***
“So what has been going on here then?” Harry looked at her as they went for a walk together the next morning. “I sensed tension between you and Simon. I thought he was your dream husband, Christine?”
Harry was teasing her and yet there was a serious note beneath the laughter.
“I do love him. At least I thought I did, but…”
“Now you’re not so sure?”
“He seems different…”
“He has been through a lot, Christine. All our chaps have.”
“Yes, I know. But I’m not sure Simon is the man I thought he was.”
“Are you sure it’s not just the tiniest bit of jealousy on your part, love?”
“Perhaps. I was terribly jealous, but now Simon seems to have turned against Helene – and the silly thing is I don’t feel pleased. I thought I would, but I don’t. It has just made me wonder if Simon is the right man for me.”
“That’s very deep. You’ve grown up, Christine.”
“Yes, I suppose so. I’ve realized I can’t always have my own way. Besides, Simon can’t help it if he prefers Helene to me. You can’t make someone fall in love with you.”
“Simon is a fool to be taken in by her, Christine. She’s beautiful, but it took me all of five seconds to work out what makes her tick. I don’t think that young madam cares about anyone but herself.”
“Helene has had a terrible time – and she was very brave, Harry.”
“That’s her story, but she’s hiding something. I'd bet my last shilling on it.”
“You don’t know that. I didn’t like her when she first came, but she really isn’t so bad, Harry.”
“She’s after the money. She will take all she can get from Jack and then disappear.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How do we know that she’s who she says she is? A lot of strange things went on out there, Christine. What proof is there that she’s Helen Kavanagh’s daughter?”
“I suppose she has papers of some kind. I’m sure Jack made inquiries.”
“I seriously doubt he inquired very far. Henry told me Jack is crazy about her. She could say she was the Queen of Sheba and he would believe her.”
“Oh, Harry…” Christine laughed and shook her head at him. “She knew all about the family. Besides, why should she lie?”
“I can think of several reasons …one being that diamond bracelet she was flaunting yesterday.”
“She told me she didn’t want Jack to give it to her, but he insisted because she wouldn’t let him buy her a ring. He wants to marry her, and perhaps we should try to accept her.”
”Supposing she’s just a scheming gold digger?”
“I came close to hating her when I realized that Simon was in love with her, but that’s not her fault. I suppose I’m like a little sister to him. And if that’s how he feels it’s as well I found out sooner rather than later – isn’t it?”
Harry saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes and realized he had pushed it too far.
“All right, so maybe I’m too suspicious, but it’s only because I don’t like to think of you being hurt. I don’t really care what she does – but I want you to be happy.”
“I’m going to be happy. It hurt a lot when I realized Simon didn’t love me the way I wanted him to, but I’m slowly getting over it and I’m determined to do something with my life.”
“That’s my girl! Now I’m going to tell you something. I’m being sent to Berlin…” He shook his head as he saw the alarm in her eyes. “No, not as a member of the fighting force. I’m going as an interpreter. It’s a nightmare out there, Christine – and it’s going to get worse once the fighting is over and the Allies start arguing over the various zones. We may have beaten Hitler, but believe me our problems are only just starting. Headquarters need people who can communicate in several different languages. I’ve got German, French, Polish as well as a little Russian so I’m one of the most qualified.”
“But won’t it be dangerous? I read things in the papers…there’s still lots of fighting, people getting killed…”
“I’m a soldier, Christine. I have to take my chances like the rest of them, but I’ll be working with the Red Cross at first and protected by its banner. Don’t worry, the papers always make things seem worse than they are.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” She hugged his arm. “How long before you go?”
“I’ve got ten days leave.”
“Well, at least we can spend most of that time together. And we shan’t argue anymore – shall we?”
“No,” he said. “We shan’t argue over Helene, she isn’t worth it.” He grinned at her. “Have you seen Olivier's film of Henry V yet? I went to see it with a friend last week and I thought it was splendid – though I enjoyed his performance at the Old Vic in Richard 111 even more…”
Christine was thoughtful as she left her brother some time later and went upstairs. She wasn’t sure why she had defended Helene to her brother or why she suddenly felt less hostile, even slightly protective towards the French girl. Perhaps she had been a little unfair…All such charitable thoughts left her as she opened her bedroom door and discovered Helene wearing her special dress.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Who gave you permission to come into my room and try on my clothes? If you’ve damaged my dress…”
Helene looked guilty. “I haven’t, I promise. I wouldn’t destroy something this lovely. I just wanted to try it once, to see what it looked like on me. I’ll take it off. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
“Wait a moment.” Christine was torn between jealousy and her natural honesty. “That dress looks wonderful on you. Better than it will on me.”
“The dress Beth gave me would look good on you,” Helene said a little breathlessly. “I could alter the hem so that it will fit you in minutes. It’s blue and has a full skirt. It’s much more your sort of thing than mine...”
