Daughters of Paris Read online

  She stroked Fleur’s hair and Fleur leaned in towards the comfort. She had only vague memories of being cherished by her mother, who had died when Fleur was three, and Agnes was not the most affectionate of women but her love at times like this felt as solid as a blanket.

  ‘You will not have to work as nurse or become a housekeeper like I did. You are a clever girl, little one. You could become a secretary.’

  ‘I would like to work in a bookshop,’ Fleur said shyly. She hadn’t ever admitted this to anyone besides Colette but this moment of peace and affection between her and her aunt emboldened her.

  ‘I didn’t realise. Your father wanted to be a writer,’ Tante Agnes said with a smile. ‘I think if my brother is looking down from Heaven, he would like that for you too.’

  Fleur smiled back. According to Tante Agnes, people in Heaven were so busy singing praises to God and Mary and Jesus all day and night that she doubted her father would have the time spare to notice what Fleur was doing. It sounded like very hard work being there.

  ‘Or perhaps I could work in a library. Maybe I could even attend the university one day.’

  Tante Agnes frowned. ‘I don’t think we will have the money for that. But if you turn your mind to behaving well and charm Madame and Monsieur Nadon, who knows. They may be kind enough to let you join in Colette’s lessons a little longer.’

  Fleur frowned. ‘I hate that everything I do must depend on whether Madame will be charitable. I’m much better at my lessons than Colette is.’

  ‘I know, mon trésor. But that is how the world is. Now, will you come and help me fold the laundry?’

  As Fleur followed her aunt outside she kept the thought to herself that the world wasn’t fair. Something needed to change, and hopefully within her lifetime it would.

  Colette and Fleur did not manage to speak again until the evening. One of Fleur’s chores was to close all the windows and water the vases of flowers when the air had cooled. As she passed by Colette’s bedroom the door opened and Colette gave a low whistle. Fleur glanced around and seeing that the corridor was empty she slipped inside.

  ‘I have something for you. To say sorry for you getting into trouble.’ Colette opened her hand to reveal a scallop shell. On the smooth underside she had painted two letter ‘S’ side by side.

  ‘For Sœurs Secrètes. Secret Sisters. This can be our special sign.’

  Fleur grinned. ‘I like it. SS. That will never mean anything to anyone but us. We should paint it on the wall and door in the Secret Garden. After our lessons tomorrow why don’t you try to take some paint from the box?’

  Colette’s face dropped. The thought of lessons reminded her of the conversation with her mother. ‘Mère talked about sending me to a school somewhere. I told her I don’t want to go. I think she was persuaded not to, at least for a few more years.’

  This did not elicit the response she expected.

  ‘You’re lucky. I’d love to go in your place,’ Fleur answered.

  Colette hugged her. ‘You are so strange like that, but I don’t care. You’re my friend and nothing is ever going to change that.’

  Chapter Two

  Despite their best efforts, Colette and Fleur’s paths diverged. When Edith returned to England, they were enrolled in different schools and Delphine made good on her promise of introducing Colette into society. No amount of pleading on Colette’s part secured an invitation for Fleur when young ladies in a festival of coloured skirts and blouses, and handsome boys in well-cut suits, called to spend time in Madame Nadon’s salon.

  Each time there was a party, Colette devotedly saved Fleur some of the patisseries and fresh orange juice and they shared them in the garden or Colette’s bedroom. Colette reported everything that happened at the parties, until Fleur burst into tears one evening and asked her to stop.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Colette put down the macaron she was eating and stared at Fleur in distress.

  Fleur swallowed a sniff. She looked down at her plain, green serge dress, then stroked the edge of Colette’s fringed chiffon skirt.

  ‘I love you for saving me the cakes, but I don’t want to hear any more. I haven’t seen the films you have, and I don’t know the dances. I’m not part of that world and I’ll never be part of it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Colette flushed with embarrassment. Of course it must hurt Fleur to hear about everything she was excluded from. ‘I thought you wanted to know what I was doing. I’ll stop being so thoughtless. I’m sorry.’

  Fleur hugged her. ‘Don’t be sorry. I love you for trying to include me. Whatever happens, I’ll always appreciate how you tried. We’ll meet in the Secret Garden when we can.’

  Colette obeyed Fleur’s wishes until a warm May evening in 1938 when a party was being held on the terrace at the back of the house.

  This was hard for Fleur to stomach. Delphine’s afternoon gatherings in the salon were private, and Fleur could ignore them, but the whole garden was in use, and she couldn’t pretend nothing was happening. Through the open window, Fleur could hear voices raised in laughter and conversation over the gramophone music. The sweet scent of jasmine blossoms filled the air, and she would have liked to go and sit on the patio with a book, but that was out of the question tonight.

  She passed by Colette’s door with a pile of freshly ironed shirts and was surprised when it opened and Colette stepped out.

  ‘Come and dance,’ she entreated, catching Fleur by the waist.

  ‘I’m a little busy.’ Fleur held the shirts out as evidence, but Colette took them from her and put them on a stool outside her father’s bedroom.

  ‘Don’t you want to come and see what is happening?’

  ‘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 but Mère and Papa have 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. Papa has 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 fi
rmly. 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.’

  ‘Well he doesn’t look like him,’ Fleur retorted.

