Page 26 of The Girl You Left Behind
“No,” the old woman said. “I prefer to stay at home just now.” She didn’t meet my eye as she spoke.
“Did you get the potato I left for you last week?”
“I did.” Her gaze slid sideways at Monsieur Armand. “I gave it to Madame Grenouille. She is... less particular about the provenance of her food.”
I stood quite still. So this was how it was. The unfairness of it tasted like bitter ashes in my mouth. “Then I hope she enjoyed it. Monsieur Armand, I would like some bread, please. My loaf and Hélène’s, if you would be so kind.” Oh, how I wished for one of his jokes then. Some bawdy snippet or eye-rolling pun. But the baker just looked at me, his gaze steady and unfriendly. He didn’t walk into the back room, as I’d expected. In fact, he didn’t move. Just as I was about to repeat my request he reached under the counter and placed two loaves of black bread on its surface.
I stared at them.
The temperature in the littleboulangerieseemed to drop, but I felt the eyes of the three other people like a burn. The loaves sat on the counter, squat and dark.
I lifted my eyes and swallowed. “Actually, I have made a mistake. We are not in need of bread today,” I said quietly, and placed my purse back in my basket.
“I don’t suppose you’re in need of much at the moment,” Madame Durant muttered.
I turned, and we stared at each other, the old woman and I. Then, my head high, I left the shop. The shame of it! The injustice! I saw the mocking looks of those two old ladies and realized I had been a fool. How could it have taken me so long to see what was going on under my nose? I strode back toward the hotel, my cheeks flushed, my mind racing. The ringing in my ears was so loud that I didn’t hear the voice at first.
“Halt!”
I stopped, and glanced around me.
“Halt!”
A German officer was marching toward me, his hand raised. I waited just under the ruined statue of Monsieur Leclerc, my cheeks still flushed. He walked right up to me. “You ignored me!”
“I apologize, officer. I did not hear you.”
“It is an offense to ignore a German officer.”
“As I said, I did not hear you. My apologies.”
I unwound my scarf a little from my face. And then I saw who it was: the young officer who had drunkenly grabbed at Hélène in the bar, and whose head had been smashed against the wall for his pains. I saw the little scar on his temple, and I also saw he had recognized me.
“Your identity card.”
It was not in my pocket. I had been so preoccupied with Aurélien’s words that I had left it on the hall table at the hotel.
“I have forgotten it.”
“It is an offense to leave your home without your identity card.”
“It is just there.” I pointed at the hotel. “If you walk over with me, I can get it—”
“I’m not going anywhere. What is your business?”
“I was just... going to theboulangerie.”
He peered at my empty basket. “To buy invisible bread?”
“I changed my mind.”
“You must be eating well at the hotel these days. Everybody else is keen to get their rations.”
“I eat no better than anyone else.”
“Empty your pockets.”
“What?”
