The Darkest Hour

by Roberta Kagan

  ‘Well done,’ Mme Lefort said. ‘Much better, but do try and remember what the Monsieur told you. Don’t look at the client.’

  After a few hours of catwalk lessons combined with deportment, she went over the events that would take place the next day.

  ‘You are to be here at three o’clock. The clients will arrive an hour later and will have drinks and chat with Monsieur De Rossier first. After that the showing will begin. There will be two other models with you – Chantelle and Monique. They have been with the House of De Rossier since before the war and know the ropes well. There will also be someone to help you with your hair and make-up.’

  Mme Lefort turned Nathalie’s head towards the light. ‘You have a good bone structure and flawless skin which our clientele like. And if I might say, there is a warm glow about your face – and a sparkle in your eyes. That sparkle wasn’t there when we met last time.’

  Nathalie smiled. Mme Lefort was certainly observant.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask who your clients will be? I feel rather nervous at being in the same room as...’ she stopped mid-sentence.

  ‘You mean Germans? We cannot always help who we do business with. Surely you must know that?’

  Nathalie blushed.

  ‘The House of De Rossier is well-known. The Monsieur will design for anyone who appreciates his work – and if that means the wives and mistresses of Nazis, then so be it. They pay well. Besides, there are still French ladies of means who need to keep up appearances – even if we are at war. Monsieur De Rossier has a motto. “We will not be sullied by war. That is to be left on the doorstep. Once our clients step inside, life will be as it always was; elegant and refined.”’

  She handed Nathalie an envelope with several hundred francs in it, together with a pair of silk stockings and a bottle of Perfume. Nathalie couldn’t hide her shock.

  ‘Are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake,’ she asked. ‘I mean, I haven’t actually done anything yet. Then there’s the matter of the clothes you gave me – and now this.’

  Mme Lefort laughed. ‘Ma chérie, I told you that the Monsieur likes you. You have a certain style. Just one more little thing,’ she added. ‘One reason we look after our staff well is so that they will not divulge what goes on here to anyone.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I understand.’

  Mme Lefort’s charm was suddenly replaced by a coldness that caught Nathalie off-guard.

  ‘Under no circumstances are you to discuss our clientele with anyone. Is that understood?’

  ‘Of course, you have my word,’ Nathalie replied, knowing full well she had no intention of keeping that promise.

  In a flash, Mme Lefort’s cold look was replaced by a broad smile again. ‘Bien. Then we will see you tomorrow afternoon.’

  Later that evening, Paul passed by La Vie en Fleurs to talk to her about the assignment in Tours.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘You were excellent. René arrived safely in Lyons and sends you his regards.’

  ‘What is so important about him?’ she asked, half expecting him to dismiss her question.

  ‘He’s been sent by Général Charles De Gaulle himself as one of his top men. He and a few other select people are uniting the Résistance groups. We will be more effective under one banner.’

  Nathalie smiled to herself. The news didn’t exactly come as a surprise. René was a charming man and she felt sure he would be successful.

  ‘I’m only too happy to have helped.’

  ‘I gather that the Gestapo were in the bar where you met, and that you saw them again on the platform before the train pulled out?’

  ‘The priest in Tours is also being watched. I was lucky they didn’t bother me.’

  Paul tapped his fingers on the table. ‘We have to be vigilant, Nathalie. Too many odd things are happening; things that simply can’t be put down to coincidences.’

  She wanted to ask what he meant. Did he really suspect a traitor in their midst? What did he think about Gilbert? She refrained. He asked her how her day was at the House of De Rossier. She didn’t tell him how much money she’d been given.

  ‘The vendeuse is a tough woman. She can be most charming when she wants to, but today I saw the cold side of her. She made it clear I was not to divulge the names of his clients.’

  ‘You’d better be careful then. She’ll be watching you.’

  The subject changed to a new cache of guns the Allies had parachuted into Normandy.

