Page 57 of Daughters of Paris

By rights she should go without bread too but the smell of omelette made her mouth water and she couldn’t be that unselfish. She hoped Fleur wouldn’t notice the loaf was smaller than it should be.

‘We’re going hungry because the Germans have rationed our food and taken almost everything to feed their troops. One less egg isn’t going to make much difference, and you need some food.’

Colette’s eyes prickled. Really, she seemed to be ready to burst into tears at the slightest opportunity today. She did a quick calculation and, yes, her monthly visitor was about to arrive. That would explain why she was so tearful over the smallest things.

‘Thank you. That’s very generous. And thoughtful.’ In Fleur’s place she would have divided the omelette three ways as planned without even thinking about it. She needed to think more.

‘Sébastien and Pierre say Karl Marx was one German who spoke sense. And talking of Sébastien…’

Fleur walked to her bag that was hanging behind the door and returned with a small bottle containing a deep red liquid. She held it out to Colette with narrowed eyes.

‘He said to give you this to celebrate your first day as a productive member of society, and to tell you it isn’t poisonedorwatered down. He said you would understand the joke.’

Colette laughed as she looked at what Sébastien had sent her. Red wine. She’d been given much more expensive gifts, but this was the nicest one she had received for a long time.

Fleur began to wipe the countertop down with brisk strokes, sweeping up crumbs as if she had a vendetta against them. She gave Colette a sideways look. ‘I didn’t realise the two of you had been chatting for long.’

‘It wasn’t a chat as much as a lecture on how I’m naïve and spoiled,’ Colette said, wrinkling her nose.

Fleur nodded and gave a slight smile. ‘I’ll carry the omelette. You bring the plates.’

After dinner, Colette shared the wine with Fleur while they washed up. She rinsed the bottle and put it on her dressing table beside her bottles of scent and pots of make-up, straightening it with a dreamy smile.

The conversation she’d had with Sébastien hadn’t just been full of criticism. It had been fun and flirtatious. It had made her realise how much she missed talking to men since she had stopped visiting the clubs with the Lucienne sisters.

She was slightly hurt that Fleur hadn’t contradicted what she had said Sébastien’s judgement of her had been.

When Sophie telephoned her the following day and invited her to a birthday party, she didn’t immediately refuse. She missed the sisters too and their easy-going, uncomplicated manner. They were nice friends to have and it felt like she would never be serious enough for Fleur and Sébastien’s approval.

She could at least pay a visit to the hotel, even if she did not go dancing again. She had told Fleur that learning about what was going on was useful but it hadn’t been really. Now she knew someone who might be interested in what she said. Being able to drop the names of important places or people into conversation would show Sébastien she was not as frivolous as he believed her to be.

Her eyes were open to how dreadful the world could be. She was different now.

Chapter Sixteen

Colette had been behaving oddly all night. Distracted enough to drop an egg. So overly grateful that Fleur still shared the omelette with her. And to have decided that she wanted to be more useful…

Could it possibly be Sébastien’s influence? Fleur had watched Colette’s face transform when she received the wine from Sébastien. She had blushed, her expression a mixture of delight and coyness. Fleur burned to know what had happened between them while she had been upstairs. Colette seemed far too happy if she had been called naïve and spoiled. What else had she missed?

Actually, Fleur mused as she sat at her dressing table, she was glad she had the gift to bring because it meant Colette had not asked what had happened when Fleur visited Sébastien. She closed her eyes as she brushed her hair, trying to conjure as much of the conversation as she could remember.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Sébastien had said. ‘That apartment above the bookshop isn’t used for anything, is it? Could we perhaps meet there sometimes instead of at the café? Being on a smaller street, the entrance is a little more discreet.’

She’d been so eager to help. ‘Of course. I’ll give you a key. That way you can use it even if I’m not there.’

‘That’s good. I think Pierre has a few ideas about changing the content of what we write and a bookshop would be a more natural place to find printing materials than the cellar of a bar.’

‘What changes is he wanting to make?’ Fleur had asked with interest. Sébastien claimed not to know and she was eager to find out.

Colette’s reaction to the pamphlet she had come across had stung Fleur. It may only be a small thing they did, but it meant something to Fleur to be doing anything. What was Colette doing after all? Making omelettes was hardly going to change the course of the war. She had even announced that she would stop wearing the attention-commanding hats that she and Delphine had so proudly created. Fleur drummed her fingernails on the dressing table, a sudden burst of irritation at Colette catching her unawares. Yes, the reason was fair, and the damage done to the morale of French women outweighed the insult to the Germans, but it felt as if Colette was becoming more reconciled to life as it now was and was burying her head in the sand. She probably wasn’t even aware of half the dreadful things that were happening. If that was what being hard involved, Fleur would prefer to remain soft.

She arranged with Sébastien and Pierre to meet them after the shop closed on the following Saturday afternoon. She was slightly apprehensive in case Colette decided to spend the day at the shop but needn’t have worried.

‘Please don’t judge me but Sophie invited me to the hotel for dinner tonight. It’s her birthday so I couldn’t refuse.’ She gave Fleur a guilty look. ‘We might go dancing for an hour or two afterwards.’

‘It isn’t for me to judge,’ Fleur said curtly. ‘You do what you feel is right.’

Colette looked pained and Fleur felt a flicker of remorse. Only a flicker, mind, because Colette brightened almost immediately. ‘I imagine there will be cake. Would you like me to bring you a slice?’

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