Daughters of Paris Page 6

  She would go dancing and everything would be lovely. She had spoken the truth to Delphine: there was no particular man that she liked, and she was content to keep it that way.

  And there would be no war either.

  And then came September, and life as Colette knew it changed for ever.

  On the third day of September, Louis walked into the house at five and requested that everyone, family and staff, gather in the dining room. Michal Drucker, the concierge of the apartment block, was with him. Colette greeted him warmly. Michal had been the concierge for the entire time Colette had lived there and she hoped the rumours of ill treatment towards Jews in other countries would not extend to France. Michal was far too nice to deserve that.

  When everyone was there, Louis unfolded a copy of the Paris-Soir newspaper. He closed his eyes briefly and bowed his head then began to read aloud from the front page.

  ‘We are waging war because it has been thrust on us…’

  As he read Edouard Daladier’s declaration of war, Delphine moaned aloud and dropped her head into her hands. Colette felt Fleur’s hand slip into hers and squeeze it tightly. She gave an answering squeeze, intensely glad of the mutual gesture of comfort. Fleur was holding Agnes’ hand with her other, and even through her preoccupation with the news, Colette felt a flicker of envy at the closeness of aunt and niece. Across the room, Michal stood white-faced, gazing towards the window.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Fleur whispered. Colette was thankful someone else had found a voice as she didn’t dare to speak in case she cried.

  Louis ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp. He looked wearier than Colette could recall him ever being.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I hoped… I believed it would not come to this. I am too old to fight in this war, alas. Agnes, would you pour everyone a drink, please?’

  Agnes obliged, handing out small measures of cognac to everyone. The bottle was almost empty. Louis eyed it with a wry smile. ‘I think perhaps I had better buy another. This one won’t last much longer.’

  He raised his glass and swirled it in his hand. ‘To all of us. We go to war on the side of righteousness. France will never be enslaved. Vive la France.’

  Everyone repeated his words as if they were echoing a benediction from a priest, then drank. Fleur gathered the glasses and handed them to her aunt. Delphine walked out of the room with her head held high, but her shoulders were rigid. Louis watched her leave, then came over to his daughter. He embraced her, but Colette could feel the tension in his arms and it wasn’t much comfort.

  ‘Papa, should I be scared?’

  ‘Possibly. I hope not. With luck this will all be over very soon. Perhaps I won’t even need a second bottle of cognac.’ He kissed the top of Colette’s head.

  ‘I think I will be losing lots of my workers. There will be a call to mobilise.’

  ‘But what of the army?’ Colette asked.

  ‘The army will need more men than it already has. I must go back to the factory. Take care of your mother for the rest of the evening.’ He gave her another quick kiss before leaving the room.

  Fleur was lingering by the door. Colette went to speak to her, but Fleur put her hand out and gestured to Michal Drucker. He was standing exactly where he had been, still staring at the window.

  ‘Monsieur Drucker, are you alright?’ Fleur asked softly.

  He took a moment to notice her. His dark eyes were filmy. ‘This is bad for my people. For me.’

  Fleur touched his hand. ‘Not in France,’ she said firmly. ‘Never in France. You are French before anything else.’

  Colette understood then what they meant. Michal was a Jew, and Hitler had waged a particular war on Jews in Germany and Austria. Many of the refugees coming into France were Jewish.

  Michal gave a wan smile. ‘Already things are bad. You would not necessarily see it, but I have friends with shops. People don’t want their business. They are eyed with suspicion.’

  ‘But not you,’ Colette reassured him. ‘You haven’t done anything to deserve that.’

  His eyes flashed to her. ‘And the women who work in the clothes factories have? The butcher or his children?’

  Colette dropped her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that. I have Jewish friends at the cabaret.’

  ‘I know you didn’t, mon sucre, but it is a dark time to be of my race.’

  ‘You will be safe here,’ Fleur said. ‘This is France. The German army will never be allowed to come this far. What happens in Germany is under Hitler’s authority, but nobody in Paris with Jewish friends will stand by and let anything happen to them.’

