by Lily Baxter
‘You’ve found it, dear.’ The woman, who was not much older than Elsie herself, indicated the place she had just left. ‘New here, aren’t you?’
‘We arrived last night,’ Elsie said, edging towards the doorway.
‘Jeanne-Marie.’ The woman held out her hand. ‘I’ve lived in this midden for what seems forever.’
‘Denise Michaud.’ Elsie shook hands. The alias still sounded strange to her ears, even though she had practised it hundreds of times during her weeks of training in London.
Jeanne-Marie brushed a strand of dark hair back from her forehead. ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’
Elsie was suddenly afraid that her accent had let her down. Perhaps she had been influenced by her Belgian friends, or her English overtones had betrayed her. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m from Provence,’ she said casually. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need the lavatory.’
Jeanne-Marie grinned. ‘Busting to go, are you? I know the feeling. I get like that on champagne, but it’s in short supply these days. I like a good night out.’
‘Who doesn’t?’ Elsie said in an attempt to sound casual.
‘Aha, you are a girl after my own heart. You must come with me some time. Most of the best places have closed down, but I know where you can still have a good time.’
‘Thanks. I’ll remember that, Jeanne-Marie.’ Elsie darted into the small room and closed the door with a sigh of relief. The somewhat gaudily dressed Jeanne-Marie seemed like a nice friendly person, but Elsie had been warned about double agents and was only too well aware that she must be careful with whom she associated. She washed her hands in the small and grimy basin and only then realised that there was no towel. She waited for a few minutes, hoping that her new friend would have gone back to her room, before drawing back the bolt. She opened the door and came face to face with a huge bear of a man with a dark beard and moustache and bushy eyebrows. His hand was raised and she stifled a cry of fright.
Chapter Nine
‘IT’S ALL RIGHT,’ he said gruffly. ‘No need to look scared. I don’t bite.’ He chuckled, a deep throaty noise that sounded more like a growl. ‘Not often anyway. Have you finished in there?’
‘Yes, monsieur.’ Elsie slipped past him.
‘Raoul Dubroc.’ He held out a large paw of a hand. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’
‘Denise Michaud.’ She shook his hand and found his touch surprisingly gentle. She managed a feeble smile.
‘This isn’t a safe place for a young girl to be these days, Denise.’ His bushy eyebrows drew together in a frown. ‘You need to be very careful where you go in Paris.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ She hurried off, heading for the staircase, and ran down five flights to the ground floor. The grille over Madame Chausse’s tiny office was closed and for a moment she was afraid that the outer door might be locked, but it opened easily and she let herself out into the chill of a frosty morning. A pale sun was attempting to squeeze its way through the clouds, but the cold air stung her cheeks and made her catch her breath. She walked briskly down the street to the bakery on the corner, but was disappointed to find that there were no croissants or pastries on sale, and only the coarsest bread was available. She purchased a loaf, thinking that it might be palatable if spread with butter and jam, but there did not seem to be a dairy in the vicinity, and she dared not draw attention to herself by asking for directions. She retraced her steps.
‘What? No milk? And you call that bread? I call it a doorstop.’ Marianne drew her coat closer around her body and shuddered. ‘I can’t eat that, Elsie, and I’m not drinking tea without milk. It’s uncivilised.’
Elsie shrugged her shoulders. ‘That’s all I could get, and I couldn’t find anywhere to buy milk or butter. I suggest you go out and see if you can do better.’ She strode into the tiny kitchen to see if the kettle had boiled and found that it was barely simmering. She turned off the gas. ‘This is hopeless.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Marianne leaned against the doorpost. ‘I didn’t mean to be bitchy. It’s just that I like a cup of tea in the morning and I’m bloody starving. We haven’t eaten a thing since that awful meal we had at the station last night, which wasn’t fit to feed to pigs.’
Elsie lifted the kettle and held it out to her. ‘If you want to wash in warm water you’d better use this. It’s a pity to waste it.’
