Page 124 of Daughters of Paris

‘Let’s sit down.’

He unwrapped Fleur’s arms from around him and linked his fingers tightly through hers. She nodded, anxiety starting to gather, a crushing knot in her belly. She led him to the sofa in front of the window. It was bathed in warm sunshine but the height of the room let in a gentle breeze. Laurent sat straight-backed and stared at Fleur, unspeaking.

‘Do you have something to tell me?’ she prompted.

He dipped his head and ran his hand through his hair. ‘I do, but I’m just enjoying looking at you in the sunshine.’

Fleur’s stomach rolled over. He sounded and looked so solemn. He appeared unhurt – the bruises on his face from his ordeal had faded and had not been replaced by any fresh injuries. Beneath his clothes might be a different matter, of course.

‘Laurent, please, don’t do this. I’ve been imagining all sorts of terrors, then convinced myself I was overacting and now you appear and tell me something is wrong after all.’

He took a deep breath and stood. He faced her, hands behind his back. ‘You know there are British operatives involved in what we do. You’ve escorted one or two from location to location. They are men and women hiding in plain sight, sending and taking messages, acting on the information they receive to best strike where it was needed. They’ve been working with localresisteurssuch as Elouard. Such as you.’

‘And you,’ Fleur said.

‘No, not me. I saytheybut I meanwe.’ He looked away a moment and then back at Fleur. ‘My name is not Laurent and I am not a mechanic. And I am not French.’

‘Is this a joke?’ Fleur’s chest tightened.

He shook his head. ‘I wish it was. I have very much liked being Laurent, especially since he led you to me. No, I am British – English, to be precise. My name is Charles Danby.’

As he said his name, his accent dropped. Fleur laughed. She put her hand over her mouth to hold it in. It wasn’t at all funny. She stood and walked away, first to the other end of the room, then into her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and scrunched her fingers deep into the counterpane, wanting to rip it in frustration. He couldn’t be telling the truth, but as she tried to convince herself, she knew it was pointless. He wouldn’t joke about something so serious.

He tapped on the door then entered without waiting for an answer. He stood by the door, hesitant.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Of course I’m not!’ She spoke harshly and he flinched, only momentarily but it was enough for some of her anger to ebb away. She stared straight ahead. From the corner of her eye she could see Laurent standing with his hands by his side, his imposing frame at ease. She let him wait.

‘Talk to me,’ he said quietly after perhaps fifteen minutes of silence. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘You lied to me. I believed everything you said. You are very convincing.’

He tilted his head on one side slightly. ‘I have to be. If there was the slightest hint that I was not who I said I was, it could have compromised the entire operation. Lives would be at risk. I couldn’t tell anyone.’

Fleur’s ears began to ring. Laurent – she couldn’t think of him as a Charles – sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. She stared at their linked fingers. Still the same hand. In England, did it fix cars or do something entirely different? She tried not to feel hurt that he had not taken her into his confidence but failed miserably.

‘I wanted to tell you. I came close when we were in the hotel bed and you asked why I thought being with you was a bad idea, but I knew it would be the worst thing I could do.’

‘That’s what is stopping you? I don’t care that you are English. I can’t believe I didn’t realise. The books in English on your bedside table. The fact you knowJane Eyre.’

He gave her a long look and she realised she was being naïve.

‘I could never have told you because the thought that you might be arrested and interrogated caused me fear on a daily basis. There was too much at stake for you and for me. For the Resistance and the war. For the other men and women doing what I am doing.’

‘Does anyone else know? Sébastien?’

‘No. Not even Elouard or Corentin. One of their superiors does, but only because he was my point of contact when I arrived. Can you forgive me for not telling you?’

‘Of course I forgive you,’ Fleur said. How could she not when the secret he was entrusting her with was so momentous. She forced a smile. ‘I’m a little relieved, to be honest. I thought you must have another woman.’

He drew her close, wrapping her in his arms. ‘There is no other woman. There have been a couple in the past, but the moment I saw you – when you first walked into the workshop brimming with determination and courage – I was certain there never would be again. You mean everything to me.’

He kissed her and the slow intensity of his lips on hers was enough to assure her that he was telling the truth.

‘I love you, Fleur.’

She had longed to hear those words, but why now? Why the sudden confession and declaration of love? Unease began to form in the back of her mind.

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