Christine breathed deeply. She knew what was being suggested and for a moment she was shaken by anger and resentment. How dare Helene come in here behind her back and try on her dress? She had spoiled everything now, because Christine’s pleasure in wearing the lovely white dress would be diminished by the knowledge that it would have looked better on Helene.
“We’ll go to your room and I’ll try on the blue one,” she offered. “I’m not promising anything – but if I like your dress we might exchange.”
“Would you really?” Helene’s face lit up. “When I saw this dress I knew it was perfect for me – and I honestly think you will prefer the blue one when you see what I’ve done to it.”
“We’ll see…”
Christine turned and led the way to the other girl’s room. She was trying hard not to let herself give way to anger. When she saw herself in the blue dress with its billowing skirt and tiny puffed sleeves, she knew that Helene was right. It was exactly the kind of dress she would have chosen for herself if there had been no rationing and no restrictions.
“I was going to add a frill to the bottom for me,” Helene said. “But with a couple of tucks it will be perfect for you. It could almost have been made for you.”
Christine realized that she and Helene were now much the same size meant that her regime of going without lunch and cakes had resulted in her losing more weight than she had thought.
“Yes, it could have been made for me.” She bit her lip as she looked at their reflections in the long mirror. Helene was magnificent in the white gown, but she looked pretty and sort of vibrant in the blue. “You should wear the bracelet Jack gave you with that tonight. It will go very well, and I’ve got a little diamond cross that Mummy gave me. You can borrow it if you like. Yes, you must have that dress, Helene, because it suits you – and this suits me. My pearls will give it a lift and go better with it than they would with the white…”
“Do you mean you will change? You are going to let me have your special dress?” Helene’s eyes sparkled with tears.
�
��I’m disappointed,” Christine admitted candidly. “I was looking forward to wearing it because it was a family heirloom, but there’s no point in being silly over it. You look better than I could in it – and this one suits me. You’ve done wonders with it, Helene. It wasn’t this stylish when Mummy had it new.”
“I like to change clothes. Perhaps one day…” She broke off, seeming a little overcome. “You are very generous and I think I have not always been nice to you.”
“Let’s forget about all that, shall we? I don’t want to think about anything unpleasant this evening. I want everything to go well. I’m going to take this dress off and then there’s something I have to do…”
Chapter Thirteen
France 1940
Clothilde folded the letter and put it into her jacket pocket as Madame Robards came into the stock room. She returned to her self-imposed task of tidying the racks, brushing the garments carefully one by one before replacing them.
“There was no need to stop reading your letter, Clothilde. There is little enough for any of us to do for the moment. No one wants to buy new clothes with the threat of invasion hanging over us.”
“Business has been very slow of late,” Clothilde agreed. “But Auguste says that he is coming to Paris shortly. Perhaps he will buy something for his daughter.”
“We need more than one customer. I have sold one only dress this past week. If things do not improve I may have to let some of my people go.”
“You will not close altogether?”
“I am determined to keep going somehow.” Madame Robards shrugged expressively. “I hope you are not thinking of leaving us?”
“No. I shall stay for as long as you remain open – but I may go away for a few days. Would you mind if I took a little time off, madame?”
“Of course not. You have not received bad news I hope?”
“My letter? No, that was from Conrad. He writes to me from America now and then. He has asked me several times to go there, but I do not want to leave Paris.”
“You may change your mind when the Germans come.”
“Surely it will not happen? The line will hold – do you not think so?”
Madame Robards spread her hands. “Who knows? The news is not good, Clothilde – but what can we do? I miss Leon but he was determined to join the army and defend France. I only hope he will come back safely.”
“I too pray for that, madame. He is too young to die.”
“He went away a boy, but if he returns it will be as a man.” Madame Robards’ eyes were sad. “I think I shall close early today, Clothilde. Go home and take your holiday while you can. You might be wiser to go to your friend in America.”
“I shall not run away. I do not wish to leave Paris – or you, madame.”
She was thoughtful as she walked home later that afternoon. It had been a beautiful spring day, the air still warm and heavy with the scent of blossom; the consequences of war seemed far away. Yet as she stopped to purchase bread, cheese and fruit, the expressions on the faces of people she knew well were anxious, as if they feared for the future of their families and homes.
She was aware that the Germans had gained ground to the north of Paris earlier in the year, and the fear that they would overcome the combined forces of the Allies and sweep on into Paris was ever present. The papers were gloomy, telling of defeats and setbacks yet again. It looked as if the worst might happen.
“Why so pensive?”
Clothilde turned as she heard the voice behind her. Henri was standing close, that brooding, angry expression he always seemed to have in his eyes when he saw her.
“I was wondering why things have to change.”
“You mean the war, naturally.” Henri spat on the ground. “Damn the Germans! No one thinks of anything but the war these days. I might as well cut my throat as paint.”
“You have not sold a painting recently? Bring them to me, Henri. I might buy something.”
“You are rich now I suppose? Your Jew lover gives you money and expensive presents.”
