by Jan Harvey
At six the next morning I woke up wringing wet with my nightie clinging to my skin. I clutched at my head, relieved to find I wasn’t bald. It had thankfully all been a nightmare. I had been looking at images on the Internet of women having their heads shaved and being paraded through the streets. They called them Tondues and all over France women were treated the same and were desperately humiliated.
I went back to my desk in the living room and read Claudette’s letter and enclosure again. I made a coffee and paced the floor then I made a decision, a big one. I unplugged my laptop from where it had been charging and began typing an email.
Chapter Fifty Six
One by one the women came in to see Claudette and Daniel. Monique’s hair was shaved so unevenly there were ugly tufts all over her head and Freya, once so stunning with her platinum blonde hair, was wearing a turban. Her eyes were black, her nose blue. She kissed first Daniel and then Claudette.
‘We are leaving in a hour,’ she said blankly. Monique stood agitatedly by the door clutching her elbows with nervy fingers and saying nothing. ‘We’re both sorry it happened, you got caught up in our world, it should never have been like that.’ She handed a small package to Claudette. ‘Take that and please accept it as a gift from all of us.’
Claudette stood up unsteadily and hugged them. They were both trembling. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
‘We came from Bergerac, my sister lives there, she will take us in if she is still alive. I haven’t heard from her for six months.’
‘And if she isn’t?’
‘We’ll find something,’ said Monique. ‘We’re survivors, aren’t we Freya?’ Freya nodded, her arms were folded protectively to her body again, she was nothing of her former self. Monique bent down and gave Daniel a hug. ‘You look after yourself too, young man, don’t let this part of your life damage the rest.’ Freya kissed her finger and placed it on Daniel’s little cheek. Then they were gone.
Claudette sighed heavily and sat down next to Daniel. ‘Let’s look at this, baby.’ She opened the box, inside was a pair of tortoiseshell hair combs and a note, ‘For when it grows back, don’t go back to mousy! With love from all of us.’
There was a knock on the door, it was Babette, there were tears welling up in her eyes. ‘I hate goodbyes,’ she said, sitting down next to Claudette. ‘They’ve stolen everything from my room, I don’t even have a bed.’ Her scalp was blue, the same colour as Claudette’s. In the cracked mirror across the room their reflections were repeated like a mosaic; they both looked thin and pitiful. ‘I’m leaving tonight, I’m taking my chances and looking for work in Paris. The Americans will want to fuck as much as the next man, they all do.’
‘Where will you go?’ asked Claudette. ‘Will you be safe?’
‘I’ll live on the streets if I have to, but there will be other whore houses in other parts of the city. I just need to find clients who don’t mind spiky hair. Look, it’s already growing back.’ She pulled at a tiny tuft of hair behind her ears and smiled. ‘Until then I will wear a silk headscarf wrapped around my head and start a new trend.’
The next morning Claudette stepped out of her room for the first time, her legs feeling weak, her stomach so past the stage of hunger it had turned into a solid mass beneath her skin. She balanced Daniel on her hip, he was like a limpet, stuck fast to her. The house was worse than she could have imagined. The purple carpet had been urinated on, the word ‘whore’ painted on every landing where the beautiful pictures of the women had been. Downstairs, all the bottles in the bar had been smashed on the floor, the mirrors and lights shattered. The stools were broken and the tables turned over.
Claudette looked through the small gaps in the pattern of the frosted glass in the salon door. She could see Jacques lying on the floor, a trail of blood behind his body where it had been dragged. Where the blood had been in the entrance hall, the dirt and debris of destruction had taken its place.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, Marie was washing some clothes with the last fragment of a bar of soap. A broth was cooking on the stove, it smelt foul. ‘Don’t ask.’ she said, ‘You don’t want to know what it is. There is an apple purée for Daniel, I found an apple in the street this morning.’
‘Thank you, Marie, and thank you for nursing me.’ Claudette placed Daniel on a kitchen chair. He grabbed a spoon and started banging it on the table. ‘Where will you go now?’
‘Madame F has found me a job, I’ll be working with her, I miss the old trout,’ she said smiling, ‘but I’ll be more grown up than when she last saw me, and I’ve said I want more money.’
‘Good for you,’ said Claudette. ‘I hope it all works out for you. Where is Nannette?’
‘She hasn’t woken up yet. Madame Odile has sent for an ambulance and she has written to her parents, they are coming for her.’
‘Her parents know she is here and what she did?’
‘No, but they are about to find out. Madame Odile found their details in Nannette’s passport and she wrote to them.’ Claudette felt a pang of sadness because Nannette was the kindest and sweetest of them all.
‘And Apollonia?’
‘She walked out yesterday and hasn’t come back. She said nothing to any of us, she’s been in a daze.’
Madame Odile was in her room when Claudette knocked. She and Daniel were called in. ‘I’ve heard about everybody leaving and I wondered what I should do, I want to stay.’
‘Why?’ Claudette chewed on her lip, Madame Odile still unnerved her a little. ‘Is it because you are waiting for him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you will wait for ever, he won’t come back.’
‘He said he would, he promised me.’