‘Thanks, but I prefer to keep dry at the moment. I’m afraid that water might freeze on my body and I won’t be able to speak.’ Marianne smiled ruefully. ‘Some might say that’s a good thing. Anyway, I really am sorry I was being difficult. Do you forgive me?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive. This isn’t going to be easy for either of us.’
‘I suppose we’d better set off for work. Perhaps we can get something to eat and a cup of something hot there.’
The rue Saint-Roch was lined with tall buildings facing each other across a narrow street off the fashionable rue de Rivoli. They had been thoroughly briefed before leaving London and made to study a map indicating important places such as the British Embassy, which was situated a few streets away. The official title of 41 rue Saint-Roch was the InterAlly Permit Office where French citizens went in order to apply for a permit to travel to Britain, but behind the rather gloomy and ordinary-looking façade the British secret service carried out its espionage in total secrecy.
Elsie found herself situated in an office crammed with filing cabinets and two large desks. She shared one with Marianne and the other with a bilingual French secretary, Andrée Dorgebray, who kept them busy all morning doing mundane filing and sorting out the pile of correspondence on her desk in order of urgency. She spoke little and only when absolutely necessary, but she did unbend slightly midmorning when she took them to the kitchen on the ground floor and showed them where the coffee and mugs were kept. There was a jug of fresh milk on a marble slab in the larder, although the temperature inside the building was only a degree or two above that outside, and close to freezing.
Clutching their mugs of hot, milky coffee they followed her back up the wooden staircase, their footsteps echoing on the bare treads. ‘You will be allowed an hour for lunch,’ Miss Dorgebray said with a hint of a smile. ‘There is a café in the next street where you’ll get good food at a reasonable price, even allowing for the fact that everything is scarce nowadays.’
‘Thank you, Miss Dorgebray,’ Marianne said meekly.
‘Now get back to work. Lunch is from one o’clock, and I expect you both back in the office at two o’clock precisely. We finish work at five, unless there is something urgent that needs our attention and then we stay on until it is finished. I hardly need to remind you that this is wartime, ladies. I’ve no doubt that your lives in London were very different, but you will just have to adapt to our ways or you will be sent home. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Elsie said hastily. She could sense the resentment building up in Marianne and she sent her a warning look.
‘Yes, Miss Dorgebray,’ Marianne muttered.
At exactly one o’clock Andrée Dorgebray rose from her desk and took her coat and hat from the stand behind the door. ‘Two o’clock sharp,’ she said as she left the office.
Marianne leapt to her feet. ‘Let’s get out of here and find somewhere to eat. I’m absolutely starving.’
‘So am I.’ Elsie abandoned the filing. ‘Perhaps we’d better try that café that Miss Dorgebray told us about as it’s near and we don’t yet know our way around.’
‘Agreed.’ Marianne rammed her fur hat on her head. ‘Let’s go.’
They hurried from the office putting on their coats as they went. Outside it had started to snow. Large feathery flakes drifted from a leaden sky, coating the pavements and almost immediately turning to black slush beneath the feet of passers-by. The café was not far away and the smoky fug inside was laced with the sharp tang of wine and the heady aroma of garlic. They found a table b
y the window and sat down to study the handwritten menu.
‘It looks like onion soup or onion soup,’ Marianne said, grinning.
‘I don’t care. I’m so hungry that my stomach feels as though it’s eating itself.’ Elsie clutched her belly and groaned.
Marianne looked up as a young boy approached them with a towel looped over his arm and a serious expression on his youthful face. ‘What may I get for you, ladies?’
Marianne’s lips twitched but she ordered the soup and coffee as if they had selected it from a vast menu. ‘He’s just a kid,’ she said when he was out of earshot. ‘It’s terrible to think that boys not much older than him are being sent to the front line and are dying every day.’
‘Don’t let’s talk about it,’ Elsie said, shuddering. ‘I can’t bear to think of the dreadful hardships they must be suffering.’
