for him since the war and why we’re out here. I must admit I quite liked our life in England on the south coast, so near the sea and …’ She trailed off. ‘Anyway, that’s not important. I love Luc and if this is where he can be happy, then I know Harry and I can be happy too.’

Nel sat down and surprised Lisette by taking her hand and squeezing it. ‘And as a farmer’s wife?
It’s a hard life, you know. You’ve got those killer ankles and looks like a movie star. I just don’t—’

‘I have to make it work, Nel,’ Lisette interrupted, knowing what her new friend was trying to say but not needing to hear it. ‘Farming is all Luc knows … unless you’ve got a lighthouse here?’

Her friend laughed and shook her head. ‘Right out of those,’ she admitted.

‘I can adapt to
anywhere,’ Lisette admitted. ‘I’m a bit of a gypsy, but Luc …’ She sighed. ‘He’s smiling again. Australia was the right decision and I love him enough to do whatever it takes to keep him smiling.’ She giggled. ‘He’s called Froggo on the building site where he’s been working.’

‘Yeah? Well, that means he’s been accepted if they’ve nicknamed him. And unlike my Tom, your Luc doesn’t look like one!’

They exploded into laughter. ‘Tom’s handsome enough,’ Lisette admonished.

‘Fell in love with him when I was fourteen. I was never going to marry anyone else,’ Nel admitted. ‘I understand your loyalty to Luc – I think most women would,’ she said, winking. ‘But be sure. Being a farmer’s wife is thankless most of the time and hard the rest of it.’

‘Lavender growing is what he knows best. We both want
this. Do you think we can get that land?’

‘I think old Des would sell it in a blink. He’s running only a few cows now and his family’s all grown and gone to live in town. Your timing couldn’t be better.’

Lisette didn’t want to revel in another’s misfortunes but she really hoped that Farmer Des would be the answer to her prayers.

Tom walked in and held the door for Luc following, carrying
a tray of crockery. ‘Whew, she’s burning today. Not even a breath of wind,’ Tom said, pulling off his wide-brimmed hat and shaking his mop of unruly, sun-bleached hair. His wide mouth stretched into an even wider grin. ‘Hot enough for you, Lisette?’

She rolled her eyes in answer as she fanned herself.

‘Thank you,’ Luc said, showing no effects of heat exhaustion, setting the tray down at Nel’s
kitchen table.
‘C’est tres magnifique
, Nel.’

Nel whooped and put her hand on her heart. ‘See, Tom, can’t you learn to speak like that? I reckon you could read out your tractor manual in French and I’d think you were seducing me.’

They all laughed and Luc gave Lisette a wink. In that moment she forgot her unsettling dream. Everything felt like it could be falling into place.

‘Well, come
on, then. Are we going to look at the lavender?’ Tom asked. He had a slow way of speaking in a broad drawl. ‘Definitely,’ Luc said.

‘He wouldn’t go without you, Lisette,’ Tom said, in amused disgust. ‘Come on, then. I’ll fire up the De Soto and show you round the property first.’

Luc and Lisette were astonished to see a beautiful shiny car sitting in one of Tom’s many outhouses.

‘It belonged to
Dad. He won it.’

‘What?’ Luc exclaimed, running his hand jealously over the creamy paintwork.

Tom laughed and pulled off his hat to scratch his head, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Cards. It was this wealthy fellow passing through Hobart, apparently, or so the story goes. Dad was working down there for a bit – I don’t know why – but I remember him coming home with this. Oh, mate, what a day! It
was like all my Christmases at once. Dad was always a bit of a punter and this bloke was needling him so he bet the farm here at Lilydale against the bloke’s car that he’d shipped out from America. Dad won. The bloke had to cough up. My father drove it all the way back to Launceston and he said you couldn’t wipe the smile off his face for the whole two days it took.’

Luc shook his head
in wonder.

‘We don’t drive it too often,’ Nel admitted.

‘It’s 1938, four door,’ Tom said, noting Luc’s fascination. ‘Drives like butter, mate.’

Nel gave Lisette a wry look. ‘Right, Lissie, hop in.’

Lisette laughed. No one had ever called her that before.

‘Everyone will call you that around here,’ Nel said. ‘You’d better get used to it.’

On the way, Luc explained to his wife what he’d learnt from
Tom. ‘The lavender grows easily here,’ he said, taking her hand. His eyes were shining and his excitement was infectious.

