every hour under the watchful eye of a German foreman; and she had described the sleepless nights spent listening to the bombing raids by the British air force on the nearby metalworks and railway yards. But, Mireille realised, as her eyelids began to grow heavy, what she had described had seemed impersonal, somehow, a little like a cinema newsreel. She had shared very little about her family – the parents and the brother that she’d mentioned in passing.
Never mind, she thought, there would be more such evenings together when they would share their rations and their stories. And her lips curved in a smile of contentment as sleep finally came, as it always did in the end in spite of the hunger and the cold and the ever-present, nagging anxiety that she would be caught or denounced as a Résistante. At last she set aside the burdens which she endured in silence through her waking hours, and slept.
Claire enjoyed Vivi’s company too. She was a breath of fresh air in the apartment and it was nice having someone she could confide in about Ernst. Vivi asked questions and seemed to understand the relationship in a way that Mireille could – or would – not. Although Claire had to admit that even Mireille was a bit less uptight with Vivi around. There was an ease and a lightness about Vivi that was infectious, and her friendship had greatly improved the atmosphere in the sewing room as well as the apartment, as far as Claire was concerned.
One evening Ernst took Claire out to dinner at Brasserie Lipp, a lively restaurant on the Boulevard Saint-Germain which was renowned for its hearty German-style menu. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so well as she picked up her cutlery and made inroads into her plate of great slabs of pork, dripping with Calvados and cream. Ernst ate his with gusto, but she soon set down her knife and fork as she discovered that the rich food was more than her stomach was used to or could cope with. She glanced around the room, admiring the tiled panels on the walls depicting flowers and foliage, and the grand, tall mirrors. And then she did a double-take as a familiar face caught her eye. Reflected in one of the mirrors was the profile of a young woman whose hair fell in a thick russet braid down her back. It was Vivi! Claire craned her neck slightly to see who she was with. There were two others sitting at the same table. One was a sandy-haired man, wearing a crisp white shirt and a paisley necktie; he had a distinguished air about him and looked relaxed, clearly at ease in this expensive ambience. As she watched, he lifted a bottle of white wine from an ice-bucket beside the table and reached across to fill the glass of the third person seated at the table, a slightly dumpy woman in a grey uniform. Well, thought Claire, so I’m not the only one who enjoys the company of our German neighbours. She wondered whether she should go across and say hello to Vivi, perhaps introduce her to Ernst. They could make a party of it, maybe, and all go on to dance in a nightclub somewhere.
But when she suggested it to Ernst, he glanced across and seemed to recognise the woman in uniform. ‘No,’ he said, mopping grease from his lips with a linen napkin, ‘let’s not. I know her from the office – she’s very dull. I’d much rather enjoy your company without having to share you with anyone else. Maybe you can introduce me to your friend another time, though. She looks very pleasant.’
‘She is,’ said Claire. ‘She’s great fun. And a good seamstress as well.’
The next day, as the other girls chatted away in the sewing room, Claire quietly asked Vivi whether she’d enjoyed her meal the night before. Was it her imagination, or did Vivi look a little startled?
‘I didn’t realise you were there too,’ she said. ‘You should have come over and said hello.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Claire had smiled. ‘You can introduce me to your friends another time. And I won’t tell Mireille. I think we both know how stuffy she can be!’
Vivi had nodded, lowering her eyes to her work, as the sound of Mademoiselle Vannier’s heels clicking across the floorboards had put an end to any more talk.
There was just one thing that niggled a little in Claire’s blossoming friendship with Vivi.