‘Shh,’ Marianne said, frowning. ‘He’s coming back. They must have a vat of the stuff behind the counter.’ She gave the boy a brilliant smile as he placed the steaming bowls in front of them. ‘Thank you.’
He bowed gravely before making his way to a customer who was calling for service.
Marianne sniffed the fragrant soup, redolent with the scent of garlic, caramelised onion and cheese. ‘It looks as if this is going to be our staple diet from now on,’ she said, dipping her spoon in and tasting. ‘Hmm, it’s very good. Food like this almost makes it worth being treated like schoolgirls by the formidable Miss Dorgebray.’
‘Working there is like being back at school. I hope she relaxes a bit when she gets to know us.’
‘At least she told us where to get a decent meal.’ Marianne said, swallowing a mouthful of toasted bread. ‘This onion soup is very good, although my breath will stink for the rest of the day. They’re very generous with the garlic but I won’t be kissing anyone in the foreseeable future, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.’
‘It’s tasty,’ Elsie agreed. ‘And this café is near enough to the lodging house for us to come here for all our meals. I can’t see myself cooking much on that gas ring.’
Marianne was silent for a few minutes while she finished her food. She looked up, wiping her mouth on her handkerchief. ‘I suppose table napkins are a thing of the past,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘And judging by the stains on the tablecloth, soap must be in short supply too. Madame Chausse doesn’t seem to use much of it in the lodging house.’
‘Mrs Tranter would be horrified if she could see how dirty the place is,’ Elsie said in an undertone. ‘But I didn’t realise that things were going to be so bad here. It’s far worse than I expected.’
‘And I was hoping we’d do something more exciting than filing and sorting out that woman’s in-tray.’ Marianne reached into her handbag and took out an enamelled compact. She stared into the mirror, dabbing powder on the tip of her nose. ‘I thought we’d be doing something more useful.’
‘We’ve got to learn the ropes, Marianne. This is our first day.’
‘I know, but it’s hard to be patient. I want to do something that will help to end the war.’
Elsie glanced over her shoulder to see if any of the other customers could hear. ‘Don’t look now,’ she whispered. ‘But that man who’s just come in lives in our building, on the same floor. He scared me half to death this morning when I came out of the lavatory and saw him standing there.’
Marianne gazed over Elsie’s shoulder. ‘That man mountain with the black wiry hair?’
‘I said don’t look now. But yes, that’s him. His name is Raoul Dubroc.’
‘I didn’t see a soul when I went to that ghastly little room that smells like a sewer, but I’m glad I didn’t bump into him.’
‘Do you think he’s followed us?’
Marianne frowned. ‘Of course not. I expect he works near here.’
‘It’s a strange coincidence all the same.’
‘It’s all strange to us, Elsie. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. We’ll become accustomed to this way of life, eventually.’
‘Maybe we should have stayed in London. We were doing worthwhile jobs there.’
‘And we’ll be even more useful here. They have to get to know us, just as we have to get to know them.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Elsie pushed her plate away. ‘I’m just being silly. It’s all so strange and I miss everyone at home.’
Marianne reached across the table to pat her on the shoulder. ‘Not everyone. Guy is here somewhere, fighting for us.’
‘That makes me feel even worse.’
‘And we’re not entirely alone in Paris. Henri’s parents have an apartment not far from here. I thought I’d call on his mother, although it’s possible she might have gone to Provence. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.’
‘I hope Henri’s safe and well,’ Elsie murmured, looking away. ‘He was kind to me when Ma died.’
‘He’s a darling man, and I adore him.’ Marianne glanced at the large, white-faced clock on the wall above the shelves, which were crammed with bottles of all shapes and sizes. ‘It’s time we were heading back. I’m afraid Miss Dorgebray might make us stand in the corner with our faces to the wall if we’re late returning from lunch on our first day.’
Elsie laughed and immediately felt better. It was typical of Marianne to say something ridiculous that would put all her fears into perspective. She rose from her seat. ‘Let’s go then.’