‘But, Tom, if we grow lavender, what about your income from—’

‘It’s not a problem,’ he said, slowing for kangaroos to bound across the road.

Lisette opened her mouth in surprise and turned to Luc, who was equally enraptured.

‘I counted five!’ he said.

‘Six,’ Nel corrected.
‘There was a baby in the pouch of that third female.’

‘Oh, that was amazing,’ Lisette said. ‘Harry will go barmy when he sees his first kangaroo.’

‘They’re not so amazing when they chew off your lavender heads,’ Tom added and grinned. ‘You’ll need good fencing, Luc, and don’t worry about my crops. I’m a potato farmer and after that I run some cows. Lavender is something Nel grows more
for fun, isn’t it, luv?’

Nel nodded. ‘I’m just an old romantic, I suppose. I like selling it up in town when Tom’s at market, and I make some lavender toilet water and little sleeping sachets.’

‘Besides, this area here is a bit prone to early summer frosts. I think you’d do much better over at Woodcroft on the Nabowla Farm.’

Lisette chimed in. ‘Apparently Farmer Des might be in the mood to sell,’
she whispered to Luc.

Tom continued over the top of their private glance. ‘Luc’s talking about turning the land he might acquire into a proper lavender farm. You know, extracting and distilling the oil for perfume, Nel.’

Nel waved a hand. ‘Go for your life. I know nothing about that. What I do is a hobby and means I get to go to town with Tom, do some shopping.’ She cut Lisette a grin.

‘Nel, your
stock would make a good hybrid if my seeds take and I can blend the two,’ Luc said.

‘Has Tom suggested yet that you consider buying our land with the lavender on it?’

Lisette and Luc stared first at Nel, then at Tom in the rear-view mirror, before a sly, surprised glance at each other.

‘
Vous plaisantez?
’ Luc let slip.

‘Luc can’t believe you’re serious. He’s wondering if this is a joke.’
Lisette translated and shrugged. ‘He always falls into French when he’s shocked.’

Luc didn’t seem to register her remark. He had eyes only for Tom in the mirror.

‘Oh, come on, Tom – haven’t you?’ his wife asked.

‘I didn’t want to presume,’ he said, glancing at her. ‘It’s your field, Nel.’

‘We don’t need it. And I’m sure Luc and Lissie will let me buy some lavender at a good price for
my hobby. Besides, you’ve just said the soil isn’t that good.’

‘No, I said the frosts come early here. But it’s a start and the lavender’s well established. It gets them going while they negotiate on Des’s place and get it planted out.’

‘You’d sell it to us?’ Luc said.

Tom shrugged as he drove. ‘It’s just around here,’ he said. ‘Lovely spot. I think I proposed to you here, didn’t I, luv?’

‘No,
Tom, that was in a field of potatoes.’

Tom grinned at Luc in the mirror, giving him a wink. ‘This block’s away from the main farm and if you’re smart, you’ll buy everything you can off Des because his place backs onto here.’

‘Is there a house?’ Lisette asked, still in a sense of wonderment. Could their luck run?

‘Sure is,’ Tom said. ‘There’s the old one. My grandparents moved into it when my father
took over the main homestead. But there’s also Des’s place. Just depends on how much you buy.’

Luc looked at Lisette and she nodded. ‘Well, you’d better start thinking about how much you want for this land, Tom. And Nel, you can have as much lavender as you want at no charge.’

Nel became the voice of reason. ‘Listen, you two dreamers. Take a walk first. We’ll leave you alone. Go up to the top.
Look east and you’ll see Des’s land and what you can probably buy off him. Go have a talk. Be sure. This is not easy country.’ She turned to her new friend. ‘Remember what I said, Lissie,’ she warned.

‘But it’s damn fine soil at Nabowla, mate,’ Tom said, ignoring his wife’s tone of caution. ‘Best in the north, probably the whole island. She’ll grow your lavender for you and maybe you
can sell it back to those Frenchies, eh?’ His blue eyes flashed with amusement.

It was as though Tom had eavesdropped on Lisette’s thoughts. She was already imagining how Luc’s mind would have run away with notions of producing the finest extract of lavender in the world. It was his dream to sell it back to the French – she’d had no idea he was aspiring so high until he’d whispered his thought
one moonlit, balmy night as they’d sailed towards Colombo: ‘I shall grow true wild Provencal lavender and sell my extract back to the perfumers at Grasse,’ he had promised her and sealed his pledge with a long, slow kiss.