  She sounded firm, but Colette could hear the uncertainty in her voice and hoped she was right.

  Michal took both their hands. ‘Thank you, girls, I hope so. You say you have Jewish friends now. How many people will say that in three months’ time?’

  He left the room and the two girls looked at each other.

  ‘We are right, aren’t we? And my friends will be safe too, won’t they?’ Colette asked.

  Fleur wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Already petite, she looked wretchedly fragile.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything. It’s all too new to think about. I want to ask my friends what they think. They’re students or writers and they’re better at understanding this sort of thing than I am. We spend a lot of evenings discussing politics but often they lose me.’

  It was the first time Fleur had shared anything personal about her life. It made sense that Fleur would be friends with serious types as she was like that herself. They sounded dull in comparison to Colette’s friends, but at the moment, they were probably more use than the sisters. She thought of her dancing partners and the bright crowd of men and women who gathered in the Café des Papillons or the other cabarets along the Boulevard de Clichy or Rue Pierre Fontaine. They lived for pleasure and excitement. Only the man she had danced with on the first visit had spoken of preparations for war. He had been right, but Colette had never seen him again.

  ‘If they tell you anything, will you tell me?’ Colette asked. ‘I don’t think mine will know anything.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll tell you everything I find out,’ Fleur said. ‘Try not to worry.’

  She patted Colette’s shoulder but then she took her hand hastily away. The feeling of closeness ended, but for a fleeting moment it had felt like they were children again, with nothing to worry about beyond getting caught stealing strawberries or swapping exercise books. Colette wished she had confided in Fleur as to why she was going to England. Perhaps then they might have remained closer.

  That was behind them now, however, and the future, with whatever it might hold, was more of a concern.

  Chapter Six

  April 1940

  ‘I think we should start hiding things,’ Colette said as she swept briskly into the kitchen one afternoon and threw her gas mask down onto the table.

  Fleur looked up from her baking. ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Jewellery. The best knives. Anything the Germans might steal.’

  Fleur’s throat tightened. It startled her to see Colette so anxious. War had been declared, but war as Fleur imagined it did not arrive. She had expected bombs and armies, but nothing had happened yet. People had started referring to the situation as the drôle de guerre, saying the inaction was a joke.

  ‘Has something finally happened? Have the German army moved against France?’

  Colette dropped onto the comfy chair and kicked out her legs. She removed her green silk turban and began twisting her fringe between her fingers.

  ‘No, but I was lunching with Josette. Her friend Angelique’s cousin was visiting Salzburg when Germany occupied Austria. She said the streets were full of people panicking, and theft. I don’t want that to happen here.’

  Fleur put down the rolling pin and stared at Colette. The Anschluss had come up in the café and the level of support it allegedly had was hotly debated. ‘I thought Austria welcomed them?’

  ‘Not everyone. Besides, once they were there, who would admit they weren’t welcome?’ Colette gestured to the gas mask case she had dropped beside the chair. ‘I hate having to carry this. If the government are confident then why are we being given these horrid things?’

  They both regarded the hideous grey contraption with goggles and tubes.

  Colette wrinkled her nose. ‘They are so ugly.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone designed them with fashion in mind,’ Fleur said. She had felt like she was going to suffocate when she had tried hers on and was genuinely unsure if she could endure wearing it for more than a few minutes. If Colette’s only objection was the offence against fashion, she was lucky. ‘You could always go back and ask if they come in turquoise.’

  Colette made a valiant effort to smile. ‘Not with my colouring. Possibly peach.’

  She appeared in the kitchen two days later with a cover for the gas mask case made from an old skirt embroidered with pale yellow fleur-de-lis. She had added decorations in the form of silver buckles at each corner.

  ‘Very clever, Mademoiselle Colette,’ Agnes said.

  Colette preened, looking like a child showing off a first attempt at drawing.

