Page 92 of Daughters of Paris

He made the sign of a cross over his heart. ‘Cross my heart and—’

‘Stop there.’ She seized his finger. ‘Don’t finish that. I know how it ends.’

She did not want him to die. She didn’t want to die herself. He nodded solemnly then turned his palm round and laced his fingers through hers, clasping tightly.

‘I like it because Jane had to make her own way in the world. I do too. She also lives with an aunt, as I used to before she died.’

‘And there are cousins, weren’t there? Cousins who are cruel to her.’

‘They are. I’ve been lucky there. Colette has never been cruel to me in her life. She’s selfish and can be thoughtless but if you ever met her mother you’d understand why. She’s trying not to be.’ She wriggled down a little further, getting comfortable in the warm space beside Laurent. ‘I don’t think I’ve always been kind to her. I think because I’ve had to manage on my own, I’ve always wanted to. Colette has always had people to help her.’

‘Jane wasn’t alone, was she?’ Laurent pointed out. ‘She had friends and her nice cousins eventually and of course Mr Rochester. Is that what you hope for too? A grand house of your own? Is that what you want after the war is over?’

Fleur turned her head away, even though it was dark enough that he would not be able to see her expression. Of course she had fantasised about an English country house – or even a spacious apartment like the Nadons’ – of her own, but it would never happen. Laurent presumably lived above the garage and workshop. She laughed.

‘Oh, I would like all kinds of things, but I don’t think any of them will happen. I might as well long to eat ice cream on the moon as hope for that.’

He laughed.

‘Now answer the questions yourself,’ she commanded.

‘I’d eat trout, preferably one that I have caught myself from a river. I don’t have a favourite book. I want to build and race fast motor cars all over Europe. Maybe a little two-seater, with space for a passenger.’

He lapsed into silence, then yawned and shifted his weight, drawing Fleur close.

‘You did well tonight,chérie. Sleep soundly.’

And, in his arms, she did.

They cycled back to the city as soon as curfew lifted, paused for coffee and warm bread rolls, then parted at the Pont de Levallois. Neither mentioned the conversation from the previous night.

‘You know where to take the package?’ Laurent asked.

Fleur’s eyes flickered to the shopping bag in her bicycle basket. A coil of wire, some metal clasps, and a large packet of the odd putty that Laurent said was explosive. An art gallery was a good place to take it. Anyone looking would hopefully assume it was modelling clay.

‘I do. When will I see you again?’

Laurent adjusted his sleeves. ‘I’m not sure. It depends what we are asked to do.’

‘You could come and see me anyway. Join us at the café, or call into the bookshop,’ she said.

‘Perhaps. I’m supposed to keep a distance from other operatives. For security reasons.’

‘Of course.’ Fleur pushed her hair behind her ear. It felt grimy. He had said he could grow to care for her, but that it was unwise. Maybe that was his way of ensuring he didn’t. She fought down the urge to cajole. She had more dignity than that, but she didn’t like the way seeing him had become almost as necessary as eating for her happiness.

‘Take care, Augustin.’

She turned to go but he caught her by the arm and tugged her towards him. He wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her hair then very gently kissed her left temple.

‘Take care too, Roxane.’

He mounted his bicycle and had gone before she really knew it had happened.

She cycled home and was surprised to find Colette already dressed. She had made a hot tisane of lemon verbena and poured Fleur a cup. It was warm and she held the cup between her fingers to warm them.

‘Can you tell me?’ Colette asked.

‘Not really,’ Fleur said.

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