Page 19 of Daughters of Paris

‘I thought about what you said before. We should make some preparations, but not jewellery for me. I don’t have any worth stealing.’

Colette managed a wan smile. ‘I suppose you want to say books?’

Fleur sat on the bed. ‘I was thinking of food. The ration books worry me and I’m trying to think what might become scarce. Do you remember the strawberries that grew in the Secret Garden? We could plant some vegetables too.’

Colette looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know the first thing about growing plants.’

‘How hard could it be? Michal will advise us if we ask him. I’m sure that if we keep the snails and slugs away, they would do well. If not then we could eat the snails,’ Fleur said, giving a laugh that she didn’t entirely feel.

Colette bit her lip and her anxious expression returned. ‘It won’t come to that, will it?’

Fleur’s ribs tightened. ‘I don’t know what will happen, but I feel better for the idea of having a plan.’

Colette seemed to have unburdened herself and had a spring in her step once more. She may have been hiding away valuables, but if she was, she did not share that with Fleur. She spent her days sat in the garden, sunning herself in the spring sunshine, and reading magazines when she was not busy sewing gas mask bags for her friends.

‘I envy you,’ Fleur told her. ‘I wish I could switch my brain off as easily as turning off a light switch.’

Colette narrowed her eyes, possibly suspecting it was a criticism.

‘You have to make yourself. Come with me one evening when I go out with Josette and Sophie. Nobody can be sad when they are dancing.La Jeunesse Coquetteis our favourite cabaret at the moment.’

‘I think it will be far too glamorous,’ Fleur replied. ‘But thank you all the same.’

‘Are you sure?’

Fleur couldn’t help but notice the flicker of relief in Colette’s eyes.

‘Perfectly. You have your friends and I have mine.’

Even though Colette had been living back at home for a year, the two women spent little time in each other’s company. It was natural of course, as they had different groups of friends and different lives.

‘What are your friends like?’ Colette asked, sitting up and stretching.

Her breasts jutted forward in the fitted cashmere cardigan. She had a striking figure and Fleur could only imagine the impression she would make on the men in the Café Morlaix group. Fleur didn’t particularly want to spend time with Colette’s circle and she really didn’t want to share hers with Colette.

‘Oh you would find them very dull,’ Fleur assured her. ‘We talk so much about politics and ideas. I don’t think your mother would approve.’

‘Perhaps I don’t care whether or not she does,’ Colette snapped.

She pushed herself to her feet and walked away. Fleur watched her go thoughtfully. Sébastien’s group were very serious. Given the mood of the country they had every justification in being so, but, all the same, it would be tempting to spend a night dancing as if there was nothing wrong.

The unimaginable happened on a stiflingly hot June morning. Fleur had been helpingTanteAgnes to fold bed linen in the cool cellar room when thunder erupted overhead.

‘Ah, the storm.’ Fleur passed her hand over her neck. ‘Good, we need it.’

TanteAgnes’s cheeks had turned ashen and one hand clutched at the cross around her throat.

‘That’s no storm.’ She dropped the sheet on the floor and walked stiffly out of the room. Fleur followed her anxiously. Agnes would never treat her employer’s belongings in such a way unless something serious was happening.

From all across the city rose the wail of sirens. The sky was cloudy, but in places puffs of white smoke billowed.

‘They are bombing us!’ Agnes’ voice rose to a shriek.

Fleur gripped her aunt’s hand. It was terrifying to see the usually self-contained woman in such a panic. Colette ran round the side of the house from the garden, her eyes wide with fear.

‘That siren! It’s the air raid siren. Who is doing this? The Germans or the English?’

‘I don’t know,’ Fleur said in a trembling voice. ‘Why would it be the Germans after so many months without fighting? And the English are our allies.’

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