“What are you talking about? Auguste is not a Jew.”
“His grandmother was – that makes him one also.”
Clothilde’s mouth curled in disgust. She was aware of the way the Jews were being treated in Germany, of the cruelty that had been reported in the newspapers. She was also aware that even in France there was a strong feeling against them in some quarters, but somehow she had not expected it from Henri. He was an artist and should not be interested in such things.
“Auguste does not pay for my favours. Nor is he a Jew. That is a lie, and you should be ashamed of yourself for repeating it.”
She walked past him, feeling angry. Henri was a bitter, jealous man. He had never forgiven her for leaving him, blaming her because his recent work lacked inspiration. It was surely not her fault he had lost his soul! He should spend more time working and less drinking in the bars where nothing but politics and the war were discussed.
Clothilde felt as if there was a shadow hanging over her as she walked home. Everything was changing and she did not like the way things were going. People were sullen and distrustful, the easy camaraderie she had known before the war seeming to have vanished like mist.
She halted in dismay as she saw the yellow star daubed on her front door, and the words Jew lover scrawled underneath. So Henri was not the only one to harbour such hatred.
It was envy of course. Auguste Picard was a wealthy man. His family had been prominent in banking and financial organisations for years. People were always suspicious and jealous of those who commanded great wealth. Clothilde did not know if Henri's accusation was true, but surely it shouldn’t matter?
She knew that Auguste went to a Christian church, and his daughter and mother were of the same Catholic persuasion. If his grandmother had been a Jew, that was a long time ago.
Clothilde’s landlord came out of his shop as she approached.
“I am sorry, Clothilde,” he said, looking ashamed. “There were a half a dozen of them. I tried to stop them, but they threatened me with a hammer.”
“It doesn’t matter. I shall paint the door.”
“They may do it again.”
“Then I shall paint it yellow.”
A reluctant smile of admiration came to his lips. “You have courage, Clothilde. But perhaps you should think about moving – somewhere you are not known?”
“Do you want me to move?”
He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It is not me. I do not care who your friends are – but they will come back. Next time they might do more than paint a star on your door.”
“I am going away for a few days. I’ll give you my decision when I return.”
Clothilde was angry when she let herself into her tiny apartment. She would never allow such people to drive her away. They were cowards and bullies!
Their actions had made up her mind, though. She had been wondering if it might be wise to take her treasures out of Paris. If the Germans came there was no knowing what might happen.
She had considered putting her suitcase in a bank, but in the event of invasion nothing would be sacred. There was only one place where her things might be safe.
Clothilde had not been back to the chateau since she came to Paris. She imagined it had fallen into an even worse state of repair. Taking out her old suitcase, she opened it and began to look through the contents. It was a long time since she had bothered and she wondered why she had kept some of the things. Those old programmes of Grandmere’s and the faded newspaper cuttings…she had never really bothered to read them, but now she decided that she would. It was best to clear out what she did not want and make a break with the past for good.
She glanced through the adverts, her eye caught by a name that leapt out at her. Elena Dubois! Someone had offered a substantial reward for information about a young woman who had mysteriously disappeared. The same name appeared in all three cuttings, though they were from different papers an
d worded in different ways.
Why should Grandmere have kept the advertisements? She had drawn a pencil ring around one of them but it was so faint that Clothilde had not noticed it until now.
It was odd that Madame Sanclere kept these scraps of newspaper with her precious memories of the past. Why had she been interested enough to cut them out?
An icy chill was creeping down Clothilde’s spine. Something Auguste had said about thinking she looked a little like his cousin…but that was ridiculous. She should not jump to conclusions just because of a coincidence like this. Many people looked a little alike, and just because her own mother had given birth to her at about the same time as this advertisement had been placed…No, it was not sensible to put the two things together. And yet it was possible that her mother and Elena Dubois could be the same woman.
Clothilde replaced the other items in her case, but kept the scraps of paper in her bag. Perhaps she would just show them to Auguste when he returned to Paris.
He was coming to Paris in two weeks. She had time to visit the chateau, hide her treasures and return before he arrived.
Clothilde was shocked when she saw how much worse the chateau looked than when she’d left it. Or had it always been desolate? Perhaps it was because her life was so much brighter now.
A part of the roof had fallen in on itself, and several windows were broken. It truly was a place of despair, Clothilde thought as she went inside. The damage to the windows looked deliberate. Who had come here to hurl stones through the glass? It seemed such a senseless act of destruction – as though someone had wanted to vent their anger on the house or the people who had lived there.
A shiver went through her, and she hesitated before entering. Once she had accepted the chateau as home, but now it filled her with a sense of horror, almost of fear.
Birds and animals had somehow found their way inside. Clothilde saw doves fly up as she picked her way through the debris of broken glass and dried leaves. Cobwebs hung in huge clusters from the ceilings, and a back door had been broken down and left swinging on one hinge. What furniture she’d left had either disappeared or was covered with mould. The whole place smelled damp and musty.
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