by Lynn Sheene
“Yes, Jacques?”
“What is it? What has happened?” His first coherent words in days.
The bells of the churches could mean only one thing.
“The Allies are here, mon ami. Paris is free.”
The faintest smile touched his face then he let out a long breath, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Tears flowed down her cheeks as Claire gazed back out at that radiant moon, her arms pressed tight about her. As she watched, darkness faded and the first rays of sun lit the stones of Notre Dame. The church doors were flung open as a crowd filled the courtyard. A liberated Paris came to give thanks.
The Seine flowed on.
Chapter 14
LA VIE EN FLEURS
La Vie en Fleurs. May 15, 1945.
La Vie en Fleurs was as alive as the Parisian streets that bustled outside. Plaster walls pockmarked from the spray of bullets were adorned once again with lines of blossoms. Claire, in a simple grey skirt and white shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, stared up at two framed photos on the scarred wall next to the counter. The images were small, intimate, in plain silver frames. As she studied the photos, she unconsciously slid her fingers over the thin white scar lining one cheekbone. She frowned as she caught the gesture, and dropped her hand to her side.
Madam Palain smiled from the left frame. She was seated, her hands in a rare restful place on her lap.
“Bonjour, Madame,” Claire said, under her breath.
On the right, the photo of a simple garden; the jagged rip visible from the Nazi raid that killed Madame. She reached up her hand and stroked the edge of the frame.
The newly replaced door squeaked open behind her. Claire turned to see Jacques and Gerard enter. Jacques nodded hello, still holding his side a bit gingerly. Dusky hair curling about his ears, Gerard beamed at Claire with his mother’s laughing eyes as he wrestled with a bundle that threatened to overcome him.
Claire hid a smile. She had met him eight months ago, the day of the liberation, when he and Odette had found Jacques in the hospital. Since then, Gerard had sprouted.
“Good day, Miss Badeau,” he said, in English, carefully enunciating the words she knew he had practiced with his father all the way down the block.
“Good day, Gerard.”
Gerard plopped his package down on the counter; a large blue cloth rolled tightly and secured with twine. Proudly, with great show, he unrolled the fabric across the entire counter. In fine script, it read La Vie en Fleurs. Below was an exquisitely painted pale pink rose, so real it seemed to have its own fragrance.
Claire shut her eyes, her head bowed. The shop was hers. The full weight of the gift that was this simple shop made her heart stir in her chest. Now Jacques, who had become so dear to her, had scrounged a bolt of heavy canvas and created a new sign with the men and ink at his liberated presses.
Gerard watched her, concern written in the wrinkles on his forehead. This was not the reaction he was looking for. “Is something not correct?”
“I love it, Gerard.” She swallowed the emotion and regained the poise Madame Palain would have expected. She smiled at him fully. “It is beautiful. Magnifique.” She looked up to Jacques, tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes.
He nodded, hands in pockets. He indicated the bare framework outside the door with the tilt of his head. “I will come back with helpers tomorrow. Odette too. We will hang it, if you approve.”
“I approve. I wholeheartedly approve. Merci, Jacques.” She kissed Gerard then Jacques on both cheeks. “You are good men.”
Gerard beamed.
Jacques shrugged. “Good.” He reached for Gerard’s shoulder. Side by side, father and son stepped from the shop and disappeared down the street.
Claire turned back toward the sign. She ran her fingers over the fabric, memorizing the feel of the rough texture of these threads, burning the image in her mind. Proof that Madame’s elegance and beauty lived. And someday, somehow, Marta and Anna would be welcomed back to Claire’s arms by this symbol.
The door creaked again behind her. A husky male voice said, “Have you any lilies today, Madame?”
Claire froze, breath stranded in her chest. Strength left her; she clenched the countertop. Her elbow glanced off a pail of flowers that clattered to the floor. She held perfectly still, afraid any movement would break the spell and end this dream she’d woken from so often.
“Claire, look at me.”
Reaching for a rose, she cupped the blossom under her nose. She spoke toward the photo in front of her. “There was a marble statue of a woman in that garden. The roses there smelled of honeyed tea and sunshine. And their color was—”
“Like the pearl of a shell,” he said.
The air was freed from her chest and she breathed deeply.
“Did they please you?” he said.
Claire snapped the cane from the rose and tucked it behind an ear. A smile played at her lips. “The garden pleased me very much.” She turned.
Thomas Grey sagged against the doorway. His heavy beard covered a face made sharp by hunger. His clothes hung in tatters; a dirty bandage covered a knee.
Claire held the smile on her face. She moved to the door and faced him. “You’re late,” she said.
“The road was long.” His slate eyes penetrated her soul. He pulled her against him. “But I’m here now.”
She exhaled his name as she softened into the warmth of his embrace. This dream was real. Her damn Englishman must have walked all the way from a liberated German prison. She gazed into his face, ran her fingers over his cheek. “The first thing you’re going to do, Grey, is shave that beard.”
He smiled. “No. That is the second thing.” With two fingers, he tilted her chin up.
With both hands, she grabbed the man she loved and pressed her lips against his.
READERS GUIDE FOR
The Last Time I Saw Paris
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Claire’s most prized possession when she left Manhattan was her Cartier jewelry. How did the importance of this jewelry change for Claire throughout the book? Do you have a piece of jewelry that holds meaning for you? Is its worth measured in monetary or sentimental value? Have you inherited an antique or valued treasure from a loved one that carries important memories for you?
2. The book described the elaborate floral displays that Claire and Madame Palain created for the Nazi-occupied hotels, as well as flowers tumbling down a garden wall and a bucketful of simple stems that Claire loved. What did these different flowers represent in the book? What did they mean personally to Claire? Do certain flowers hold meaning for you?
3. Did you find elegance in Claire’s expensive Manhattan brownstone, or in the simple wine and bread dinners Madame Palain served, or both? Give other examples of elegance from the book. How do these different examples each represent elegance? In today’s society, do you believe people define elegance based on material things, or is it an attitude and an approach to life?
4. Madame Palain told Claire that “elegance is in the details” the first night they met. How did Madame demonstrate this belief in her daily life and in the way she ran La Vie en Fleurs? Did Claire embrace this way of living? How did it shape her actions and beliefs? Have you had a similar mentor in your life?
5. Claire went to Paris to change her life. She did, but was it in the way she’d expected? Where in the story did you see a dramatic shift in Claire? How many people were touched by Claire’s character growth? Have you had an experience that transformed your life in unexpected ways?
6. How did Claire’s changing perception of Grey mirror her own shifting consciousness? Did your opinion of Grey change along with Claire’s? How was he different from other men whom Claire had known? What was it about Grey that drew her in?
7. Why did Claire assume that the Oberons would take in Marta and Anna? Would you risk your safety and open your home to children in peril?
8. Odette pressed Claire to put her life in danger to
save the Resistance leader Kinsel, and justified it by saying, “We are in a war, Claire. I must sometimes act as a soldier, not as a friend.” Could you ask your friends to risk their lives in an attempt to fight a great evil?
9. What historical details of life under the Occupation were most surprising or moving for you? In what ways do novels provide a means for understanding history?