  Colette rolled her eyes. ‘Of course he doesn’t, but men don’t like it when you point things like that out. Gunther still thinks that Frau Riefenstahl will cast him in a movie. I’m not going to point out that she won’t because then he’d get into a mood.’

  Fleur crossed her arms. ‘You do that if it makes you happy, but I don’t want to spend my time telling men how wonderful they are. Thank you for inviting me though, I enjoyed the champagne.’

  It was the last invitation she received.

  Two weeks before Fleur’s nineteenth birthday, Tante Agnes shook her awake.

  ‘Mademoiselle Colette wants to see you in her room. Go quickly please.’

  Fleur rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. Agnes had already disappeared.

  She made her way to Colette’s bedroom to find Colette standing by the window looking out over the boulevard. As usual, the room was littered with clothes and magazines.

  ‘Tante Agnes said you wanted me,’ Fleur said hesitantly.

  Colette spun around. ‘Yes. I wanted to tell you my news. I’m going to England and staying with Edith. Isn’t it exciting!’

  ‘How wonderful for you,’ Fleur said. She bit her lip uncertainly.

  Colette’s eyes were very bright but she did not look as if it was wonderful. ‘I wish now I had paid more attention in my lessons. I will hardly be able to talk with anyone.’

  ‘Would you like me to help you pack?’ Fleur offered, glancing around the room. Colette shook her head. Her face twisted into an ugly frown.

  ‘Mère is sending her maid to pack for me. I won’t be taking much. Winter clothes, of course, but I’m sure I will get new clothes for the spring season in London. How different do you think the fashions will be?’

  She picked up a glass of water from her dressing table then sat on the chair and drank it in large gulps.

  ‘This is very sudden,’ Fleur said. ‘When did you decide to go?’

  ‘The decision was made for me,’ Colette said. She gave a bright laugh. ‘Aren’t I lucky? Mère and Papa told me last night.’

  She lit a cigarette, tugging on it defiantly. Smoking was her new affectation; a form of rebellion against her father, who said it was not an appropriate activity for women.

  ‘Does Gunther know you are going?’ Fleur asked.

  Since the party three months previously Colette had met him regularly to walk around the animal enclosures in the Jardin D’Acclimatation and ride on the carousel. Fleur had half wondered whether this morning’s summons was to announce an engagement.

  To her astonishment, Colette’s face grew thunderous, twisting into an ugly mask and Fleur thought for a moment her friend was about to scream.

  ‘Oh, yes, Gunther knows. Gunther is relieved I am going. You see, Gunther…’ She took a long, smooth drag of her cigarette then retched and made a face. She tossed the cigarette into the ashtray, her red lacquered fingers grinding the stub into oblivion.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Gunther. He is returning to Trier. I think we will not see him here again, and for God’s sake do not mention his name to my mother.’

  Fleur began to understand. The love affair must have ended badly and to save Colette’s heartbreak her parents were treating her to the extravagant trip. She squeezed Colette’s shoulder.

  ‘Of course not. I won’t say anything at all. How long will you be gone for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Colette stretched out her legs and put her hands in her lap. ‘Seven months at least, if not longer. I’ll be leaving this afternoon. I wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘So soon?’ Fleur dropped onto the chair by the door. The girls didn’t spend as much time together as they used to, but this was a shock.

  ‘Yes. Aren’t I lucky?’ Colette began to laugh again.

  ‘Don’t you want to go?’ Fleur asked. ‘I would love the opportunity to travel.’

  ‘Why
would I want to go elsewhere when Paris is full of life?’ Colette closed her eyes and sprawled back in her chair. Her face looked puffy, as if she had been crying. ‘I will go and I will make the best of it. I’m sure I will have a perfectly wonderful time.’

  ‘I shall miss you,’ Fleur said.

  Colette suddenly pushed herself from her chair and flew across the room with her arms out to embrace Fleur. ‘Thank you. I need to know that I won’t be completely forgotten.’

  Fleur noticed with dry amusement that Colette did not say she would miss Fleur, but then she looked into Colette’s eyes and saw they were gleaming bright with emotion, and she could no longer be angry or resentful. She eased into Colette’s embrace.

  ‘Plant some more strawberries for me, darling,’ Colette whispered in her ear. ‘In the Secret Garden. I’ll be back by summer when they will be ripe. We’ll eat them together.’

  ‘Of course.’ Fleur gave a small laugh. ‘Goodness me, Colette, you should be in the films being this dramatic.’

  ‘Yes I should,’ Colette said. ‘Or perhaps on stage. A showgirl doing high kicks and blowing kisses to the audience. I wonder if my parents would be proud of me then?’

  ‘I’m sure they are proud of you whatever you do,’ Fleur murmured.

  It sounded hollow. She knew Delphine especially hoped for a marriage that would help Louis’ business expand or secure them entry into the cream of Paris society, preferably both. Gunther, the hopeful actor from a part of the continent that was now under German authority, was obviously not the son-in-law they had hoped for.

  ‘I will write to you and tell you everything that happens while you’re away. Your mother will give me your address, I’m sure.’

  That afternoon, as Colette climbed into the back seat of Louis’ Traction Avant she waved to Fleur. ‘Remember to plant the strawberries and I’ll be back by the time they are ripe.’