Page 45 of Daughters of Paris

Colette perched on the end of the bed. ‘No. At the hotel.’

Fleur listened in astonishment to Colette’s tale of a staged fight outside the hotel and the audience it gathered.

‘That’s ingenious. I told you Sébastien was clever.’

‘You told me he was dull.’ There was an accusing edge to her voice.

‘No, I didn’t. I told you Sébastien was serious and politically minded and that you would find him dull.’

‘Well I didn’t,’ Colette said. ‘He was very quick thinking. I would like to see him again so I can thank him, even though I don’t think he will care.’

‘Why do you think he won’t care?’ Fleur asked, leaning forward.

‘He didn’t like me. He called me a spoiled little rich girl last night, but he doesn’t even know me.’ She gave Fleur a suspicious look. ‘What have you said to him about me?’

The question caused Fleur’s neck to heat. She tried to recall anything that might have led to the judgement, but she had always defended the Nadons against any criticism. She felt slightly stupid now she knew what Colette had been doing for months.

‘Maybe he just drew his own conclusions when you told him where you had been.’

Colette gasped. ‘That’s unkind.’

‘Probably. Sorry, but I’m still furious at you going to the clubs and not telling me.’ Fleur picked at a loose thread on her sweater. ‘Why does it matter what he thinks of you in any case?’

‘I don’t know.’ Colette’s cheeks flushed. She gazed at the ceiling and drummed her fingers on her knee.

Fleur had a distinct sense she was missing something and an uneasy shiver ran over her scalp. Sébastien was unlike the men she had seen Colette flirting with, but her experience had been a lot more intense than Fleur’s had. Scary, no doubt, but also exciting to be riding off on Sébastien’s motorbike and staging an argument. She was obviously not immune to his appeal.

‘Was there anything else?’

Colette returned from wherever she had been and shook her head. She got up and walked around the room in her stockinged feet. Fleur curbed her impatience. Colette would talk, but not if pushed.

‘Don’t be angry at me. It’s quite useful to be going to the cabarets,’ she said.

It wasn’t what Fleur had been expecting, but they obviously needed to talk about it at some point so why not now. ‘I’m angrier you didn’t tell me. Why is it useful?’

‘Often the men I meet are on leave from other parts of France. Hitler promised that every German will see the city at least once.’

‘That’s all we are now: a tourist destination for the Nazis.’ Fleur curled her lip, tasting acid in her throat but her wrath was mostly directed at the Germans, not Colette. ‘How is it an advantage to go spend time among them?’

‘Because by talking to the men I get to hear what is happening elsewhere in the country. When they’ve had a few glasses of champagne they are always happy to talk.’

‘That sounds like a very convenient justification for enjoying yourself,’ Fleur scoffed.

Colette’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Actually, it’s horrible to hear how far the army has spread and how well Hitler’s campaigns are doing. But I’d rather know than not.’

Fleur walked to the window and stared out. ‘Why do you think they are telling the truth? Or even that they are told it themselves? Pierre says we shouldn’t believe half of what gets printed in the newspapers or broadcast on the radio. It’s all propaganda. What they tell you will be the same.’

‘It might be propaganda but if it is what the army is being told then at least I’m hearing different propaganda,’ Colette said, scowling.

Fleur blinked. Colette had actually made a good point, but Fleur was feeling too injured to acknowledge it.

‘Unless you plan to do something with the information, it’s not actually helpful and it sounds like an excuse.’

It struck her that Sébastien and Pierre would love to hear what the Germans thought was happening, but that would mean introducing Colette to them properly, and explaining to Colette what she was involved in. Neither were things she was prepared to consider.

‘I don’t want to end up like her,’ Colette said after a while.

‘Like who?’

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