Page 37 of Daughters of Paris

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. She would disapprove and ruin the fun.’

Colette bit her tongue. Fleur would have every reason to be disapproving. The wordcollaborator, flashed through her mind. An ugly word and an ugly act. But just dancing wasn’t actually collaborating, was it? They weren’t actually helping the Germans against the French.

‘You could ask Fleur if you must,’ Josette said, perhaps thinking this was the reason for Colette’s hesitation. ‘Though she hardly fits in with the crowd at Cabaret des Papillons with her sensible clothes and dull hairstyle. She’s probably never even danced with a man, let alone kissed one.’

Colette wasn’t so sure. Fleur had male friends and spoke of them in glowing terms. They sounded dull – more interested in poetry and ideas than dancing or fun – but in truth Colette was a little envious. She wondered whether Fleur was in love with either – or both – of them and if she had kissed them. That longing for physical contact hit her like a bolt through her heart and sent ripples flooding down to her groin.

Sophie stretched and gave a bored yawn. ‘You don’t have to come but really, it is silly not to join in. If the men are happy, they are less likely to complain that the sheets are old, or the coffee is weak. We are stuck with them as guests, so it makes sense to get something out of it for ourselves.’

It was hard-nosed, but Colette saw the logic. Why antagonise the guests in the hotel when they all had to live there? As if to demonstrate the advantages, Josette offered Colette a piece of chocolate. She hesitated before taking it, feeling that by accepting, she was somehow on the first step to collaborating. The small brown square was too tempting though and she slid it into her mouth, letting it melt on her tongue. Her tastebuds sputtered into life, causing her to shiver. Never mind kissing, this was what she had missed!

‘I understand it if you are too scared to come, of course,’ Josette said kindly. ‘They have captured our city after all.’

‘I’m not scared of them.’ Colette flushed. She was though and it seemed perfectly understandable when they marched in columns with weapons. She thought of the men in the salon downstairs. They hadn’t had guns. There would most likely not be any in the cabarets either. ‘Alright, I’ll come to show them – and you – that they can’t frighten me, but I’m not going to dance with any Germans.’

‘Fine, you can sit and watch while I do,’ Sophie retorted. ‘And don’t mention it to Fleur.’

Colette wouldn’t. Quite rightly, Fleur would be horrified, and Colette didn’t think it would take much to dissuade her from going. And she really didn’t want to be dissuaded.

When it came to Saturday evening, Fleur was out anyway and Delphine barely seemed interested that Colette was going out. She waved a hand from her salon and carried on talking with Madames Brassai and Delonge. Louis had gone out to a café with friends.

It was disturbingly normal to be entering theCabaret des Papillonsagain. Despite her previous request that Sophie kept the Germans away from the places they had always gone, she was glad now to be on familiar ground. She knew where the bathrooms were in case she needed a few minutes of solitude. Knew where the exit was in case…

She wasn’t sure in case of what, but it was good to know.

The table the women usually sat at was already taken, but the three officers who accompanied Colette, Josette, and Sophie presumably pulled rank, because the other group stood smartly to attention, saluted, and vacated it.

‘See, there are advantages.’ Josette laughed.

Colette did not answer. She perched uneasily on the edge of the velvet-covered chair. Everything felt wrong about what she was doing. Her parents would be appalled to know where she was. She found herself wishing they had queried where she was going and stopped her, but of course they had been too busy with their own concerns.

Uneasily, she accepted a glass of champagne. The atmosphere was disconcertingly as gleeful as it always had been. The rhythm of the music was fast and familiar, but the lyrics sung by the ice-blonde woman on the stage were in German and Colette didn’t recognise the song. Of course it made sense that Germany would bring its own culture and entertainers but a sour taste filled her mouth. It was another sign that the occupiers had made Paris their own.

She took a small sip of champagne, half expecting it to taste sour thanks to the feeling of guilt, but it was as refreshing as always, the initial sharp bite preceding the fizzing sensation that made her feel more alert. She stared around. Couples danced. Groups laughed and drank. She could fool herself that this was just a normal evening out and these were men who played tennis, and missed their families, and hadn’t been responsible for the deaths of French citizens. They weren’t Hitler; just men following orders and doing their jobs. It made her feel a little better to believe that, as long as she didn’t think about it too hard.

Some of the clientele had subtly changed, as well as more obviously. There were women wearing bright-coloured lipstick and garish dresses that left very little to the imagination.

‘Prostitutes,’ Sophie whispered in her ear. ‘Some of them aren’t even bothering to hide it. They’re completely shameless. At least in the old days they used to be more subtle about touting for business.’

‘Would you like some more champagne?’ Kurt, the officer sitting opposite Colette extended the bottle.

‘No, thank you.’ Colette put her hand over the top of her glass before he could refill it.

‘Are you already drunk?’ Sophie whispered.

‘If we accept this, then how does that make us different from them?’ Colette nodded in the direction of the women parading round the room who would be earning their fee on their backs later.

‘You don’t have to make love with Kurt. Unless you want to, of course.’ Sophie raised her eyebrows, an unpleasant smirk on her face.

Colette bit her lip. ‘It just feels wrong to be accepting something from them. Is Victorine here tonight? What would she say?’

‘The Nazis would not approve of us dancing together.’ Sophie’s eyes dropped and for a moment Colette caught a glimpse of real distress. ‘I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her for weeks.’

‘Sophie, I’m sorry.’ Colette’s heart swelled with pity. She put a hand on Sophie’s arm.

Sophie shook it off and her ruby mouth trembled a little.

‘Please, just come and dance with us, Colette, and forget about your conscience. I just want things to be as normal as possible. This is the only place I can pretend it is.’

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