galleries, losing themselves in the timeless landscapes and the faces of the portraits that gazed out at them across the years.
Turning a corner, Claire found herself in a room containing vast alabaster sculptures from the Italian Renaissance. She was dimly aware of Mireille and Vivi entering the gallery behind her as she stepped up to a reclining woman, cordoned off behind a red velvet rope, and admired the way her draperies, carved from something as solid as stone, could appear as fluid and fragile as the silks with which the seamstresses worked every day.
All at once, her eye was caught by the profile of a young man who was circling a vast statue of a Roman emperor up ahead. It took a moment for her to recognise him in his civilian clothes, but then her heart leapt with gladness. He’d come after all.
‘Ernst!’ she called, and she started towards him, her face radiant at the unexpected joy of seeing him here.
Hearing his name, he turned towards her. But instead of sharing her pleasure, his face fell and he took a step backwards, away from her, raising one hand as if to fend her off if she came any closer.
Confused, Claire hesitated, her smile faltering. And then she froze as, from behind the statue’s plinth, appeared a woman dressed in a smart tweed suit. She held the hand of a little boy whose hair was almost the same white-blonde as his mother’s. As Claire watched, horrified, the woman reached out her free hand to caress Ernst’s back, saying something in German. And the little boy reached out his arms to be lifted up by the man he called ‘Vati’.
As the trio turned away and walked out of the gallery, Claire felt her knees give way and she clutched at the red velvet rope – just like the one that had separated the tables in the nightclub on New Year’s Eve – as she tried to steady herself.
And then Mireille and Vivi were at her side, holding her up, preventing her from crumpling to the floor. Leading her away, as her heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
Harriet
Having heard this latest chapter of Claire’s story, I plan a visit to the Louvre. It’s been hard to find the time to do much sightseeing because the rhythm of the year at Agence Guillemet is dictated by the Shows – with a capital ‘S’. Right now, even though it’s January and the damp, grey lid of the winter sky sits over the city, we’re preparing for the Haute Couture Spring/Summer Shows which will take place later in the month. I’m already excited about them, and am determined to do a good job so that when it comes to the preparations for the next Paris Fashion Week I’ll be able to be more involved. I know it’ll be exhausting, but exhilarating too and I can’t wait to experience it.
At last there’s a brief lull. It’s a bleak Sunday and the apartment feels chilly and a little claustrophobic – the perfect day for a visit to the Louvre. Thierry agrees to accompany me and we meet beside the glass pyramid that marks the museum’s sleek, modern entrance in the Place du Carrousel. He’s waiting for me when I get there, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his parka, hair buffeted by the wind that swirls around the open square. We hug, briefly and a little awkwardly, realising that this is the first time we’ve been out together, just the two of us, without a crowd of friends and concert-goers thronging around to cover any silences.
But it turns out there aren’t any silences, other than very comfortable-feeling ones, as we spend the afternoon wandering through the galleries. The museum is a good deal fuller these days than it would have been in the war years when the French hid some of their greatest treasures and the Germans appropriated many others. The collections have been gathered back now and the Louvre is a changed place, of course, with its sleekly modern glass pyramids outside and new additions to the layout.
In one room, Thierry wanders on ahead as I stop in front of an alabaster statue, a reclining woman draped in fluid robes which belie the solidity of the stone from which they are carved. Could this have been the sculpture that my grandmother was looking at when she came upon Ernst and his family here all those years ago?
Ever since I’ve heard about Claire’s humiliation and heartbreak