Page 85 of Daughters of Paris

It was just as well she didn’t love him.

When Sébastien finally reluctantly dressed and left for the café, Colette made her way to the bookshop walking slightly gingerly with aching leg muscles and thinking how fortunate it was that she didn’t have a long walk home. A smartly dressed man was talking to Fleur with his back to the door. He was the same height as Laurent, but over his shoulder she could see that Fleur’s expression was slightly strained. When the doorbell clanged, she smiled at Colette.

‘Colette, hello! How lovely to see you. Let me just finish with this customer then we can talk.’ She smiled back at the customer. ‘Colette helps me with the finances. She’s invaluable.’

Colette tensed. The Gestapo had eyes everywhere and Germans who weren’t in uniform were to be feared. Mistrust was the order of the day and no one spoke to strangers unless they absolutely had to.

‘I’ll go up to the flat,’ Colette said. She strolled through the curtains and did her best to conceal her curiosity. She cut some bread and buttered it and brewed coffee. Shortly afterwards, Fleur joined her.

‘Was there a problem?’ Colette asked.

Fleur lounged on the comfy chair, nibbling the bread. ‘Not in the end. I was worried at first though.’

Colette shivered and reached for the shawl that lay over the arm of the chair. There was a small oil heater in the flat, but they never used it.

‘Can you tell me why?’ she asked.

Fleur looked away then back again. ‘You know I can’t.’

Colette nodded, hiding her vexation. It was torment not to know what Fleur was doing. She had never seemed so confident or vibrant as she had over the last half year, and it wasn’t just because she enjoyed spending time with Laurent. She seemed to thrive at being useful. Colette had even idly considered whether she should become involved just so she was party to the secrets.

They finished eating and went downstairs. It had started sleeting and the bookshop was gloomy.

‘I hate these dark evenings. I can’t wait until spring arrives again,’ Colette groaned.

A silhouette of a figure fell across the door, blocking the little light there was. Colette felt a cold shiver as if fingers had clutched her neck. The previous visitor had been innocent but there was always the underlying apprehension that at any moment one might attract unwanted attention from the authorities.

Fleur unbolted the door cautiously and opened it.

Laurent stood before them. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, and I would not normally come here like this, but I need to speak with you.’

‘Of course, come in,’ Fleur said, smiling at him.

Colette snuck a covert glance at Fleur. Her eyes had the glow of someone who was in love. Laurent stepped through the door. His eyes never left Fleur, which told Colette that her friend was not the only one who had been caught in Cupid’s volley of arrows.

‘Can we speak privately?’ Laurent asked, glancing at Colette.

‘Of course. I’ll go upstairs,’ Colette said. She walked back upstairs but instead of going inside the apartment, she stood in the doorway to listen. Laurent’s voice was low but his deep tones carried up the narrow staircase, which funnelled the sound.

‘Are you free tomorrow night?’ Laurent said.

‘Of course,’ Fleur answered. ‘Is there someone who needs a place to stay? I cleaned the apartment after last night but the sheets aren’t washed.’

So that was the secret. Colette suppressed a smile. Anyone fleeing the Nazis would probably not care about who else had slept in their bed.

Laurent’s voice came again. ‘It isn’t that. I have a mission tomorrow. Late. A drop. The man I should have been taking has been struck down with a gastric flu. Can you come?’

‘Of course.’

Fleur’s answer was quick and keen. Colette wondered if Laurent realised how infatuated she was.

‘Perfect. I knew I could rely on you,chérie. Wear something dark. Trousers, if you own any, otherwise a sensible skirt, and a big coat. It will be very cold. Come by bicycle to the Pont de Levallois and wait for me on the far bank at half past six.’

He added something else in a murmur that Colette couldn’t catch, then a few moments later came the sound of the door closing, followed by Fleur’s footsteps. Colette tiptoed inside the flat and went to the sink where she began rearranging the plates.

‘I assume you were listening?’

Colette turned, trying to radiate innocence but Fleur was leaning against the door, arms folded, with a knowing look in her eye.

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