  ‘If you have time, I’d like to have a few more sessions with my gun,’ Nathalie said. ‘I have quite a bit of time on my hands and I want to perfect my accuracy.’

  ‘Good idea. Let me know when and we’ll arrange something.’

  It was still early when Paul left and Nathalie decided to pay Pierre a visit. Contacting another member of the group without good reason was not encouraged, so she decided it would be best not to tell the Reynauds. She wore her new clothes and dabbed a little perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. The fragrance was wonderful and she wished she’d worn it for René.

  When she reached Pierre’s apartment, Jean was clearing a table in the bistro and spotted her through the window. He stepped outside and told her he left a few hours earlier.

  ‘Do you know where I can find him?’

  ‘He took his easel and paints, so you could try the Place du Tertre. He often goes there to paint,’ Jean replied.

  On such a pleasant evening, the square was crowded with both Germans and Parisians. Bars and restaurants were bursting with patrons and artists, and musicians were doing their best to earn a few francs to get them through the next week. Jean was right; Pierre had set up his easel in the centre of the square along with other painters and souvenir sellers. Her heart raced when she saw him. As she walked through the crowd, she saw two men approach. Thinking they were buying a painting, she decided to wait until they moved on. The men didn’t seem interested in his work. Instead they appeared to be having an animated conversation. After Pierre threw his hands in the air and returned to his painting, they left.

  What was all that about, Nathalie asked herself? She walked over and took him by surprise.

  ‘Good evening, Pierre.’

  ‘Nathalie! You’re the last person I expected to see.’ He stood up and kissed her on the cheek. For a minute she thought he might say he’d missed her, but he appeared rather cool and she felt embarrassed, as if she’d intruded his space.

  ‘I see you didn’t bring any flowers this time,’ he said with a smile. ‘Does that mean it’s an unofficial visit?’

  ‘You could say that. It’s such a beautiful evening, I thought I’d come and say hello.’ She looked at the painting he was working on. ‘It’s lovely,’ she added.

  It was a watercolour of one of the restaurants; a lively portrayal of people sitting at the outdoor tables having a good time.

  ‘It reminds me of a Utrillo. It has the same liveliness.’

  Pierre thanked her, adding that Utrillo was a great favourite with the painters in Montmartre.

  ‘For a moment I thought you might have had an interested buyer – those two men who were here a minute ago.’

  At the mention of the men, his smile faded. ‘Oh those; they wanted it for nothing,’ he snapped, and changed the subject. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘No, but I’m famished.’

  ‘Where do you want to go?

  ‘What about Le Lapin Agile?’

  He laughed loudly. ‘That’s a favourite haunt of the Germans these days. Do you want to mix with them? It may spoil your appetite.’

  ‘I will be the judge of that.’

  ‘Fine. Give me a moment to pack these things away and drop them back at the apartment.’

  He asked her to wait outside, which both surprised and disappointed her. He was gone a full ten minutes during which time, she began to think she’d made a fool of herself by coming here. When he returned, she saw he was wearing the same clothes he wore on the occasion they went to the cinema. I
t raised her spirits as he had obviously made an effort for her.

  Le Lapin Agile was packed and people were queuing outside although it was evident that anyone with a German uniform was able to get in.

  ‘Wait here,’ Pierre said. ‘I know the manager.’

  He disappeared and once again Nathalie was left standing outside with everyone else. A black limousine drove towards them and pulled up outside the entrance. The chauffeur got out and opened the door for a middle-aged man and a young woman.

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ she said to herself. ‘It can’t be!’

  She found herself trying to blend in with the rest of the people in the queue in case she was spotted, but the man was too occupied with the young woman to notice her. She took a closer look as they walked through the door. It was definitely Lucien Chambrun, and the woman he was with didn’t look much older than herself.

  A few minutes later, Pierre reappeared. ‘Are you alright? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘I’m fine. I thought I saw an old friend, but I was mistaken, that’s all.’

