Page 31 of The Girl You Left Behind
“Sophie...”
“I will give you the painting,” I said. “The one you like so much.”
He dropped his hand. He let out a sigh, and turned away.
“It is the most precious thing I have.”
“Go home, Madame Lefèvre.”
A small knot of panic began to form in my chest.
“What must I do?”
“Go home. Take the children and go home.”
“Anything. If you can free my husband, I’ll do anything.” My voice echoed across the woodland. I felt Édouard’s only chance slipping away from me. He kept walking. “Did you hear what I said, Herr Kommandant?”
He swung back then, his expression suddenly furious. He strode toward me and only stopped when his face was inches from mine. I could feel his breath on my face. I could see the girls from the corner of my eye, rigid with anxiety. I would not show fear.
He gazed at me, and then he lowered his voice. “Sophie...” He glanced behind him at them. “Sophie, I—I have not seen my wife in almost three years.”
“I have not seen my husband for two.”
“You must know... you must know that what you ask of me...” He turned away from me, as if he were determined not to look at my face.
I swallowed. “I am offering you a painting, Herr Kommandant.”
A small tic had begun in his jaw. He stared at a point somewhere past my right shoulder, and then he began to walk away again. “Madame. You are either very foolish or very...”
“Will it buy my husband his freedom? Will... will I buy my husband his freedom?”
He turned back, his face anguished, as if I was forcing him to do something he didn’t want to do. He stared fixedly at his boots. Finally he took two paces back toward me, just close enough that he could speak without being overheard.
“Tomorrow night. Come to me at the barracks. After you have finished at the hotel.”
•••
The children and I walked hand in hand back round the paths, to avoid going through the square, and by the time we reached Le Coq Rouge our skirts were covered with mud. The girls were silent, even though I attempted to reassure them that the German man had just been upset because he had no pigeons to shoot. I made them a warm drink, then went to my room and closed the door.
I lay down on my bed and put my hands over my eyes to block out the light. I stayed there for perhaps half an hour. Then I rose, pulled my blue wool dress from the wardrobe, and laid it across the bed. Édouard had always said I looked like a schoolmistress in it. He said it as though being a schoolmistress might be a rather wonderful thing. I removed my muddy, gray dress, leaving it to fall to the floor. I took off my thick underskirt, the hem of which was also spattered with mud, so that I was wearing only my petticoat and chemise. I removed my corset, then my undergarments. The room was cold, but I was oblivious to it.
I stood before the looking glass.
I had not looked at my body for months; I had had no reason to. Now the shape that stood before me in the mottled glass seemed to be that of a stranger. I appeared to be half the width I had been; my breasts had fallen and grown smaller, no longer great ripe orbs of pale flesh. My bottom, too. And I was thin, my skin now hinting at the bones underneath: collarbone, shoulders, and ribs all forced their way to prominence. Even my hair, once bright with color, seemed dull.
I stepped closer and examined my face: the shadows under my eyes, the faint frown line between my brows. I shivered, but not from the cold. I thought of the girl Édouard had left behind two years ago. I thought of the feel of his hands on my waist, his soft lips on my neck. And I closed my eyes.
•••
He had been in a foul mood for days. He was working on a picture of three women seated around a table. I had posed for him in each position and watched silently as he huffed and grimaced, even threw down his palette at one point, cursing himself.
“Let’s take some air,” I said, uncurling. I was sore from holding the position, but I wouldn’t let him know that.
“I don’t want to take some air.”
“Édouard, you will achieve nothing in this mood. Take twenty minutes’ air with me. Come.” I reached for my coat, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and stood in the doorway.
“I don’t like being interrupted,” he grumbled.
