Page 112 of Daughters of Paris

‘Did you hear that!’ Fleur exclaimed in mock indignation. ‘The slug called you a racehorse! You’re much more beautiful than that.’

‘Of course she is,’ Laurent answered, ‘and she knows it too.’

Fleur’s contemplation of whether the baby knew anything beyond where her milk came from was interrupted by a voice.

‘Hello, Fleur.’

Pierre was strolling towards her.

‘I haven’t seen you for a long time,’ she said, giving him a smile.

‘You’ve been busy, I see.’ His face was set and he did not look amused. He looked at the baby.

‘Oh dear, no! The baby belongs to Colette and Sébastien. She isn’t mine.’ Fleur laughed.

He smiled. ‘I wonder how much like her father she will look. It was good to see you, Fleur. We must catch up again soon.’

Pierre strolled on. Shortly afterwards, Fleur and Laurent parted, he to go to his meeting with his friend and Fleur to go shopping quickly before the baby started demanding food. She hadn’t gone very far and had just turned down a narrow alleyway that was a shortcut when Pierre caught up with her.

‘I want a word with you.’

She paused. ‘Only a quick one. I want to get to the shops. I need to try buy some stockings.’

‘Stockings? What have you done with all the ones you own? Gone through at the knees, have they?’

Fleur froze. Yes, she’d laddered a pair the week before when she had had to clamber inside a lorry, but how did Pierre know that? ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

‘I bet you do,’ Pierre sneered. ‘I bet the mechanic’s floor is pretty dirty. Did you rip them getting your lips around something from his tool-box?’

‘You’re disgusting!’ Fleur exclaimed. Part of her was repulsed. A greater part relieved that he didn’t know her secret life after all.

‘Am I?’ Pierre snapped. He folded his arms and glared at her. ‘Still the coy little virgin, are you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you and him. What is it he can give you that you didn’t want from me? Is he a black marketeer?’

Fleur looked at him with something approaching pity. ‘Pierre, you are talking complete nonsense. Laurent is just somebody I know.’

She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth. Moonlit trips to isolated fields and smuggling weaponry and explosives around the city.

‘You want him, don’t you? Was I not good enough for you?’

She hung her head. ‘I’m sorry. I tried to like what we did, I honestly tried. You know that.’

It was the wrong thing to say because immediately he reached out and took her by the arm, jerking her close. ‘You didn’t try that hard though, did you? A few half-hearted kisses and a bit of a grope. You’re pathetic. Why don’t we try again? I bet I can find something that you’ll enjoy.’

Once she might have reluctantly submitted, but not now. She brought a free hand down sharply across the wrist of the hand that held her. Pierre yelped and released her. As he lunged forward, she kicked him sharply in the shin, then again across his kneecap. He swore and swung his fist. She stepped out of reach, giving a shriek and shocked beyond belief that he might strike her, or worse, the baby.

‘You little bitch. After everything we have done. All the nights we spent working together, arguing over ideas and pamphlets. I thought we were friends.’

Fleur’s ears began to buzz. She realised she was trembling with anger as much as fear.

‘We are friends. But only friends. We both did it for France.’

‘And if I go to the Gestapo and tell them, what will you say?’ There was a malevolent glint in Pierre’s eyes. Vomit rose in Fleur’s throat. Her legs began to tremble. She bunched her fists, digging her nails into the palms in the hope that the sharp sensation would stop her from fainting.

‘You wouldn’t. You couldn’t without betraying yourself, and Sébastien too. And even if you did, I’d make sure that yours would be the only name I gave them.’

‘Fleur? Is everything alright?’ Laurent stood at the end of the alley. He strolled towards them, hands in his pockets. ‘I stopped to greet a friend and realised I hadn’t seen you go past.’

Pierre seemed to shrink. The skin round his eyes twitched. He was strong and well-built but nothing in comparison to Laurent. When Laurent was halfway towards them, Pierre wrinkled his nose and spat on the ground.

---