Page 11 of Daughters of Paris

A buzzing filled her ears. Of course she admired Sébastien. He was a very attractive man and he was inspiring. But Fleur would rather cut her tongue out then admit it to Pierre.

‘You’re talking nonsense. And, if that is the sort of metaphor you use in your poetry, it’s no wonder you haven’t yet been published.’

Pierre erupted into laughter. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You are too wonderful, and I would like to kiss you again, but the rain is stopping. I think I will chance going home. I can’t persuade you to come home with me, I suppose?’

He didn’t wait for her to answer but unfurled an umbrella and snapped it open. ‘No, a first kiss is one thing but you don’t want to lose your virginity to me, do you?’

‘I don’t want to lose it to anyone yet,’ Fleur called after him.

His laughter sounded over the raindrops as he walked away.

Fleur stomped back to the Metro station, seething with annoyance. What was wrong with her liking Sébastien anyway? Of all the men she had encountered he appeared to be the hardest-working, and if he wasn’t the best-looking then he was certainly one of the most intriguing. If only she could find out whether he liked her too.

Her opportunity came one Saturday afternoon when Fleur called in after leaving the bookshop. Instead of sitting with Pierre and the others, Sébastien was at a separate table in the corner, his nose buried in a book. Fleur walked over to him, trying to remember how Colette had behaved when she wanted to show a man she liked him.

‘You work so hard,’ she commented.

He rolled his shoulders back. ‘I have to study hard if I want to be a success, and I have to work if I want to eat.’

‘But you look so tired.’ Hesitantly she put her hand on his arm. ‘Can I help?’

‘You could fetch me avin rouge. Only a small one.’

She obliged and handed it to him. His fingers touched hers and she felt a jolt like the spark of electricity. The colour rose to her cheeks and she hastily whipped her hand away. Sébastien looked into her eyes and as he held her gaze Fleur held her breath, unable to do anything until she saw a sign. He smiled and touched her cheek.

‘I forget how young you are sometimes, Fleur. One day, a man will fall in love with you and be completely lost in how fortunate he is. Now, if you excuse me,chérie, I really must read this chapter.’

It was the kindest dismissal and the gentlest refusal he could have given her, but Fleur’s throat seized with humiliation. She turned away, feeling her legs growing wobbly. She heard Odile calling her name but only waved a hand and hurried on.

When Fleur returned home, she hoped to avoid speaking to anyone, butTanteAgnes was upstairs in Colette’s room, and called her name as Fleur passed. The windows were wide open, letting in a blast of chilly wind. Agnes paused her task of attacking the carpet with a stiff brush.

‘Mademoiselle Colette is coming home. Madame and Monsieur would like her back in France before she is unable to return so she’ll likely be back very soon. Won’t that be nice?’

Fleur smiled faintly. Colette home after so long would be nice, she supposed, though the circumstances necessitating her return filled Fleur with an even greater sense of foreboding.

Chapter Four

April 1939

‘Colette, darling! Pay attention!’ Delphine snapped. ‘Madame Tourval was telling you about her trip to Alsace last month.’

Colette blinked and focused her attention on the elderly woman dressed in a sea of peach tulle.

‘I am,Mère, I had a sudden headache. Please forgive me, Madame Tourval, I’d love to hear more about your trip. Are the Alsatians concerned about what the German Chancellor is proposing?’

Madame Tourval’s eyes narrowed. Colette could tell that such a topic was both unexpected and unwelcome.

‘I am sure I have no idea. My husband and I made a tour of the ancient churches and I also spent time at Baden-Baden and Niederbronn-les-Bains. I have nothing to do with politics, and the sight of the ugly concrete slabs along the Maginot Line are an abomination to the senses.’

Madame Tourval waved a hand dismissively and the rings she wore on each finger glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Colette dipped her head deferentially, implying that she too had little care for the subject of politics. The thought of concrete bunkers guarding the borders to France was chilling. Hitler’s determination to remilitarise Germany had been the talk of nearly every home she had visited in England, and as a Frenchwoman she had been asked the same questions repeatedly.

What will France do? How has the civil war in Spain affected relations between your country and theirs? Are the Jews in France worried about the restrictions in place in Germany?

Colette couldn’t answer any of the questions. How could she, when she had barely any contact with her home country beyond the monthly letter from her parents? She probably knew less about the situation in Europe than anyone in the room.

‘I visited some beautiful churches in England, as well as a number of health resorts,’ she remarked.

‘Nevertheless, we were discussingmyexperience,’ Madame Tourval said coldly.

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