As she turned for the house she noticed how each movement she made felt as though it were happening leagues beneath the ocean. Must be the weight of the potatoes and carrots. Everyone was tired these days, Cousin Ulla said. The Whites had fed Alix well, but she’d been away from their well-stocked larder for some months. Ulla was generous with the few vegetables still growing in the garden and sometimes they managed to exchange potatoes for flour, but hunger seemed a constant presence. She reached the top of the terrace and sat for a moment to take a breath. ‘Bonjour.’ Two Moroccan soldiers leered at her. The French occupying force in this valley had recruited far and wide. She wished she’d worn her coat and not this tight-fitting jumper of Ulla’s. They said something about the vegetables in her trug. The first scaled the wall. ‘Tu donnes.’ He held out his hand. She pulled the trug towards her.