  ‘We’re in luck,’ he told her. ‘The manager found us a table.’

  ‘Perhaps we should go somewhere else?’ Nathalie suggested. ‘You might be right; maybe there will be too many Germans for my liking, after all.’

  Pierre knitted his eyebrows together in a frown. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘You can’t change your mind now. Besides, there are Germans everywhere in Montmartre at this time of night.’

  They were shown to a table for two near the stage where three girls wearing skimpy outfits and headdresses of ostrich feathers were doing a bawdy song and dance act. Nathalie looked nervously around the darkened room for Chambrun. She breathed a sigh of relief when she couldn’t see him.

  ‘What will you have to drink?’ Pierre asked.

  ‘Champagne. Let’s get a bottle.’

  He sat back and whistled. ‘Ooh la la! Such extravagance!’

  ‘This is on me,’ Nathalie replied. ‘It’s my treat.’

  ‘Well, well, we are splashing out.’

  She was amused at his response, and pleased that he had lightened up.

  ‘You look stunning tonight, Nathalie,’ he said, lighting up a cigarette for them both. ‘The dress you are wearing is exquisite.’ He leaned across the table, took her hand and kissed it. ‘And you also smell utterly delightful. What has happened to you since we last met? Where has that shy girl gone? And how can you afford to pay for such extravagance?’

  ‘I have a new job and I would like to celebrate with someone.’

  ‘I thought you already had a job at La Vie en Fleurs?’

  ‘The Reynauds have been struggling to pay me for quite a while. In fact they only gave me a job to help me out. This is different. I found some modelling work. It’s only a few days a week. Not even that really, but the pay is good and we all know that’s hard to come by these days.’

  ‘Perhaps you will model again for me one day?’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

  Nathalie slapped his hand playfully. ‘No, this is modelling for one of the couturiers in the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.’

  Pierre’s eyes widened. ‘Which one?’

  ‘The House of De Rossier?’

  His smile disappeared. ‘You should be careful of men like him?’

  Nathalie was hurt by his reaction. She had expected a more enthusiastic response.

  ‘You sound like Paul,’ she replied, tersely.

  ‘Do I? And what did he have to say when he found out?’

  ‘That we can use it to our advantage.’

  Pierre studied her for a few seconds. ‘How does he propose you do that?’

  ‘By noting all the people De Rossier deals with, especially his clientele.’

  ‘How did you find this job? They’re not exactly advertised.’

  She leaned closer to him. ‘That’s the strange thing. I was having coffee at Café Voltaire just over a week ago, when this man sat next to me. We started talking and he asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was looking for a job, and he happened to mention that his friend was looking for a model. He thought I would fit the bill and gave me the number. De Rossier himself interviewed me and I was given the job.’

  ‘Just like that?’ Pierre answered.

  ‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ Nathalie was beginning to get fed up with his moodiness.

  ‘Yes; just like that!’ she snapped. ‘Now, are you going to interrogate me, or are we going to enjoy ourselves?’

  ‘Who was this man?’

  Nathalie sighed. ‘You are beginning to exasperate me, Pierre. I can’t recall his name,’ she lied.

  She changed the subject and asked about his trip but he was reluctant to talk about it. This was another rule in the group; members didn’t involve their families. Nathalie realized she’s overstepped the mark and asked about his painting.

  ‘Did you manage to sell a few more pieces?’

  ‘Thankfully, yes. I also sold the painting I did of you.’

  She looked disappointed as she’d hoped he was keeping it to remind him of her.

  ‘Oh! I thought you said it wasn’t for sale.’

  ‘A buyer saw my paintings in the Place du Tertre. He bought one and wanted to see what else I had. I took him back to the apartment and when he saw it, he made an offer.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The man offered quite a substantial amount. I can always paint another one of you – that is, if you are willing to sit for me again?’

  Nathalie was just about to say yes when she became aware of someone coming towards their table.

