Page 132 of Daughters of Paris

Fleur clutched Colette’s arm. ‘Listen. That’sLa Marseillaise.’

The song grew louder and closer. Doors opened and the streets filled. Fleur raced down the stairs and outside. Into the streets poured women and men, carrying children, holding each other and raising their voices in song.

‘It’s over.’ Colette hugged Fleur, then Delphine. Then all the women were in each other’s arms, sobbing with joy.

Of course it was not over immediately.

Once again military vehicles drove through the streets of Paris. Once again boots marched in unison along the Champs-Elysées, past the War Ministry on the Rue Saint-Dominque, but this time it was a cause for jubilation. Paris had survived.

Over the following weeks, the sight of German uniforms was replaced by those of English, French, and Americans. Uniforms in different livery but all allies. Soldiers laughed with children, shook hands with men. What they got up to with the women was a nobody’s business but theirs.

Sophie appeared determined to find a new father for her child. She put on a black hat and veil and carried Augustin on her hip, telling the same thing to each of the soldiers who stopped to speak with the pretty young woman and child.

‘It’s very sad. His father was a brave man, but he died working for the Resistance. He never met his son.’

One recipient of her tale, a stocky man with sandy brown hair and a sergeant’s stripes, looked sorrowful.

‘Well, ma’am, he sure is a pretty child. I’m sure his father would have been very proud of him.’

‘That’s a complete lie,’ Fleur said indignantly after the officer had moved on.

Sophie jutted out her chin. ‘I don’t care. Have you seen what is happening to women who are accused of collaborating with the enemy? They are shaving their heads and parading them through the streets. I’m not going to let that happen to me, and I won’t have my child grow with the stigma of being half a German rat. I don’t care if you disapprove. I’ve got a life to live and a son to provide for and he will not grow up in shame.’

She sashayed away, heading towards a group of officers who were sitting in a café, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, and asked if she might take the spare chair to feed her child. Fleur walked on, half incensed, but also slightly admiring of Sophie’s nerve. It was a cold lie but understandable.

‘They aren’t shaving the heads of the men who served drinks to Germans or fixed their cars,’ she remarked. ‘I don’t think I blame Sophie at all. She will probably find a husband before the war is officially over.’

‘I hope she does,’ Colette said. ‘I don’t blame her either. If Sébastien hadn’t come home I’m not sure what I would have done.’

‘It’s lucky you don’t have to. Though perhaps an elopement might have been more peaceful.’

Colette laughed weakly. Although Colette had said she would be content with a quick ceremony performed by anyone who could spare the time, Delphine had decided that if her daughter was going to marry a hero of the Resistance, the occasion would be marked with the most elaborate means available.

They compromised on a quiet ceremony in October, followed by a reception in Delphine’s salon. The party was slightly more subdued than before the war, but the joy on the bride and groom’s face left no one in doubt that the marriage would be a long and happy one.

Fleur sat on the edge of the fountain, a glass of not-exactly-champagne in her hand. The temperature was still hot but the air was scented with flowers. Colette joined her, sitting down carefully so as not to crumple her dress.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Perfectly but my feet are tired. It’s been a long time since I danced,’ Fleur said.

‘Me too. I’m sorry that there aren’t many partners for you. I wish you could be as happy as I am.’

‘I am happy,’ Fleur said, surprised at the comment.

‘You know what I mean.’ Colette took her hand. The thin gold band on her left hand was cold against Fleur’s palm. ‘With Laurent. Do you think he might come back?’

Fleur stared up at the sky. ‘I don’t know. I’d like to think so but I can’t spend my life hoping.’

Colette hugged her. ‘You could go to England and look for him. I’m sure Edith would give you a room.’

‘I don’t even know how I’d go about finding him. A man who did secret work he couldn’t talk about for people who probably won’t have a sign on the door of their building. It doesn’t sound very easy, does it?’

She took a sip of not-champagne. ‘No, I’m lucky I had the chance to fall in love even though I can’t pretend I wish it had turned out differently.’

‘One day you’ll find someone else,’ Colette assured her.

Fleur murmured a vague sound of agreement. She was not sure, but at that point in time, she didn’t much care either way.

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