Page 54 of Daughters of Paris

He walked to the door and gave her a nod.

‘Is it true you have two barrels of wine, one for the French and one for the Germans?’ Colette called after him.

He laughed. ‘I couldn’t possibly confirm or deny such a thing. I will say that the Germans don’t appreciate a goodvin rougewhen they get one, so I don’t waste the best vintage on them.’

‘You should poison their drinks,’ Colette suggested.

Sébastien blinked. ‘I can’t tell if you are joking or not, but tempting though that is, I don’t think so. It isn’t an efficient way of freeing France and I’m not prepared to go to the guillotine for a handful of deaths.’

‘If I can think of a more efficient way, I will let you know,’ Colette said, grinning to show she was joking.

Sébastien walked back and took her hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. ‘Good morning, Colette. I have enjoyed our conversation and I hope we will see each other again another day.’

He left the shop and Colette leaned back against the desk. What a strange experience that had been. She wasn’t sure if she had enjoyed being mocked and judged. She wiggled her fingers. The back of her hand felt warm, as the sensation of Sébastien’s lips lingered long after it made any sense for it to do so. She lifted her hand to her mouth and pressed her lips over the spot he had kissed.

‘Was that a customer?’ Fleur walked back from behind the curtain with laden arms.

‘No. It was Sébastien. He wants you to call in and see him before you go home.’

Fleur paused, then dropped the stack of books onto the table. ‘You should have called me.’

‘I don’t know why I didn’t.’ Colette smoothed her sleeve and gave Fleur a smile.

‘Don’t you?’

Fleur’s eyes flickered over Colette and it occurred to Colette, far too belatedly, that she had never got a straight answer from Fleur about her relationship with Sébastien. She had a horrible feeling she might have done something wrong.

Then again, Sébastien had said he was glad she wasn’t Fleur. It was too confusing.

‘He did point out something that is bad news, I’m afraid. Look at this.’

With relief, she turned Fleur’s attention to the ledger. She wasn’t in the mood for sharing her private thoughts. She wanted to figure out why she found Sébastien so diverting and she wanted to do it alone.

He was passionate about the world and Colette wondered if that passion extended to the bedroom too. Despite his glasses, he was handsome. He had been good at kissing after all, and when he touched her, it made her skin burn with excitement.

How lucky he obviously wasn’t rich because otherwise she might be in danger of actually becoming attracted to him.

Chapter Fifteen

Colette walked home with a spring in her step, not having felt so happy or useful for a long time. She had succeeded in making some sense of Monsieur Ramper’s filing system and had tallied one box of receipts with the ledger and a list of stock.

Fleur had recognised a name that appeared three times and who still lived only a few streets away. She intended to go pay a visit to ask for the payment before she went to meet Sébastien in the café.

Colette did her best to ignore the flashes of jealousy that reared up as the two women had parted. Sébastien did know something about helping people hide. The way he had practically started to seduce her to change the subject had her convinced. She wondered if Fleur suspected too, or even knew for definite. She had called on Sébastien to help with the soldier after all. Lucky Fleur to have a man in her life who was so dependable and trustworthy she could risk involving him in covering up a murder. Colette could not think of a single man she had known who she could have turned to.

Colette slowed her pace. Sébastien. She needed to think about the odd effect he had on her before she encountered him again because there was an intensity to him that grabbed her attention and wouldn’t let go.

He had been rude and dismissive of her on two occasions now, and she had come close to losing her temper with him but he hadn’t seemed to mind. If anything, he had seemed to enjoy the result of provoking her, and when she had managed to win a point herself, she had felt triumphant. She was glad she had been working when Sébastien arrived. He was forced to admit that she was not just the useless socialite he had decided she was. Yes, they had argued, and she had ended up feeling naïve, but she didn’t feel she had lost entirely.

The afternoon was warm with an intermittent breeze that seemed to arrive just as the air was getting too stifling yet left before it could make her chilly. This was her favourite time of year to be in the city, before summer descended and made the crowded boulevards too hot to tolerate. How lovely it would be to sit on a terrace surrounded by trees with a cool glass of sirop and nothing to worry about. In the distance, the white domes of the Sacre Coeur rose above the city on the hilltop of Montmartre and seeing it chipped away at the peace she had been feeling.

She had only been dancing once since the night of the German’s death. He had not been anything distinctive, but for one horrible evening she saw echoes of him on the faces of too many of the blonde, bland young men she danced with. Anyone of them could have behaved the way he had. Sophie had at first cajoled then outright sulked when she declined further invitations but she had remained firm.

‘I feel too sad over what happened with Sébastien to spend time dancing,’ she had said eventually, forcing out a couple of tears.

Sophie and Josette had accepted that as an excuse and grudgingly agreed to meet Colette for afternoon coffees instead, but it had led to a coolness between them. She missed the sisters and she missed the dancing but being able to say to Fleur and Sébastien that she had not been with a clear conscience had now made it worthwhile.

She crossed the Seine at the Pont de Passy and took a turn down an alley. The road twisted back below the level of the bridge, down to where a slipway led into the water beneath the arches and a small boat was tied. She hesitated at the sight of several vagrants huddled under an archway, sunning themselves. They were a shabby bunch dressed in ragged clothing. She turned to go back in the opposite direction. Stupid, she thought, to put herself in a vulnerable position, but the men barely lifted their heads to notice her. She turned sharply down the road to the right hoping to find her way back to the way she recognised and once out of their sight she quickened her pace. She thought she heard footsteps behind her but wasn’t sure. Her stomach clenched and she felt a rush of anger. Wasn’t it bad enough having to live in fear of the Gestapo, without also having to worry about being accosted by vagabonds? She wished she still had the gas mask case with the buckle that had been so effective previously but after what she had used it for, she couldn’t bear to see it and had replaced it with another, less dangerous one.

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