Page 12 of Daughters of Paris

Delphine gave a discreet cough. A hush descended over the salon.

‘My friends, we are here to welcome my daughter home from England.’

TanteAgnes entered the room just then with a tray of champagne coupes. When everyone had a glass in hand, Delphine raised her glass and smiled fondly at Colette. Her eyes were uncharacteristically clear, given that it was already three in the afternoon, and Colette supposed she should feel honoured that her mother had held off indulging in a cocktail or three until the official reception.

‘Welcome back, my darling. I do hope that your time in England has not completely removed France, and Paris in particular, from your heart.’

Colette smiled genuinely. She put her hand over her heart. ‘Mère, nothing could erase Paris from my heart or soul.’

The women all sighed and raised their glasses. Colette felt a frisson of relief at their approval. After such a long absence she needed to be accepted back into Delphine’s circle. As Colette smiled around the room at the brightly dressed women, she tried not to think of an aviary filled with middle-aged birds. With immaculately made-up faces, chic hats with feathers and net, and rings and necklaces in a variety of stones set into gold and silver, the women of Paris were stylish in a way English women could only hope to emulate. But their average age must be fifty at least and they were all her mother’s friends or acquaintances. None of Colette’s friends were present at the party to welcome her home.

Apparently, she didn’t have any as not one of the girls she had known from school or outside it had written to her while she was in England.

‘Your continued good health, my dear,’ Delphine said.

Colette received the toast and looked around, smiling at each of the women in turn.

Delphine rang a bell and Agnes appeared again, carrying two towering cake stands laden with pastries and cakes, glossy with icing and fruits. Colette’s mouth began to water.

‘England cannot compete with Paris when it comes to pastries,’ she said.

‘Be careful,chérie,’ said Madame Brassai; a woman whose face was so wrinkled and folded with fat she resembled a bullfrog. ‘If you eat too many you will never fit into your new gown. I remember you looking quite puffy-faced when I last saw you, but I suppose that was long ago and you are no longer an adolescent.’

Colette turned on the spot, posing to show off her dress and biting back a response. Her dress was cornflower blue with a billowy blouse and flared skirt and fitted her perfectly. She had a curvaceous figure with high, full breasts but a shapely waist and, most importantly to Colette, a flat stomach.

‘It would take more than amille-feuilleto make me fat,’ she quipped, to general laughter.

As the women began to nibble at the delights on offer, two of the youngest joined Colette at the window overlooking the garden.

Sophie and Josette Lucienne. Both blonde and pretty. They were twins, two years older than Colette, and daughters of a hotelier who had fought with her father in the Great War. Colette knew them by sight but not intimately. Mind you, as she had not been in Paris for nearly a year, there was no one she did know intimately.

‘Tell us about England,’ Sophie urged. ‘Do they think there will be a war?’

Colette thought for a moment. The younger women seemed a little less vacuous than the older generation. ‘The prime minister said not. He signed a peace pact with Germany last year.’

‘Good.Papais dispirited at the thought that if there is a war no one will come to stay in the hotel.’ Sophie sighed. ‘It is a worry.’

‘We heard you had been devastated by the end of a romance with a German and your nerves were too fragile to stay in France,’ Josette said.

Colette’s mouth dropped open. Delphine and Louis had sworn that, if anyone asked, they would say Colette had gone abroad to widen her mind.

Josette continued unabashed. ‘Just imagine if you had married a German. We might have been enemies soon!’

Sophie nudged her sister and spoke quickly. ‘Tell us about the English men.’

What was there to tell? Colette had stayed closely within Edith’s circle and rarely had the opportunity to speak to any young men, much less alone. Not wanting to admit the truth, she smiled and lowered her eyelashes.

‘Oh English men are the best in the world. Such gentlemen, but rather dull at times. They all seem to know the same poetry and quote it at any opportunity. Or they know nothing and spend all of their time hunting or shooting things.’

‘That sounds dull,’ Josette said. ‘Did you meet any royalty? Did you have any wild romances with dukes or earls?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Colette admitted, relieved at the change of subject. ‘I was staying mostly with my old governess and unfortunately she did not move in quite those circles.’

Despite Edith being an ‘honourable’, as she had tried to explain to Colette, she had married for love to a music teacher and was now plain Mrs Colin Gregg. They lived in a modest house provided by Colin’s boarding school on the east coast, and their idea of a good day out involved walking in all weathers along the cliffs. No wonder she had returned home slim.

Sophie pressed her hand against Colette’s. ‘I know where to find the most exciting men in Paris. Come with us one night and we will show you.’

Colette’s heart leaped. This was more like it. ‘I don’t particularly want a man, but will there be dancing?’

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