Page 5 of Daughters of Paris

‘I have a new book,’ Fleur answered. Luckily this was true and she picked it off the sideboard where she had put it.

Colette screwed up her lips and looked sad. ‘This should have been my party butMèreandPapahave invited so many people I don’t know half of them. I want a friend to talk to. I think they hope I will find a rich husband with connections in society. Perhaps you can find one too.’

‘I don’t want one,’ Fleur said.

It wasn’t quite true. Whenever the hero and heroine in a film kissed, she experienced a pang of envy as well as a quivering sensation inside herself, but she couldn’t imagine meeting anyone who would interest her among the second or third tier of Paris society that Delphine and Louis moved in. If they were not as high in society as they hoped to be, Fleur was far lower.

‘Then just dance and flirt for an hour. It’s great fun.Papahas put lights all down the garden path as far as the fountain, but it won’t be too bright there.’

‘It will still be bright enough to show that my skirt is two years old and I am wearing the same blouse I wore last year,’ Fleur pointed out.

Colette looked her up and down then tutted. ‘Come with me.’

She took Fleur’s hand and pulled her into the bedroom. It was a tastefully decorated room with cream walls and Egyptian motif leaves picked out in turquoise. The carpet matched but was rarely seen thanks to Colette’s habit of turning everything out until she located what she had lost. She gestured around at the clothing and accessories, which lay on every surface.

‘You can borrow anything of mine. Not dresses though, they would hang off you like sacks – you’re so lucky to be slender and not to have filled out at all since you were fifteen – but necklaces or shawls … anything else will be fine.’

Fleur looked down at herself and then at Colette. She knew the offer was kindly meant and the insult was unintentional. Colette was wearing a pale pink silk dress with a halter-neckline. It was tight to emphasise the curve of her waist below full breasts. It would indeed sag around Fleur’s barely existent bust, and probably trail on the floor for good measure.

‘I don’t know any of the people here,’ Fleur said, trying one last refusal.

‘You never will if you don’t talk to them. Now, you’re coming with me for at least half an hour,’ Colette said firmly. She picked a silk square from a box and unfurled it. ‘You can wear this. It’s a scarf for women! Isn’t that strange? But Hermès have just produced it so it must be fashionable.’

She wound it around Fleur’s neck. The light fabric was cool and felt wonderfully elegant. It was nicer than anything Fleur owned. The bright printed pattern of red and blue omnibuses made even the old cream blouse she wore seem fresh and interesting.

‘You are so good at choosing clothes,’ Fleur murmured.

‘Then you have to show it off,’ Colette said, her eyes dancing. ‘In fact, consider it a gift from me.’

‘I couldn’t. It must have been expensive,’ Fleur said doubtfully.

Colette tossed her head. ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’d like you to have it.’

How nice it must be to have enough money to disregard the cost of something so easily, Fleur mused. Colette’s expression was so hopeful Fleur was persuaded she meant it.

‘In that case, thank you. I love it.’

Colette adjusted the folds around Fleur’s throat, her face alight with pleasure, and Fleur followed Colette to the terrace, her book still in her hand. They walked side by side through the guests, Colette murmuring titbits of gossip into Fleur’s ear that made her giggle. Colette pulled her towards a black-haired young man standing on the edge of the terrace watching the couples dancing.

‘This is Serge. Have fun.’

She gave Fleur a discreet wink and walked away. Fleur’s stomach plummeted. She had been set up.

Serge plucked the book from Fleur’s fingers and tossed it casually onto a table littered with champagne coupes and half-full bottles.

‘I don’t want you to read to me,’ he purred. He poured two glasses of champagne and encouraged Fleur to drink. The fizziness made her nose itch and sent shivers down her spine, but it was delicious. As soon as her glass was empty, he took it away and whisked her into the steps of a foxtrot, holding her close to his body and singing along with the words to the song. His breath smelled unpleasantly of cigarettes and she held her head rigidly away. He didn’t seem to notice and continued to move her around. They passed Colette, who was dancing with a tall, handsome man with extremely blonde hair and startling blue eyes. He was at least ten years older than the girls. His hands were on Colette’s lower back and hers were about his neck. From the expression in Colette’s eyes, she was enjoying every minute. At least Serge kept his hands in a more appropriate place.

‘This is Gunther. He’s from Trier but wants to be an actor. Isn’t he wonderful?’ Colette whispered as they drew close.

Fleur smiled politely, though a flicker of worry made her belly twitch. The Rhineland was something she’d seen mentioned in the newspapers. The German chancellor had marched his troops into the territory two months earlier, causing much consternation, but fortunately it had not led to war. She wondered if Gunther had left Trier before or after that had happened and what he thought of it.

As soon as the music ended Gunther whispered something in Colette’s ear and she grinned, her eyes widening. She giggled, then the couple sauntered, hand in hand, down the garden path and into the shadows beyond the fountain. Fleur narrowed her eyes as a stab of possessiveness took her by surprise. It seemed Gunther was about to be introduced to the Secret Garden.

Fleur danced a second dance with a man who told her he was often mistaken for Gilbert Gil the actor. When she burst out laughing, he pouted and expressed surprise that the daughter of the Nadons’ employee had been invited to the party. He then dropped her hand and adjusted his sleeves, flashing pearl cufflinks, before walking away. Colette and Gunther were nowhere in sight so Fleur retreated to her bedroom and her books.

She didn’t see Colette again until the following lunchtime.

‘You were rude to Maurice,’ Colette said with a frown, bursting into the kitchen where Fleur was sitting at the table struggling with Maths exercises. ‘He was very upset that you didn’t agree with him about his looks. He has worked very hard to get his hair to look like Gil’s.’

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