  ‘My dear Mademoiselle Fontaine, what a pleasure to see you again, and if I may say so, you are looking most delightful.’

  Nathalie felt her heart pounding in her chest. ‘Monsieur Chambrun!’

  Before she could say anything else, he turned towards Pierre and extended his hand. ‘And this lucky gentleman would be...’

  Their eyes met. Pierre looked at him with a steely coldness, not uttering a word. The tension was palpable and his reaction scared her. For a minute she thought he was going to make a scene.

  ‘Pierre,’ she said, with a sweet smile, trying to diffuse the situation. ‘This is Monsieur Chambrun, the kind gentleman I was just telling you about.’

  Still Pierre said nothing. Chambrun turned his attention back to Nathalie.

  ‘I hear it worked out well for you. Allow me to congratulate you.’

  ‘Thank you. I am indebted to you.’

  Chambrun waved his hand in the air. ‘Nonsense, my dear.’ His eyes fell on the champagne and he smiled. ‘I will bid you both a good night. Enjoy yourselves.’

  After he left, Nathalie leaned towards him. ‘You were embarrassingly rude,’ she whispered, her voice bursting with anger. ‘What on earth is the matter with you? You have been involved with the group too long. It’s making you paranoid.’

  Pierre lit up another cigarette. ‘You have no idea who that man is, do you?’

  ‘Well, you’re obviously about to tell me,’ she replied sarcastically.

  ‘His name is not Chambrun – its François Corneille and he belongs to the Bureau des Menees Antinationals, otherwise known as BMA, the “Bureau of Anti-National Activities”. They were set up to oppose communist and resistance efforts. He reports to the Gestapo.’ He sat back in his chair and sighed deeply.

  Nathalie let his words sink in and then reached for her bag. ‘I’ve lost my appetite. Let’s get out of here.’

  She called the waiter over and paid their bill. Chambrun – or Corneille, as she now knew he was called, was no-where to be seen. Pierre could see she was distressed and offered to walk her to the metro.

  ‘I didn’t tell him where I lived,’ Nathalie said, when they were outside. ‘I was careful about that.’

  ‘Did you give your details to De Rossier?’

  Her face paled. ‘I gave them to Madame Lefort, his vendeuse.’ She stopped and grabbed his arm
. ‘Oh God, Pierre, what have I done?’

  ‘It’s good that you know all this. Now you can be extra vigilant. Just be careful what you say in your new job. Act naive.’

  She laughed. ‘I am naive aren’t I? Very naive.’

  They passed a small alleyway. He pulled her into it, pushed her against the wall and started to kiss her. After their heated conversations and his moodiness, his actions took her by surprise and she almost slapped his face, but the flame that she held for him was far too strong, and she found herself succumbing to his affections. They heard approaching footsteps and he quickly drew away from her and ran his hand through his hair whilst she smoothed down her dress. The footsteps turned out to be an old woman carrying a loaf of bread.

  ‘Bon soir,’ the woman said, as she passed.

  ‘Bon soir,’ Nathalie replied, suppressing a smile.

  Pierre looked at his watch. ‘It’s only an hour until curfew. You’d better get a move on if you’re going to catch that train.’’

  ‘You’re right,’ she replied, disappointed that he didn’t ask her to stay the night.

  Instead he put his arm around her and whispered in her ear. ‘Perhaps it’s best if we keep tonight’s conversation between the two of us.’

  She looked at him. ‘You mean not tell the Reynauds or Paul?’

  ‘I mean tell no-one. After all, it would only worry them, and they’ve got enough to deal with as it is.’

  Nathalie was unsure. ‘Paul specifically asked me to give him the names of De Rossier’s clients and associates.’

  ‘Then do as he asks, but I’d like you to tell me also. It will make me feel better.’ He kissed her hard on the lips. ‘Will you promise me that, Nathalie?’

  She kissed him back. ‘I promise,’ she replied.

  Chapter 12