That evening, after a tiring day getting to know the routine in the office, it was a relief to tidy everything away and set off for the lodging house. They stopped at the café for a meal, which turned out to be a tasty stew with the tough, stringy meat cleverly disguised by the addition of wine and herbs. ‘We’ll have to budget carefully,’ Marianne said as they left and walked briskly along the deserted street. ‘I’ve arranged to have money transferred to a local bank but my allowance won’t last long at this rate.’
‘I thought you were well off,’ Elsie said, pulling her collar up to her chin and screwing her eyes up against the snow, which had started to fall again in earnest. ‘You always seemed to have anything you wanted.’
‘I’m extravagant. It comes from being given too much too young, I suppose. Anyway, we’ll be all right, but we can’t exist on the pittance they pay us.’
Elsie glanced over her shoulder.
‘What’s the matter?’ Marianne demanded. ‘Why are you so edgy?’
‘I thought I heard footsteps, but there’s no one there.’
Marianne chuckled. ‘It’s probably that glass of wine you had with your dinner and there must have been a couple of bottles of claret in the stew. You aren’t used to drinking that’s all. The rest is your over-active imagination.’
‘I suppose so.’ Elsie had to quicken her pace in order to keep up with Marianne, but she was sure she had heard the heavy tread of someone not far behind them. When she looked back again moments later she thought she saw a movement in a doorway, but the gaslights were dim, forming small pools of yellowish light on the slushy pavements and creating deep areas of shadow. It must have been the wine, she decided, or the fact that she was tired and overreacting.
They arrived back at their lodgings to find that the electricity had been cut off, and the concierge offered to sell them a candle for fifty centimes. When Marianne protested that she was overcharging them, Madame Chausse pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. ‘You can go out and buy one for forty centimes, if you can find anywhere that’s selling them at this time of night.’
‘We’ll take it, thank you,’ Elsie said, fumbling in her purse for the coins. She dropped them into Madame’s outstretched hand and took the candle.
‘I suppose you’ll charge us for the match as well,’ Marianne said crossly.
‘She’s joking, madame.’ Elsie held the candle out to be lit. ‘Thank you, Madame Chausse. Goodnight.’ She headed for the stairs, cupping her hand to shield the flame from the draughts that whistled through the building.
‘Old witch,’ Marianne said beneath her b
reath as they reached the fifth floor. ‘She’ll be making a fortune out of the tenants.’
Elsie made her way along the corridor. ‘We didn’t have much choice, did we?’
Marianne’s answer was drowned by a welcoming shout from Jeanne-Marie, who had emerged from her room and was heading towards them, looking ghostly in the flickering light of her candle. ‘I see you’ve been caught out by the vampire,’ she said, giggling. ‘Don’t worry, my dears. She catches all the new residents like that. She’ll suck you dry with her little swindles. You’ll learn.’ She stared hard at Marianne. ‘This must be your sister.’
‘No, but people often remark on the likeness. This is my good friend Aimée Lalonde.’ Elsie turned to Marianne. ‘This is Jeanne-Marie, she lives here as well.’
Marianne held out her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jeanne-Marie.’
Jeanne-Marie seized her hand and shook it vigorously. ‘It’s nice to meet you too, Aimée. There aren’t many of us single girls on this floor. There are a couple of prostitutes occupying two rooms on the first floor, but I steer clear of them. I was a dancer at the Moulin Rouge until it burned down last year, so now I serve in a bar, but I’m a respectable working girl, not like those tarts.’
‘I’m sure,’ Elsie said hastily.
‘You must come to the bar one evening. I’ll introduce you to some decent men, although most of the good ones are off fighting the Boche, but there are one or two who aren’t cripples or in their dotage. Must dash now. Can’t afford to be late for work.’ She hurried off, teetering on her high heels.
‘Well,’ Marianne said, staring after her as the darkness swallowed Jeanne-Marie’s departing figure except for a trail of smoke from her candle. ‘We certainly get all sorts here.’
Elsie moved on to unlock the door to their room. ‘I like her,’ she said firmly. ‘She seems a good-hearted sort of girl.’
