seeing her friend for the first time. ‘Very well then,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll speak to someone. I’ll let you know.’
Claire slept more deeply that night than she had done in many years, as if her newfound resolve provided an extra blanket to warm the bitter chill that had kept her frozen for so long. And as it melted, it bonded the final pieces of her shattered heart back together, into something altogether stronger.
Mireille and Claire crossed the Pont Neuf one bright morning in February. It was the Sunday before Lent and the bells of Notre-Dame were ringing, summoning the faithful to Mass, but the girls pressed on, crossing to the right bank of the Seine and continuing along the quayside, following the silver ribbon of the river downstream until they reached the Tuileries garden. There were no special pastries in the windows of the bakeries that they passed, nor would there be any chocolates to be enjoyed when Easter finally arrived that year. The privations of the war were biting harder than ever now, making themselves felt in the constant hunger that gnawed at the girls’ stomachs. They had grown so used to the pangs now, though, that they hardly noticed any more.
At the entrance to the park, Mireille put a hand on Claire’s arm, stopping her for a moment. ‘Are you still sure that you want to do this, Claire? You haven’t had second thoughts?’
‘No. More than ever, I am sure.’
Mireille smiled, taking in the look of determination on her friend’s face. It was a new expression, one that she hadn’t seen in Claire’s gentle demeanour until recently, and it revealed a side to her character that had lain dormant. But now it had been awakened and Mireille recognised a flame of resolute defiance in her friend, the same flame that burned in her own breast.
It had taken several weeks for Mireille to convince the other members of the network that Claire could be relied upon. She’d been upfront with them about Claire’s liaison with a German officer, but had also told them that she had grown certain of her friend’s commitment to work against the invaders during their heart-to-hearts over the past few months. Eventually the dyer had told her that Monsieur Leroux was prepared to meet her friend, as there might be a role for her. ‘Bring her to the Tuileries on Sunday morning. He will be walking past the Jeu de Paume at eleven o’clock. He wants to talk to her, to see if she really is suitable.’
She recognised his tall figure from a distance as they approached. He was strolling past the entrance to the gallery which housed Monet’s beautiful waterlily paintings. Now, though, the artworks were kept behind locked doors and a German soldier stood guard outside. Monsieur Leroux appeared completely unconcerned by the soldier’s presence and even nodded pleasantly in the guard’s direction as he passed by. When the girls approached, a little more slowly now given the presence of the Nazi soldier in the background, he made a show of stopping, as if surprised and pleased to recognise the two girls who also happened to be out for a stroll, enjoying the sunshine on that bright, early spring morning. He raised his hat to them and Mireille introduced Claire, who looked at him quizzically for a moment, as if she recognised him from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place him. He smiled at the two girls and then, as if politely suggesting that they continue their walk together, he gestured towards a distant avenue of pleached hornbeams, and they fell into step beside him.
He looked, for all the world, like the playboy he was reputed to be. Mireille had heard the models speculating about him as she’d been pinning up the hem of a woman’s coat that he had commissioned. ‘Apparently he has several mistresses. He always keeps his accounts separate and pays them in cash, so they won’t find out about each other I suppose. He must be absolutely loaded! He seems to favour our Nazi visitors, too. I saw him at the Brasserie Lipp the other evening and he was wining and dining a “grey mouse”. I reckon she wanted to eat the sauerkraut there to remind her of home. Anyway, I hope this coat isn’t for her – she was a real dumpling. One of the other girls says he hosts Nazi officers and their wives there sometimes, too.’
‘He’s very handsome, that sandy hair makes him look so