if you have the time though? It would do them good even to receive a line or two from you. Papa treasures the postcards you send us at Christmas – keeps them on the shelf in the kitchen so he can see them every day.’
She nodded, hanging her head with shame that she’d been too wrapped up in her own life to spare anything other than the occasional thought for her family back in Brittany. Because she’d never received her father’s attempts to write to her, she’d assumed they didn’t care, that they were all there, busy with the routine of fishing all day and mending the creels in the evenings. But now she realised how very wrong she’d been. It was the war that had separated them, not a lack of concern on their part. The chaos of France’s surrender and then the iron-clad strictures of the new administration had cut her off from her family. Another wave of grief and homesickness enveloped her as she wiped her eyes on her brother’s handkerchief again.
Pulling herself together, she put a hand over Jean-Paul’s. ‘You will be alright, though, in Germany. I have a friend here, a man called Ernst. He is from a city called Hamburg. He says that the French workers who go over there to help the war effort are well looked-after.’
Jean-Paul withdrew his hand from hers and studied her in silence for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. ‘This German “friend” of yours, Claire . . . Is he the one who buys you your fine clothes? Did he give you that jewellery?’ He pointed at the locket that she wore around her neck.
A pang of guilt pinched at her heart at the tone of his words which, although he kept his voice level, sounded accusatory to her ears.
She met his eyes with a look of defiance. ‘No, Jean-Paul, this locket was a gift from my friend Mireille. Ernst does like to buy me pretty things sometimes, though. Why shouldn’t he spend his money on me if he wishes?’
‘But he’s the enemy, Claire,’ her brother replied, struggling to keep his voice level, suppressing his anger. ‘He is one of the ones who killed Luc. Who put Théo in a prison. Who has torn apart not just our family but our country too.’ He shook his head in sorrow. ‘Do you never think of us? Have you forgotten your family so completely, Claire?’
That noose of guilt around her heart drew even tighter and for a moment she felt dizzy as a wave of overwhelmingly conflicting emotions washed through her. She shook her head. ‘It’s not like that. You don’t understand. Ernst and I – we’re in love. He cares for me, Jean-Paul, in a world where I have no one else who cares.’
‘You’re wrong, Claire. You have us. Your family. You have always had your family.’
‘But you’re not here, are you?’ A spark of defiant anger flashed in her eyes. ‘I have had to make it on my own, ever since we lost Maman. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, the world has changed now.’
The sorrow in his eyes hurt her far more than his spoken accusations. ‘Maybe your world has changed. But some of us refuse to give in so easily. I don’t have a choice about going to work in Germany – it was either me or Marc who had to go, so I volunteered to spare him. But you can bet that fancy silk scarf of yours that I will be trying to find Théo and that, the first opportunity we get, we will be out of there. This war isn’t over yet, you know.’
He stood up and swung the duffel bag over his shoulder. ‘I should get going. Don’t want to risk being late at the station.’
‘I’ll come down with you,’ she said, but he shook his head again.
‘No need, Claire, I’ll see myself out.’
She tried to give him back the crumpled handkerchief but he gently pushed her hand away. ‘Keep it. From a brother who cares.’
‘Jean-Paul, I’m sorry . . .’ She began to cry again and the words choked her.
He hugged her again, briefly, and then turned to go. As she heard his footsteps fading away down the staircase, she pushed aside the silver fish whose glassy, expressionless eyes watched her from their bed of damp newspaper, and laid her head on her arms, sobbing uncontrollably as she breathed in the smoke and salt scent of home on the handkerchief that