‘Fritz Keber doesn’t honour promises, my dear, he breaks them. Trust me, you are better off without him. Leave him behind in the past and move on.’ Claudette’s hopes sank, but she knew in her heart that Madame Odile was right. She would never see him again, it was about facing the truth and moving on. ‘I have an idea, I think it makes a lot of sense,’ Madame Odile continued. ‘I have these.’ She opened her drawer and lifted out four passports – two were British, two French. She handed one to Claudette.
The picture was of Lilia. She was serious looking, her eyes clear, her hair neat and pinned back into a roll. She was much younger, nearer Claudette’s age, wearing a white blouse and a simple scarf. It stated that she was the wife of Laurence George March. Underneath were Daniel’s details, he was entered as her son, born 18th November 1942.
‘That’s Lilia’s passport.’
‘She had a British passport?’
‘And a French one,’ said Madame Odile. ‘That is why I went to Reims, to have Daniel added. I didn’t have a birth certificate for him so I had to pull some strings. I had one of each done, I had to cover all eventualities and I too have one of each, under my real name, Camille du Pré.’ She struck a match and lit up a cigarette, the brand was American. ‘It is my idea that we leave for England at the end of the week. You will travel as Lilia. You are so thin and bony, we both are, we look nothing like our photographs. That way we can escape this wretched country and I will get work in England.’
‘How?’
‘I have contacts there. I have many contacts everywhere. You make a lot of friends in this game. I will offer my services as a translator or similar and I will teach you English. You can look after Daniel for me and I will provide for you until you too can work.’
‘You speak English?’ asked Claudette.
‘Enough, certainly enough to get by.’
‘And have you been to England before?’
‘No, but the English have always come to me,’ she raised an eyebrow. ‘Diplomats, actors, royals, I’ve had dealings with them all.’ Madame Odile moved forward and ran a finger down Daniel’s soft cheek, but he turned away. ‘But I never made a
friend of you, did I Daniel?’ she said.’ That’s why I need you, Françoise.’
‘But what if we’re stopped?’
‘I have a letter from a very important French official that says I have free passage, and my recently widowed sister does too.’
‘Was Lilia’s real name Madeleine March and was she married?’
‘No, she was Danielle du Pré, daughter of a French car worker and a woman who cleaned people’s houses, as of course was I.’
‘What will happen to this house?’
‘It is leased. The owners will come and find me gone, there is not a stick of furniture or a stitch of fabric worth saving. By rights I should burn it down, purge it.’
‘You have lost everything,’ said Claudette.
‘Except my spirit,’ said Madame Odile, ‘And that can never be vanquished or I should cease to be.’
Chapter Fifty Seven
[email protected]
Dear Daniel,
I am writing to update you on what I found out about Freddy’s mum. It’s all quite tragic. I have really struggled with telling you, but I think you deserve to hear it. She was with the French Resistance working in Paris. She had a job as a maid in Rue Ercol and became involved with your father.
She fell in love with him. Your mother had died and when the war ended Madeleine, AKA Claudette Bourvil, left France to go and live with you and your Aunt in England. This was early September 1945, according to her passport. She travelled under a false identity as Madeleine March, I can only presume she had a French and an English passport at the same time.
What I wanted you to know was that Freddy’s mum must have adored you because she and your aunt brought you up. They both took you to England. At some point she met Elwyn Benedict and he maybe fell in love with her, or saw her as a daughter by proxy. Anyway, he made Freddy his ward.
In 1952, Claudette travelled back to France to see a man she had known all her life. Her good friend Yves had led the cell she was part of in the Resistance. She missed seeing him by hours and she wrote the attached letter to him, copy enclosed. She had a horrific experience as you can see from the piece she has written. The boy was you, Daniel, you had a very bad start in life. I hope you understand why I think you should know about her. I think we owe her some recognition for her bravery and sacrifice. Personally, I am intrigued by her and the other women who were punished as horizontal collaborators. I plan to find out more, if I can. Freddy has left me some money and I will be coming to Paris for a month to carry out my research. I want to try to write a book about her and tell their story.
I hope you understand why I have written to you. If you want to leave the past behind don’t read the attachments, I would understand. All I know is, she loved you very much and you should know that.
With best wishes,
Connie Webber
As I hit Send my mobile went off, making me start. I dreaded that it might be Matt and I was ready to hit decline, but the number was an 0033 code, French.
‘Bonjour, Connie?’ The soft accented voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
‘Yes, this is Connie, can I help you?’
‘It is Theo, Theo Arnold. We met some weeks ago, in Paris.’
‘Theo, what a lovely surprise. How are you?’
‘I am well, thank you.’ He left an uncertain pause.
‘How can I help you?’ I said.
‘I am coming into London next week to an auction of books,’ he cleared his throat, ‘and I wondered if you would meet me for dinner, I feel that I would like to meet you again.’
‘I would love to, really love to,’ I replied. There was a flutter inside my stomach and a sudden lifting of my deadened spirits.
‘Me too. I would like to know more about what you found out from Gaël…and more about you. I’ll be in touch. Is that fine with you?’
‘Yes, it would be great,’ I said.
‘Au revoir. See you then.’
