Page 91 of Daughters of Paris

Fleur closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of an unfamiliar room. It was by far the least comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, but at least it was a bed. She leaned over and looked at Laurent. The window shutters were ill-fitting and let moonlight in. His eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling, his arms crossed over his chest. The floor looked very uncomfortable.

‘Laurent?’

‘Hmm?’

‘The bed is quite big. If you want to, you can sleep in it with me. Just to sleep.’

He cocked his head at her.

‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘It’s very cold.’

He didn’t need inviting a second time. Fleur moved over and he climbed in beside her. The springs creaked and sagged, and they found themselves rolling face to face. They grinned at each other.

‘It isn’t much better than the floor,’ Fleur said apologetically.

‘Oh, it is.’

Their eyes met. The air grew heavy around them. For one dizzying moment Fleur thought – hoped –ached– that Laurent would kiss her, but he only reached his hand up between them and pushed the hair back from her forehead. He sighed heavily.

‘I think it would be very easy for me to fall for you but there are too many reasons why it would be unfair to both of us.’

A cold weight settled in her chest where warm tendrils had been spreading.

‘Are you already married?’ she asked.

‘No. I don’t have a wife hidden in the workshop attic, if that is what you are thinking.’

Fleur couldn’t help but smile. ‘Jane Eyre. You know the book?’

‘Of course.’

‘It is my favourite. I don’t know many people who have read it,’ she admitted. She leaned on one elbow and looked down at him. ‘Knowing you have heard of it and can make a reference to it makes it even harder to resist you.’

‘Then it’s just as well I have enough self-control for both of us.’

She regarded him seriously. ‘You are very strange, Laurent. I don’t understand you.’

‘It’s probably best you don’t try. At least for the time being. Perhaps when the war is done it will be possible we have the opportunity.’

He patted the pillow. She put her head beside his. Now she was lying down, Fleur realised how physically exhausted she was. She yawned and rolled onto her side so her back nestled against Laurent’s warm side. The frozen core of her body began to thaw. As she drifted off to sleep, she felt his arm falling across her torso as he rolled over and drew her close. He smelled of earth, wine, and brandy. It was delicious.

‘Tell me something about yourself,’ Laurent whispered.

‘What do you want to know?’ she asked, turning to face him.

She could make out his smile in the darkness. ‘Anything you want to tell me. Tell me what you would eat if you could eat anything. Tell me what you plan to do when the war ends. Tell me whyJane Eyreis your favourite book.’

She closed her eyes. ‘I would eat chocolate ice cream with marron glacé sauce and Turkish Delight.’

‘A sweet tooth,’ he remarked.

‘Not always but sometimes. If you asked me in a week or so I might say rillettes and cornichons.’

‘That’s one question answered. Now, whyJane Eyre? When I admitted I knew it you seemed very pleased.’

Fleur pursed her lips. It was true she adored the book but had never told anyone why. In the dark and to Laurent she found herself willing.

‘Promise you won’t laugh at me?’

---