Page 115 of Daughters of Paris

Fleur reached for the nearest bookcase to steady herself.

‘Do you have news?’ She could barely force out the words.

‘Augustin is back. He’s been released. He sent a message to me via one of his workmates.’

‘Oh thank the lord!’ Fleur let out a gasp of relief. ‘Does that mean he didn’t tell them anything?’

Elouard frowned. ‘I don’t know. I have never heard of the Gestapo releasing anyone. Go see him as soon as you can. He might be able to tell you something. I would go myself but I have a large pile of grammar exercises to correct, and I suspect he would rather see you.’

She raced upstairs and poured the whole tale out to Colette.

‘You told me nothing of this!’ Colette sounded aggrieved.

‘I thought it would be safer if you knew nothing and I didn’t want to burden you.’

Colette seized her by the hand and glared. ‘Burden me? I’m your best friend. Your sister! If you don’t tell me your problems, what use am I?’

‘I know. I will. I have to go now. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

She grabbed her hat and left.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The old mechanic and his friend were sitting outside the garage as always, playing a game of chess. Apparently, the chilly April wind made no difference to them. They recognised Fleur and broke off their game as she dismounted.

‘I’m here to see Laurent,’ she said without any preamble.

‘He’s not well.’

She propped the bicycle against the doorway and folded her arms. ‘I know. That’s why I’m here.’

The mechanic stubbed out his cigarette and led her through the workshop and upstairs. Fleur had never been beyond the garage and was surprised to see the space above it opened into a spacious living area with a balcony that overlooked a small courtyard at the back. Almost every available surface down below was covered with pots and planters. It was an oasis of colours; fruit and vegetables beginning to grow. She longed to go down and walk among the vegetation to see what was growing. There was no sign of Laurent, however, and the garden could wait so she followed her guide up a smaller staircase until she came to a bedroom.

She could not say what this room contained because all of her attention was fixed on the body lying in the bed. She gasped aloud. Laurent’s face was swollen. Both eyes were blackened, and it was hard to tell what were bruises and what were shadows under his eyes. He was naked from the waist up – and possibly from the waist downwards, although a sheet and quilt covered his modesty. His chest was an artist’s palette of hues in browns, blacks and purples. His eyes had been closed but at Fleur’s horrified cry he opened them.

‘What the hell! Why did you let her up here, Marcel?’

Fleur cringed. His words were bad enough, but his tone was brutally harsh, not helped by being spat from lips that were swollen and cracked.

‘I’ll go. I’m sorry,’ she said, her words catching in her throat.

‘Don’t go. I’m not angry with you, but I told them I didn’t want you to see me like this.’

The old man shrugged. ‘She was not going to go away until she had seen you.’

Laurent’s eyes slid to Fleur. He didn’t move his head and Fleur was gripped by a terror that perhaps he was no longer able to. She gave a sob.

‘See,’ Laurent said accusingly. ‘Now she is upset.’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t be?’ Fleur exclaimed. ‘My god, Laurent, what have they done to you?’

‘If you fetch me a cup of wine, I will tell you. Marcel, thank you for bringing her. Now will you leave us alone?’

Marcel cast Laurent a disapproving look. ‘Come with me, mademoiselle. I’ll show you where the wine is downstairs then you can come back up.’

Fleur followed him downstairs.

‘He says it isn’t as bad as it looks, but I don’t believe him. He’s just trying to be brave. Look after him. He may have said he didn’t want to see you, but your name was the first thing on his lips when he woke last night.’

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