‘Au revoir, Theo.’
Chapter Fifty Eight
The man was looking at Madame Madeleine March. He looked at her passport and then back at her. ‘Is it a business trip or for pleasure, Madame?’
‘A bit of both, I am visiting Paris, I used to live there, and then I am travelling to a little town I stayed in a long time ago, Vacily.’
The immigration officer looked at the passport again and said; ‘I’m sorry to see you have been widowed, Madame, did you lose your husband in the war?’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I did.’
‘I am very sorry for your loss, Madame, I hope you have an enjoyable trip.’
She nodded, and thanked him as he handed back her passport.
It felt strange because it was the first time she had left Freddy behind, but he was with Elwyn and Catherine, what could happen to him in their house in Ledbury? It was so beautiful and out in the countryside he was perfectly safe from harm.
In Paris she stayed at a small hotel in the Latin Quarter, a simple place with a glass front door and the name ‘Hotel de Delacroix’ etched into it. Her room was neat and small, a plain green counterpane covered the bed and small sprays of forget-me-nots dotted the wallpaper. Across the road was a little square with small trees at each corner of it. The house where the artist had lived was to the right, a very old building. It was June and the spring had turned to summer, there was a light breeze and she left her window open, letting the fresh air fill the small room.
The next morning, after breakfast, she walked along the Rue Ercol and found number twelve. It was now a private house. The front door had been replaced with a new one, the doorknocker was a carved head of a lion, its mouth open in a roar. The street was neat and quiet, no significant damage.
She stood next to the spot where Eva’s body had lain and where months later the paintings, pulled down from the walls of the staircase, lay smashed and broken all over the road. She walked through the Luxembourg Gardens and stood by the boat pond watching the children push the little galleons across the water. She moved out of the way for one little boy who was eager to reach the one just in front of her. He was blonde, with brown eyes. She stared after him, he looked so much like Daniel. She felt the flutter of sorrow in her stomach, after all these years she still felt the pain of losing him.
It had suited Camille very much to have her as a nanny, caring for the little boy, feeding him, mopping his tears, picking him up when he fell over and kissing a wounded knee better. The pay off was that Claudette had learned English very quickly and there had been a roof over her head and food on the table.
She had given birth to Freddy in April 1945. She knew he was not Fritz Keber’s child. He had dark hair and brown eyes of the Gallic. She loved him in spite of everything, he was beautiful and he had charmed her boss Elwyn from the minute they met. Freddy and Daniel were like brothers and she loved them both equally.
Claudette walked on through the gates and down the street and past the church of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. It was a long time since she had entered a church and those days were in the past, as lost to her as the rosary they took when they ransacked the house. If she thought it might have helped she would have prayed for Daniel, that he was all right and that Camille was looking after him and not thinking only of herself. She even wondered if he was with his father, in Interlaken. She suspected Camille had taken him to see his father. It would be like her to rub salt into the wounds and tap into an income that she didn’t even need. She had met a Swiss Financier and within weeks she had vanished. She left without a word, and Daniel was there one minute and gone from Claudette’s life the next.
She walked to the Seine and took a deep breath, letting the warm air fill her lungs. She could feel the heat of the sun on her back as she opened her handbag and felt inside it. It was there, tucked safely into the inside pocket and when she held it up to look at
it, the bright light glinted off it. It was the pendant of a swan flying in front of the moon. She kissed it and for a short moment closed her eyes, taking a minute to remember the colours, the smells, the feelings, all spent in the distant haze of the past. There was a church clock striking ten as she held it at the tip of her fingers, watching it sway a little in the breeze. It made barely a sound or a splash as it hit the water. For a second she could see it floating, then it was sucked down deeper by the current and she imagined it sinking down and landing in soft silt at the bottom of the river.
Chapter Fifty Nine
Harriet sat with me on a round bench in front of the coffee kiosk at the station, the minute hand defiantly slow as it clicked around the face of the clock. She held my hand. ‘I hope this is going to work for you,’ she said. ‘Matt was such a huge hope for you and it all ended so badly.’
‘I’m over it, Hat,’ I told her honestly. ‘I’m looking forward now, it could have been such a huge mistake.’ The minute hand clicked onto the twelve just as the light changed and a crisscrossing of shadows fell across the concourse from the glass roof. The train was quietly pulling into the station, the disturbance in the air making us stand up and check automatically that I had left nothing behind. The clipped announcement told us that this was the ten o’clock to London Victoria via East Croydon and Clapham Junction, which would be arriving at ten fifty three. From there I was going to make my way to St. Pancras and then on Eurostar to Paris.
‘Thank you for having Mr C to stay.’ I hugged Hat goodbye and she held me tightly.
‘I’ll take care of him, take as long as you need.’ She gave me a big reassuring smile as I heaved my case onto the train and waved to her from my seat, but I saw her turn away and wipe a tear. There was a lump in my throat as it pulled out of the station, the stone chippings flashed before my eyes as it picked up speed. For a moment I found myself thinking of Freddy and a strange feeling came over me. It was an intense feeling of loss but, at the same time, a gratefulness that he had opened up so many experiences to me. Thanks to him I was on this train.
