Page 15 of Daughters of Paris

The atmosphere at the event was forcedly bright. The guests at the luncheon were women who usually picked slowly at dishes but today they ate everything, as if preparing for future hunger.

Talk of war was consciously avoided until Madame Brassai announced in a voice swimming with irritation, ‘My dressmaker has left the city. Jewish, so of course the whole family have simply abandoned theatelier. It’s very inconvenient.’

The room rippled with conversation as other women described their own experiences of closed shops and departed workers. Colette pushed her spoon around the plate, scraping up the final smear of lemon crème brulée and thinking that however inconvenient it was for the women to have to order clothes from elsewhere, at least they still had homes to return to.

Chapter Five

When Colette accompanied Sophie and Josette to the cabaret that evening, the atmosphere was wildly different. They stopped at the bottom of the steps of Montmartre in front of a modest doorway with a sign that read ‘Cabaret des Papillons’. They were admitted into a dimly lit corridor, but when they passed through the heavy velvet curtains Colette discovered she had stepped into a world of vibrant hedonism.

Screeching jazz was blasting out from the band while women wearing barely more than a few feathers kicked their legs and shimmied across the stage. On the dance floor couples held each other more intimately, it seemed to Colette, than she and Gunther had been on the night they had first made love in the Secret Garden.

Josette and Sophie rid themselves of their coats and revealed themselves to be wearing dresses that were short, sleeveless and practically backless.

‘I think I am overdressed,’ Colette whispered to Josette. She smoothed down her black satin dress. It was calf-length with wide straps and cut on the bias to drape over her hips and emphasise her waist. It was more suited for dinner with her parents’ circle than the wild dance floor where couples flung each other around and shrieked with delight in time with the throbbing beat of the bass drum.

‘A little,’ Josette said, giving Colette an appraising look. ‘But you’re pretty enough that it doesn’t matter and no one will be looking at your dress. You will know next time.’

Sophie took Colette by the hand and wove a path through the tightly packed tables to the front, right beside the band, waving and calling hello to various people. There was a small table with a card bearing the girls’ surname.

‘I’ll find us some partners while Josette finds us some drinks. You wait here and make sure nobody tries to take our table,’ she instructed. She disappeared back into the darkness of the room, while Josette waved her hand towards a waiter clad in an immaculate, crisp white uniform and reeled off an order without even asking Colette what she might like. The dance partners arrived before the Dempseys that Josette assured Colette she would adore. Two men and a woman. Colette wrinkled her brow in confusion.

‘Victorine is for me.’ Sophie giggled, wrapping her arms around the neck of the statuesque ice-blonde woman dressed in a man’s tuxedo. They whirled off together into the crowd and vanished.

‘Which do you want?’ Josette asked, cocking her head towards the two men. Both were similar with slicked back brown hair. One had a thin pencil moustache and the other was clean-shaven. Other than that, there was very little to distinguish between them.

‘I don’t know,’ Colette said.

The man nearest to her – the moustachioed one – reached for her hand and pulled her from her seat.

‘You’re mine in that case, mademoiselle.’ He grinned as he spoke and swung Colette into his arms, breathing a fug of alcohol and tobacco into her face. She almost recoiled, but managed not to. They danced on the edge of the crowd, Colette resisting her partner’s attempts to pull her further into the swell of bodies.

‘Relax,ma bichette, you’re too stiff,’ he murmured into her ear.

Contrary to his instruction, Colette grew even tenser. It had been so long since a man had touched her and the feel of strong arms around her waist, and his chest pressing against her breasts made her heart thud and blood rush to her throat and cheeks. He had called her a doe, and for a moment her mind filled with the image of a wide-eyed creature she had seen standing impassively on the Yorkshire moorland just before being brought down with a shotgun.

‘I’m sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere like this. It’s all very strange. Everything seems so wild.’

He gave a leering smile. ‘Of course we are wild. Nobody wants to miss a moment. The world might end tomorrow and we want to take advantage of it while we can. We can sit and have a drink though if you’d rather.’

They returned to the table. The Dempsey turned out to taste strongly of apples and liquorice. It was interesting, but Colette decided she’d rather have champagne. She sipped it again and thought back to what the man had said.

‘What do you mean while it lasts? While what lasts?’

He lit a cigarette and took a drag before answering. ‘Peace. I work in the government offices and I can tell you that there is great concern in all departments. We are increasing munitions manufacture and preparing for defence.’

‘Of Paris?’ Colette’s heart leaped to her throat.

‘Of course not, silly child. But of the borders. Austria might have welcomed Adolf Hitler’s incursion, but France never will. He says he won’t but, just in case he decides to change his mind, we will be prepared.’

He tossed his cocktail down his throat and held his hand out. ‘Now, let’s dance. That’s what we’re here for after all.’

He pushed her backwards, taking control of the steps and for the rest of the evening, no doubt thanks to the Dempsey, Colette managed to put all sinister thoughts out of her mind and enjoy herself. By the time the band left the stage, her calves and feet ached.

‘Do you still think English men are the most exciting?’ Sophie asked as they gathered their coats.

Colette thought before answering. She had danced with a series of men, all more charming and debonair than the last, but no one in particular had given her the internal shivers that Gunther had.

‘Perhaps.’

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