  ‘I didn’t think you were being serious,’ Fleur said.

  ‘Well I was. I could make one for you both too,’ Colette said. ‘Mère has asked for one.’

  ‘Thank you, that is very kind. We would both love one,’ Agnes said before Fleur could speak. She caught Fleur’s eye and Fleur, long familiar with her aunt’s stern expression, agreed. When Colette left, Agnes turned to her.

  ‘You were about to turn down her offer of a case cover, weren’t you?’

  Fleur shrugged. ‘I hardly think it is the most important thing she could be doing. If she wants to fill her days she could come and iron Louis’ shirts.’

  ‘It is important to her,’ Agnes answered. ‘She isn’t like you or me. She hasn’t been brought up to work so doing that took initiative and her offer is generous. You would have been rude to pour scorn on her efforts.’

  Fleur sat back in the comfy chair with a sigh, an unpleasant flicker of shame in her belly.

  A week later, when she was gifted with a mask bag of her own, in red satin trimmed with blue piping, she accepted it with a smile, praising the careful handiwork, then beckoned Colette into the small bedroom.

  ‘I thought about what you said before. We should make some preparations, but not jewellery for me. I don’t have any worth stealing.’

  Colette managed a wan smile. ‘I suppose you want to say books?’

  Fleur sat on the bed. ‘I was thinking of food. The ration books worry me and I’m trying to think what might become scarce. Do you remember the strawberries that grew in the Secret Garden? We could plant some vegetables too.’

  Colette looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know the first thing about growing plants.’

  ‘How hard could it be? Michal will advise us if we ask him. I’m sure that if we keep the snails and slugs away, they would do well. If not then we could eat the snails,’ Fleur said, giving a laugh that she didn’t entirely feel.

  Colette bit her lip and her anxious expression returned. ‘It won’t come to that, will it?’

  Fleur’s ribs tightened. ‘I don’t know what will happen, but I feel better for the idea of having a plan.’

  Colette seemed to have unburdened herself and had a spring in her step once more. She may have been hiding away valuables, but if she was, she did not share that with Fleur. She spent her days sat in the garden, sunning herself in the spring sunshine, and reading magazines when she was not busy sewing gas mask bags for her friends.

  ‘I envy you,’ Fleur told her. ‘I wish I could switch my brain off as easily as turning off a light switch.’

  Colette narrowed her eyes, possibly suspecting it was a criticism.

  ‘You have to make yourself. Come with me one evening when I go out with Josette and Sophie. Nobody can be sad when they are dancing. La Jeunesse Coquette is our favourite cabaret at the moment.’

  ‘I think it will be far too glamorous,’ Fleur replied. ‘But thank you all the same.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Fleur couldn’t help but notice the flicker of relief in Colette’s eyes.

  ‘Perfectly. You have your friends and I have mine.’

  Even though Colette had been living back at home for a year, the two women spent little time in each other’s company. It was natural of course, as they had different groups of friends and different lives.

  ‘What are your friends like?’ Colette asked, sitting up and stretching.

  Her breasts jutted forward in the fitted cashmere cardigan. She had a striking figure and Fleur could only imagine the impression she would make on the men in the Café Morlaix group. Fleur didn’t particularly want to spend time with Colette’s circle and she really didn’t want to share hers with Colette.

  ‘Oh you would find them very dull,’ Fleur assured her. ‘We talk so much about politics and ideas. I don’t think your mother would approve.’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t care whether or not she does,’ Colette snapped.

  She pushed herself to her feet and walked away. Fleur watched her go thoughtfully. Sébastien’s group were very serious. Given the mood of the country they had every justification in being so, but, all the same, it would be tempting to spend a night dancing as if there was nothing wrong.

  The unimaginable happened on a stiflingly hot June morning. Fleur had been helping Tante Agnes to fold bed linen in the cool cellar room when thunder erupted overhead.

  ‘Ah, the storm.’ Fleur passed her hand over her neck. ‘Good, we need it.’

