Page 32 of Daughters of Paris

‘Of course. This is my city. I will be back long before curfew and won’t let the Germans scare me.’

Before she could change her mind, she walked off in the direction of Montparnasse.

Chapter Ten

Fleur’s confidence began to ebb as she walked along Avenue Foch. The wide street was lined with palatial homes and Fleur had always enjoyed dreaming which she would choose if she became rich. Now it was full of soldiers and military vehicles stood in the driveways. She took the Metro but the carriage was full of Germans and she got off after three stops, preferring to face the rest of the journey on foot.

The centre of the city was markedly different to the streets near home. There was a much higher German presence, not simply marching on parade, but walking the streets, sitting outside cafés, passing the time of day under the shade of trees. The occupying army nonchalantly behaving as if their presence was perfectly normal brought her close to tears but even worse was the sight of the swastika flags hanging proudly from theArc de Triomphe. The stark black symbol against the red and white was a blood-chilling proclamation of power and for ages Fleur could only stand and stare at the flags as her limbs turned to ice. She half expected to discover Hitler had given orders to scale theTour Eiffeland fly one from the top in celebration of his victory. The thought made her feel sick and she walked through the streets with her head down, avoiding eye contact.

The blinds of the bookshop windows were down when she arrived and she feared for Monsieur Ramper, but then the blind tweaked aside, and his face appeared briefly. She heard the drawing of bolts and then the door opened, and she was pulled inside. They embraced and Monsieur Ramper led her into the cosy office behind the shop

‘It has been a terrible few weeks.’ He sighed, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘I have sold barely anything. The Germans do not want my books orbandes dessinées, and the French have more important things to spend money on. I am sorry but I can only offer you two days’ work every week.’

It was a significant drop in income. Already the cost of food had risen, and she expected it to rise further now that rationing had been introduced. Her wages were necessary, though she would at least be able to earn her keep at the Nadons’ house.

‘At least I will have time to queue for the shops now,’ she said, trying not to show her panic.

Monsieur Ramper patted her hand. ‘You are a good girl, my dear. If things change, I will do what I can.’

She shook his hand then made her way to the café. Unlike the bookshop, the cafés and restaurants didn’t seem to be lacking in German patrons. Fleur’s knees trembled. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Café Morlaix occupied. She took a series of deep breaths before she dared to turn the corner onto the street where it stood.

The café, like the others in the square, was open, with tables set under the shade of trees. At the tables outside were three groups, totalling ten Germans altogether. She grew cold, while simultaneously feeling hot perspiration beneath her arms. She couldn’t pass them so closely and risk their scrutiny.

She turned away but caught herself and bunched her fists. This was her city, not theirs. Unless she was going to spend the rest of her life hiding inside the house she would have to interact with the enemy at some point, so it might as well be now. She clutched her bag a little tighter, took a deep breath and walked towards the door.

‘Fräulein, stop.’

The speaker sat beside the door. She turned her head towards him slowly, feeling the terror rising to her throat and met sharp eyes of ice blue in a face creased with lines. He was solidly built and his legs were outstretched slightly in front of the doorway, presumably intentionally. His uniform bore an insignia but Fleur had no idea what it meant, or how senior he was. It occurred to her dismally that she would no doubt become familiar with them before too long.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. He spoke the French words accurately, but his accent was thick, and the words rolled around his mouth, making it hard to understand them.

‘I am looking for a friend.’

‘A particular friend or can anyone be your friend?’

His tone became hopeful, and Fleur suppressed a weary sigh. He wasn’t going to question her, only flirt. She had been propositioned before, though never by a German.

‘A friend I have not seen since…’

Since your army invaded my city.

She wanted to spit the words at him but held back, knowing how unwise it would be. The question had given her time to consider her answer, however. Perhaps mentioning she had a personal connection to the café was unwise.

‘She’s called Colette. I don’t know if she is still in Paris, so I am asking in a few of the places we used to meet. Is there a reason I cannot go into the café?’

‘No reason. Show me your papers.’ Now he had realised he was not going to get lucky, the officer’s voice became hard. When Fleur didn’t obey instantly he thrust his hand out. ‘Your identity papers,Fräulein.’

Fleur took her card out of her bag and handed it over, trying to keep her hand from shaking. She had nothing to be afraid of. She had never done anything wrong.

The officer inspected the card in agonising detail, and Fleur’s anxiety began to transform into something else; something rebellious. Everything was in order. The paper was neatly folded in her bag as always and was in perfect condition. He was enjoying the power he had over her and the knowledge that she had no choice but to comply. She felt acid curdle in her stomach. He was just a bully intimidating a girl half his age.

This was what occupation would be like. Feeling terrified for even existing in her own country.

‘Very good. You may enter.’

He passed the papers back to her. Fleur gave him the quickest of glances, not enough to appear confrontational but enough that her dignity was intact.

‘Thank you, monsieur.’

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