Page 68 of Daughters of Paris

‘Do you think he’s attracted to me?’

‘Colette, it’s safe to say that most men who meet you are.’

‘But do you think he likes me?’

‘I don’t know enough about men to comment on that.’ Fleur looked Colette directly in the eye. ‘Perhaps you should spend some time considering why his being angry upset you so much.’

‘I don’t love him, if that’s what you mean.’ Colette blinked. Where had that word slipped out from?

‘Of course not. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want him to be in love with you.’ Fleur stalked into the bedroom and returned with her cardigan and hat. ‘It makes me very relieved that I’m not in love with anyone myself. You are circling around each other like a pair of mating cats.’

She sounded so self-righteous. Colette grabbed her bag and stabbed her straw hat into place with a pin. ‘I hope you meet someone very soon and fall over yourself with adoration. It would serve you right.’

Fleur turned on her heel. Her footsteps pounded in Colette’s ears from down the stairwell.

Irrespective of whether Sébastien was attracted to Colette, approved of their hiding Michal, or otherwise, he came up good. Two weeks after they had met, a knock on Colette’s door woke her. It was Sunday morning and Colette’s parents had long since given up demanding she join them at church so she wasn’t sure why anyone was interrupting her sleep. She sat up blearily and raked her fingers through her hair.

‘Come in.’

Fleur entered. ‘I thought you’d be awake by now. It’s half past ten.’

‘I went out dancing with Sophie and Josette. What’s that?’

She gestured to an envelope in Fleur’s hand, ignoring the twinge of disapproval in Fleur’s lips.

Fleur passed it over. ‘It was left this morning.’

Colette didn’t recognise the writing. She opened it curiously and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Dear Colette, I would be honoured if you and Fleur would join me for a picnic in the Jardin des Tuileries on Sunday afternoon. I will be waiting by the Grand Bassin Rond at 2.45. We could resume our conversation about vacations we might wish to take once this war is ended. I have grand plans for a journey I am keen to tell you about. My cousin Francine sends her regards. With deep affection, Sébastien.

‘Does that mean what I think it does?’ Colette asked.

‘I think it means he has found someone who can help Michal,’ Fleur confirmed.

They exchanged a smile.

TheJardin des Tuilerieswas a popular spot for French and Germans alike to enjoy the weekend. TheGrand Bassin Rondwas a large pond on which children sailed boats while their parents basked in deck chairs around the edge. Groups of Germans, French, and in some cases both, strolled along the gravel paths or lounged on the grass. Colette eyed them with contempt. She might dance with the men in clubs but she would never actually entertain a relationship with one. French women who held hands or cuddled up to the enemy were worse than whores and French men who escorted the drab, blonde German women were unfathomable.

Sébastien was waiting beside a statue of a naked Roman lunging with a sword. The contrast between the sculpted abdominals of the marble and the slightly weedy bespectacled human waiting for her was quite amusing. He tipped his hat in greeting. There were no cheek kisses this time and Colette wondered whether Fleur would have got one if Colette hadn’t been present.

‘Tell me,’ Fleur began but Sébastien held his hand up.

‘First let’s have something to drink.’

He led them to an isolated spot beneath a magnolia tree that he had claimed with a picnic blanket and a basket. It was a little way from the main pathway that ran the length of the gardens.

‘White wine seems appropriate for a warm afternoon.’

He produced a half litre bottle and three glasses from the basket. He had also brought a quarter wheel of ripe camembert and half a baguette that he had cut into rounds. Fleur produced a jar of the odd courgette pickle that had been in the cupboard for years. They sprawled on the blanket as they ate, looking like any other group enjoying the sunshine. The bread was stale but the pickle was sharp and the cheese oozed delightfully across the surface when it was spread, compensating for the dryness. Altogether it was a successful meal.

That was nothing compared with when he produced a small bar of Cote d’Or chocolate.

‘No!’

‘How did you get this?’

The women cried out in delight at the sight of the elephant proudly lifting its trunk on the wrapper, causing a couple walking past to stop and laugh at their reaction before carrying on.

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