Page 79 of Daughters of Paris

He handed her the note. She scanned the few lines of Sébastien’s cramped handwriting quickly.

She wants to be of use and she will be. I trust her absolutely. If you use her badly or let her come to any harm, I will twist your testicles off with your biggest spanner.

Fleur grinned at the colourful threat. She looked up to see that Laurent was not smiling. He was standing with his arms folded, feet planted apart and gazing at her with a concentration that made the pulse in her throat gallop.

‘You want to be of use?’

‘I do. I want to do more than post graffiti that makes no difference.’

‘And do you think you can be of use? How?’

Fleur frowned. ‘I know there are people trying to escape France or evade capture.’

‘We do more than that. Could you wire a bomb? Kill a man? Have you ever fired a gun?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I mean I’ve never shot a gun.’

‘You fire a gun to shoot a target,’ Laurent said, arching his brows. ‘A man, in most cases. To kill him. Could you kill someone?’

‘I can learn. And I would use one if I needed to.’

‘You can learn? How quickly? You come here in your pretty yellow dress that you won’t even get dirty and declare you could kill. Forgive me for doubting you, mademoiselle. We do not want the war to be prolonged simply because you want to play at getting skills.’

His voice was hard and tinged with scorn. It rankled. Fleur handed the note back to him.

‘If you do not want the war to last forever then you should not be so quick to reject help. I don’t care what I do, but I want to do something. If I have to learn to kill, I will, whether that be by shooting, stabbing, or setting explosions.’

She stopped and took a breath, aware she had begun to rant. She leaned back against the workbench, then swept her hand over it to move the debris and jumped up to sit on it. What was one ruined dress after all?

Laurent tipped his head on one side. He turned and walked back to the jerrycan and refilled his glass. He sipped it slowly, his eyes never leaving Fleur’s, then he crossed to where she sat. ‘Very well. Let me speak to the people I know. I’m sure we can find work for you. I will be in contact. Give me your address.’

Fleur hesitated and he smiled. ‘Very wise. I do need it, of course, because otherwise how would I contact you? But I can see that you think before answering,chérie. It’s a very good habit to get into.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Fleur replied. She was dammed if she was going to acknowledge a compliment. He might be handsome, but he was infuriatingly cocky. She wished Sébastien had sent her to someone else.

‘Mademoiselle, do you know of the Café Broderie in the old square near the Jewish quarter? The one next to the clockmakers?’

‘The one with the red sign? Yes, though it isn’t really the Jewish quarter any longer, of course.’

‘No,’ Laurent said quietly. ‘No, it is not.’

His voice was bleak, but his eyes flashed with anger. He had perhaps also had friends who had vanished. For a moment their eyes met in mutual understanding. This was a man she could work with.

‘I wanted the world to change before the war, but not in this way,’ Fleur said quietly.

Unexpectedly, Laurent took her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘It can change again, mademoiselle, if we have the courage to make it. I think you have the courage.’

‘Thank you,’ Fleur said. She smiled and Laurent’s lips pursed slightly. She thought wildly that he might be about to kiss her and she ran her tongue around the inside of her lips to moisten them, but instead he broke eye contact and turned away. He knelt by her bike and re-fixed the tyre.

‘Here you go,chérie. As good as new. Meet me at the café a week today. Two in the afternoon. Sébastien can come if he wishes. By then I will have spoken to my contacts and we will have a better idea of whether you might be of use.’

Seven days seemed an age to wait, but the second anniversary of Hitler’s invasion of Poland had recently passed and a week was nothing on that scale.

‘Thank you. Goodbye, Laurent.’

She took hold of the handlebars and began to wheel the bicycle towards the front door when Laurent called out.

‘Wait!’

---