Page 27 of Daughters of Paris

She jerked her head round to look at Fleur in the back seat and saw astonishment on Fleur’s face. It had been her own guilt that had made her snap.

‘But being with her mother is the best thing,’ Fleur said quietly. ‘That’s all any child wants.’

She turned to look out of the window. Sunlight caught her eye and Colette saw tears glinting. Fleur hadn’t been much older than Véronique when her mother had died and she had gone to live with Agnes.

‘You’re right,’ Colette said gently. ‘Staying together was the best thing.’

‘You two are being very dramatic over a stranger’s fate,’ Delphine said briskly. ‘Look up ahead – I can see fields!’

It was true they were at the edge of the city but the traffic was worse than before. There had been many roads leading from Paris to here and now they all converged into one long, stationary ribbon of metal.

‘How far do you think it goes?’ Colette murmured.

‘Let me take the bicycle down and I’ll see,’ Fleur suggested.

The two women quickly undid the rope and Fleur set off, weaving steadily between the cars and lorries.

The road was dusty, grit invading Colette’s eyes and nose, filling her hair, filling her mouth. She paced backwards and forwards, looking at the people surrounding her and wondering where they were hoping to get to.

Véronique and her mother passed on the other side of the road. The mother had bound the little girl to her back with a long scarf, leaving both hands free for the suitcases. The child clung to her mother’s back, half asleep while the woman trudged with rounded shoulders, weighed down by the burden. Colette avoided eye contact, too ashamed that she had not helped. She climbed back into the car to discover Delphine peering through the front window.

‘See, she has the right idea.’

Colette wrinkled her brow, confused that her mother would approve.

‘Véronique’s mother?’

‘Who? No, that woman in the divine mink.’

A few cars ahead of their Simca, a woman dressed in a silver fur and feathered hat had pulled over to the side of the road. She had laid out a picnic rug beside her Peugeot Eclipse and was drinking champagne. Two young boys dressed in identical sailor-suits bickered and ate cake. Colette’s mouth watered, even though the woman must be unbearably hot in the heavy coat. The roof of the car had been folded away, and cases and trunks teetered in a high stack. There was even a gramophone.

‘What did you think you were doing suggesting we take that child?’ Delphine demanded.

‘I felt sorry for her mother. She looked exhausted, and the girl was so small to be walking so far. She couldn’t have been more than three or four. Are you sure we couldn’t have taken her?’

Delphine gave Colette a long look. ‘We don’t know them. You don’t just offer to help strangers in the street.’

‘Perhaps we should,’ Colette muttered.

‘Why are you so concerned about that child? Are you—’ Delphine lowered her voice before continuing. ‘Are you with child again?’

‘No. I’m not.’

For the first time since giving birth, Colette had nothing to distract her from thoughts of the child she had given up. She didn’t even know the sex. Was the baby a blond boy like Gunther, or a darker haired girl like Colette? Had he or she been adopted into a big family or were their new mother and father otherwise childless? Regardless, she was grateful someone had taken the baby she had not wanted. Her life was better for it and she hoped the child’s life would be better too. At least in Britain the baby would be safer than in France. If Hitler ever reached the island that would change, but she could not think of that now.

‘Do you ever wonder about the baby? Mine, I mean. Your grandchild.’

Delphine’s head whipped round. ‘I have no grandchild. You have no baby. Believe me, your life will be easier and happier without one, especially an illegitimate half-German brat. One day you will find a suitable husband and then perhaps you might have a child, though don’t be too quick to do it. Babies are tedious.’

‘Was I?’ Colette asked.

Delphine reached out and stroked the side of Colette’s face. It was such a tender gesture it took her by surprise.

‘Of course not, darling. I made sure you were always dressed in lovely outfits to match mine, and you had the nicest bassinet. You looked beautiful. All my friends loved to watch you.’

Colette grimaced. She had always had the finest clothes but there hadn’t been much affection. All her care had come fromTanteAgnes or Edith.

‘You make me sound like an ornament. An accessory.’

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