Page 53 of Daughters of Paris

‘You might struggle to collect what you’re owed in some of these cases,’ Sébastien said quietly.

She wrinkled her nose and he pointed.

‘Read the names again.’

Colette skimmed the column and let out a low sigh.

‘Yes, I see what you mean.’

At least a quarter of the surnames were Jewish. The owners might not even be in Paris any longer.

Sébastien’s expression was bleak. ‘I knew some of these people. They lived in the area and one or two of them used to come drink in the café, but they’re gone now. A couple of them were artists who went to fight and never came back.’

Colette felt a numbness creeping up her legs. The ledger had stopped being an account book and had become a list of the dead and missing. She closed it and laid her hand on top, as if that could keep the information from seeping out.

‘I wish I had never started looking. I don’t want to think about what has happened to everyone in the book.’

‘Yes, it’s upsetting to think of it,’ Sébastien said. He sucked his teeth. ‘Shall we change the subject? Have you been dancing recently?’

He sounded so condescending Colette spun round to face him, anger sputtering in her belly.

‘I’m not a child. I don’t need shielding from reality. And no, I haven’t been dancing for weeks!’

Sébastien’s eyes were hard. ‘But you don’t want to think about the truth you’re faced with?’

‘What can thinking about it do?’ She dropped her head.

Sébastien touched her cheek. She looked up and saw his expression was kindlier.

‘Even the bravest of us feels despair at what is happening. We can’t hide from it though.’

Colette thought back to the leaflet she had found. Fleur had been right; doing anything, no matter how small, seemed important.

‘I wonder where Monsieur Ramper is,’ she said.

Sébastien took his hand from her arm and shoved it into his pocket. ‘Who knows. Safe, I hope.’

His manner had changed abruptly. Colette barely knew him but got the distinct sense he was hiding something.

‘Do you know where he is?’

He jerked his head up sharply. ‘No, I don’t. And it is best not to ask that sort of question. The people who are involved are risking a lot.’

‘People involved?’ Colette bit her lip. Were there really people who could help someone disappear? ‘I just assumed Monsieur Ramper had left on a train or in a car.’

‘Yes, Colette. Men with Jewish heritage carrying suitcases are known for being able to drive straight through checkpoints,’ Sébastien said dryly.

‘Will you stop being so unpleasant?’ Colette snapped. ‘I’m sorry I don’t know everything there is to know. I’m sorry I’m not Fleur!’

‘I’m not.’ He ran his hand up her arm and she shivered. He stepped closer. ‘Not sorry that you aren’t Fleur, I mean.’

The fabric of her blouse was thin enough that she could feel each fingertip individually and it sent her skin fluttering. She was convinced Sébastien did know something and the logical voice in the back of her head told her she was being distracted, but when his fingertips were slowly but firmly spreading out over the sleeve it was hard to remain focused on intrigue. She parted her lips then closed them. She was being played as surely as if she was a piano.

‘You don’t have to do that. I won’t say anything about what you told me,’ she murmured.

Sébastien lowered his hand and coughed. ‘I should go. Please tell Fleur to drop into the café before she goes home. I want to ask her something.’

‘I’ll tell her.’

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