Page 113 of Daughters of Paris

‘This isn’t worth my time.’ He pushed past Fleur roughly, colliding with her shoulder and knocking her against the wall, which she had no doubt was intentional. He walked away with the slightest limp in his step. Fleur gave a sob.

Laurent strode after Pierre but Fleur reached out a hand as he went to move past her and grasped his sleeve. ‘Leave him.’

He turned back to her. She’d rarely seen him angry, but his shoulders were tensed and his eyes glinted dangerously. ‘Are you sure? Say the word and I’ll arrange to have him kneecapped.’

She wasn’t sure if he was joking. ‘No. He won’t bother me again.’

She was reasonably confident that Pierre would leave her alone now. Laurent shook his head.

‘You’re shaking. I’ve seen you calmly walk past a squadron of Nazis with a dozen clips of bullets under your shopping, but that little coward upset you.’

‘It was a horrible surprise. He’s always been slightly erratic, though I didn’t think even he could behave that terribly.’

He folded her into a tight hug until she stopped shaking then held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down. ‘There, that’s better. Do you want me to take you home?’

His concern was overwhelming. She wanted to stay in his arms, but he had to deliver his messages in the opposite direction. Moreover, her old inclination to cope alone reared up. She was in the centre of the city and Pierre had gone. She was brave and could manage alone. ‘No, thank you. I’m going shopping. There’s no need.’

‘As long as you are sure.’

He pulled her close and dropped a light kiss onto her brow then left. Fleur walked out onto the avenue and almost collided with a pair of laughing women. She jumped back and they walked round her, chatting in German as they carried on as if she had been a bollard. Fleur gulped in a couple of breaths and went home, the shopping forgotten. Colette was sweeping the floor. She smiled as Fleur entered, then her face dropped.

‘What?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Fleur said, then burst into tears. She unwound the baby and handed her to Colette then poured out everything that had happened.

‘That bastard,’ Colette thundered, holding the infant close. ‘Do you want me to go and get Laurent?’

‘No. He went to meet a friend. I told him I was fine. I can cope. I’m just shaken and angry. It’s all done with now and I expect that will be the end of it.’

She brightened. ‘Pierre’s face when I kicked him though! I don’t think he ever imagined I would do such a thing!’

‘I hope so. If he does anything to hurt you, Sébastien will tear him apart when he returns.’ Colette put the baby over her shoulder and burped her expertly then laid her on the mat. The baby lurched all four limbs up, attempting to roll over. ‘I’m going to take the baby to the fountains in theTuilleries. Do you want to come?’

‘No. I think I’ll stay here and read. One trip out is enough for me today and I half expect Pierre to come and throw a brick through the window out of spite.’

‘Do you think he would do that?’

Fleur remembered the way he had hurled an apple core with real violence when he had been in a bad mood. ‘I don’t think so really, but perhaps I’ll sit by the front window with a jug of water to throw down just in case.’

Colette laughed. ‘That’s the spirit.’

Fleur watched the baby playing with her feet while Colette went to change her dress. Colette often spoke as if Sébastien would be returning any day now. It was good to see her optimism, but it seemed unlikely to Fleur. Laurent must be better placed than she was to know whether the tide was turning in favour of the French, being in contact with others higher up the chain of command ofresisteurs. Perhaps she should ask him?

No bricks came through the window and after a few weeks Pierre’s unpleasantness was erased from Fleur’s mind by something far more concerning. She was returning to the bookshop at Saturday lunchtime when a man fell in beside her.

‘Keep walking, Roxane.’

She glanced up, the use of her codename allaying the fear that had immediately filled her.

‘Good afternoon, Elouard.’

Fleur had only met Elouard a handful of times. He was a kindly-looking man in his late forties who worked as a teacher. Few people, if any, would suspect that he spent his nights coordinating men and women to carry out acts of sabotage on railway lines or factories, but perhaps handling ten-year-olds gave him the management capabilities he needed.

‘Augustin has vanished.’

He announced it with no warning and it took Fleur a moment to associate the name as Laurent’s codename. Her legs turned to water. She leaned against the nearest bollard.

‘Where did you last see him?’ she asked.

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