Page 114 of Daughters of Paris

Elouard clicked his teeth. ‘We spoke briefly at the fountain in the park beside my school at eight yesterday morning. He was to meet Corentin at five to go over the preparations for the factory bombing that is scheduled for tonight, and then was to report back to me at seven.’

Corentin was someone Fleur had heard of but had never met. She only knew he operated a radio, sending and receiving messages from all over France and across the channel to Britain.

‘Corentin says Augustin never made the rendezvous. Did he come to see you yesterday or today?’

Fleur grew cold. Something must have gone wrong in between his departure from the fountain and the meeting with Corentin. That was nine hours unaccounted for.

‘No.’

Elouard bowed his head, his face grave. ‘No one else has approached you, I assume?’

Fleur shook her head. Her stomach rolled and she felt nausea rising. She had walked along Avenue Foch this morning. If the Gestapo had Laurent, she might have walked straight past where he was being held.

Being tortured. The strength left her legs completely, and she was glad she was already sitting down.

‘Have you asked at the workshop?’

‘Not yet. That is my next port of call. You are closer.’

‘I’ll go,’ Fleur said. ‘I’ll see if I can learn anything and let you know as soon as I do.’

‘Good.’

‘Will tonight still go ahead?’ she asked.

Elouard looked thoughtful. ‘Yes. It might be dangerous now but too many people have endangered themselves putting everything in place. The factory owner has assured me there will be no one on the premises. If we leave it any longer, we risk innocent civilians being caught up in it. I hope that if Laurent is being interrogated, he will be able to hold out for long enough before revealing anything. Be warned, Roxane, if he gives your name up, they will come for you. Be ready to run.’

She walked home, threw her shopping onto the table and collected her bicycle. She was at the garage within the hour.

Laurent was not there but the old man was sitting outside the shuttered doors to the workshop.

‘A car took him away yesterday lunchtime.’

The information caught her roughly and it was only because she was holding onto the bicycle that she did not fall to her knees.

‘Please let me know if you hear anything, or if he comes back.’

Her voice sounded tinny in her ears. She must have said the words out loud though because the old man nodded. She scribbled down her address on a piece of paper then immediately thought better of it when it struck her that if anyone came back to search, she would be making it easy for anyone to link her to Laurent.

‘Never mind. If he comes back, I’m sure he will contact me himself.’

The man shrugged again. ‘Are you Fleur?’

She nodded cautiously.

‘Thought so. He said you were the pretty one.’

There wasn’t much to say to that. Other than the implication that other women visited Laurent, it told her nothing useful. She hoped the other women were also involved in Resistance activities and she had not stumbled on the reason Laurent was determined not to become involved with her. Or perhaps he flirted and shared a bed on missions with every female contact.

Either way, with him gone, it ceased to matter. She thanked the old man and cycled away to share the dark news with Elouard.

For two days Fleur could barely bring herself to eat thanks to the sick churning of anxiety in her guts. Sleep evaded her. She heard nothing from Elouard. Either Laurent’s disappearance had brought a halt to any activities, or she was deemed too close a contact, and other operatives were being used instead. Her bag was packed and ready beside her bed in case she received the message to run into hiding. She could barely leave the apartment without looking over her shoulder, wondering if she would be swept off the street and into the back of a van, or whether she would receive warning and be able to flee.

She did not share her terror with Colette, reasoning that the less she knew, the safer she would be. The baby was going through a difficult phase and was awake for hours every night. Colette looked haggard and miserable and did not need another burden. Neither woman had much of a temper, but both found themselves snapping in reply to quite reasonable comments or requests. It was the worst time Fleur could remember since Sébastien’s departure while they waited for the inevitable visit.

On the third day, just when Fleur thought her nerves could not become any thinner or more fragile, a visitor appeared in the bookshop shortly before closing time.

Elouard.

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