Page 127 of Daughters of Paris

Sophie gave birth to a son at the end of November. She had never moved out and it appeared she would be making a permanent home with Fleur and Colette. At least Fleur no longer had to worry about explaining her late returns home because Sophie was completely overwhelmed with motherhood and love for her son.

‘I’m calling him Augustin,’ she announced. ‘I heard it over the radio on that silly BBC broadcast where they talk nonsense to annoy the Germans, and I thought it was a lovely name.’

Fleur’s scalp prickled. Sophie would have no idea that the broadcasts were used to transmit information. ‘What did the radio say?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘I can’t be expected to remember everything. My brain has turned to wool. Oh yes, actually I do remember. Something about sending flowers to Roxane, because I thought that was a pretty name for a girl. Are you alright, Fleur? Where are you going?’

Fleur didn’t answer. She walked out of the apartment and into the street where she leaned against the windowsill of the bookshop. The biting air made her throat tighten but she didn’t care. She wanted to scream with delight. The names were too much of a coincidence. It had to be Laurent who had sent the message. He had reached England safely. Even if she never received confirmation, it would be the story she told herself when her spirits were low. He was carrying on the fight from England. She was carrying it on here, and she had fulfilled Sébastien’s request to keep Colette safe. It was the best of the bleak situation but it was the light in the darkness of war that she clung to in the lonely nights.

Chapter Thirty-Five

June 1944

If Fleur still grieved for Laurent, she did not show it outwardly. The chance mention of the radio message by Sophie had appeared to give her hope to cling onto. Colette wished she had something herself. Louise was a clever child and had learned to say ‘Maman’ and always that, not the austere, ‘Mère’ that Delphine had insisted on. Other children would be learning ‘Papa’, but Louise had none. At least she would eventually have a playmate in the form of Augustin who was nearly eight months old. At eighteen months, Louise found the younger child fascinating and Colette held a secret hope that the two would grow up as close as she and Fleur had.

She was watching both children while Sophie shopped when Fleur burst in, her eyes bright.

‘Normandy is in the hands of the Allies. The coastal defences have been conquered and towns retaken. Elouard just called into the shop.’

‘What? Are we winning the war?’ Even behind closed doors, to speak of a possible turn of the tables seemed to be inviting Fate to roll the dice against France.

Fleur dropped her bag on the table and rushed into her bedroom. She emerged dressed in a pair of culottes and a blouse. ‘I’m not sure. I’m going with him now. As soon as I know, I’ll tell you what I can.’

She rushed past Colette towards the door. Colette seized her by the hand. ‘I want to help. Tell me what I can do.’

‘I will.’

Fleur returned with a bag full of posters and the instructions to paste them to walls and pass them out. This time the message was simple: be prepared to fight. The atmosphere in Paris grew thick with tension but there was an undercurrent of excitement that had been absent for years.

Colette helped distribute the leaflets. She wheeled Louise in the pram through the streets, once again dressed in her finest hat and coat. A beautiful woman with a handsome baby naturally attracted attention, but only of the most adoring nature. Even the checkpoint guards managed to raise an indulgent smile. Little could any of them have suspected that beneath the blankets and mattress were sheaves of leaflets and a pot of glue ready to be handed to Fleur when the road was quiet.

‘My baby was born in a war, but she will grow up in peace. One day I’ll tell her that she was part of the Resistance before she even knew it.’

It was easy to believe at this point that Colette’s prediction of peace might be right. Every day came news on the BBC or the Free French radio that the Allies were advancing. There were other enemies beside the German forces however, as the women were reminded when they came face to face with Pierre. He greeted Fleur with a fawning smile and gave Colette a cursory nod.

‘You bastard, I have nothing to say to you,’ Fleur snapped.

‘Why?’

‘Because it was you who made the allegations against Laurent regarding themarché noir, wasn’t it? Don’t try to deny it.’

‘What if it was?’ He shrugged. ‘The arrogant bastard deserved a good beating.’

Colette had heard the phrase seeing red but had never truly appreciated how true it could be until she saw the colour rise to Fleur’s cheeks.

Fleur shoved Pierre hard in the chest. It caught him completely unaware, and he staggered back.

‘What the fuck? You mad bitch!’

‘He could have died! They could have handed him to the official authorities! You didn’t even know who he was, did you! He wasn’t just a mechanic. He is British. He was sent here to help the Resistance and to try bringing an end to this war. Do you know what they do to spies? They don’t just give them a quick beating and let them go!’

Colette put a warning hand on Fleur’s arm and Fleur stopped, taking in a long breath.

Pierre stood open-mouthed. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ Colette sneered. ‘That is the whole point.’

‘Forgive me—’ Pierre began.

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