Page 17 of Daughters of Paris

As he read Edouard Daladier’s declaration of war, Delphine moaned aloud and dropped her head into her hands. Colette felt Fleur’s hand slip into hers and squeeze it tightly. She gave an answering squeeze, intensely glad of the mutual gesture of comfort. Fleur was holding Agnes’ hand with her other, and even through her preoccupation with the news, Colette felt a flicker of envy at the closeness of aunt and niece. Across the room, Michal stood white-faced, gazing towards the window.

‘What does it mean?’ Fleur whispered. Colette was thankful someone else had found a voice as she didn’t dare to speak in case she cried.

Louis ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp. He looked wearier than Colette could recall him ever being.

‘I don’t know yet. I hoped… I believed it would not come to this. I am too old to fight in this war, alas. Agnes, would you pour everyone a drink, please?’

Agnes obliged, handing out small measures of cognac to everyone. The bottle was almost empty. Louis eyed it with a wry smile. ‘I think perhaps I had better buy another. This one won’t last much longer.’

He raised his glass and swirled it in his hand. ‘To all of us. We go to war on the side of righteousness. France will never be enslaved.Vive la France.’

Everyone repeated his words as if they were echoing a benediction from a priest, then drank. Fleur gathered the glasses and handed them to her aunt. Delphine walked out of the room with her head held high, but her shoulders were rigid. Louis watched her leave, then came over to his daughter. He embraced her, but Colette could feel the tension in his arms and it wasn’t much comfort.

‘Papa,should I be scared?’

‘Possibly. I hope not. With luck this will all be over very soon. Perhaps I won’t even need a second bottle of cognac.’ He kissed the top of Colette’s head.

‘I think I will be losing lots of my workers. There will be a call to mobilise.’

‘But what of the army?’ Colette asked.

‘The army will need more men than it already has. I must go back to the factory. Take care of your mother for the rest of the evening.’ He gave her another quick kiss before leaving the room.

Fleur was lingering by the door. Colette went to speak to her, but Fleur put her hand out and gestured to Michal Drucker. He was standing exactly where he had been, still staring at the window.

‘Monsieur Drucker, are you alright?’ Fleur asked softly.

He took a moment to notice her. His dark eyes were filmy. ‘This is bad for my people. For me.’

Fleur touched his hand. ‘Not in France,’ she said firmly. ‘Never in France. You are French before anything else.’

Colette understood then what they meant. Michal was a Jew, and Hitler had waged a particular war on Jews in Germany and Austria. Many of the refugees coming into France were Jewish.

Michal gave a wan smile. ‘Already things are bad. You would not necessarily see it, but I have friends with shops. People don’t want their business. They are eyed with suspicion.’

‘But not you,’ Colette reassured him. ‘You haven’t done anything to deserve that.’

His eyes flashed to her. ‘And the women who work in the clothes factories have? The butcher or his children?’

Colette dropped her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that. I have Jewish friends at the cabaret.’

‘I know you didn’t,mon sucre,but it is a dark time to be of my race.’

‘You will be safe here,’ Fleur said. ‘This is France. The German army will never be allowed to come this far. What happens in Germany is under Hitler’s authority, but nobody in Paris with Jewish friends will stand by and let anything happen to them.’

She sounded firm, but Colette could hear the uncertainty in her voice and hoped she was right.

Michal took both their hands. ‘Thank you, girls, I hope so. You say you have Jewish friends now. How many people will say that in three months’ time?’

He left the room and the two girls looked at each other.

‘We are right, aren’t we? And my friends will be safe too, won’t they?’ Colette asked.

Fleur wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Already petite, she looked wretchedly fragile.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything. It’s all too new to think about. I want to ask my friends what they think. They’re students or writers and they’re better at understanding this sort of thing than I am. We spend a lot of evenings discussing politics but often they lose me.’

It was the first time Fleur had shared anything personal about her life. It made sense that Fleur would be friends with serious types as she was like that herself. They sounded dull in comparison to Colette’s friends, but at the moment, they were probably more use than the sisters. She thought of her dancing partners and the bright crowd of men and women who gathered in the Café des Papillons or the other cabarets along the Boulevard de Clichy or Rue Pierre Fontaine. They lived for pleasure and excitement. Only the man she had danced with on the first visit had spoken of preparations for war. He had been right, but Colette had never seen him again.

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