Page 40 of Daughters of Paris

‘Sébastien,’ she said eventually. ‘We need to find a telephone quickly. Come on. I know where we can go.’

Colette hesitated. ‘But we can’t leave him here.’

Fleur looked both ways down the road. ‘We can’t take him with us! It’s nearly deserted. If we are quick, it won’t matter if we leave him for a few moments.’

She took Colette’s hand and led her back the way they had come. Halfway to the Metro station they turned into a quiet street off the boulevard and stopped beneath an arched doorway. Fleur knocked quietly but repeatedly on the door of a concierge’sloge. It was opened by an old woman dressed in black. She blinked at the visitors.

‘Fleur Bonnivard?’

‘Did I wake you, Madame Farrier? I’m sorry.’

‘No, no. I was just resting my eyes a moment. Is something wrong?’

Fleur pulled a contrite face. ‘Not very. May I use your telephone please? I left my favourite scarf at the Café Morlaix and only realised when I got off the Metro, but I won’t make it home in time to telephone from there.’

Colette bit the inside of her lip. It was startling to see Fleur lying in such a cool manner.

‘Young people are so careless! Can’t it wait?’ Madame Farrier grumbled. She pulled her cardigan around herself.

‘I won’t get the chance to go back until next week and I would hate for someone else to claim it. It’s one Colette gave me and is made by Hermès.’

‘Very well, come in. If only to keep out the cold air.’ Madame Farrier stepped back, admitting them into a cluttered room.

‘You still have that scarf?’ Colette whispered. She remembered the scarf and the night she had gifted it. The party where she had first made love with Gunther.

‘It is far too nice to throw out, and of course; it was a gift from my friend.’

Colette had never been inside thelogeat her apartment block and was astonished by the cramped room. It was an office, bedroom, living room, and kitchen in one. The telephone was mounted on the wall beside the door above a table with notepads and pens so the concierge could take down messages for the apartment residents.

‘Distract her while I make my call,’ Fleur whispered to Colette.

Colette’s eyes fell on a photograph in a plain frame. It was Madame Farrier at least thirty years younger, holding the arm of a handsome man and dressed as a bride.

‘Is this your wedding day? You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’ Madame Farrier’s face cracked into a smile and Colette briefly saw the younger woman buried inside the older one.

‘Your husband was very handsome.’

The smile grew a little fainter. ‘He was. He died at Givenchy. We were married only seven months.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Colette whispered.

Madame Farrier shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago. He would have been appalled to see France now. You are the Nadon girl, aren’t you? Agnes Bonnivard spoke of you occasionally.’

‘You knew her?’

‘Many of the concierges and housekeepers know each other. I was sorry to hear she died. How is Fleur taking it?’

They both glanced at Fleur who was talking quietly into the phone. Colette couldn’t answer and shame fluttered inside her breast. She should have asked how Fleur was long before now, but somehow, she never had. She resolved to do so, assuming they had not been arrested by morning.

Fleur ended the call and put a couple of coins into a bowl beside the pot of pencils.

‘Sébastien will keep the scarf and label it as mine so no one else tries to claim it. Thank you, Madame Farrier.’

They bade the old woman good night and left.

When they were halfway across the wide road Fleur murmured, ‘Sébastien is coming. He has a motorbike but may be half an hour. Let’s walk up and down to keep warm.’

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