Page 50 of Shadows In Paris
What would Hannah do in this situation?
An image of the fearless Resistance operative flooded her consciousness, and Lizzie knew what to do.
‘You are very courteous, and I see it would be ungrateful of me to refuse your offer. Thank you,’ she said.
The officer looked overjoyed and reached to pull out the chair for her.
Lizzie sank back down onto the hard seat. She would indulge his wishes for a short while and then she would make an excuse and leave on her own, as if she had nothing at all to hide.
That was what Hannah would do.
The officer had ordered enough pastries and cakes for a large family, and she chose one when he insisted.
‘Which is your favourite, madame? You must try them all.’
‘Oh really, I can’t. We are not used to so much food.’
A shadow passed over his face and he looked embarrassed. ‘I am so sorry the Parisians struggle to get enough food, and that is your experience of this war. That you are going without so that my men may eat troubles me greatly. What may I do to improve the situation for you?’
The officer stared at her intently and didn’t touch his cake or drink his cup of steaming chocolate.
Lizzie said, ‘Nothing, thank you. You’ve done quite enough already. This apple cake is delicious, but I didn’t mean to imply that I want or need more. I am fine, really.’
‘Still, I insist on giving you cake to take home for your family.’
‘It’s just me and my sister,’ Lizzie said carefully, skirting around the dangerous truth.
‘I couldn’t help but notice your wedding ring when you were on the train. Where is your husband if I may ask?’
Lizzie put the rest of the cake back on her plate, lowered her head slightly, and composed her face into a mournful expression. ‘I do not know. There has been no news of him since early in the war.’
‘I am sorry for you, madame. These times are difficult for everyone. May you hear he is well soon.’
What did one say to the enemy when they wished your imaginary husband, who had presumably been fighting for the Allies, well?
‘Thank you,’ Lizzie said, reaching for her cake again. The sponge was light and fluffy and if she wasn’t in a panic, she would devour it, but the crumbs stuck in her throat, and she coughed.
The officer was solicitous and immediately asked for water.
His eyes searched hers. ‘How rude of me! I have not yet introduced myself, and this is already our second meeting. My name is Karl, Major General Karl Schulz.’
Lizzie was relieved she was holding her cup, and he didn’t offer her his hand to shake. It was bad enough for a French woman to be seen in a café with a German officer, never mind touching each other.
The place was filling up now and Lizzie noticed a few French women on the arms of German soldiers, and her breathing steadied.
‘And you, madame. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?’ This was what Lizzie had been trying to avoid, but there was no way out now, so she introduced herself as Jacqueline Simon and acted as naturally as she could, even though her heart raced uncontrollably.
The realisation that she was sitting in a café in the centre of Paris, sharing cake with a Nazi officer through no design of her own, troubled her.
‘Staying with your sister must be pleasant for you both.’
Lizzie agreed it was, and they were fortunate to have each other’s company. She said they lived a quiet life, hoping to discourage any more questions.
After they finished their cups of chocolate and Lizzie had eaten all the cake, she could force down her dry, nervous throat, Karl asked Claude to wrap up the remaining cakes for her to take home.
Lizzie thought she detected judgement in Claude’s eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. Who was he to judge her when he was serving the finest cakes in Paris to the occupying army?
She reached for her bag containing the all-important rationed supplies, but the officer jumped to his feet. ‘Please, this way. My driver is just around the corner, madame.’
