Page 59 of Daughters of Paris

‘Alone in waiting for something that will never change,’ Pierre spat. He used the point of the knife to gouge out a chunk of apple and ate it from the blade.

‘I am not exactly sure what you have in mind,’ Sébastien said.

‘We tell people to go on the offensive. Throw bricks through the windows of shops that serve Germans. The window here had a brick through it when it was owned by the Jew. Every establishment that caters to the Germans needs to be shown exactly what patriotic French men and women think of them.’

Sébastien and Fleur exchanged a worried glance. Pierre had always been hot-headed, but this was uncharacteristic behaviour. Fleur didn’t like the way he had referred to Monsieur Ramper either.

‘Will you put a brick through my window?’ Fleur asked quietly.

Pierre paused with the knife halfway to his mouth and gaped as if she was stupid.

‘I sold books to the Germans this afternoon. You were there just now. Do I deserve a brick through the window for permitting them to spend money in my shop? If I didn’t, there would be no apples for you to help yourself to.’

He had the grace to look slightly ashamed; his fingers digging into the flesh, juice squeezing up around his nails.

‘And what about the Café Morlaix? Does Sébastien deserve to be sweeping glass each morning?’

Pierre looked nonplussed. He cut another slice of apple. ‘Obviously not. We are friends. I know you don’t do it through choice, but under sufferance. And I’ll buy you another apple when I see some.’

Sébastien took the knife from Pierre’s hand. ‘Fleur is right. Yes, of course there will be those who have taken the opportunity to actively profit from the Occupation, but how do you distinguish those from the people who are just trying to make a living?’

Pierre exhaled loudly. ‘I don’t know. The ones who immediately displayed signs saying German was spoken there, or that Germans were welcome. You are both being wilfully obtuse in my opinion.’

‘You are being short-sighted,’ Fleur retorted. ‘Monsieur Nadon is guilt-ridden at his collaboration.’

‘I have already said I know that,’ Pierre said.

‘Yes, I know that you know. But will the recipient of a leaflet you push under a door in the seventh arrondissement know?’ she retorted.

‘Well done, Fleur, Plato would have been proud call you his pupil,’ Sébastien said, his voice warm.

She beamed at him, looking up into his eyes and hoping to see the same approval in them that she heard in his voice, but there was nothing out of the ordinary she could grasp onto.

‘Perhaps Nadon’s business would be a necessary sacrifice,’ Pierre muttered.

‘You are being rude and unpleasant,’ Sébastien said.

‘I am feeling rude and unpleasant,’ Pierre snapped.

The atmosphere in the room congealed.

‘I am frustrated and angry. Nothing is making a difference. Nothing we do. Nothing the army does. My neighbour’s mother was arrested two days ago. She is sixty-seven years old and all she did was speak sharply to a couple of German sluts who pushed in front of her at the lingerie shop.’ Pierre walked to the window and hurled the apple core out. There was a crashing of dustbins, followed by the indignant yowl of the black tomcat who had sired half of Montparnasse’s feline population. ‘Can you imagine that? A respectable mother of four hauled off in handcuffs, all because a couple of grey mice didn’t get their stockings quickly enough. People are being arrested on the slightest pretence.’

Fleur told them about the woman arrested over theépiceriefight. ‘People are becoming nastier. If we write anything we should write a paper encouraging Parisians not to denounce their neighbours for petty acts.’

Pierre looked slightly mollified. ‘I suppose that will do for the next one. But do not expect me to be satisfied with inaction for much longer. I’m going for a walk to clear my head.’

‘I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what came over him,’ Sébastien said once Pierre was gone.

Fleur closed the window.

‘I do. I understand his frustration. I feel it myself sometimes. I don’t know what the answer is, but I have a feeling that bricks through windows are not the answer. I suppose we should leave too.’

‘I wonder…’ Sébastien was looking thoughtful. He walked to the window and stared out at the narrow alleyway between the buildings. He leaned back against the frame and folded his arms. ‘My cousin is going to be passing through Paris in a couple of days. Could she stay here for one night? She won’t leave a mess and will be gone first thing in the morning. Certainly before you get here to open the bookshop.’

‘A cousin? Aren’t your family all in Brittainy?’

‘They used to be. Since the start of the war people have spread out.’

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