  Tante Agnes’s cheeks had turned ashen and one hand clutched at the cross around her throat.

  ‘That’s no storm.’ She dropped the sheet on the floor and walked stiffly out of the room. Fleur followed her anxiously. Agnes would never treat her employer’s belongings in such a way unless something serious was happening.

  From all across the city rose the wail of sirens. The sky was cloudy, but in places puffs of white smoke billowed.

  ‘They are bombing us!’ Agnes’ voice rose to a shriek.

  Fleur gripped her aunt’s hand. It was terrifying to see the usually self-contained woman in such a panic. Colette ran round the side of the house from the garden, her eyes wide with fear.

  ‘That siren! It’s the air raid siren. Who is doing this? The Germans or the English?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fleur said in a trembling voice. ‘Why would it be the Germans after so many months without fighting? And the English are our allies.’

  The two girls looked at each other, mystified, as curiosity temporarily won over the fear Fleur knew she should be feeling.

  ‘Back inside at once. Everyone.’ Louis appeared from indoors and seized them both by the wrist, tugging them firmly. Hearing the urgency in his voice, terror swelled inside Fleur.

  There was a roaring of engines, the sound of whistling and then an explosion that sounded far too close. All three women gave shrieks of varying degrees.

  Louis flinched.

  ‘Now!’ he barked.

  The women ran inside and met Delphine in the hallway.

  ‘That sound,’ she exclaimed. ‘I never thought I would hear it again.’

  She was trembling and Louis pulled her into his arms. ‘Girls, run upstairs and close all the shutters. Delphine, do this floor. Agnes, find oil lamps and matches. Then everyone go into the cellar.’

  Within minutes the whole household sat huddled on wooden chairs in the cellar where the sheets still waited to be ironed and folded. Tante Agnes muttered continually beneath her breath and Fleur knew she was praying. Louis sat with his arm around his wife’s shoulder, rocking Delphine as though she were a child, while their actual daughter paced back and forth across the room. Fleur huddled down into her chair, flinching whenever she heard the explosions. Even in the depths of the cellar the sound was loud enough to penetrate, and worst of all were the occasional vibrations, as if the bombs were close.

  Paris under fire. It was inconceivable.

  After an age the siren screamed again, announcing the raid was over. Louis commanded the women to stay in the cellar and left.

  ‘What will have survived?’ Colette asked.

  Fleur could only shake her head. Her stomach growled and she clasped her hand over it to stifle the sound. After the intensity of the bombing the cellar was eerily quiet. She looked at her watch and discovered it was only early afternoon.

  ‘Next time we shall have to bring sandwiches down,’ Colette said.

  ‘Next time?’ Tante Agnes jerked her head up.

  ‘There might not be a next time,’ Fleur said hastily.

  She looked to Colette for reassurance but received only a shrug in return. Colette looked as close to tears as Fleur felt.

  ‘I’m not staying here any longer. I want a cocktail,’ Delphine announced. She walked out of the cellar.

  Fleur and Colette exchanged a glance. There was rarely a time Delphine didn’t want a drink, but now it seemed a reasonable request.

  ‘So do I,’ Colette said as she followed her mother. ‘I’m sure you both do too. Please, come and join us.’

  Agnes was sitting in her seat and trembling. Fleur linked her arm through her aunt’s and led her up the stairs.

  ‘The bedsheets,’ Tante Agnes murmured, pulling back.

  ‘They can wait,’ Fleur said decisively, leading Agnes into the dining room.

  Delphine had already opened the drinks cabinet and Colette was finding ice. Tante Agnes accepted a small glass of cognac and sat on the edge of a chair, sipping it.

  It turned out that frivolity was just what Fleur needed. The women spent the next hour inventing cocktails as they went along and when Louis returned, the women were in varying states of inebriation and merrier than he had left them. He poured himself a drink too.

  ‘I can’t tell what is still standing. An apartment building only four streets away has been completely destroyed. I need to go to the factory.’